So Close (23 page)

He pulled out a pair of cufflinks.  He looked disappointed for a second until he saw that they said ‘Dodd’ on one and ‘Frank’ on the other.  He laughed, then suddenly he took my hand and pulled me back outside, tugging harder and harder until were running down to the beach where a damp wind snapped off the water in sheets.

“See, cold.  I’ll do anything for you, Amanda.”

“Um, thanks, but I meant, like, cold outside and we’d be inside.   Wearing fleece.”

“Okay, in future be more specific.”  He pulled me down to the sand where we had our first fight.  Smiling, he ran his hand through his hair and took a nervous breath.  “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“So will you marry me?”  It was then that I realized he was kneeling. 
Kneeling
kneeling.               

I felt everything on my face go round with surprise.  “Really?”  I did not believe him.  I did not believe this. 

“Sorry, a ring.  Right.  Um, there is a ring.  I’ll just need to ask Cricket for it.  I will tonight.  Shit—sorry—this is all a little unplanned, a lot unplanned, but I looked at you and you don’t belong in that room.”

“Right.”

“I don’t either.  I want a snowy, fleecy, bright fucking red, Bing Crosby Christmas.  You meant Bing Crosby, right—not One Direction?”

I squeezed his hand.  “You’re being impetuous.”

“So?”

“So I don’t want to be an impulse purchase.”  I was only a few words away from really ruining this.  I made myself smile. 

              “I want to be a package deal, Luker.”

              I realized I wasn’t breathing. 

“Don’t make me beg.  Or do.  I can beg.” 

              My ribs flared, breath still held.  Oh my God, I wanted him, wanted to believe him, wanted to believe
in
him.  Despite all fucking evidence men had given me to the contrary over the years.  But was Lindsay right?  Were some guys just in—no matter what?  Supporting you and waiting, knowing the lipstick and the candles would always come back?  “Yes.”

“So, when are you going to do it?” was Lindsay’s first question as I accompanied her across the tarmac to her first appearance of the New Year.

              “Some time after the election,” I answered, looking down again at Pax’s grandmother’s ring, which found its way onto my finger after a shouting match with Cricket so violent it was audible on the lawn.  The solitaire bracketed with sapphires still looked so strange on my hand, like the plastic ones I used to try on at the drug store check out.  I was glad the election was naturally forcing a long engagement so I’d have time to get used to the idea of all this.  And maybe living in the same state as my fiancé at some point would help, too. 

              “That’s a good ide—”  Suddenly she stopped walking and put her hand out.

              “You okay?” I asked.

              “Just dizzy for a second.”  She saw the look on my face.  “I need to eat, that’s all.  Let’s hurry—we don’t want to delay wheels-up—Jeanine’ll have a fit.”

              But, uncharacteristically, she slept the whole way to Scottsdale—and the whole trip back. 

              The next afternoon she called while I was at the Center.  “Collin pitched a fit last night about me missing one more breakfast.  I think I’m gonna call Jeanine—see what we can do via satellite, limit my in-person stuff to the shorter flights, maybe every other week.”

              “Lindsay, are you okay?”

              “I’m fine, Amanda,” she said starchly,  “Just a fifty-something mother of two highly energetic boys, post Christmas, and I need a little break.”

              “Of course.”  Kittens would come spewing out of Jeanine’s mouth.  That would be set on fire by the laser beams she shot from her eyes.  “I’ll email you the most updated schedule and then the three of us can get on the phone and winnow it down.”

              “Thanks, Amanda.  I don’t know what I’d do with out you.”

              “You will never have to find out.”

              “Oh, and Amanda?”

              “Yes.”

              “Tom is under so much stress.  I’m not asking you to lie, just not to bring this directly to his attention right now.  I don’t want him to think I’m letting him down.”

              “He could never.”

With the election only nine months away and Lanier still fighting hard to take the nomination I was re-assigned back to Tom and the grueling pace of four or five nights a week on the road.  I didn’t even see Lindsay again until early February when I was bringing Tom’s bags into their house one night.  We were just passing through the front door when we heard a crash and rushed into the living room to see Lindsay on her knees. 

              “Oh, stupid,” she said. 

              “Linds?”  Tom asked, running to her side.

