Twenty-One
Willow
There were flashes I did not recognize. Swirls of memory, the feeling of loss and want and anger—it all swam around me, filled my head so that when I dreamed, there was no rest.
My bedroom was silent and cold. It felt like a tomb, a dread that even a touch of light and the slip of laughter could not splinter. It was my cave away from the possibility of what I’d seen, what I’d always believed and how, with one conversation, Nash had dismantled that belief.
“Maybe you should take a vacation.” Effie’s voice was clam, soothing over the phone, but even with the cool she covered herself with, I caught the hint of worry in her inflection. “Head out somewhere peaceful… the coast, or… oh, I know. Virginia.”
Virginia reminded me of the places Riley recalled with such clarity. I couldn’t go there. I couldn’t go anywhere and not remember the life she’d led and the man she’d loved. She was everywhere.
Riley had loved Isaac. I knew that. She’d loved him like Dempsey had loved Sookie. Those dreams were fainter, the memory not as strong, but running like a current through all those lives was the pulse of something strong. Something that wouldn’t be denied. Something, I knew without knowing how or why, that demanded to be felt.
“Or—”
“I think I’ll just hide in my bedroom,” I told Effie, settling my cell phone on the pillow next to me. The earbud wires got lost somewhere in the tangle of my hair and the pillowcase. “I just want to… I don’t know… rest a little bit. Hide from the world.” I exhaled, not liking how quiet Effie had become; like she’d geared up for an argument and needed to decide how to begin it. “You ever feel that way, Effie? You ever just want to forget the world for a little while?”
“Of course I have, sweetie. Everyone has, but you know—”
“Then that’s what I’ll do.” I’d already decided to hang up before she finished speaking. “I’ll call you tomorrow. For now, though, I just need to sleep.”
Washington D.C.
Senator Mansfield had given a great speech before the formal dinner. There was talk of honor, justice, and liberty. The room was crowded with the elite of D.C. insiders—men and women who’d worked with the late President Kennedy championing Civil Rights. Others came in later, when Lyndon Johnson promised to finish that work, and now it was time for toasting the people who had chipped away at another chain of injustice, my parents among them.
“That man, he would make a good president,” my mother said, leaning close to my father.
“Maybe so, my love.” Dad shot a wink across the table and then turned to his two law clerks. “Work isn’t done, not by a long shot, though,” he added. The clerks were a pair of young, idealistic Harvard grads eager to take on D.C. single-handedly. But first, Dad promised, they’d need to learn the difference between pleadings and briefs.
Ryan sat next to me, smiling like he wanted desperately to ask me how my weekend at the cottage with Isaac had been, but I kicked him under the table when he started to drop cryptic hints, earning a wince as Dad watched over the rim of his glass.
“What’s happening with the two of you?” He leaned close, elbow nearly toppling over his half-empty water glass. The room was noisy with people moving around and socializing, and I could barely make out his question.
“What do you mean?” Ryan asked innocently, clearly not disadvantaged by the crowd and the rolling noise of clinking dinnerware and emptying glasses.
“The pair of you, all night, you’ve been snickering and talking behind your hands. You want to share your secrets?”
“Nothing worth sharing, Dad,” I quickly cut in. He didn’t buy it, that much I gathered by the way his eyes met mine and held them for a beat longer than strictly necessary. My father was a busy man and he took his work seriously but that didn’t mean he’d ever give up being a parent, regardless of how old his kids had grown.
“Come now, Eric, leave them,” my mom said teasingly, leaning in so he could hear her over the dinner buzz. “They are both here, yes? Both under one roof. You will scare them away with your meddling.” My mother’s Polish accent had grown slightly more pronounced due to her being on her second glass of chardonnay, but it only made her sound more charming.
Our parents were like two kids, still besotted and smitten after some twenty-five years. Dad kissed her forehead and she momentarily laid her cheek on his shoulder.
It was true that I had been conspicuously absent from the family home over the past few months, taking the odd call from each of them or dashing off a quick note after my mother had dropped off another box of cookies or homemade pierogi at my dorm room, but that was about it. My mother was not one to pry, but my dad was understandable suspicious—after all, I was his only daughter. And, as much as I hated to admit it, I had been drawn into the D.C. social scene that, like it or not, impacted the way things got done.
“Does this low talking have anything to do with why Trent is sitting over there with his parents and not at our table, Riley?”
“Dad—”
“I know you two had a fight, but I think everyone expected you to have patched things up by now…”
I smiled at him even as something shifted in my chest. His tone was mildly teasing, and had we been somewhere else, I might have taken the opportunity to admit to him right there and then what had gone on between Trent and myself. But now certainly wasn't the time or the place, not with our table full of colleagues my parents had worked so hard with over the past year. I wasn't going to let his bringing up my love life ruin the evening.
“Daddy, please.” I downed what remained of my red, dissatisfied when it did little to boost my resolve, and decided deflection was my best course of action. “You know that a girl doesn't kiss and tell.”
He shrugged, patting my mother’s hand when she whispered in his ear. “Whatever it is, Trent seems to have no problem with broadcasting it. It’s pretty obvious he’s fixated on you. He’s either been mooning over you all night or shooting daggers in your direction. Damn, Riley, what on earth did you do to him?”
“Me?” I said in mock shock, but next to me Ryan straightened in his chair, holding my hand still when I balled my linen napkin in my fist. But try as I might, I couldn’t keep up the façade. “It wasn’t—” Thank heavens Ryan was there, giving me a wide, teasing smile but whispered, “Now’s not the time, Riley,” under his breath.
“Well, it looks as if we're going to find out, anyway.” Dad said, standing and smiling at someone behind me.
I turned and saw Trent and his father heading towards our table. I shot Ryan a panicked glance as Dad moved forward to shake hands with Mr. Dexter, and then motion at two empty chairs that sat at our table. Ryan, however, looked just as stricken as I did.
Mr. Dexter had been working the room, typical for the consummate social climber he was, always worming his way into the good graces of whatever cabinet member or high-ranking staff member could push his personal agenda. While I was not exactly enamored with his behavior, it was not uncommon nor even remotely surprising in this city. Everyone in D.C. wanted power, except maybe my parents, and that came hand in hand with double-dealing and promise-breaking. Trent’s despicable behavior hadn’t been learned in a vacuum—men like Trent and his father were used to getting whatever caught their eye, be it women or influence or power. Once they got them, they moved on to something else. My rejection of him was a challenge that Trent just couldn't let pass.