A Political Affair (3 page)

   
“Anne Norwood, I can’t believe you didn’t introduce yourself to me.”

She looked up to see Greg Miller smiling as he leaned against the partition. She placed the envelopes aside and rose to shake his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d know who I was.”

“Of course I do.” He nodded down the hall. “C’mon. Let’s get a cup of coffee. You’re the only other person in the office from back home.”

“I’d love to. Thanks.” As Greg led her out of the office, she asked him how he ended up working on the Hill. While he detailed his career up the congressional ladder, she nodded and took note, but her mind wandered. She was baffled as to how she had gone from sorting envelopes to coffee with the chief of staff.
 

When they arrived at the elevators, he pressed the button and placed his arms across his broad chest. “So, why did you apply for an internship with Senator McEvoy? Why not another member of Congress?”

“Well, I like his politics,” she answered as she looked at his arms. The combination of his question and his stance told her his offer of coffee wasn’t a social one. She took a deep, calming breath before speaking again. “And I’d rather work in the Senate than the House. I’m also interested in environmental issues, and Senator McEvoy sits on the Energy and Natural Resources Committee.”
 

“Sounds good.” He ushered her into the elevator. “But what does your dad think of you working here?”
 

“When I told my dad I was applying for this internship, he shrugged it off. He thinks I’m young and naïve. You know, like why else would I want to work for a Democrat?”

“But he didn’t stop you?”

“Oh, he and my mom gave me a few warnings, telling me I needed to think about what I was doing, but that’s it. They always say my brother and I are allowed to make our own mistakes.” She smiled and shook her head. “How’s that for confidence in your kids?”

“That sounds like something your dad would say.” He chuckled as they exited the elevator into the Hart Building basement.

“I guess you know enough of his sayings from the papers.”

“Yeah. Elton has a way with words.”

Things were quiet between them as they walked into the cafeteria and got their coffees. When they sat down, he quizzed her on the latest gossip in Summit County. It didn’t take long before he asked the question, giving away the real reason behind the impromptu coffee date.
 

“And what do you think about Dan Langford?” he asked, leaning back in his seat.

“Langford?” she asked, though she knew exactly where he was going. “I don’t know. He and my dad are friendly. I’ve met him a few times.”

“So tell me what you think about him.” He sipped his coffee. “Your father’s a Republican, Dan’s a family friend, but you’re working for Senator McEvoy. What’s the deal?”

“Well, obviously I don’t agree with him on anything,” she answered and raised a hand in self-evidence. “Langford’s way more to the right than my dad, and I think my dad’s already pretty conservative—at least for me. I’m the black sheep in my family.”

“If you didn’t say you disagreed with them, I’d kick you out of our office immediately.” He laughed.

“You know, I really appreciate that I got this job, despite my father.”

“Aw, hell. It’s Colorado. Everybody is related to a Republican somehow.”

The next morning, one of the receptionists called in sick, so Anne covered the office phones for the day. It was easy enough work, and she liked talking to constituents, even if they were angry. When the waiting area quieted around midmorning, the other receptionist went on a break. Anne took the opportunity to study for a class, and the few minutes of silence lulled her into complete focus on her reading. When the office door opened, she jumped and slammed the book shut.

At first, it only registered that a good-looking man had entered the room. Soon his face clicked, and she found her wits. “Good morning, Senator McEvoy.”
 

“Morning,” he muttered as he strode past and into the main office.

His brief glance felt more like a glare to her. She sighed and told herself not to take it personally. She was an inconsequential intern; it had nothing to do with her. She should get used to it. But she wondered if she had done something wrong. Looking around, she tried to see if there was a task she’d missed. If the phones were silent and the office empty, there was little to do. Would he rather have seen her surfing the web or playing solitaire than reading a book? She shook her head and went back to reading.
 

Normally, Stephen wouldn’t think twice about the receptionists in his office. He’d give them a perfunctory “hello” in the morning and “good-bye” at the day’s end. Otherwise, he ignored them as he came and went throughout the workday.
 

With Anne at the front desk, it was different. Each time he walked by, he noticed her because she stood out compared to the usual receptionist in her place. The pimply guy, straight out of Georgetown, had been replaced by an attractive woman. Of course Stephen would eye her.
 

Stephen believed Greg’s report that Anne wasn’t engaging in political espionage in his office, yet he still wondered about
her
. From the snippets he caught of her conversations with constituents, she had perfect manners, even when taming callers angry over one of his votes. She also read a lot, both books and newspapers. Occasionally, he caught her tapping away on her phone. He assumed the texts were to a boyfriend.

While Stephen pondered Anne, she never acknowledged him again. After their terse exchange that morning, she decided it was best to keep her head down and concentrate on the task at hand when he was around.
 

