The World: According to Rachael (34 page)

I sigh and cut my eyes to the counter. “Five minutes.”

He doesn’t flinch. “Rachael, what are you doing? I mean, Colin filled me in, so I haven’t heard it from you, but really? I was there, watching you struggle for every ounce of success you’ve achieved. I felt the cold distance that separated us as you stressed before every event that we attended that the press was going to be there. It hurt like hell to love you, and yet I couldn’t be seen with you. You’re really willing to do that again?”

“You know since you became a dad, you’ve really developed a rather annoying ‘father knows best’ tone in your voice.” My way of deflecting this conversation. Aiden and I’ve never had the final breakup fight or conversation that most people get. We went from an engagement ring left in a potted plant to polite avoidance and then cordial. God, I’m so happy right now. Why? Why is he choosing now to talk about our past?

“Look at me, Rachael,” he demands, and he straightens to his full height, which is towering over me.

I raise my eyes and meet his determined ones. “We had great chemistry. That you can’t deny.”

I look into my former lover’s eyes. Nights of passion replay like a movie in my head. Desperately, I try to marginalize and minimize what I felt for Aiden. Surely we were never as on fire as Graham and I are. But in my heart, I admit to myself what I’ve always known—that Aiden was my first true, passionate love, but that love feels nothing like what I have with Graham. “Aiden, that was a long time ago.”

“It was, Rachael. And in those years, I’ve fallen in love with Amy, and we’ve had our two children, and I can’t imagine a life that didn’t have those three people in it. I’m saying this not because I’m trying to open a scar that’s healed rather nicely, I’m saying this because I know you. You’re so concerned with your legacy, and that of President Jones’ that you’ll sacrifice everything to preserve it.” He drills me with his eyes. “Graham loves you. Don’t make him hide. Don’t do what you did to me and always make me question whether or not you felt the same way about me that I felt about you. You want love, but you only want it on your terms, and Rachael, your terms are shit.”

I can’t look at him anymore or stand to listen to his words. I know that what he’s saying is true, and it hits way too close to home right now. I grab the milk carton and turn to walk away.

“Love is great, Rachael,” he calls. “You’ll like having someone to share your life with. All I want for you is to find the happiness that I’ve found with Amy. I implore you, for once in your life, to put your heart out there and be a team with someone other than the President.”

I don’t turn around and continue walking out the double doors that lead to the back porch.

Aiden is right. Intuitively, I know that my compromise for how Graham and I can be together is a copout. But I don’t know what else I can do. I can’t be associated with someone who is so controversial and be the White House Chief of Staff. It’s a conflict of interest. But there’s this little part of me that stomps her foot, balls her fists, and screams at the top of her lungs,
“What about Graham Jackson? I want him just as badly as I want the legacy.”

But do I really?

I place the milk on the card table that Caroline set up for the s’mores buffet.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

Aiden answers for me. He must have followed me out. “Had a tough time finding the cups.”

“That’s odd. They should have been right inside the pantry.” Leave it to Caroline to know exactly where everything is.

I sit down on Graham’s lap and lean into his chest. He kisses my hair. “I’m tired. Ready to go back?”

“We just got here,” he says, sounding surprised. “You haven’t had your s’more.”

“I know, but I think I might be coming down with something.” It’s a lie, but I have a sinking feeling in my heart that this might be my last night with Graham, and I don’t want to waste a minute of it.

“Okay,” he agrees, with tight lips.

Aiden tries to meet my eyes, but I ignore him. The mirror that he held up for me to look in didn’t show me an image that I was ready to see.

We wish everyone a collective goodnight. Colin hands Graham a flashlight and shakes his hand, as if he’s wishing him good luck. Pancho escorts us until we reach the first guesthouse. I stroke his head and tell him goodnight.

Our walk back is quiet. The only sounds are the ones of the forest and the leaves crunching under our shoes. I cling to each second that Graham is by my side, not knowing if I can ask of him what I asked of Aiden. Before my five minutes alone with my ex, it was all so clear to me—spend a year of keeping our relationship quiet and then, if we’re still together, slowly start doing things in public, like watching a movie or having dinner.

