More Than Words(2)
“I think we can manage,” he said, running his left hand through his thick black hair.
Until last fall, Rafael had been an immigration lawyer, defending New Yorkers who were facing deportation. And then he and his wife divorced, he took a leave from his firm, and he announced in January that he was going to run for mayor of New York City. That was four months ago. Nina had been his fourth hire, after Jane, Mac, who was the campaign manager, and Christian, who ran the fund-raising outreach.
“I have complete faith in us,” Nina answered.
The elevator came just as her phone buzzed with a text from Jane.
“Our car is outside,” Nina said to Rafael. “Jane said to tell you the driver’s name is Frank. He took you home last week and is a Yankee fan.”
“Frank,” Rafael repeated. “Yankee fan. Right. I remember him.”
Rafael had made it very clear during his first meeting with his senior staff that he wanted to know the name of every single person he came in contact with during the election cycle, so he could address them properly when he said hello and thank you. He wanted everyone to feel valued, no matter their job.
“Do you know how annoying that’s going to be?” Mac had grumbled, when the meeting ended.
But Nina loved that Rafael had made that request. It reminded her of her father, actually, who knew the name of every bartender, housekeeper, and bellhop who worked at the Gregory hotels.
“Did it ever occur to you,” Jane had said to Mac then, “that you should probably know these people’s names anyway?”
Nina had hidden her laugh behind a cough, but since that first meeting, she found herself siding with Jane over Mac whenever there was a side to take. And she liked that Rafael seemed to, as well.
2
“So this fund-raiser,” Rafael said to Nina as they rode the elevator down twelve floors. “You know the hosts?”
Nina nodded. “Priscilla Winter and Brent Fielding. Pris and I went to school together from kindergarten through twelfth grade. Her family made their money in steel, but now they’re in biotech. Brent runs a hedge fund. He grew up in Boston.”
The elevator doors opened, and the two of them walked out of the lobby toward the waiting car.
“Frank!” Rafael said, when he saw the driver standing at the car door. “Great to see you again. Thanks for being so prompt.”
“Of course, sir,” Frank said, opening the door for Nina before walking around to the other side to open one for Rafael.
Nina looked around the backseat. Water. Tissues. No candy. Her favorite drivers were the ones who brought butterscotch.
As they pulled into the New York City traffic, Nina shared her phone’s location with Mia so their progress down the city streets could be tracked, and then handed Rafael the printout of the speech. As he memorized, his lips moved, his hands gesticulated. It was like his own kind of performance art.
Nina leaned back in her seat, watching him practice her words. With his broad shoulders and the cleft in his chin, he looked like Hollywood’s idea of a politician. Handsome, charming. He was brilliant, too. Nina loved translating his ideas, his passion, into the precise words that would fire up his audience. But behind his polished fa?ade, behind his megawatt grin, he was an enigma. “What are you thinking?” she sometimes wanted to ask him.
Her phone buzzed again. Nina looked down, expecting a note from Jane or another emoji-filled text from Tim. But it was her father.
The woman holding the professorship your grandmother endowed at Smith is retiring and there’s a reception in six weeks. They asked me to make a speech, but I don’t think I should plan that far in advance. Would you RSVP yes in my place, Sweetheart? I’ll forward you the e-mail.
Nina read the words. And then read them again. Benign as they might seem, they felt like a vine tightening around her chest, making it hard to breathe. I don’t think I should plan that far in advance.
Every moment of every day she tried to forget that her father was sick. Again. That the doctors had said there wasn’t anything they could do this time. She’d hated seeing him go through chemo three years before. But then, at least, there was hope, the chance that they’d still have days sailing their boat on the Atlantic Ocean, nights drinking scotch on the rooftop of their hotel on Central Park South. Now there wasn’t. Which was why Nina tried to forget about it the best she could.
But when he sent texts like this, forgetting was impossible.
The squeeze in her chest became a sting in her eyes. Shit. Nina never let herself cry anymore. Not in front of anyone. Not even Tim. She thought about emotionless items to keep her feelings in check. Forks. Light bulbs. Pebbles. But though she battled against them, she couldn’t stop her tears this time. She looked around the car. There was no way to escape. Nowhere to be alone. Nina sniffed quietly, hoping Rafael wouldn’t notice, as a tear snaked its way down her cheek.
He looked up from his phone.
Nina turned away, hiding her face from him. Mom, she thought, sending a message into the atmosphere, please help me out here. Please keep me strong and focused. Fuerte y centrado. Fuertrado. She’d been talking to her mom in her mind since she was eight, when she was really at a loss. Usually it helped.
“What is it, Nina?” Rafael asked in a soft voice she’d never heard before. “Are you okay?”
She closed her eyes, tilted her head back as if gravity could keep her tears at bay. But they seeped out from under her closed lids.