“I promise, I haven’t been drinking!”  She tried to smile.  “Help me up.”

We lifted her to her feet. 

“Tom, you’re home.  To what do we owe the honor?” 

“What happened?” he asked, swiping up a shard of vase from the side table she must have tried to grab for on the way down.

“Floor just wasn’t where I thought it was.”  She sank down on the couch and closed her eyes for a second. 

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Lindsay said, taking my hand.  “You should have the wedding at the new house—christen it.  And give us the impetus to finally finish it and move back in.” 

“I’d love that,” I said, standing over her helplessly.  “You know, after the election.”  Tom smiled.  ‘After the election’ was his favorite phrase.  “Would you like a damp paper towel?”

              “It’ll be gorgeous.  We’ll set up tents.  I have a wonderful florist who’ll give me a deal.”

              “Oh, I think we’re just going to do something small,” I replied.  “Maybe just you guys and our families.  Mine hasn’t really budgeted to ‘give me away.’”

              “Nonsense,” Lindsay said, eyes still closed.  “Cricket and I will figure that out—don’t give it another thought.  What about late May?”

              “What?” I asked.

              “Late May.”  She licked her dry lips.  “Ahead of the season—could be a little chilly, but there’s nothing I hate more than a sweaty bride standing next to a groom patting his forehead.”

              “Linds, are you sure you want to be taking something like this on, right now?” Tom asked.  “We only have four weeks until Super Tuesday.”

              “You’re very busy, Tom.  I’m going to scale back on my travel—for the boys—and this will give me something to focus on here at home that’s—fun.  Okay?” 

“Okay,” we both said in unison.  And just like that, because I didn’t know how else to help her with what she didn’t want brought to anyone else’s attention, I was going to be getting married to Pax Westerbrook in late May under a tent on the Davis’ lawn. 

A few weeks later I was surprised to get a call at the Center from Tom’s new body man, Gerry.  “Miss Luker, you used to be Tom’s body man, right?”

“Yes.  When he was the VP nominee.”

“So what’d you do about the ‘holes’ in Tom’s schedule.”

              “Holes?” I asked.  “You mean his breaks.”

              “Oh, I’m not sure what they are.  It’s time slots Tom’s blocked out where he tells me not to bother him, but then I’m not sure what to tell everyone else.  Last time Jeanine wasn’t happy with me.”

              “What did you tell her?”

              “That he went for a run without his phone.  I’m stressed she or Michael is going to mention it to him and tell him to bring his phone with him and he’ll get mad at me.  What did you do about the holes?”

              “I told them he was sleeping,” I lied quickly as I tried to make sense of it.  “Catching up.  A power nap.  Does he have one scheduled?”

              “This afternoon from 2:30 to 3:30.”

              “Oh, great, thank you, I’ve got it.”

A few hours later I was in my car, hands stuck to the wheel with my anxious, angry sweat, tailing a man and I could
not
believe my life had led me here.  Something I had vowed as an eleven year-old, glowering in the passenger seat, waiting for us to pull over for the stakeout, that I would
never
do.  The last few months between Lindsay and Tom kept flashing into my brain like PowerPoint slides that couldn’t be shut off. 
Please
don’t be an asshole, I thought as I stayed two cars behind his just like Delilah had taught me.  Pleasepleaseplease.  It was only a few blocks before he pulled in to the shops on Riverside.  There was no hotel here.  No titty bar.  No massage parlor. 

I parked across the street and watched through my rearview mirror.  He jogged into the frozen yogurt shop and just as I was about to exhale a petite brunette came into view.  She stretched on her tiptoes as he embraced her in a bear hug.  When she pulled back he was beaming like the bachelor who got the last rose.

In the course of the next week, as Lindsay locked down wedding vendors with shocking speed, while keeping up with her blog interviews and Ted Talk prep, I decided I was going to tell this girl of Tom’s to go away. 

I vividly recalled when the wife of the dealership guy showed up knocking on the trailer door and pointed at the three kids sitting in her backseat in their pajamas, looking as stunned and scared as I felt, the youngest inconsolable.  “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re going to take food out of their mouths.”  When she left with the dealer plates shining in the streetlamp Mom slid to the floor and began keening. 

