Chapter 2: When You Believe - The Broken Road

I was working through my fourth cup of coffee, pen rapping against my desk, right heel tapping against the floor. My eyes flitted to the clock. Ten twenty-eight… two minutes until my interview. I gave myself a quick attitude check. Morbid curiosity, tempered with a healthy dose of impending doom. Probably not the best attitude going in. My heart was already pounding against my chest.

The phone buzzed on my desk, snapping my frayed nerves back into place. It was now or never. Do or die. Taking a deep breath, I answered, “Senior and Long Term Care, Kristine speaking….”

I was only ten minutes into the interview when I heard a commotion in the hallway. I glanced up to find my colleagues running, not walking, past my door. I craned my neck to peer down the hall. My attention slid back to the phone when I noticed the line had suddenly grown quiet. “I’m sorry, can you repeat the question?” I cringed. That’s going to leave a good impression.

I swiveled my chair so that my back was facing the door and the interior windows, so I could focus on the call. One of the interviewers, Julianne, repeated the question. “Kristine, what type of legislation would you want to work on if you were granted the fellowship position and why?”

Oh, that’s an easy one. I took a deep breath and answered. “I would like to work on getting the Older American’s Act reauthorized. There are key services that are desperately needed by low income elderly, which will be compromised if the Act isn’t reauthorized. I would also like to work on legislation that would allow for early buy-in to Medicare. There are too many people over the age of 50 being denied insurance coverage who aren’t old enough to qualify for Medicare. Insurance companies are cherry picking and denying coverage due to preexisting conditions. Many of these people are simultaneously being squeezed out of their jobs and losing employer sponsored health coverage. They are being replaced by a younger, cheaper workforce. They have no way to access health coverage, and they are just one health crisis away from complete poverty.”

I paused briefly to consider additional pieces of legislation.

Charlie’s voice rolled over me. “We have one hour to evacuate Sun Haven, Kri. The power lines feeding that facility were downed in that snowstorm last night, and their generator just broke. We need all hands on deck. Now.”

I turned in my chair. Charlie was gone. His last sentence echoed down the hall.

I hastily explained the situation and offered my apologies to the interview team. Then I grabbed my legal pad and ran to the conference room. I wasn’t even sure I had hung up the phone. An evacuation. All those people. In one hour. How are we going to pull this off?

* * *

There were so many moving pieces and everything happened so quickly that I wasn’t quite sure how we did it, but we did. We evacuated one hundred and sixty-five nursing home residents in one hour. It was an unbelievable accomplishment.

I had just settled back in at my desk when Kimme sashayed into my office. She dumped a pile of chocolate on my desk as she settled into the chair across from me. Not just any chocolate, Ghirardelli’s dark with sea salt and caramel. My favorite. “So, how’d it go?”

“The interview?” I asked, not quite sure what she was referring to. Kimme had a bad habit of starting discussions somewhere in the middle of the conversation.

Kimme tore into a chocolate square. “Well, yeah, what else?”

I shrugged. “Good, I think. We were cut short because of the evacuation. I tried to sound half-way intelligent when I answered their questions, but I was a bit distracted. They didn’t want to reschedule, so I guess they felt like they had enough information to make a decision about me.”

“What are you going to do about Justin?” Kimme asked in a soft, sympathetic tone.

I glanced nervously toward the door. I lowered my voice as my eyes met Kimme’s. “I don’t know what to do, Kimme. What he did was unforgivable. I don’t want to be anywhere near that guy, and Charlie wants me to work with him on the benchmarks for next year.” Suddenly, the chocolate scattered across my desk didn’t look so appealing.

Kimme’s eyes widened. “You haven’t told Charlie?”

“No… and no way am I telling him. What Justin did was seriously messed up, but I don’t want him to get fired for it. I just have to find a way to work with him.” That was easier said than done. Every time I was around Justin I had to fight the urge to throw up.

Kimme scowled as she leaned forward in her chair. “I think the guy should get fired for what he did at that leadership training. He pinned you to the wall, shoved his hands under your shirt, and squeezed your breasts. The guy’s a creep.”

“Kimme, we were in the gym working out after the training… not in the actual meeting when he did it… so it’s not like we were at work. And you know he’ll deny it. It’s going to boil down to a ‘he said/she said,’ and I’m going to end up looking like a liar or something far worse.” Making my accusations public was about as appealing as shoving my face in a meat grinder. I thought Justin was my friend. We worked out at the gym together for months. I went hiking with him and his wife. I trusted him.

Kimme crossed her arms stubbornly across her chest. “Well, technically, I think you were at work. You were out of town, holed up in a hotel with the guy for the leadership training. You were working out in the hotel weight room. You wouldn’t have even been there if it hadn’t been for work.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think it works like that, Kimme. I think management would say it happened outside of work. Look, Justin insists I’m reading too much into this. He claims he was only rough housing and trying to tickle me. He said he thinks of me as his little sister. He claims he isn’t the least bit attracted to me, and he assured me that he’s happily married. I don’t think it’s going to happen again. I just need to move past this so I can work with him again.”

Kimme rolled her eyes. “That’s sick. I’d hate to be his little sister if that’s the way he treats her. I still think you should tell Charlie. I overheard Betty and a few other people in the office talking about how rude you’re being to Justin. They have no clue why. You could end up being the one who gets in trouble. Besides, what if he does it to someone else?”

Before I could answer her question, my computer beeped, signaling a message in my inbox. I glanced briefly at the screen to make sure it wasn’t something important. “Oh, great… a message from Michael.”

Kimme chuckled as she ripped open another piece of chocolate. “I think you have a loser magnet embedded in your forehead, Krissy. You really need to get that thing removed.”

“So, what does Michael have to say?” Charlie inquired from the doorway.

