The Senator's Choice

by Combs, Sasha

  “I’m fine. I’m not hungry. I want to be left alone.”

  Her words felt like ice against Pam’s skin, chilling her beyond anything she had ever experienced. Pamela stood from her bed and when she did this, her movements didn’t seem to phase Morgan.

  When Pamela stood in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess from her cooking; she tossed out the food that had been prepared for Morgan. With no way to keep the meal refrigerated, the excess had to be burned in the stoves fire. It wasn’t safe burying the leftovers or scraps in the woods because the smell would attract the woodland creatures.

  After Pamela had secured the place by locking the door, she made one final look around the cabin to be sure that nothing was out of place. She doused the fire in the main room, but she left the wood burner in the stove to burn itself out naturally. The heat would rise throughout the night, up into the loft area. William had told her, doing this was the best way to ensure that that area of the cabin received heat at night. When Pamela went into her room, she didn’t close the bedroom door, because she wanted to hear if Morgan got up during the night. She still wasn’t convinced that she had not inflicted further injury to herself.

  Lighting the fireplace in her bedroom, she stood back to ensure that the fire wouldn’t cause any dangerous blazes. She peeled out of her clothes, exhausted from the days work. She had gathered more wood, because the sky held touches of gray patches; a sign much like the threat of approaching rain. She didn’t want to get caught in a lurch with a limited supply of wood for cooking and to keep them warm. After that, she did odd and end things. Most of her weariness was mental. Until Morgan’s fall, Pamela had been talking to her, reminding her about a connection they have always shared. She told her about her days at college and the stories her parents would share when they told her tales about Morgan. The two had always known about the other but only on a few occasions had they spent any time with each other. Pamela talked about one of the most difficult days of her life. She told her how frightened she’d been when William had begged her to go to Morgan’s room to be with her on the day that Bianca had passed away. Pamela had thought this task better suited for someone acquainted with Morgan. She didn’t think that she would be enough to ease the tears of a heartsick girl. But Pamela had been wrong. Morgan had wrapped her arms around her waist and cried with no end in sight. She had blamed herself for losing her mother. Her thoughts were idiotic but understandable. Pamela had debunked them all, making her see reason, wherever clarity could be found. All morning, Pamela had talked until her throat burned with dryness, yet she saw no signs telling her that she was making any headway with Morgan.

  Pamela climbed into the empty bed, the place where she and William had last made love. She longed for his nearness and his touch. She felt so alone, so unsure of what she was doing.

  Before her next thought took hold, Pamela felt a wetness streaming down her face. She inhaled heavily, trying to catch her breath.

  “What am I doing wrong. I need help.” She said. Her cry was silent, but as her burden gained momentum she saw this battle for what it was. A war against wills. The worst kind of fight to be involved in.

  “Oh dear Lord...” she cried into darkness that blanketed her room. She didn’t dare say every thought aloud but she could hardly control herself. Her emotions were being fueled by hormones whose purpose even she didn’t fully understand.

  “Bianca...I need your prayers. I need your help. She’s your daughter and you know what needs to be done to help me get through to her.”

  Pamela didn’t believe in ghost or any nonsense such as that but she did believe in divine powers. She did believe in angelic beings, whose job it was to carry the tears of the distress into the heavens. The only added note in her prayer was Bianca’s name. Pamela guessed that she’d cried out her name because in some ways she was replacing her. Now she stood in the place that had once belonged to Bianca and she couldn’t help but wonder if this sat well with her. If it did, then she knew that Bianca would pray for her success in heaven. As her mind moved from one thought to the next, Pamela had lost herself. The sounds of her crying reached beyond her ceiling. The noise traveled through the wooden cracks that made up the lofts floor. Up, up into Morgan’s area and the noise had broke her sleep. She lay silent in her bed, listening to Pamela call out to her mother and in that instant something happened. It was like a shipwreck colliding with gaffed rocks just below the surface of the sea. Her anger had landed but she didn’t know where to go from here. How could she because this was all new territory. Had Pamela’s tears broken her resolve? Morgan didn’t know yet. She knew one thing...Pamela had called out to her mother just like she had. That had to count for something but she didn’t know how to interpret the meaning. Morgan had not lived long enough to understand the full scope of Pamela’s pain.

  _______________________

  Chapter 8

  In or out

  Earlier in the day, William had watched Frederick’s fingers, typing away on his field computer. He didn’t even know that the thing had been stored in his backpack when they set out from Barn Wood Hudson. All day, Frederick used his high tech equipment to gain access to satellites, keeping him up to date on the campaign. William noticed how Michael kept his distance, trying to stay busy. He ran short sprints then slowed to a jog, covering the same ground so as not to get lost. Even though the place had plenty of wood already stored in a bin, Michael made good use of an ax he’d found leaning against the side of the cabin. If Frederick had not stopped him, he would have chopped enough wood to build a small attachment to the dwelling. William understood his friends need to keep busy. They all did something to pass the time away.

