Primary Storm (20 page)

Julia smiled. She had faint dimples, and if I had been James, I would have ditched the Congressman Wallace for President campaign in a second for the opportunity to see that smile again.

"Thank you," she said. "That'll be wonderful."

But James didn't seem that happy. "Well ... if I can use your phone, I guess that'll be all right." 

So a fire was built and I folded out the couch, and brought down blankets and sheets and pillows, and Julia was quiet again, and I offered to turn on the television and James proudly said, "Haven't watched television in sixteen months and don't plan to start up again tonight," and I left them to figure out sleeping and other arrangements.

Upstairs I washed up and went to my own bed, and looked out the window for a moment. I supposed I could wait until they fell asleep and then sneak out of my own house, to make my way in the storm to the Lafayette House.

But ... there were now too many variables. How to explain to these two volunteers why their host was trudging out in the middle of a storm? And how to explain my sudden presence at the Lafayette House, when every other sane person was sticking close to home? And I hadn't been exaggerating when I'd told the two how dangerous it could be, to try to walk out at night so close to the ocean and the shoreline. Two winters before, during the Super Bowl, a drunk football enthusiast, not wanting to stand in line at the Lafayette House to use the men's room, had stumbled outside to do his duty. He was found about a month later, wedged in some boulders a half mile up the coast, no doubt still legally drunk but also quite dead.

So another day would have to pass. I got undressed and slipped into bed, and picked up my trusty biography of Winston Churchill, and wondered if I had ever been that dense or idealistic when I had been James's and Julia's age.

Idealistic, perhaps, but I hoped never that dense. I read for about a half hour, listening to whispers and once a loud giggle from downstairs, before switching off the light and going to sleep, quickly wondering how Barbara and I must have sounded to our professors and older acquaintances, way back then in college.

The voice woke me up. "Lewis?"

I rolled over, sat up in bed. In the dim illumination of the clock and small night-light in the bathroom, I made out the form of someone at the foot of my bed.

"Julia?”

"Can ... can I come over for a sec?"

"Sure."

Julia came over and sat down on the edge of the bed. I rubbed my face and said, 'What's wrong?"

"It's ... it's ... oh, I'm sorry," and she started sobbing.

"Hey," I said, touching her shoulder. "Hold on, hold on, what's wrong?"

She wiped her eyes and said, "I'm sorry to dump this on you. Really. But can you help me?"

"What do you need?"

She sobbed. "Oh, Lewis, I want to go home!"

"Shhh, it's okay," I said. "Campaigning not working out for you?"

"Oh God, you don't know what it's like," she said, almost blubbering. "We sleep on floors or chairs ... the food is awful ... and I've never been so cold in all my life, and we spend so much time outside. The staff work us so hard and so many people hang up the phones or slam the doors in our faces or throw our pamphlets on the ground ... and there's always more to do and I should be home, getting ready for second semester and I ... want to go back home. I don't want to do this anymore."

"So why did you come here in the first place?"

"James," she said, practically hissing the word. "He made it sound so special, so romantic, so idealistic. Be part of  an awakening movement, a community to change the world ... He didn't say anything about cold pizza and no hot showers and dirty bathrooms. And he's ... well, you saw how he is. So full of himself. So righteous. I mean" --- and she giggled, a welcome change ---"educating the average New Hampshire voter about Congressman Wallace and the leather community ... he didn't even know you were making fun of him."

I looked at the time: 1:00 A.M. "I shouldn't have done that, but the temptation was too great. So. Why not go home? What's stopping you?"

In the faint light I saw her fold her arms, and she seemed to shrink into the frame of a twelve-year-old girl. "I told you he was idealistic ... he can also get very angry if he doesn't think you believe in anything. That you're willing to compromise. And I get scared when he gets angry. I .. , I really get scared, and I don't know what he might do. Once I was upset that we went a whole day without eating and I told him that I wouldn't do that anymore .. , and he tugged my arm something awful ... It hurt for two days. Do ... do you think you can help me?"

I scratched the back of my head. "Across the way is a hotel called the Lafayette House. There's a shuttle service that'll take you into town tomorrow, to a newspaper store that's the local Greyhound stop. You can even buy the bus ticket at the hotel so there's no waiting at the store. And in an hour's time you'll be in Boston. From there I'm sure you can catch a flight or a bus ride home. That good enough?"

"Yes, yes, it is ... but what about James?"

"You let me worry about James. You just worry about getting home. Got enough money?"

"Yes, that's not a problem."

"How about belongings? Luggage?"

"Everything important is in my bag. Other than that, it's just a bunch of smelly clothes I can do without."

"Then you'll be all set. I promise."

The sniffles came back. "Oh, Lewis, ... thank you, thank you so much."

"Not a problem. Look. It's late ... why don't you get back to sleep."

She leaned over and kissed my forehead, and I guess I was a bit stunned at the unexpected attention.

And if I was just a bit stunned, then, a moment later, I became fully stunned.

Julia said, with a touch of shy hesitation, "Would ... would you like me to spend some time here with you?"

I touched her shoulder again. "Any other night, any other time, I'd be honored. But go back downstairs, Julia. It'll be all right. I promise."

Another whispered "thank you" and she got up, and at my bedroom door she said, "You know. I haven't gotten a good night's sleep since I've been to New Hampshire. He snores and sounds like a washing machine ... and he denies it! Can you believe that? He thinks I'm imagining it, night after night."

"Nights like these," I said, "I can believe almost everything."