I push those thoughts out of my mind when we reach the house. As our feet hit the front porch, I throw myself at Graham, desperate to connect in a way that reassures me that yes, there is a future for us past tonight.

He turns his head, stopping my advances, and grabs me in a tight hug, pressing himself against me. His erection is trapped between us, hard against my stomach. “As much as I want to take you again, we need to talk,” he growls.

Fuck! Why does everyone want to talk tonight?
I try to persuade him by moving my body against the granite-hard cock in his pants, but he moves his hands from my waist to my hips, preventing me from moving. His eyes are that damn dark blue that I’ve come to loathe.

I wiggle out of his grasp and storm into the house, grabbing a bottle of wine from the pantry. With more force than necessary, I pull out a wine glass and uncork the bottle so that it makes a
glup
sound as it exits the bottle. I know that I’m being childish and throwing a temper tantrum, but fuck. Can’t we just have one more night before we have to talk about the real world?

He stands with his arms folded over his chest and leans against the wall across from me. My fit has not fazed him. “Why are you so upset? I hopped on a plane because you were ready to discuss our relationship. I thought you had a plan on how we could continue seeing each other. I’m just anxious to hear it.” I can’t tell if he’s taunting me, or if he’s really confused.

I so wish this was a work crisis. I’d make both sides compromise, and if they didn’t, I’d threaten things like “The White House will speak out against a bill that you support,” or “Remember that night with the hooker in Vegas? I have pictures.” I can’t control this. I don’t know if my compromise is something that Graham is willing to accept, or if I’m even being fair to him by asking, as Aiden just warned me. My compromise was terrible for him, yet I’m asking Graham to make the same concessions. It does cross my mind that this may not be a good idea.

The wine tastes so damn good as it slides down my throat. My whole body tingles in recognition that this might be an alcohol numbing night. “Graham, what scares the shit out of me is that I can’t control you. You aren’t one of the people that need my boss’s support. For the first time that I can remember, I’m flying blind here, and that’s not something that I know how to do.” I throw my hands up in frustration, as if that will help me.

He stalks toward me, mahogany locks shadowing his eyes. “We’ll do this together, Rachael. Come on sweetheart, don’t flake out on me now. Remember, one day at time. Stay with me here,” he coaxes, as if I’m one of his students.

I nod, grab my bottle of red wine and my glass, and head towards the doors that lead to the balcony. I remove a wool blanket from the couch before I settle into one of the Adirondack chairs. Graham pulls the other chair next to me so that we’re touching. He picks up the wine bottle that I placed on the deck and tugs a long pull of it.

I watch his profile that’s highlighted by the moon that is just peeking through the clouds. Without a doubt, I love this man. When I ended my relationship with Aiden, I’d told him that I loved him, but that I loved me more. For the first time ever, I wonder if I actually love Graham more than I love myself. I love the future that I’ve imagined for us. I love the dark haired, blue-eyed baby that’s still a twinkle in Graham’s eye.

I shake my head at the absurd thought. Of course, I have to love myself the most. I can’t feel that strongly about him.

But I do.

He sets the bottle down and turns toward me, waiting for me to speak. If he’s cold, he doesn’t show it. Awkward silence deafens the night air.

I wrap the cobalt-blue blanket around my body, and I tuck my knees against my chest as if I can shield my heart from this conversation.

Before I begin, I picture myself addressing my assistant Maggie instead of the man that I’m crazy about. I have tons of experience dealing with work crises, but I’m flying blind here when it comes to relationship conversations. “This week, separated, showed me that my life without you in it feels empty. I love you, Graham, and I desperately want to see where this path leads us, but I can’t do it publically because your radio show conflicts with the White House’s policies. It would be poor form for me to date someone who speaks so publically against some of our deepest beliefs—core values, if you will. I want to keep seeing you, but we should keep it a secret. Then, when I’m no longer the right-hand to the President, we can gradually transition into more public dating.”

There. I said it. I pick up my glass and take a sip while I wait for his response. In my mind, it went rather well. I made my points. Now, it’s his turn to make his.