  It was late, and the cabin had been locked for the night. Since Frederick occupied his time in a different way, they all agreed that the loft would best suit his needs. William had offered the room off from the kitchen to Michael but as he’d expected, his friend refused the bed. He lay out the sleeping bags in a corner of the room, making himself comfortable. William opened up a chest where old paperbacks and novels had been stored. These books were entertaining due to the remoteness of the cabin. Michael had thanked him and he was reading one of the westerns that he’d found in the stash. With Frederick up in the loft working on only God knew what, and Michael reading his book; William felt a sense of loneliness. He walked into the bedroom to reflect on his day, and this only made him think about Pamela. He looked at the phone that he’d instructed her was only for emergencies. He hated that he’d practically spouted the directions word for word that came with the phone. He knew that Pamela would not use the phone unnecessarily. Even though he didn’t deem having a conversation that would ease his nerves as trivial by no means, William had to admit to himself; burning up the phones juices wouldn’t be a wise use of its true purpose. He hated that Frederick had not brought two of those super powerful satellite phones that seem to have no limiting qualities.

  Feeling closed in, William walked over to the desk. He pulled out the seat, then made himself comfortable. Inside of the drawer lay a pad of paper and three sharpened pencils. He smiled, recalling his reason for insisting that every cabin be stocked with certain supplies. The desk content had been Bianca’s idea. She wanted William to have writing material to journal while spending time away from her, then to read his exploits once he’d returned to Barn Wood Hudson.

  Yet, on this night, he would not be writing about the animal that he’d tracked through the woods, nor the fish that he caught in the stream, when nothing should have been biting. On this evening, William would be charting the next phase in his life. He knew that he’d placed a great deal of responsibility on Pamela’s lap by leaving her to deal with his daughter. When he walked away, leaving them alone; even though he wanted to turn back to collect them, William kept placing one foot in front of the other. If he had interfered by placing himself in the center of the two women that he loved, he wasn’t certain if Pamela would ever forgive him for that. She was convinced that this was the onl
y way to connect with Morgan. William wasn’t so sure and he’d been trying to appear that he believed in what she was doing but each hour they were a part, he was cursing himself for being so gullible to his hearts chanting. His faith was based on his wants and not reality. He could admit this to himself, in the privacy of his room. He didn’t have to say it out loud but his brain heard his confession loud and clear.

  As the pencil scraped across paper that had succumb to the high altitude, William’s words were perfectly crafted and truthful. He didn’t regret this decision because his life wasn’t guided by his profession. His only purpose for living was to be present in the lives of the people that he loved most. Right now those people included Pamela, his daughter and his parents. They mattered most to him. As his perfect penmanship made the paper look expensive; William began to think about LaShawn and Michael and how these changes would affect them. He wondered if the trust that had been built over the years would ever know the same stability. He hoped so but, he couldn’t wholly control the outcome because he didn’t control the feelings of others.

  So many thoughts flashed through his mind. The faces of people whose help had been instrumental over the years; these were his political anchors. Sources he’d come to respect and trust; he worried over their futures and hoped that one day they would come to understand his decisions.

  When his final thought had been formed, he wrote the words on the fourth piece of paper. William signed his signature, smiling as he envisioned the look on Mandy’s face. She disliked pencils and lived for the day when the writing tool would no longer exist.

  William was folding the papers over, when his action was interrupted by a knock on the door.

  “Come in.” he said in a tone, loud enough to be heard. When the door opened wide, he saw Michael standing in the archway, looking at him from where he stood.

  “Am I disturbing you?” he asked.

  William turned around in his chair. He pointed to the bed as a place where Michael could be seated.

  “Not at all. Come in.”

  Michael didn’t bother closing the door. He’d long since stop caring whether Frederick heard any parts of his conversations with William. After all, the man was his campaign manager. He assumed, there were many things that Frederick knew concerning William’s life.

  Michael looked around the small room, comparing the similarities in the cabin to the one where his daughter was currently staying. When his eyes rested back on William, he noticed how his friend carefully studied him. This unnerved Michael, so he spoke, hoping that his words would stop William from looking at him as if he were a specimen underneath a microscope.

  “You’ve been quiet. Are you concerned about Pamela and Morgan?”

  It was an honest enough question, so William didn’t hesitate in answering.

  “Yes, I am but not for the reason you may think.”

  “William...I can assure you. You have no idea what I’m thinking.”

  “That’s right Michael, I don’t. And whose fault is that?” All right, William thought to himself. The gloves are finally coming off. He’d been wondering at what point Michael would choose to confront him. Before leaving the cabin, Michael had not been given the opportunity to say what he thought about William and Pamela, or the plan involving leaving her alone with Morgan.

  Michael’s eyes flashed with colors that were a blend of hazel and brown. The hue was disconcerting because the shade was just a tad darker than Pamela’s eyes. He reminded himself that this disagreement was about something he had done. It wasn’t wholly about Pamela nor a breakdown in their friendship.

  “William, I haven’t said anything because I don’t think you really want to hear what I have to say.”

  “Try me Michael. I’m a big boy...I can take the punch.”

  “My friend, I don’t fight with words. If there’s any punching involved, you’d best believe, my wagging tongue won’t be delivering the blows.”