Toward the end of the day, she was again alone in the reception area. The door swept open, and she raised her head only long enough to see it was him. Back to her reading, she sensed he’d walked past her, but there was more movement. She spotted dark pants in front of the desk. Folding the paper, she asked dutifully, “May I help you?”
 

“You know . . .” he said, pointing to the page. “. . .  they say no one under the age of thirty reads print newspapers anymore.”

“Well, I guess I’m an exception.” She wore a proud smile. “I’ve always loved them.”
 

“Why is that?”

“When I was growing up, Silverthorne was really tiny. Nothing like it is now.”

“That’s true. It’s changed a lot. It’s gotten to be pretty commercial.” He grimaced in agreement.

“Exactly. So newspapers were like these windows to a whole other world beyond the mountains. I read
The Denver Post
every day. It was different reading the actual paper, rather than the words on a computer screen. Seeing things in print and feeling a paper in my hands made the rest of the world seem more real. Anyway, that’s why I read the paper.” She considered who she was talking to and shrugged. “It probably all sounds silly to you. You’re from the city.”

“No, it doesn’t sound silly.” He stood at ease and smiled. “I had somewhat the opposite experience.”

“How so?”

“I was stuck here during the school year while my dad was in the Senate, but I spent my summers at our ranch outside Kremmling. I loved it there. I never wanted to leave.”

“It’s pretty out there,” she said as she envisioned the next county over from hers.

“It is. And much more fun than St. Albans
all-boys
School here in D.C.”

“I imagine,” she said with a light chuckle.

“I hated leaving the ranch. For years, I’d hide the day we were supposed to leave. It drove my parents nuts.”

“Where would you hide?” She grinned at what she thought was an adorable story, especially coming from him. Until that moment, she hadn’t thought him very human.

“I don’t know . . . closets, cabinets . . . sometimes the hay in my horse’s stall.”

“Aw,” she said, resting her chin on her hands. “I don’t miss home at all. I thought I would, but I don’t. I do miss my horse, though. It doesn’t make sense. I leave him every year for school and don’t think about him. Now, I move here, and I’m texting my mom just to see how he’s doing.”

“What kind of horse is he?”

“A black Morgan named Orion, but I call him Orie.”

“Sounds like a handsome guy.”

“He is. Do you have a horse?”
 

“No. Not anymore.” He sighed. “My family has a working ranch, so we have some there, but none of them is mine. I don’t have the time.”

Anne sensed he didn’t like his predicament. The look in his blue eyes was also blue, and she felt badly for him. She offered some encouragement. “But you’re lucky to see them when you can.”

A few seconds lapsed as he held her gaze. A touch of anxiety hit her when she thought he might be debating what to say, but then he nodded and smiled. “You’re right. I am lucky. I should remember that.” As he turned to leave, he said, “Have a good night.”

“Thanks. You, too.”
 

She opened her newspaper again, though she didn’t read. She imagined the handsome Senator McEvoy as a sad little boy hiding in the hay. It was a sweet image, and it seemed to hold true today. Why couldn’t he remember his luck in life? He was a McEvoy and the son of the revered Patrick McEvoy. His father had recently died, which was tragic, but Stephen was appointed to complete his term in the Senate. No one would say he was unlucky. Her brow furrowed.
I wonder what that’s about.
 

The following day, Stephen spied Anne through the window as he approached his office. Pretending to check his phone, he stopped in the hallway for a minute to watch her as she read. He liked the way she answered his newspaper question the day before. He envisioned a sheltered girl studying the paper every day for news of life outside her tiny Colorado town.
 

With a loose braid over her shoulder, he thought she looked pretty. She touched the plait as she read, and he wondered what she was concentrating on.
 

“Good morning, Anne,” he greeted as he walked inside.

Her eyes flew up from the page, and she closed the book. “Good morning, Senator. How are you?”

“Good, and you?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

He glanced at the book’s cover, John Rawls’s
A Theory of Justice
. “Doing some light reading?”

“Oh. Yeah.” She smiled. “It’s for a class.”

Remembering the book from his own school days, he asked, “And what do you think of it?”

“Well, it’s a little dry, but I think his thesis is right. Justice should also be about economic fairness.”
 

“You really think that?”
 

“I
told
you the other day, my
dad
is the Republican. Not me,” she said with a wry grin.

“I know that’s what you said—”

“You’re just going to have to trust me.”

“I suppose I will.” He’d said it jokingly, but the meaning was serious. She worked in his office; he had to trust her, and at that moment, he
wanted
to trust her because he wanted to talk to her more. She was funny and cute and made him smile. As they shared a grin, he felt off-balance, and he nodded at the door. “I’ve got a meeting. Have a good day.”