“My wife died,” he answers my unspoken question, removing his hand, rubbing his finger as if in memory of the ring that once was.
“I’m so sorry, I . . .” My voice trails off as I gaze into the fire.
“It was years ago, Charlie. I don’t like to talk about it.”
I chance a look at him. His eyes are dark. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, as if it will make it better. He tilts a side of his mouth up in a sad half-smile.
“Will you leave today to begin your campaign?”
“Yes, as soon as breakfast is over.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t expecting that. “And if I accept, when will I join you?”
“Will you accept?”
Staring into his eyes, I contemplate his offer. Sincerity lays heavy in the deep luminous pools and I know my answer.
“Yes.”
His response is a broad, heart-stopping grin. “Good. I’d like you to spend a week at my campaign headquarters here in Indiana, and then meet me and the others.”
“Who are the others?”
“Evan Daugherty; you met him yesterday, he's my campaign manager. John Montgomery is my lead in communications, and Ella Montgomery, manages volunteers. Evan travels with me at all times, John and Ella periodically, depending upon the circumstances. You’ll tour with Evan and I; it’s constant travel and work.”
“I’ll need to go home and get my things together. I’d like to start on Monday. Will you have Mr. Daugherty send me the information as it relates to the location of the campaign headquarters and the travel plans? I’ll also want an outline of your expectations for the blog and social media sites; how do you envision the chronicle of your campaign? With your input, I’ll put together a proposal as it relates to Internet communication and advertising. If you approve, we can have most of it up by the end of the week.” It feels good to put aside the curious connection I feel to this relative stranger.
“Yes, absolutely.” He glances at his phone, which is vibrating against the tablecloth. He picks it up and says simply, “McKenna.” His tone is different on the phone, different than his tone with me. Looking directly into my eyes, he responds, “Give me ten minutes…In addition, I’ll need you to get Ms. Carter specifics on the campaign as soon as possible…Yes, Monday.” After a pause he hangs up without a farewell salutation. His face, once relaxed and at ease, has become somber and serious. Colin McKenna is back to business.
The waiter approaches, “Sir, it was a pleasure serving you today. Miss.” He nods in my direction and then walks off to the kitchen. I assume he has the bill routed to the Senator’s room.
Taking the napkin from his lap, McKenna stands and walks behind my chair to pull it back. It’s time to go. As I stand, he offers a hand to assist, ever the gentleman. The amazing feeling is there again but I manage it much better, expecting it this time.
“Thank you,” I say as I look into his eyes. There are many reasons to thank him: breakfast, my new job allowing me to travel the United States, the opportunity to report on a presidential campaign . . .
“You’re welcome.” He squeezes my hand before letting it drop to my side.
He motions for me to lead the way. The restaurant is housing more patrons than I’d thought. I've been consumed with him for the last hour. Lost in thought and focused on the path to the door, I fail to see a man push his chair back into the aisle, hitting my hip with force.
“Oh.” I groan as it connects and I lose my footing. McKenna’s arms wrap around my waist, keeping me upright, pulling my back tight to his chest. His face is next to mine.
“Charlie?” His breath is warm on my cheek as he whispers my name, the sound resonating unexpectedly, a rousing siren to my long dormant heart. An absurd, illogical force grips tight and I’m its marionette, a puppet controlled, manipulated by an unseen figure bound to its demands. Closing my eyes, I bask for an instant in his embrace, the heat radiating from him to me fracturing my heart into scattered palpitations.
The Senator’s breathing speeds up before he pulls away, setting me soundly on my feet and letting go.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you.” The man looks to me and then at McKenna, his face paling.
“It’s okay. Please, enjoy your breakfast,” I say, trying to ease any angst he may feel. I walk forward again, wishing to forget my unbidden and embarrassing reaction to this relative stranger who follows behind closely, his arm hovering around my waist. The impact site, just below my hipbone throbs. I rub it to sooth the sting, surely I’ll have a bruise by morning.
McKenna pushes the door open and we exit together. When we’re alone in the lobby, his arm gently moves against mine so I face him. “Are you okay?”
I’m touched by the distress readily apparent in his gaze.
“Yes,” I pat my hip, “lots of padding for protection.” I smile at my own joke, yet he doesn’t look pleased or appreciative of my self-deprecating sense of humor.
“Charlie,” he begins, but pauses almost immediately. I sense he’s struggling with something, but when he starts again he’s back to business. “I’ll have Evan send you all of the information so you’re comfortable with a Monday start. I’ll see you the following week,” he gazes in the distance for a second, “in North Carolina.”
I hold my hand out to him one more time, not sure why, other than I want to draw out this last moment with him. His hand is warm, very much like his eyes that draw me in and hold me captive. It would be very easy to get lost in them; lost in him.
“Goodbye, Charlie.”
“Colin, have a safe trip.” It’s the first time I’ve said his name. I know it and I think he may too, from the faint parting of his lips. “Goodbye,” I whisper, pulling my hand from his, quickly turning to walk toward the exit of the hotel. I don’t dare look back, knowing if I do I may do or say something I can’t recover from.
The sting of the cold January air is a welcome slap against my heated face, breaking through the haze created by this crazy intensity. Imagined or real, it's profound and disturbing. Holy shit; I’m going to work with him for months. Now that I’m away from him, I’m rethinking my agreement; I need to stay away from Colin McKenna.
THREE
“CHARLIE, YOU’RE CRAZY if you back out now!” Ali’s tone is sharp with her anger.
“Ali,” I sigh, “I know my mental status is questionable and will be even more so if I decline this assignment, but please, please consider what I just told you.” I have spent the last thirty minutes filling her in on the press conference and subsequent one-on-one time with Colin McKenna.
“That's even more reason to go!” It’s her turn for exasperation. “Most people don’t feel half of that intensity in a lifetime. You’re contemplating ignoring it for a reason I can’t figure out.”
“I just told you: I could ruin him!” I lean my elbow against the driver-side window. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea to call Ali from the car, leaving only one hand on the wheel.
“Oh, please. Little Charlie Carter cannot bring down a presidential candidate. You have done nothing wrong.”
“You know that’s not true,” I say it on a whisper. It still hurts to think about.
“Would you please stop beating yourself up over something that happened fifteen years ago? You deserve to move past it, finally put it behind you. Please,” she begs me for the millionth time.
“Okay, I’ll try. I really will.”
“One day at a time, remember? Just go, have some fun, enjoy meeting new people. Maybe you’ll even get laid.”