The Broken Road (The Broken Series) (13 page)

Patrick
and I caught the Senate subway back to the Hart Building. By the time we settled
back in at our desks, I had a whole new appreciation for my senate fellowship.

*
* * * * *

It
was four-thirty on Friday. Senator Rockefeller had just left with “the book.” Rumor
had it he was heading to West Virginia for the weekend. All work was abandoned when
he walked out the door. Everyone began discussing their plans for the weekend.
My plans weren’t terribly exciting since my primary objective was to get
through the boxes still crowding my apartment.

About
thirty minutes after Senator Rockefeller left, Jonathan, Patrick, and I went to
explore the cause of a huge ruckus that arose from the ground floor of our
office suite. When we rounded the corner to the conference room, I came to a
screeching halt. The office manager was handing out what appeared to be Samuel
Adams and Yuengling beer. I turned toward Jonathan and whispered, “Does Senator
Rockefeller know we’re doing this?”

Jonathan
laughed. “He paid for it.” He stepped forward to grab a beer.

I
was speechless. Patrick handed me a beer. Jamie joined us as we wandered back
up to our desks. She perched on the edge of Patrick’s desk as she relayed stories
about some rather outrageous constituent calls she had received earlier in the
day.

I
took a long swig of Yuengling and set the bottle on my desk. I eyed my phone. I
was itching to call Charlie and Kimme. They would never in a million years
believe I was drinking a beer in the U.S. Senate. I dialed the toll free number
Charlie had encouraged me to use.

“Senior
and Long Term Care, Charlie speaking.”

I
smiled at the sound of his voice. “Charlie? You’re never going to believe what
I’m doing right now!”

Charlie
chuckled warmly. “Wait. Kimme is sitting right here. I’ll put you on speaker
phone.”

Kimme’s
voice suddenly rang out. “Hi-ya honey bee!”

I
felt myself relax for the first time in days. “Oh my God. You sound so good! I
miss you so much.” I grabbed my beer, leaned back in my chair, and propped my
heels up on the desk. “I have so much to tell you guys. Do you have time to
talk?”

“For
you? Always,” Charlie replied.

I
caught Charlie and Kimme up to speed on everything that had happened to me
since arriving in DC. They couldn’t believe I was drinking beer at work. Kimme
thought it was awesome. Charlie… not so much. They took turns filling me in on
everything I was missing at my old job. I closed my eyes and let their stories
wash over me. It felt like we were sitting around my desk talking shop, just
like we always did. I made it through the phone call without crying. The beer
helped. A lot.

Jamie,
Patrick, and Jonathan gathered near my desk. “You ready to head out?” Jonathan
asked.

“Am
I ever!” I shut my computer down and reached for my purse.

“We’re
heading over to Union Station for dinner and drinks at Thunder Grill. You
should join us. They have mango margaritas…” Jamie suggested enticingly.

“A
mango
margarita? Well, as tempting as that sounds, I’m barely capable of
managing rush hour sober, and I think I’ve hit my limit with this beer.” I tossed
the empty bottle in the recycling bin. I really wanted to join them, but I had
no interest in driving home in the dark. Besides, Cade was waiting for me.

Patrick
reached for my briefcase. “Walk with us, then.”

“Sure,”
I responded gratefully. We joined the throng of people exiting the building. Soft
jazz drifted over us as we walked down Second Street toward Union Station.  I
peered around the people walking in front of us. “Where is that music coming
from?”

“There’s
a sax player who plays for tips down at Union Station. He wasn’t here earlier
this week, but he’s around most of the time. He’s good isn’t he?” Jamie
responded.

I
nodded. “Yes, he is. Quite good.”

Jonathan
had been walking in front of us, but he slowed and matched his pace with mine.
“Do you work out?”

I
gave him a curious look. “Yes. Why?”

“Your
commute would go by a lot faster if you waited until rush hour died down.
Senate staff can join the gym at the Thurgood Marshall Building at a discounted
rate. If you joined, you could hit the gym after work instead of sitting in
traffic. Your commute would be a piece of cake by the time you were done
working out, and you wouldn’t have to go to the gym after you got home.”