Chapter Twelve

In the morning I let them loose in my kitchen to fix whatever kind of breakfast suited them, and I shoveled a bit from the front door, and from the sliding door to the shed that served as a garage for my Ford Explorer. The snow wasn't as deep as I had expected, and I knew my Ford would plow us right up and out into the parking lot and Atlantic Avenue with ease.

I went back into the house, warm from my exertions. James was standing there with Julia, dressed, munching on a piece of toast. It wasn't whole wheat or whole grain or harvested from a cooperative in Baja, California, but I guess hunger trumped politics, at least this morning. I also figured that since James hadn't come out to help me shovel the way clear, he was saving his energies for something more important. Julia looked quiet, shy, and I said, "Ready to leave?"

"Sure," James said. "Our campaign guy, he's staying at the Redbird Motel, on Cromwell Street. I just called him and he's waiting for us. Can you drop us there?"

"No problem."

They joined me outside and in the open garage, James went ahead of Julia and climbed into the front passenger seat. I started up the Explorer and backed out into the snow-covered driveway, and started going up the slight incline. James was talking to Julia about what they were going to do that day, how they would probably have to skip lunch because of the time lost due to last night's snowstorm, and how they would really have to redouble their efforts because the corporate-controlled media and rival campaigns would ---

"Excuse me for a sec," I said, driving across the street to the Lafayette House, a quick and easy task due to the lack of early morning traffic. "I need to run an errand and then we'll be on our way."

I parked in an area marked for guest drop-off and I put the Explorer in park, shut the engine off, and said, "Julia? Care to come with me for a moment?"

"Oh, thanks, I will," she said quickly, and before James could say or do anything, she was outside in the parking lot, and fell in step with me as I went up to the front entrance of the hotel. We went into the lobby and I made a left to the gift shop. Julia leaned into me as we went into the gift shop and said, "Thanks. Thank you very much."

"You're quite welcome. You have a good ride home, and a good semester."

Inside the gift shop, Stephanie was behind the counter and looked up from a sheaf of invoices that she had been examining.

"Morning, Lewis. What can I do for you?"

I said, "This is my friend Julia. She'd like a Greyhound ticket to Boston, and a ticket to the shuttle uptown."

"Oh, I think we can do that," she said, pulling a ledger and ticket book from underneath the counter. "You're in luck. The next shuttle leaves in about five minutes."

Julia started going through her purse and she and Stephanie started with their business arrangement, and I waited, looking out the gift shop window, as the women worked and information was recorded and currency was exchanged. My Explorer was in view and then James, probably realizing at last that something was amiss, got out of my Ford and started up the short walkway. I moved around and as Julia and Stephanie finished their transaction, James strode in.

"Hey, what's up?" he said.

I smiled at him. "Julia's heading home."

“You're joking."

"Nope."

He tried to get past me, and I moved in front of him. "Tell you what," I said. "We'll stay here for a minute or two, and then I'll give you a ride to the Redbird Motel to meet up with your campaign guy. How's that?"

He said something with lots of syllables that probably wouldn't endear him to the League of Women Voters, and he called out, "Julia! What the hell is going on here? C'mon, don't you care anymore?"

She kept quiet and grabbed her tickets, and walked by, heading toward the lobby and the outdoors, and James stuck a hand out to stop her and I moved it back, saying, "Let's be polite, all right?"

Two words, one being "you," and the other not being "you," and he tried to follow Julia out of the gift shop. He said, "Julia, don't you leave me! Damn it, don't you leave me! I'm not going to let you ---"

Then he shut up, real quick, since as he went by, I grabbed his right hand, tightening my grip on his thumb, and then pulled it around and tucked his arm up toward his back. My friend Detective Sergeant Diane Woods had taught me this move --- called a come-along --- some years ago, and rarely have I ever felt such pain.

"Oooh," James said, stopping, his legs getting weak. I leaned in, whispering in his ear, "Don't move, don't say a word, or your thumb gets shattered. If I have your attention, say yes."

"Yes," he whispered back.

"Good," I said. "Now. You and I are going to stay in this lovely little gift shop, and we're going to admire their sweatshirt collection, and you're going to be a good boy. All right? Say yes again if you understand."

"Yes," he murmured.

"Nicely done," I said. Stephanie stood behind the gift counter, taking it all in, and her face had no expression. She was letting me be, which made me quite happy, for I wasn't sure what she would do about what was going on here, despite our casual friendship. And the lack of customers to see what was happening made me even happier.

Outside I saw Julia, standing by herself, and she stood there and I stood in the gift shop, holding the hand of a male college student from Massachusetts, and I thought that was a pretty odd way to start one's morning, no matter how you looked at it.

Then a white passenger van pulled up, and Julia quickly walked into an open door. I waited for a moment, to see if she was going to wave good-bye or look back or somehow acknowledge that I was there, which would have been sweet, but no, the door to the van was shut by the driver and it drove away. So much for sweetness.

I let James go. "There. Feel better?"

He turned, rubbing his hand, face red, and he said, "You son of a bitch, I'll have you arrested! Right now! See how that makes your day!"

I shrugged. "Give it a go. You're young, a college student, and a college student from Massachusetts. I live here, I know all the cops and most of the lawyers. We'll see who'll have the better day."

Another rub of his hand and another string of curses, and I felt disappointed in the caliber of today's college youth, since I had known all of those curses years ago when I was his age.

When he was finished with his latest outburst, I said, "Come on, let's go."

"What the hell do you mean, let's go?"

"You need a ride to the Redbird Motel. I said I'd give you a ride. Ready?"

Another two-word exclamation and he said, "No way in hell I'm getting a ride from you! Asshole ... I'd rather walk!"

"Fine," I said. "Have a good day canvassing."