Oh crap. It was my turn to reach for the chocolate. I grabbed two pieces. The moment definitely called for two pieces. “Good afternoon to you too, Charlie.” I gave him my best smile. Then I shoved an entire square of chocolate into my mouth so I wouldn’t be expected to speak.

Charlie didn’t smile back. “Not going to work. Open it.”

My cheeks flushed red. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was read some pining e-mail from Michael to my boss. Groaning, with the chocolate still in my mouth, I opened the message and read it aloud. “Je ne peux pas respirer sans toi. Tu es mon air, ma vie, mon amour. Tu es à moi. Tu m’appartiens.” 

Kimme was practically plastered against my computer screen. “What the heck does that mean?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. My French is pathetic.” I was secretly relieved. If I didn’t know what the message said, then I didn’t have to decipher it for Charlie, who was now towering over the top of my chair, peering around Kimme at the computer screen. Not like this was my office or anything.

Kimme shoved my hands away from the keyboard and began typing. “Google Translate… that will tell us!” She was practically sitting on my lap as she took over my computer.

I was seriously reconsidering our friendship.

Kimme read the translated text. “I cannot breathe without you. You are my air, my life, my love. You are mine. You belong to me.” Kimme sighed. As she shot out of my lap, she smacked her head against Charlie’s chin.

Charlie stepped back. An inch.

Kimme rubbed the side of her head as she settled against the wall. “Well, that’s kinda romantic actually… in a slightly crazed Neanderthal kind of way.”

Charlie didn’t think it was romantic. “He’s violating the restraining order.”

I wasn’t sure what to think. All this drama was making my head hurt, and everyone was crowding me. “All righty then. I’m not going to respond. I’m just going to sit here and pretend I never read this.”

“But…” Kimme objected

I lifted my hand, effectively throwing a stop sign at her. “No ‘buts.’ I’m not responding. I’m going to behave like a responsible employee and get back to work. So… get out. Both of you. Now!” I threw the remaining chocolate at them as they hustled out of my office laughing.

How much drama can there be in one day? I looked at the clock on my computer. Two o’clock. I groaned loudly as I slid down my chair and contemplated hiding under my desk for the rest of the day.

* * *

Eight days later, I found Charlie sitting behind my desk… in my chair. He was slowly tapping an ivory linen envelope against his left hand. He didn’t stand or offer me my chair. He didn’t even smile. He just handed me the envelope.

I eased into the chair across from my desk and looked at the envelope. It was already open. I knew what it was. In my heart of hearts, I knew. From the moment Charlie had walked into my office with an answer to my prayer, I knew this letter was coming.

“Take a deep breath,” Charlie encouraged softly as he stood.

I did. I took two… and slowly turned the envelope over. It was from the John Heinz Foundation. Tears pooled in my eyes before I removed the letter from the envelope. As much as I tried, I couldn’t even read the writing. Tears splotched the linen stationary as I peered down at the letter through watery eyes.

Charlie gently squeezed my shoulder. “Looks like you’re going to DC, kiddo.”

I couldn’t help it. I knew I should be happy. I knew it was an honor to be one of the few people chosen for a personal interview, but I felt so conflicted. All I could do was cry.

* * *

The first leg of my flight literally flew by. The Chatty Cathy sitting in the seat next to me saw to that when she ignored the iPod I came armed with, evidently not realizing I was wearing it so I could avoid talking to people like her. A lot of good that did me.

The second leg of my flight was a bit more… eventful. I was seated next to a well-dressed business man with brown hair and warm brown eyes. He appeared to be Italian and about fifteen years older than me. He, too, managed to work up a conversation by asking whether I was traveling to DC for business or pleasure.

Having lived in DC for some time, he enlightened me about the lesser known benefits of living in Northern Virginia. We talked about vineyards, apple orchards, and Great Falls Park… all things a girl from Montana would find infinitely more appealing than the monuments. Then he bled on me.

“Oh, God! Please take this!” I shoved my pashmina at him as I twisted frantically in my seat in search of a flight attendant. I was hoping it would stem the flow of blood that was pouring from his nose before anymore got on my clothes. It was the only thing within reach. The fasten seatbelt sign was on, and the flight attendant was nowhere to be seen. Big surprise there.

The nose bleeder insisted he make it up to me. “Let me buy you dinner while you’re in DC. It’s the least I can do. Please, let me make this up to you.” He looked mortified.

I negotiated him down to lunch, but I eyed him skeptically as I handed him my business card. I wondered if he hadn’t somehow managed to make his nose bleed on purpose.

I made it through Reagan National Airport relatively unscathed. I was a little surprised that no one inquired about the ridiculous amount of blood on my clothing. Possibly, walking around in blood soaked clothes was a common occurrence in DC. Not that this would warrant a strike against DC. It wasn’t all that uncommon in Montana either, especially during hunting season.

I had never flagged down a cab before, so I wasn’t quite sure how it was done. Still, I was determined not to appear to be a small town girl in a big bad city, so I steeled myself as I exited the airport. With a completely unfounded air of confidence, I strode to the curb and attempted to hail a cab that was parked near the end of a very long line of cabs. I threw my left hand up and everything. A fellow traveler quickly set me straight. Evidently, there was a line.

The cab ride proved even more interesting than my flight, although, I think it unnerved my cab driver a bit when I jumped into his front passenger seat. Still uncertain about proper cab etiquette, I may have mistakenly assumed the rules about riding shotgun still applied. Then I decided to chat him up. I figured the cab driver could give me the dirt on DC, more so than the elegantly dressed nose bleeder.

