The World: According to Graham (23 page)

Then, I remember that I forgot to mention that I talked to Rachael about our candidate support organization or whatever we should call it. We’ve made changes so far in the way politics are being run. This is a way where we can truly work to get the right people elected.

I shoot Max a quick text telling him that Rachael is on board with the idea. Her position so closely tied to the President gives us the legitimacy that we need. His response is a positive one.

There’s a spring in my step as I walk through the glass double doors of the drug store. A pimple-faced kid working the checkout counter bids me a welcome. It’s about as enthusiastic as I was to be at Darlene’s campground.

I grab Rachael’s bagel crackers first so I’m sure not to forget them, and then head for the magazine aisle. It’s not nearly as robust as it was when I was kid. I guess we can thank the Internet for that.

They have all the political magazines that I read so I grab a copy of each. Then, I head towards the local section and pick up the latest edition of
The Capital Beacon,
which appears to cover Oklahoma politics,
The Journal Record
, and
The Oklahoman
. That should do.

As I make my way back down the aisle, I spot a cover of one of the Hollywood gossip magazines. Guess who is on the cover? Me, along with a picture of Max and Jake. The cover reads
Tour in chaos . . . Radio show numbers slipping . . . Is it over for the Sons of Liberty?

I grab the rag and add it to my pile of other purchases. The same pimple-faced kid that greeted me when I came in, checks me out. As he runs the magazines over the scanner, he attempts to make small talk. It’s painful. I’m polite, but anxious to get back to The Cougar and read if the media believes that the tour is done for.

As he scans the offensive magazine, he recognizes me on the cover. His mouth opens and his eyes grow wide. “You’re Revere.”

“So I’ve been told,” I reply.

“Can I get your autograph?” He pulls out a Sharpie marker and hands me the magazine cover to sign. It’s a bit surreal. He wants my signature on a magazine cover that is predicting my demise. Instead of defining irony for him, I sign the magazine and politely hand it back before I go back down the aisle to grab another copy.

By the time that I make it home to The Cougar, Rachael is asleep and George is curled up on his bed. I slip my pants and shirt off and shove them in the dirty clothes basket. Next, I find my running shorts and put them on. I do all of this without disturbing Rachael. This is a bit disappointing. I would have loved for her to have woken up so we could make love, but I know that she needs her rest. She is growing a human being, after all.

Walking back through the trailer, which is about five steps, I grab my loot and open the recording studio. The nasty gossip magazine rests on top of the pile taunting me so naturally I choose to read it first.

I flip through a bunch of articles about who is dating who and who is breaking up. Then there’s a fascinating article about a nightclub brawl between two pop divas. The magazine offers me great skin care tips and the hottest nail-color trends for summer. It’s enlightening. Then, finally I find the article that interests me the most.

After giving it a good skimming, my stomach begins to relax. The headline was more scandalous than the content. However, this is a huge wakeup call. I’ve got to get this tour back on track. Our problems are no longer being contained to the three of us.

The magazine is discarded on top of my small desk and I turn my attention to my homework.

“Thanks for coming,” I say for the thousandth time as I grip his hand. He’s supposed to be in Phoenix today, but I had a doctor’s appointment back in D.C. and Graham insisted on joining me. If I let my mind think about his responsibilities to the Sons of Liberty that he’s neglecting, I could get terribly worked up. So I don’t. I trust that Graham is doing what’s best right now for both of us. He’s asked me to trust him, so I am. Although the nagging questions about how we manage a new relationship, baby and his tour weigh on my mind if I let them.

I’ve become good at telling myself to not plan so far ahead. Instead of me filling my calendar with dates six months out, I’m working on focusing on the here and now. Is there a twelve-step program for this? I might need to join. The lack of structure makes me feel useless and lazy, but even I can admit that it’s a tad liberating.

To settle these feelings, I drop Graham’s hand and open my bag, pulling out my ever-present notebook. I open it to the section that I’ve labeled “SAM.” This is where I’m taking notes on my pregnancy.

“You’re including the baby in your book?” Graham asks, clearly reading over my shoulder.