He stands up from the chair and drops his forearms against the wooden railing, resting his head on his hands. For a split second, I wonder if he’s ill. Then with words as thin as paper, he says, “Rehearsed that one, Rachael? Is that the same tone you use when you’re the White House’s Attila the Hun? Maybe the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech? It would have been more effective if you’d used a whiteboard and dry-erase markers to diagram it out for me. You know, little stick figures fucking in secret, inside of a box. But if the sun hits their bald heads, you could diagram one on one side of the board while the other hides in the corner. ” He stands up to his full height, turns around and walks to where I’m sitting, placing his hands on the arms of my chair and caging me in with his body. The moon is behind his so his face is darkened in shadow. “Well, fuck you very much, Miss Early. I’m not an employee, or a staffer, or a congressman who needs your blessing. Fuck you for thinking you can marginalize me to an occasional glorified masturbation session when it suits you. Fuck you for thinking that you love me, and then can turn around and make such a half-hearted, cold statement. And to think that I thought you could ever love me back.” He leans forward and kisses the tip of my nose as if he feels sorry for me. In a sad voice he says, “The only people you love are yourself, Rachael, and President Jones. I hope he’s worth it.”

He stands up and walks back inside the house, leaving me alone on the balcony. His words feel like icicles, puncturing the sac that my heart used to reside in. That’s not how I meant it. He’s not like the others. He isn’t a member of a mutual just-physical relationship. I do love him. Our secret rendezvous will be passionate, not just a “glorified masturbation session,” as he called it.

I follow him inside and find him throwing his clothing back into his suitcase. “What are you doing?” It’s obvious that he’s packing. What I mean is
“Are you leaving me?”
and
“Is this it?”

He throws a folded black sweatshirt into the bag with much more force than necessary. “I’m very proud of the work that I’ve done as part of the Sons Of Liberty. We’re making a difference, Rachael. Just as you’re fond of pointing out that you’ve worked too hard to get to the position you’re in to throw it all away, well, I tend to agree. Love is not being someone’s dirty little secret, like a kept mistress. Has it even ever crossed your mind that you might be the one who looks like a whore in all of this, and not me?”

Feeling bereft, I sink to the floor, watching him stomp around the room that we made love in just hours ago. This is not how this should have gone. I offered a perfectly reasonable solution. I didn’t ask him to keep his identity a secret, or give up his touring plans. I just asked him to keep our relationship on the down-low. I clear my throat to try to swallow the lump that is burning my esophagus and causing my stomach to churn with acid. “I’m proud of your accomplishments. I really am. I’m not …”

He cuts me off, and stares down at me, making me feel like an errant child. “Are you? Are you really proud of me? Those words sure haven’t exited your mouth in the last week. All I’ve heard is how my accomplishments are causing problems for you. Have you thought that maybe your accomplishments are causing problems for me?”

The dam breaks, and I yell, “You knew who I was, but I had no idea who you really were.” I drop my head into my hands. “Why did you trick me into falling in love with you when you knew that I couldn’t?”

The air shifts around me as he joins me on the wooden planks. He pulls my hands away from my face and replaces them with his own on my cheeks, tilting my head so I see into those blue eyes that tell me everything about his soul. “You can love me, Rachael. You won’t let yourself.”

I keep silently imploring him to say something else like,
“You’re right Rachael. We’ll wait until you no longer serve the President, then we’ll go public.”

Unfortunately, he stands up and finishes packing, but he’s not done verbally lashing me. “You think that it will be easy to stay a secret. You’ll take other men to charity functions and other red-carpet events. Do you think that I could stand another man with his hand on your back? Do you know what that would do to me?”

Numbly, I shake my head. I guess I thought that it would just be acting. That’s what I’ve done all these years. I’ve played the role of Rachael Early, White House Chief of Staff. That’s one of the things that the role requires.

“I’ll leave you with this parting thought. How will you feel when I’m being photographed with another woman—her hands on my chest, leaning into my side, playing with my hair? Is that how much you love me, that you could sit back and watch that happen?” He slams the two suitcase halves together, zipping it with much more force than necessary.