My cab driver’s name was Habib. He was from Afghanistan. I spent some time seriously contemplating that fact. I was quite certain that among the 890,000 people living in Montana, there was not a single soul from Afghanistan. Habib was… interesting. He was deeply tan with warm brown eyes, a kind face, and an easy smile. He didn’t wear any kind of head scarf, which surprised me. Habib politely answered an endless stream of questions about DC and Afghanistan. When we arrived at the Marriott Hotel in Crystal City, he gave me his business card for Arlington Blue Top Cabs and encouraged me to call him for a ride to my interview the next day. So I did.

The interview was a lot less intimidating than I expected. I met with the same three people who interviewed me on the phone. After hearing about the previous fellows’ accomplishments, I gained new insight into the opportunities the fellowship presented and just how great an honor it would be to be offered the position. By the time I walked out of the interview, there was a small part of me that really wanted to be awarded the fellowship. I just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

When Habib picked me up from the interview, he offered to drive me around the monuments.

I silently questioned whether he was trying to earn more cab fare or if he was just being thoughtful.

Habib drove straight up Pennsylvania Avenue. Then he looped around the Capitol.

I pressed my forehead against the window of the cab as I stared at the massive bronze statue crowning the top of the Capitol dome.

“That’s the Statue of Freedom. I have heard she faces east so the sun never sets on her face,” Habib explained as we waited for some pedestrians to cross the street.

I smiled as my eyes met Habib’s. “That seems fitting. I’d like to think the sun would never set on freedom. Have you ever been inside the Capitol?”

Habib shook his head. “No. As many times as I have driven around this building, I have never seen the inside.”

“I bet it’s beautiful inside,” I murmured as I looked longingly at the building. I instantly regretted my decision not to extend my trip so I could tour some of the historical sites in DC.

Habib drove past the Washington Monument. As impressive as the monument was, I couldn’t take my eyes off the Tidal Basin, where the Jefferson Memorial peeked through a curtain of pink and white flowers that kissed the sky and carpeted the ground. The breathtaking display was reflected all along the water’s edge. “I wasn’t expecting DC to be so beautiful,” I admitted a bit reluctantly.

Habib smiled. “You arrived just in time for the cherry blossoms.” He nodded toward the Tidal Basin. “Do you know the story behind those trees?”

I shook my head as I glanced back out the window. “No.”

“Those trees were a gift from Japan. They sent over three thousand cherry trees to the United States as a token of friendship.”

My eyes widened as I turned to face Habib. “Three thousand trees? Was this gift sent before or after the bombing of Pearl Harbor?”

Habib shrugged. The car rolled to a stop as we approached a red traffic light. “I’m not sure when they were sent.”

I dug my cell phone out of my purse so I could search for the date. “They were given to the United States back in 1912. That was before the bombing of Pearl Harbor.”

Habib chuckled. “Now that is interesting.”  He drove by the WWII Memorial, the reflecting pool, and the Lincoln Memorial before he merged back onto the highway.

By the time I arrived at the hotel I was engaged in an internal debate, the likes of which threatened to destroy all of my preconceived notions about the fellowship and DC. The day and the debate left me feeling exhausted and a bit overwhelmed. As soon as I made it back to my room, I ordered room service for dinner. I passed out cold with the tray of food still warm on my bed.

* * *

My return flight to Montana wasn’t scheduled until four o’clock, so the nose bleeder picked me up for an early lunch… in a Jaguar. Instead of driving to a restaurant, he merged onto a highway leading out of town. He was quiet, so I sat and pondered how stupid I was to get into a car with a complete stranger. Well, he’s not a complete stranger, I reasoned with myself. We had spent a good three hours together on the plane, and I knew his name wasn’t really nose bleeder… it was Frank.

Frank exited the highway. We drove through a quaint looking community before he turned onto a narrow, heavily treed road. “I have a surprise for you,” he announced with a smile.

My mouth fell open when I saw the large wooden sign welcoming us to Great Falls Park. “This is the park you were telling me about on the plane! Does the park have a restaurant?”

Frank paid the park ranger before easing his car into a nearby parking space. “No. I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of packing our lunch. I hope you like wine and cheese.”

And just like that, I was ready to forgive the blood.

Frank handed me a large red and black checkered blanket. “I brought a couple of extra blankets in case we get cold.” He grabbed two more blankets and a picnic basket from the trunk of the car. He smiled as we began walking toward the entrance to the park.

We passed by a large group of people as we walked along a wide gravel trail. I couldn’t see the falls, but a soft rumbling noise sounded just off to my left. Frank steered me to the right as he cut across the grass. He set the extra blankets and the picnic basket under a massive tree.  I helped him spread the red and black checkered blanket on the ground. He reached for the picnic basket as I kicked my shoes off and kneeled on the blanket.

I couldn’t believe the guy had a real picnic basket. My limited experience with picnics generally involved cramming power bars and bottled water into my backpack. I hadn’t seen a full-on picnic basket before.

My jaw dropped when Frank pulled small green stoneware plates, wine glasses, a couple of knives, and white linen napkins from the basket. After arranging three blocks of cheese and a container of tapenade on a wood cutting board, he unwrapped a small loaf of French bread and opened a bottle of red wine. “I hope you like Chianti,” he said as he handed me a glass.

I just shook my head and laughed. “I love Chianti.”

Frank tapped his glass against mine. “Salute.”

“Salute,” I echoed before taking a sip of wine. I hummed in appreciation. The wine left soft, lingering notes of cinnamon and plums on my tongue. I gazed out over the heavily treed park. I couldn’t believe how green Virginia was in March. Montana was still brown and soggy from melting snow. My eyes slowly returned to Frank. “So tell me about your family,” I prompted as I propped my chin on my knees. I figured it was a pretty safe topic for conversation since he was wearing a wedding ring.

Frank leaned against the trunk of the tree and studied his glass of wine. “My wife and two daughters live in upstate New York. I maintain a place in Reston, since I have to be here for work, but I often fly back to New York so I can spend weekends with them.”