I hand him my notes so he doesn’t get a neck strain. “Yes. I think this new journey that I’m on is as important as my path to the White House. Don’t you?”

His lips turn up in a sweet smile and he leans over, kissing the tip of my nose. “You know I do.”

He scans through what I’ve written, then he bursts into laughter. I lean over his thigh and see that he’s reached the part where I discover my new breasts. “It’s not funny.” I laugh and ball up my fist, hitting him in the shoulder.

His smirk kills me. “Babe, it was really funny. Here I thought something terrible had happened and it turns out that you were upset over something that every woman wants and every man enjoys playing with.”

“Well, obviously not everyone,” I reply tartly.

“Have you thought of a title?”

“Yeah. I think I have.” I pause, scanning the waiting room to make sure that no one is listening. The other couple waiting for the doctor is preoccupied with a little boy of about two years-old, who is making a mess of his animal crackers. We’re safe. “
Anything, But Not Everything
.”

“Hmmm . . .” he says, and seems to be toying with the idea for a moment in his mind. “Explain.”

I’ve been test driving it since I signed the contract and returned it back to Candace, but finally saying it out loud gives it power. I like how my heart flutters when I hear it. Yes. I think the title is perfect. “Caroline’s mom had this quote cut out of a newspaper, and it hung on their refrigerator as long as I’ve known her. It read,
I can do anything, but not everything
. See, she was a single mom to four girls. I think it was her reminder that she couldn’t do it all, but it didn’t make her a failure.”

Graham grabs my hand and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. The look on his face makes me want to weep with happiness. He is beaming with pride. He’s actually proud of me. For what? I’m not sure, but I bask in his glow. No one has ever looked at me this way. Not my parents. Not the President. A smile forces my cheeks to meet my eyes. “You like the title?”

“It’s the most perfect title ever—
Anything, But Not Everything.
” He kisses my knuckles. “You amaze me, Rachael.”

I amaze him. Someone is amazed by me. How does he always know exactly what to say to endear him more to my heart?

I could possibly be the luckiest girl in the world.

The nurse that I’ve become friendly with, Betty, walks into the waiting room and politely says, “The doctor is ready,” ending our moment. It’s okay. It is one that I will replay for the rest of my life. It’s the first time that my actions made someone that I love feel proud—and it had nothing to do with my career.

I tuck my notebook back into my bag. Graham and I stand at the same time without dropping hands. “You ready?” I ask.

He smirks. “I was born ready.”

We’re settled into an examination room with an ultrasound machine in the corner. I point at it. “The first time I came in, we saw the baby using that.”

“Will we get to see Sam today?” he asks Nurse Betty.

“Oh. I’m sure that Dr. White will take a peek.” She hands me the dreaded blue and grey gown and points to the curtained dressing room. “You can leave your bra on, but remove everything else.”

The door shuts behind her as I step inside the tiny privacy room and pull the curtain around me. From the other side, I hear “Seriously, you let me handcuff you to the bed, but I can’t watch you undress? I mean, come on, Rach, give me a show.”

Giggling, I peek my head around the curtain. “A peep show . . . hmmm . . . let me see what I can do about that.”

I close the curtain back and slide off my jeans. My right bare leg wraps around the curtain as I make bass beats to a burlesque-inspired song.

Graham catcalls my silliness and yells, “Show me more.”

I remove my panties and sling-shot them around the curtain to him. He catches them and stuffs them in his right front pocket, with a dirty smile.

Next, I remove my blouse and hang it neatly on one of the provided hangers.

I walk out from behind the curtain, draped in the sheet/dress that brushes along the top of my ankles. In my sexiest voice, I say, “Hey big boy. Care to tie this for me?”

His full lips turn down in a sexy pout. “I’m much better at removing clothing than putting it on.”

He ties the strings around my neck and I wrap the extra bulky material around my waist. It drowns me. When you’re barely five feet, one size doesn’t come close to fitting all.

Just as I’m scooting back on the table, the door opens and Dr. White enters. She’s rather mousey and is the same age as me. Caroline went to Harvard with her. I like her. Her bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired, but I need a brainiac more than I need a cheerleader.

She walks straight to Graham and introduces herself.