I
briefly contemplated kissing Jonathan. “That is a brilliant idea! So brilliant,
in fact, that I’m going to head over there now to sign up.” We were nearing the
Thurgood Marshall Building so I turned to say goodbye. “Thank you guys for helping
me get through this first week. Have fun tonight.”

“Have
a good weekend, Kri,” Jamie and Jonathan both responded.

Patrick
gave me a one armed hug. “Drive safe.”

I
went to check out the gym. It was small but doable. I completed the required
paperwork, then hurried down the stairs to the parking garage. I couldn’t wait to
get home so I could lounge around in my pajamas with Cade. Sadly, Cade wasn’t
the only thing waiting at home for me. There was a mountain of boxes with my
name written all over it.

*
* * * * *

I
settled into a nice routine at Senator Rockefeller’s office. My commute proved
quite manageable once I began delaying the start time and working out at the
gym. My work days were long, but the weekends were proving even longer. I
enjoyed my time with Cade, but I was sorely lacking a social life. Despite the
frequent calls back home, I felt utterly alone. I knew I had no one to blame
but myself. Jonathan, Patrick, and Jamie had repeatedly invited me to dinner,
drinks, and weekend house parties, but I always declined. If the truth be told,
I was too scared to drive through DC alone after dark.

Today
was one of those rare September days when the humidity had been replaced with
crisp, cool, breathable air. I thought about how much I missed being outdoors
as I made my way toward a worn wooden bench in a heavily treed park, which was
tucked between the Senate Hart Building and Union Station. The park offered a
welcome reprieve from the noise and chaos that formed the fabric of Hill life.
The trees were just beginning to hint at their fall colors, and I found the
patchwork canopy of green, gold, orange, and red leaves comforting.

All
thoughts of work faded away as a friendly gray squirrel jumped up to join me on
the park bench. He was clearly hoping to share my lunch. I was thankful for the
distraction so I indulged him.

He
cocked his head at me when I offered him the last piece of bagel. His question was
clear.

I
showed him my empty hands.

With
a quick flick of his tail, he scampered off in search of another meal.

I
took a deep breath and savored the musky smell of turning leaves. I was wearing
slacks, so I kicked my heels off and hugged my knees to my chest. A sudden wave
of homesickness washed over me, causing my vision to blur with tears that had
been held at bay for far too long. I choked down a sob as I tucked my face into
my knees. I tried to make myself as small as possible, so no one would see me
cry. I sat like that for some time, completely curled in on myself, until a
shadow fell over me.

“Excuse
me, miss?”

I
swiped at my tear-stained cheeks as I lifted my head from my knees. “Hi.”

“Would
you allow me the honor of singing you a song?”

I
studied the young black man standing in front of me. He had warm brown eyes
that hinted at a smile. His dark curly hair was closely trimmed, and his shirt
and khaki pants looked worn but clean. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t bring any money
with me.”

His
eyes softened. “I only want to see you smile.”

I
stared up at him, both fearful and flattered. “Okay,” I reluctantly agreed.

The
young man reached for my hand as he lowered himself to one knee. I hesitated,
for just a second, then placed my hand in his. His eyes met mine as he softly
began to sing.

My
breath caught. He was singing the lyrics from Adele’s “Make You Feel My Love.” His
warm falsetto tone wrapped around me like a soft velvet blanket. The entire
park hung suspended in time as he sang the lyrics to the song.

A
number of people clapped as he finished the song. He rose to his feet, then gently
kissed my hand. He smiled as his eyes met mine. “You have a beautiful smile,”
he said. He bowed slightly as he released my hand. Then he turned and walked
away.

I
had no idea who the young man was or where he’d come from, but he had single
handedly erased all of my pain.