“That must be difficult… having a job that requires you to work so far away from your family,” I commented softly.

He shrugged. “Not particularly.”

I glanced at him in surprise, then promptly changed the topic. “I hope you aren’t missing work on my account today.”

“My work hours are flexible,” he responded as he sliced a couple pieces of bread. He set the knife down, then dipped a piece of bread into the tapenade. “Speaking of living arrangements, you should only consider apartments in Virginia if you’re awarded the fellowship.”

I reached for a piece of bread and sampled the olive spread. “Why? I heard that housing in Maryland is more affordable than it is in Virginia.”

Frank reached for his wine. “Maryland’s crime rates are higher. Virginia may cost more, but it’s a much safer place to live. I recommend Fairfax or Vienna… someplace close to the metro. The commute into DC can be brutal.”

My eyes narrowed over the top of my wine glass. “How long of a commute are we talking about?”

Frank began slicing the cheese. “At least an hour each way if you live in Fairfax or Vienna, and that’s on a good day. The metro may take longer if you have to change lines, but it’s a lot less stressful than driving.”

I winced at the thought of spending two hours a day in traffic. In Montana, my commute took only ten minutes… fifteen if I picked up breakfast in the Bagel Company drive through.

I gathered as much advice as I could from Frank as the picnic drew to an end. We walked to an overlook to admire the falls before we returned to the car. I was far more relaxed on the drive back to Crystal City, although it was impossible to say whether that was due to the two glasses of wine I had consumed or because I had abandoned all previous thoughts of Frank being a serial killer.

Frank escorted me into the hotel lobby before kissing me softly on both cheeks. Cheek kissers don’t really live in Montana, so I stood there awkwardly. I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to turn my cheek, kiss his cheek, or kiss the air. I wondered if this was a formality that I would have to learn if I moved to DC.

Frank handed me his business card and a beautifully wrapped package that he had carried in from the car. The gift was a new pashmina, which looked considerably more expensive than the one Frank had bled on. I thanked him profusely, he thanked me profusely, and we said our goodbyes. I gathered my luggage from the bellman and called Habib so he could drive me to the airport for the long flight home.

* * *

I fielded an endless stream of questions about DC when I returned to my office the next morning. My jalapeno, cheese, and egg bagel remained uneaten for the most part. Eventually, I scribbled “DO NOT DISTURB” on a pink Post-it note and slapped it on my door so I could forge through phone messages.

My sign was up for all of ten minutes when Charlie strode through the door. He pulled the sticky note down, wadded it up, and threw it at me. I took issue with this… only because the wadded up paper landed in my coffee. I glared at Charlie as I fished the soggy note out of my cup. “This had better be good.”

Charlie smiled as he pulled up a chair. “Trust me. It’s good.”

I raised one eyebrow. “This from the man who conned me into hosting a television show and applying for a fellowship in DC?”

Charlie’s smile widened. “Both of which are exceptional career building opportunities… Look, Mike and I have made a decision about this fellowship you applied for.”

I began organizing the papers scattered across my desk. “You mean the fellowship you made me apply for?” He did. Sort of. It was his idea anyway.

“I merely nudged you in the right direction.” Charlie’s face looked more innocent than it should. “Mike and I want to offer you a deal.”

I shoved the paperwork aside, leaned forward, and propped my elbows on my desk. “A deal? What kind of deal?”

Charlie’s eyes locked on mine. “You accept the fellowship when it’s offered to you…”

“IF it’s offered to me,” I firmly corrected.

“WHEN it’s offered to you,” he insisted, “and we’ll hold your job for one year so you can come back when the fellowship ends.”

“What do you mean ‘hold my job?’” I had never heard of jobs being held in state government before.

Charlie leaned forward in the chair, his elbows resting casually against his knees. “We won’t advertise or fill your position. We’ll divide and temporarily reassign your responsibilities to other people in the office so you can return to this position if you decide to come back.”

My eyes narrowed. “What’s the catch?”

Charlie shook his head. “No catch. You go to DC. Advocate for seniors living in rural areas. Gain some experience with the legislative process, and keep your eyes open for opportunities that will improve federal funding streams for us. When the fellowship ends, your job will be waiting for you.”

My jaw fell slack. “Wow, Charlie. I can’t believe you would do that for me. I don’t know what to say, but… thank you. If I am awarded the fellowship, I would definitely want to return to Montana and work for this office again.” I loved being the state’s designated elder rights advocate and had been hoping to return to the position once I completed law school.

“Good. Then it’s settled.” Charlie pushed the chair back against the wall as he turned to leave. He paused in the doorway, but he didn’t turn back around. “Kri, you’ll get this fellowship, and you will go. We’ll hold your job for you, but you won’t be coming back. I just want you to know… that’s okay. It’s okay if you don’t come back.”

My breath caught sharply. Tears pricked my eyes as I stared at Charlie’s back. “Charlie, don’t say that. I’ll come back…”

Charlie turned back around. His blue eyes met mine. “No, Kri. You’re going to meet someone in DC. You’re going to fall in love, and you’re going to start living your life.” He didn’t bother waiting for a response. He just turned and walked away.

I sat there, momentarily stunned, before leaping from my chair. “Ha! I’m not even going to date while I’m there!” I scowled as I sank back into my chair. Charlie seemed entirely too confident in his prediction. I silently cursed his direct line to God.

* * *

My blood boiled as I stared at the reports strewn across my desk. There were nine complaints of stolen property… all generated from the same assisted living facility in Butte. Three cases involved wedding rings stolen from residents’ fingers while they slept, two involved hearing aids, and four involved missing dentures. I shook my head. Stealing from frail elders was bad enough, but what kind of person would take their teeth?