He flashes his broad smile, and replies, “Graham Jackson, Sam Jackson’s father.”

“Name already? You don’t know the sex of the baby.”

I chime in. “Graham had issues with me calling the baby ‘it’ so he chose to refer to him or her as Sam. It’s kind of stuck.”

She doesn’t bother to respond and immediately motions for me to lie back on the table. “No one checked your weight,” she comments.

“Her breasts have added at least two pounds.”

Graham could quit contributing right about now. I shoot him a dirty look. “Ignore the peanut gallery.”

“Okay. Let’s check the heartbeat.”

My eyes meet Graham’s while she busies herself opening drawers, looking for the heart monitor. His face is lit up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. The thought that I could have ever hidden this pregnancy from him makes me feel ashamed. Although both of us can agree that the timing of Sam is not good, there’s no doubt that we both are already head over heels in love with this baby.

He walks to my side and holds my hand while his foot taps eagerly against the almond-colored tiled floor. We both wait for the sound of Sam’s heartbeat to fill the room.

The doctor runs the wand over the bottom of my protruding abdomen. There’s a whooshing noise that sounds promising. “Is that Sam’s heartbeat?” Graham asks, giving my hand a squeeze.

“No. That’s Rachael’s. The baby’s heartbeat sounds more like a thud, thud.” She moves the wand back and forth over my stomach, looking for the elusive sound. The longer it takes, the tighter I grip Graham’s hand.

I glance up and see that he’s beginning to look worried also. He’s no longer smiling and his shoulders are tight. It feels like hours, but I’m sure that she’s only been searching for the heartbeat for a few minutes.

“Everything okay?” Graham asks as a passive look masks his face, but the way his voice cracks at the end of the question tells me he’s anything but. I don’t have to see his face again to know that he’s anxious. His return grip on my hand borders on painful.

“I’m sure everything is fine. Let’s just grab the ultrasound machine and make sure.” Doctor White walks to the corner and rolls the machine by the examining table.

I lie there in stunned silence. The pregnancy checklist begins scrolling through my brain like the stock quotes at the bottom of CNBC. I’ve been so nauseous. The doctor said that was a sign of a healthy pregnancy. I’ve watched my diet and tried to get enough rest. Caffeine hasn’t touched my lips.

This can’t be happening. For the first time in a long time, I close my eyes and pray.
Dear God, I’ve made some bad choices. For those, I’m sorry. But, I want this baby so much. We’ll be good parents. Let him or her be okay, and I’ll bring him to church every Sunday. I’ll do anything. Just let this baby be healthy.

Five minutes later, I get the most devastating news of my life. “No heartbeat.”

The rest of the day is a blur of activity. We’re forced to make horrible decisions and discuss choices that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Graham tells everyone that will listen that I’m his number one priority and to do what’s best for me.

He never lets go of my hand. He repeatedly reassures me that we’re going to be okay. This is going to be okay. I want to scream that no, it’s not going to be “okay.” Our baby is gone. I’m not going to be a mom and you’re not going to be a dad, but I’m too devastated to speak.

The reason that I left my beloved job is gone. And Graham will soon be gone also. There’s no reason for him to be absent for the tour if we’re no longer going to be parents. Sam was our future. Sam was who encouraged us to try so hard to make this work. Sam is gone.

We arrive back at Graham’s house long after dark. I drop my bag and jacket by the front door and head straight to the couch. My legs are so heavy that I’m surprised that I can drag them and that they’re still supporting me. As my head falls against the armrest, I’m quite sure that this is what near-death feels like.

My face is swollen from tears and a vicious headache pounds behind my eyes. I don’t have enough energy to position my arms, so they rest haphazardly against the cushion. Graham picks up my legs and folds them on the couch. Next, he grabs a navy woolen blanket and tucks it around me. I would like to thank him, but the words are stuck in my throat.

He takes a seat on the floor next to me. His fingers comb through my strands of wild hair. “Today has been the worst day of my life,” he states.

I stare blankly at him.

He continues, “And I have to leave tonight for Phoenix.” He swallows hard and looks down. “I’m so damn sorry, Rach.”