*
* * * * *

The
next morning, Senator Rockefeller invited me to join him for a meeting with a
policy advisor from the Kaiser Family Foundation. He wanted to discuss the
Medicare Early Buy-in Bill that I was drafting. While I had accompanied the
senator to hearings and watched him speak on the Senate floor and at public
policy events numerous times, this was the first time I had been invited to
attend a private meeting in his office. I wasn’t sure if it was his large
frame, his family history, his deeply intelligent eyes, or the power that
rolled off him in waves, but Senator Rockefeller seemed larger than life to me.
I was completely intimidated by him.

When
Jamie directed Ms. Feinstein and me into the senator’s inner office, I was
surprised to see him abandon the position of power behind his desk. He shook
Ms. Feinstein’s hand as he joined us on the other side of the desk. Then he motioned
us toward a group of comfortable chairs, which were nestled under a large ink
wash painting. The painting depicted a whimsical Japanese landscape.

Senator
Rockefeller offered us drinks before folding his large frame into one of the
chairs. I listened attentively to the banter between Ms. Feinstein and Senator
Rockefeller. I was uncertain of their relationship at first, but I soon
realized they were friends who shared a deep desire to improve access to health
care.

Ms.
Feinstein set her Diet Coke on the coffee table. “So, Jay, have you decided how
you’re going to vote on the legislation eliminating the estate tax tomorrow?”

I
was a bit surprised by the question. The bill she was referring to was deeply
controversial, and it wasn’t related to health care.

Senator
Rockefeller eyed his friend thoughtfully. His fingers were steepled under his
chin. “My wife is probably going to kill me, but I cannot in good conscience
vote for that bill.”

“Why
not?” Ms. Feinstein inquired. The amused look sparking in her eyes gave me the
impression she knew exactly why the senator wasn’t voting for this bill.

Senator
Rockefeller scowled at his friend. “The only people this legislation helps are
wealthy people like me… people who, quite frankly, don’t need the tax break.
The bill doesn’t benefit the vast majority of people living in West Virginia.
In fact, this bill will adversely impact them because it reduces funding for
programs that help low income individuals.”

I
was certain my jaw hit the floor, but I was too stunned to pick it back up. I
had always been impressed with Senator Rockefeller’s commitment to helping
disadvantaged people. This commitment was what had initially drawn me to him, but
killing this bill would have huge implications for his family. He was clearly
putting the needs of his constituents above his own; and with that act of
selflessness, my respect for Senator Rockefeller grew by epic proportions.

“I
couldn’t agree more,” Ms. Feinstein confided with a knowing smile.

Senator
Rockefeller’s eyes met mine. “Kristine is our new fellow from the John Heinz
Foundation. She’s been drafting a bill that would allow individuals who are ages
fifty-five to sixty-four to buy into the Medicare program.” He smiled
encouragingly as he turned the conversation over to me.

I
took a deep breath as I shifted my attention to Ms. Feinstein. “This bill is
geared toward a vulnerable population. As you know, people in this age group
are often forced out of their jobs and replaced with younger, cheaper
employees. When this happens, they lose their employer sponsored health care.
Because of their age, they find it difficult to secure another job. They are
often unemployed for long periods of time, or they end up taking part-time jobs
where they don’t receive any benefits. Because most people have preexisting
conditions by this age, insurance companies refuse to cover them, or they
charge them outrageous insurance premiums that are simply not affordable.”

Ms.
Feinstein leaned forward in her chair. “So the Medicare Early Buy-in Bill would
allow these individuals to buy into Medicare with an affordable premium?”

I
nodded. “Precisely. The premium would be set on a sliding fee scale, based on
income.”

“What’s
the cost?” Ms. Feinstein asked.

Because
it was the one question I didn’t have an answer to, it was the one I’d been
dreading most. “The Congressional Budget Office is still performing a cost
analysis,” I confessed. In all honesty, I was concerned about how the CBO would
score the bill. I had a sneaking suspicion the office would completely
disregard the money this bill would save Medicaid, which was a state run
program that drew federal matching funds. If they left this out of their
calculations, they’d kill my bill before it even got to committee.