I thought about the four cases involving missing dentures. The residents were going to have a hard time getting Medicaid and Medicare to cover a new set of dentures, but they’d all be thrown on a pureed diet and lose weight if they didn’t have any teeth to eat with. Few elderly people could afford to lose weight, and sudden weight loss could lead to complications with medications. I reached for my phone, intent on reporting the nine thefts to the Medicaid Fraud investigator. My other line rang before I could finish dialing his number.

I switched lines and issued my standard greeting, still deeply entrenched in the case files scattered across my desk. “Senior and Long Term Care, Kristine speaking.”

“Hi Kristine. It’s Julianne from the John Heinz Foundation. I’m calling with some good news… You've been selected to be our next senate fellow. The decision was unanimous. Congratulations!”

I looked up from the case files as Julianne’s words seeped into my scattered brain. I sank into my chair as tears pricked my eyes. I felt… completely terrified. I took a deep, steadying breath. “Thank you, Julianne. I feel truly honored, but I’m a little surprised you’ve chosen me. Would you mind terribly if I took twenty-four hours to think about this before accepting the position?” I cringed. I suspected most people would be jumping for joy.

“Of course. Why don’t you give me a call back in a couple of days?” Julianne encouraged.

“Thanks, Julianne,” I responded gratefully.

I told no one. I simply packed my things and walked out of the office. I stopped briefly at my house to change clothes and grab a bottle of water. Then I drove to the base of Mount Helena. I sat and stared at the mountain before easing out of the jeep to stretch my legs. I knew it wasn’t wise to hike by myself, but I needed to be alone with my thoughts, and I needed a level of clarity that could only be gained at the top of a mountain. So I forced my concerns aside, chose the steepest trail, and began hiking.

My lungs and legs were burning by the time I made it to the top. I sat on a smooth patch of ground as I guzzled my water. I gazed out over the valley, admiring how pretty Helena looked nestled into the base of the mountains. I closed my eyes and savored the warm scent of pine that gently enveloped me as I lay against the cold ground.

I lowered the mental shields I had erected at the office and allowed the fellowship to permeate my thoughts. When I could no longer feel the sun on my face, I made my decision, committed myself to that decision, and slowly opened my eyes. I was surprised by how low the sun had fallen. It was entirely too late to be hiking the mountain alone. I jogged down the trail until the sun completely disappeared and it was no longer safe to run. As I eased to a cautious walk, I wondered whether the foreboding I felt was the result of being alone on a dark mountain trail or whether it was the decision I had made at the top.

* * *

I called my parents first. They tried to be supportive, but my mom sounded sad, and my dad voiced a number of concerns. We had always lived within a few hours of each other, so this separation was going to prove difficult for all of us. I tried to reassure them and promised to drive down to see them as soon as I could.

My cousin, Lexie, was next on my list. Lexie and I grew up next door to each other. We had practically been friends since birth. Although we currently lived an hour and a half apart, we were closer now than ever before. We slayed demons together… the kind that haunted dreams, as was the case with my ex-husband… and the kind that dragged us through hospitals, as was the case with her kidney failure. A kidney transplant turned things around six months ago.

Lexie picked up on the first ring. “Hey, cuz! What’s up?”

I swallowed nervously. “Hey, Lex. I’m calling to let you know I was offered the fellowship in DC. I’ve decided to accept.”

The line was quiet as Lexie processed the news. Finally, she spoke. “Congratulations, honey. I’m really happy for you.” She didn’t sound happy. She sounded sad.

I panicked and immediately began back pedaling. “Oh, God. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Am I really doing this? Do you think I’m making the right decision? What should I do?”

Lexie chuckled softly. “Krissy, we’ve been over this a number of times. It will be good for you to get away for a while. You won’t have to worry about running into Tom, Michael, or Justin when you’re in DC; and just think about how good this is going to look on your resume. Didn’t you tell me your boss offered to hold your job for you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have nothing to lose by going. We’ll all still be here when you return home.”

I sighed, once again resigned to the idea of moving. “Thankfully, it’s only a year. You will come visit me.” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.

“Of course. I’ll give you just enough time to learn your way around, then I’ll come out to visit. I promise.”

And, with that reassurance, I called Julianne to accept the fellowship position.

Julianne said she would send a formal letter offering me the position. Then she recited a long list of things for me to do. I would have to return to DC to secure an apartment and interview senators. I was surprised to learn that I would get to choose the senator I worked for. Julianne assured me that the senators would be jockeying for me, given my experience and the fact that it was the foundation, not the senators, paying my salary.

My free time was quickly consumed with research on U.S. senators and apartments in Virginia. It wasn’t long before I had a binder full of notes. Countless lists littered my office, my jeep, and the front of my refrigerator.

* * *

I returned to DC a few weeks later. My flights were uneventful, boring even. I didn’t sit by any women who felt compelled to share their life stories and no one bled on me. For these reasons alone, I considered both flights a success.

As with my previous trip, I managed to make a spectacle of myself while exiting the airport. I caused a human traffic jam in the exit doors of the main terminal. I didn’t mean to, but the cool, air conditioned airport had left me completely unprepared for the crushing heat that met me at the door.

The air was so oppressive that it was nearly impossible to breathe. I froze, just outside the doorway, and glanced down at my feet. I was certain I had just stepped into a warm puddle of water, but my sandals were perfectly dry. That’s when I realized it wasn’t just my feet. My entire body was drenched by the humidity. I had never felt anything like it.

Habib’s voice broke through the confusion. “Kristine, I’m over here!”

I slowly wheeled my luggage toward his cab. I was still marveling at how wet my feet felt.

Habib smiled. With a polite bow, he opened the front passenger door for me.

A welcome blast of cold air greeted me as I folded myself into his car. “Thanks, Habib. It’s good to see you again.”

Habib loaded my luggage into the trunk before joining me in the front seat. “Where are you staying this time?”