  Michael came to a standing position, his body was stiff and tense like a tightly drawn bow, readied to deliver its arrow. He was furious with William and he wondered why he was goading him on with a confrontational tone. As his mind created reasons not to hit him, it was then that Michael realized what William was doing. Somewhere in his head, Michael believed that William wanted a fight. He wanted to give Michael a reason to release his anger in whatever way would best allow him to purge his penned up irritations. If a blast from his balled up fist was the price, then William was willing to take it.

  The second Michael came to this understanding, he spew out a slew of profane words, one right after the other, like bullets from an automatic weapon. None were cut short by William because the words were no different from a fist landing a perfect blow. Michael needed this. It was cathartic and William noticed how the verbal blast was easing some of his repressed tension.

  After a very long breath, and a chance to regain his control, Michael looked at William for a long time. He didn’t notice that Frederick stood just beyond the rooms threshold. He too had been waiting for Michael to burst and he’d seen all the signs indicating that soon it would happen. When the sound of his voice traveled up into the loft, Frederick saved the email he’d been drafting. He logged off, then powered down his computer to join the men. He was ready to step in, separating the two men if it became physical but as he looked at Michael, he could see that the exchange of words would be the only outcome from this outburst. But as a precaution, Frederick remained at the ready. His first impression of Michael had been right. The man was nobodies weakling. Frederick knew, Michael was someone to be feared if messed with and William had done more than that. Which is the reason Frederick didn’t return to the loft.

  “Do you feel better now that you got that out of your system?” William asked.

  “Fuck you.” Michael threw back. He glared at him, and his next words weren’t any kinder.

  “Why my daughter? It could have been anyone but you chose Pamela. It’s no wonder that Morgan is up in arms...can you hardly blame her? Bianca wasn’t in the grave for a year before you saddled up with a girl half your age and young enough to be your daughter. And if that wasn’t bad enough...you spit over her chances to have a normal life by getting her pregnant. How about that!” he said and William wished he had not said anything after Michael had seemingly calmed down. There were no words to excuse his actions so he didn’t even try to build a defense but he would not allow Michael to sully his feelings and he wouldn’t allow Bianca’s name to be thrown into the mix, like trash on a heap.

  “Michael, I can assure you I did not map out a clandestine strategy to fall in love with Pamela. It happened and there was no scheming involved so would you please stop mentioning Bianca when you fault me for these events. To bring her name up in the way that you just did, implies that I didn’t love my wife. It implies that I set out to trap your daughter and to ruin her life. I can’t believe that your anger even extends to include the relationship that I share with my daughter. I get that you’re upset but there is no need to direct your fury on anyone other than me. Actually, I would prefer it if you would just do us both a favor and knock me on my ass.”

  “William...” Frederick said in warning. “Let’s not give Michael any ideas.”

  Michael had not known that Frederick was standing behind him. He turned, seeing him standing just outside of the door. Then his gaze went back to William. In that moment he saw how ridiculous he was being but this still didn’t quench his anger and he didn’t know what could help to ease him away from that emotion.

  “Frederick...this is between me and Michael. You can go back to the loft.”

  “I don’t think so.” Frederick said.

  “Your campaign manager thinks that I’m going to kick your ass. I guess if the Secret Service aren’t here to protect the senator, Fred is here to stand in their place.”

  “This isn’t funny Michael.” William said. “We need to get whatever you’re keeping bound up inside of you out into the open.”r />
  “Not a good idea man.” Michael said. He’d felt the acid in his stomach, teetering along the edges of what might turn into an ulcer. He didn’t like the feeling, and talking about his daughter right now wasn’t in anyones best interest.

  Michael turned, deciding that he needed to be alone, or as close to it as the cabin would afford him. He needed to get back to his corner where he’d laid out his sleeping bag and left his book dogeared to hold his place.

  Before Michael was out of the room, William said something that he hoped would make all the difference in the world. He needed his friend and he wanted Michael to know how important he was to him. This gulf that had formed needed to be bridged or repaired.

  “Michael...I’m sorry. I can’t explain what happened because even now, as I sit here waiting for you to knock me on my ass...I still can’t believe that I fell in love with my best friends daughter.”

  Michael didn’t turn around to face him. He looked at his feet to keep his eyes from staring at Frederick; the person that stood between him and his way out of the room. William continued on, and as he talked it didn’t escape his notice that Michael’s feet weren’t moving anymore. He’d halted his steps as his body stood in a tense stance. Ready to pounce if need be.

  “I know that you want to hear me say....what I did was a mistake. But my friend...if I say that, it would mean that I don’t really love her. It would mean that what we feel isn’t real. Michael...I do love Pamela and our love isn’t a mistake. It isn’t wrong and I will not apologize for a love that has given me a second chance. I’m happy that she’s carrying my child. Your grandchild. Can’t we at least find common ground, if not for our sake, then for the baby in Pamela’s womb?”

  William had played his cards and he was hoping that he’d not just wasted his last chance. Then he recalled one final thing. He watched as Michael slowly turned to look at him. His face held within its gaze, caution. William spoke before Michael could.