As I glazed over at the three hundred shades of blush-colored linens Lindsay emailed me I planned my speech for this girl.  Did she understand what Lindsay had already lost?  Lindsay, who had taken so many chances on me, who was pulling my wedding out of thin air and ensuring that no detail went overlooked, from the bouquet of roses she picked out to the pink-soled shoes she found for me on sale.  She was a woman who could make things happen and that was exactly the energy I wanted creating my big day—the Luker women had never gotten what we wanted.   

On Thursday, having been given the next ‘hole’ from Gerry, I waited for Tom to leave the yogurt place and then I quickly crossed to the door before she could leave.  But she was still sitting at a Formica table scraping her plastic spoon against the Styrofoam.  In a striped sweater and leggings, her legs crossed at the ankle, she looked younger than she even, in fact, was. 

Trying to quiet my heart so I could hear myself I stared, wondering why I needed to do this.  Was it a chance to do what I never did with Delilah—take her by the shoulders and shake her?  Or was I trying to preemptively keep some force at bay in my own pending marriage. 

Her face rose.

“Oh—Sh—shannon?” I spluttered, seeing the face in the photo from Lindsay’s book, the name of Ashleigh’s best friend surfacing rapidly and awkwardly like a swimmer whose air has failed. 

“Yes?” she said tentatively.

I let out a sigh of relief before realizing how she was looking at me.  “Sorry.  I, uh, I work for Tom, for the Davises, for the campaign, and we couldn’t find him, and—”  I stammered, blushing. “Anyway, he was with you, so—”  I swallowed.  “That’s all good.”

“You’re Amanda, right?” she asked warmly.  “Tom talks a lot about you.  Do you want to sit down?”  It was a sweet request.  “Would you like some water?” she asked graciously, accustomed, as she must have become when Asheligh died, to seeing adults struggling to keep it together. 

“Thank you.”  The chair was still warm from Tom.  “He talks about me?” I asked.

“What a help you’ve been to Lindsay.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.  “I know what this must look like—there were some—holes—in his schedule.”

Shannon nodded, taking this in.  “Is he okay?” she asked.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”  Why was he sneaking around to see Ashleigh’s best friend?  “Lanier refusing to concede the nomination has been hugely stressful—he doesn’t want to look like he’s bullying a woman, but he’s definitely  leading in delegates.”

She looked down, spinning an engagement ring with her thumb.  “I think he just needs someone to talk to.  Outside the—the circle, or whatever you call it.”  She picked up a paper napkin and twisted it, the orange and lime green letters making a chain-link pattern.  “After Lindsay’s book came out I got some calls, from press and whatnot—because it says how I was the other person in the car—and I wasn’t sure what to say—so I called.  And he called right back.  Isn’t that so nice?  With the campaign and everything and he could be our next President and he called right back.”

“What did he want?” Part of me knew I shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be asking these questions, but at the same time I’d been acclimated by years of talking with the staff about Tom and Lindsay when they weren’t in the room—where they were headed, what they’d be saying, how we thought they were holding up—they were really all we talked about. 

“Oh, just talk about dumb stuff.  He and Ashleigh—they had a thing—a short-hand—about Lindsay.  I think he misses that.”  I wasn’t sure what she meant.  But I didn’t have a father.  I imagine if I did, we would definitely have a shorthand about Delilah.  Billy and I did.  “I’m getting my masters in education.  My fiancé says he wants me to quit teaching after we have kids, but this feels like an awful lot of school to just give it up later.”  I nodded.  “Tom is so kind,” she added.  “He’s offered to pay for my certification, you know, since they didn’t end up having to send Ash to college.”

“Oh, that’s so nice.”

“Isn’t it?” she asked, looking up.  And I realized she was really asking. 

“If someone had offered to pay for my school, oh my God . . .” I shook my head, unable to even finish the sentence.

“Right.  Yes, no definitely.” 

“Well, if you ever need anything.”  I pulled my card out of my wallet, having no idea what I even meant by that.  I stood back up because—as odd as Tom meeting this way with Shannon was, unnecessarily turning something innocent into something suspicious—my being there felt like it was just making the whole thing fishier.  “I should get back.”