I pulled the hotel confirmation from my laptop bag. “The Holiday Inn in Alexandria. It’s located on King Street.”

Habib nodded as he pulled away from the airport. “I know the hotel. I’m surprised you’re not staying in DC.”

“This hotel is located near the apartments I’m considering. I wanted to get a feel for the neighborhood.” I stared at the waves of heat shimmering off the road. “It is crazy hot here!” Goose bumps pricked my arms from the air conditioning. Suddenly, I wasn’t hot. I was ridiculously cold. I pulled the pashmina from my laptop bag and wrapped it around my shoulders.

Habib offered a sympathetic nod. “The heat is unbearable here in the summer. You will like fall much better.” He glanced over at me, noticed the pashmina, and chuckled. “Congratulations on your new job. Are you happy you’re moving to DC?”

“Thanks, Habib. I feel more nervous than anything. DC is very different from Montana.”

Habib smiled knowingly. “Different is not always a bad thing.”

I nodded, then gazed out the window as I tried to get a feel for the state I would soon call home. I pulled a binder out of my bag and nervously reviewed the list of appointments I had scheduled. I looked up from the binder as I returned my attention to Habib. “What’s your availability over the next few days?”

Habib shot me a quick smile. “My schedule is flexible.”

I closed the binder and leaned my head against the seat with a soft sigh. “The next five days are going to be insanely busy. I’m interviewing five senators tomorrow, and I need to find an apartment, preferably in the Alexandria area. I'm worried I won’t find a place to live in such a short amount of time.”

“I'm happy to drive you to your appointments. Everything will be fine, Kristine. You will like it here. You'll see.” Habib smiled reassuringly.

We pulled up to the Holiday Inn a few minutes later. I dug through my purse for some cash. I handed Habib the cab fare and a rather large tip. “Thanks, Habib.”

Habib shoved the money in his pocket. He handed me a blank receipt before opening the car door. “What time should I pick you up tomorrow?”

I met Habib at the back of the car. “My senate interviews start at eight in the morning.  What time do you recommend we leave here, given rush hour traffic?”

Habib set my suitcase on the ground, then closed the trunk. “I will meet you here at six-thirty, just to be safe. I do not want to make you late for your interviews.”

I balanced my laptop bag on top of my suitcase and started walking toward the hotel. “Thanks, Habib. I’ll see you then!”

The first thing I did after I checked into my hotel room was jump in the shower. I couldn’t function with that sticky residue from the humidity suffocating my skin. I slipped into a comfy pair of yoga pants and a tank top before ordering a tomato, basil, and mozzarella sandwich on ciabatta bread from room service. I kicked my feet up on the desk and picked at my sandwich while mulling over the notes I had compiled on each of the senators. I felt a tinge of excitement when it dawned on me that I would soon be working for one of these five men. When I finally drifted off to sleep, I was still questioning which one.

* * *

Habib was already waiting in the lobby when I took the elevator down. He was standing by a large window, wearing khaki pants, a white polo shirt, and brown loafers. This appeared to be his standard attire.

Habib smiled and nodded when he saw me approach from the elevator. “Good morning, Kristine. You look nice.”

I was wearing a navy dress suit with a pencil skirt, a white camisole, and modest two-inch navy heels. I smoothed my hands over my suit jacket nervously. “Thank you, Habib. I really appreciate you getting up so early to drive me into DC.”

Habib smiled as he turned toward the door. “I’m looking forward to the drive in today.”

I walked alongside Habib until the lobby doors slid open. My feet stalled as a wrecking ball of humidity bowled me over. I shook my head in wonder.

We were surrounded by a thick white haze, which evoked memories of driving through the clouds in Glacier National Park. I smiled gratefully at Habib, who was politely holding the passenger door open for me.

I watched with wide eyes as Habib nudged his way into traffic. He didn’t appear the least bit concerned by the cars that were driving mere inches from his or the snail’s pace at which they moved.

He glanced at me as he eased onto the exit for I-395. “I am curious about the senators you are meeting with today. Do you know which senate buildings you need to go to?”

I nodded. “I scheduled interviews with five senators: Senator Kennedy, Senator Rockefeller, Senator Baucus, Senator Burns, and Senator Reed; so I’ll be bouncing between all three senate buildings. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to drop me off in front of the Dirksen Building. My last interview is in the Hart building. I should be done sometime around five o’clock.”

Habib smiled. “I will be waiting outside the Hart Building at five o’clock. Don’t worry if you run late. I will wait for you. You can call me if you need me to come sooner. Do you still have my business card?”

I nodded, then smiled as Habib handed me another business card. I tucked the card into my purse and turned my attention to the interlocking cars that were crawling up the road. I shuddered at the sight. I would soon have to face this drive into DC on my own.

My thoughts drifted to the senators I was about to interview. Each of them displayed some level of commitment to aging or health policy, although Rockefeller and Kennedy stood head and shoulders above the rest when it came to health care. This commitment was important to me, but so were their committee assignments. I wanted to work for a senator who was appointed to the Senate Finance Committee; the HELP Committee; or the Sub-committee on Aging. Two of the senators on my list were from Montana, and four of the five represented rural states, which increased the likelihood I would work on aging and health care legislation that would benefit Montanans.

I opened my binder, sifted through my research on the senators, and scratched in a few more interview questions.

Habib occasionally called my attention to the road as he offered advice about how best to approach what would soon become my regular commute.

An hour later, we inched into the district, bumper to bumper with at least a hundred other cars. “We’re almost there,” Habib said encouragingly. “We made good time.”

I closed my binder and eyed the sea of cars pressing in on us. I stared at Habib, mystified as to how he could appear so unaffected by such a terrifying sight.

* * *

I hit the ground running with the first interview and was quickly sucked into a whirlwind of office tours, people, and promises about legislation I could work on. I scheduled all five of my interviews back to back on the same day so I could devote more time to finding an apartment. I hadn’t thought to budget myself any time for lunch, so I ended up eating a squished up power bar that I discovered in the bottom of my purse when I was walking between the Dirksen and Russell buildings. I didn’t have time to process what I learned from the interviews or how I felt about the people I met. My head was throbbing by the time I crawled back into Habib’s cab.

As soon as I returned to my hotel room, I peeled my sticky clothes off and took a lukewarm shower. I slipped into a black camisole and a pair of pink cotton shorts before popping some liquid Advil and sprawling out on top of the king size bed.

When the throbbing in my head subsided, I let my thoughts drift over the day’s events. I liked both senators from Montana, but I was already familiar with aging and health policy initiatives in Montana. If I chose a senator from another state, I might be able to identify some new initiatives that would prove useful in Montana.

I was admittedly star struck by Senator Kennedy and even more so by Splash, the rambunctious black dog who crashed our interview with a bright yellow tennis ball tucked inside his mouth. But, as tempted as I was to work with Splash, I felt drawn to Senator Rockefeller and his staff. Their passion for helping vulnerable populations was nearly tangible. I couldn’t stop thinking about the framed quote from Hubert Humphrey that I discovered in the senator’s office:

The moral test of government is how it treats those who are in the dawn of life . . . the children; those who are in the twilight of life . . . the elderly; and those who are in the shadow of life . . . the sick . . . the needy . . . and the disabled.

It was the most compelling quote I’d ever read. Senator Rockefeller represented a rural state, he held a powerful position on the Senate Finance Committee, he was highly respected, and he was clearly committed to serving vulnerable populations. Yes, I thought, if I’m going to walk away from everything I know and love, then Senator Rockefeller is the one I want to work for.

As I rolled the idea of working for Senator Rockefeller over in my mind, an overwhelming sense of peace settled over me. Suddenly, everything about my decision and the fellowship felt right.

* * *

Habib picked me up at the hotel at nine o’clock the next morning. He dropped me off at the first apartment complex and agreed to return for me in a half hour. I scribbled my cell phone number across the back of my business card and handed it to him as I stepped out of the cab so he could call me if he was tied up with another customer.

The staff in the lease office seemed completely put out by my request that I actually see the apartment before signing the lease agreement. It didn’t take long to figure out why. Although the apartment had been advertised as a non-smoking unit, the place smelled like a vile mixture of mold and smoke. The carpet was filthy, and the walls were so grimy I could see where all the previous pictures had been hung. I quickly scratched that apartment off my list.

Habib returned for me as promised. After hearing my description of the first apartment, he insisted on waiting for me while I inspected the second one. The second apartment smelled marginally better than the first… more like old socks and garlic. I found a dead cockroach in one of the cupboards, and the lease officer insisted the rent was two hundred dollars more than they had quoted me over the phone. Apparently, the cockroach cost extra.

Habib must have sensed my growing concern, because he insisted on accompanying me for the third apartment tour. The lease officer at the third apartment complex was named Mickey. I asked for her specifically because she’d been so personable when I called to schedule the appointment.

Mickey offered to show us around the gated community before taking us to see the apartment. We walked alongside a beautiful pool that was located just behind the lease office. The pool was nestled under a cluster of magnolia trees, which appeared to be in full bloom. The trees held the largest white flowers I’d ever seen.

We toured a small gym that was tucked inside a glass-front building overlooking the pool. Mickey led us through a number of walking trails, which were lined with vibrant flowers, lush green bushes, and small patches of lawn. I could easily picture myself walking Cade through the beautiful gardens.

After we toured the common areas, Mickey walked us to a ground floor apartment that was located a short distance from the pool. The apartment was quite small, but it had a fresh coat of paint and brand new carpet.

I followed Mickey into the kitchen. “This is a good-sized kitchen,” I noted appreciatively.

She motioned toward the appliances. “The apartment includes a gas stove, a full size refrigerator, a dishwasher, microwave, and a garbage disposal.”

I leaned against the breakfast bar and looked over the living room. The breakfast bar was the only thing separating the kitchen from the living room. There wasn’t room for a dining table, and the living room was quite small.

Mickey opened the door to the hall closet.

I followed her into the hallway, glanced inside the closet, and smiled. “A washer and dryer.”

“This is nice,” Habib remarked as he wandered into the kitchen.

A confused look flitted across Mickey’s face. “Will you be renting the apartment together?”

I chuckled softly. “No. Habib’s a friend of mine. He’s just here for moral support.” I paused as I peeked inside the bathroom. “I really like this place, but I’m concerned about living in a ground floor apartment. Do you have any second or third floor apartments available?”

Mickey flipped through a couple of pages on her clipboard.

I wandered into the bedroom, which was located directly across the hall from the bathroom. The sliding glass doors in the bedroom led to the same patio as the sliding glass doors in the living room. Both sets of sliding glass doors overlooked a narrow street that ran between the apartment buildings. There would be no privacy when the blinds were open.

Mickey joined me in the bedroom. “No. I'm sorry. This is the only one bedroom apartment we currently have available. I have a two bedroom apartment located on the second floor of one of our larger five-story buildings. The two bedroom apartments start at fourteen hundred dollars a month.”

I popped my head out of the closet. “I'm afraid that’s a bit outside my price range. Besides, I like how these garden-style apartments have their own entrances.” I folded my arms over my chest as I studied the bedroom. The walk-in closet was huge, but the bedroom was very small.

Mickey and I found Habib leaning against the breakfast bar. He was typing something into his phone. His eyes met mine as he shoved the phone into his pocket. “I think you will be safe here. The apartment has a security alarm, and your sliding glass doors face a high traffic area.”

I hadn’t really considered the high traffic area a boon, but Habib had a point. No one was going to break into an apartment where he was so likely to be seen.

Habib and I followed Mickey back to the main office. I felt conflicted about the apartment. I wasn’t crazy about living in a ground floor apartment, but the place was clean, it had all of the amenities I was looking for, they allowed dogs, and the rent was reasonable. I didn’t want to delay my decision too long and risk losing the only decent apartment I’d seen. So I thanked Mickey for her time, and I told her I would let her know my decision within the next twenty-four hours.

Habib studied me as we approached his cab. “You haven’t eaten, Kristine. Let’s take a break and go to lunch.”

My eyes widened when I glanced at my watch. I couldn’t believe it was already two o’clock. My stomach growled its consent as I slid into the passenger seat. “Sure, Habib. Where do you want to eat?”

Habib smiled as he backed the car out of the parking lot. His teeth practically glowed against his tan skin. “I know a good Afghan restaurant not far from here. My sister, Diwa, works there.”

My eyes met Habib’s. “I’ve never eaten Afghan food before. I’d love to try it, but I may need some help ordering.”

Habib chuckled as he eased into traffic. “I’ll make sure you sample all the best dishes.”

I leaned back against the head rest and closed my eyes while Habib drove. I suddenly felt completely exhausted.

Habib pulled into a parking lot next to a white stucco building with a red shingled roof. The front of the restaurant boasted a long wooden deck, which had been painted red to match the roof. A number of arches framed a walkway alongside the building. Red neon signs hung in the windows.

The restaurant staff greeted Habib like he was family, and they treated me like an honored guest. Habib’s sister, Diwa, was breathtaking. She had the lightest green eyes I’d ever seen. Her dark hair peeked out from under a delicate lavender scarf. I was thrilled when she sat down and joined us for lunch.

The waiter brought a steady stream of food to the table from the moment we arrived. Habib recommended I start with some dumplings that were served with a meat sauce, spicy yogurt, and mint leaves. The dumplings were divine.

I would have been perfectly content eating the dumplings, but Diwa encouraged me to try a pastry stuffed with potatoes and herbs. This, too, was served with a yogurt sauce. The appetizers were followed by lamb kabobs and a dish Habib referred to as Kadu Chalua, which I thought tasted a lot like pumpkin. Both dishes were served with white rice. Another meat dish was loaded with carrots and raisins. The food was unlike anything I’d ever eaten, but I loved how the coriander, cardamom, cilantro, and mint played out on my tongue.

Habib and Diwa told stories about growing up in Afghanistan. I could tell the two of them were very close. They spoke fondly of their family and their childhood, but their stories were based on the simplest pleasures. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the hardships they’d faced as children.

I was curious about how they’d come to live in Virginia, but I was hesitant to pry. So I waited to ask until the meal was over. Habib was drinking coffee. Diwa and I were drinking a cardamom laced tea. I cleared my throat, then directed my question to Habib. “What brought you to Virginia?”

A dark cloud passed through Habib’s eyes as he responded. “My father helped the U.S. government in Afghanistan back in 2001 and 2002. The Taliban issued death threats against my family when they learned my father was working with Americans. The U.S. government offered my family special immigrant visas when our lives were threatened and it was no longer safe for us to remain in Afghanistan. Both of my parents, Diwa, my brother, and I moved here together. The special visas did not extend to my aunts, uncles, or cousins, so we still have family living in Afghanistan.”

I pressed my hand against my chest as tears welled in my eyes. “I’m so sorry you had to move because your lives were threatened. I can’t imagine how frightening that must have been.”

Diwa fidgeted with her scarf. “It is not uncommon for Afghans to be killed for trying to make their country a better place.”

I set my tea cup down. My eyes sought Habib’s. “I hope you’re happy here. I hope people in the United States have treated you well.”

“Some better than others,” Habib admitted frankly. He looked thoughtful as he sipped his coffee. “It is not easy being Muslim here.”

I thought about the hate crimes that followed the September 11^th terrorist attacks. “No,” I admitted sadly. “I imagine it is not easy being Muslim here.”

“Did you know a Christian woman can marry a Muslim man?” Habib asked rather unexpectedly.

My eyes narrowed. I thought it a very curious remark, since I had presumed a Christian woman could marry whomever she wanted. I turned the statement in my head before responding. “Can a Christian man marry a Muslim woman?”

Diwa shook her head. “No. In Muslim culture, the man is considered the head of the house, and the head of the house must be Muslim. So a Christian man must convert to Islam to marry a Muslim woman.”

The double standard didn’t sit well with me, but I held my tongue. A few minutes later, I excused myself to use the restroom so I could pay for lunch without debate. I figured it was the least I could do. Habib was undoubtedly losing cab fare by accompanying me to my appointments.

Habib was mortified when he discovered what I had done, but instead of arguing with me, he engaged in a rather heated debate with the person who had accepted my cash. I have no idea what was decided between the two of them, since I couldn’t understand the language they were speaking, but Habib remained courteous and respectful to me as we said goodbye to Diwa and returned to his cab.

Habib and I viewed two more apartments together. By the time we were done, I realized what a gem that third apartment really was. I dug my cell phone out of my purse and scheduled an appointment with Mickey so I could make a deposit and complete the necessary paperwork the next morning.

When Habib pulled up to the Holiday Inn, he insisted on dismissing the entire day’s worth of cab fare. I tried to explain that I was being reimbursed for my expenses, but he still wouldn’t allow me to pay him. I felt mortified that I had cost him an entire day’s worth of work, but I feared I had injured his pride or committed some cultural faux pas by paying for lunch. So I abandoned my attempts to pay him and apologized for putting him in such a difficult position. I assume he forgave me, because he agreed to drive me to the airport and allowed me to pay the cab fare two days later.