“Enough to make me consider exchanging my salary for Starbucks stock.” He sighed. “It’s crazy. The primaries haven’t even started yet.”
“That’s what you get for sleeping with ABT.” It was a longstanding point of contention between them that Trevor’s firm represented the legal interests of A Brighter Tomorrow, the SuperPAC that supported Jack Fleming’s campaign.
“Hey, she’s fancy and she’s got loads of money. Seriously, how are you? It’s been ages since I got anything but emails from you.”
“I could say the same for you.”
He grunted. “Busyness is a narcotic. It’s hard to break the habit.”
“I’m okay,” she said, dropping the banter. “Thanks for the package. I love the turtle.”
“So what do you think about my question?” he asked with a smile.
“You mean about Jenna?”
He nodded. “Think she’s the one?”
“You look happy, and she’s a great girl. What more can I say?”
“I bought a ring,” he confessed, displaying a hint of nervousness.
“That’s wonderful!” She tried to sound chipper, but the thought of Joseph injected a false note. “When are you going to propose?”
“We’re going to St. Kitts next month. I’m going to do it there.” He frowned, studying her image on his screen. “Something’s the matter. I can hear it in your voice.”
She hesitated. “It’s complicated.”
“It’s a guy, isn’t it? Is he African?”
He knows me so well we could be twins. “I really don’t want to talk about it,” she replied.
He shrugged. “Fair enough.”
“The Iowa caucuses are tomorrow,” she said, taking the conversation in a different direction. “From what I hear, Dad’s numbers are sliding in the heartland.”
Trevor grimaced. “It’s primary season. They’ll support him after the nomination.”
“But will they be motivated? It’s hard to unseat a sitting president.”
“The economy will drive the general election. Dad’s a businessman. He knows how to get the country back on track.”
“Sounds like you’ve been drinking the Kool-Aid.”
Trevor laughed. “I believe in what he’s doing.”
“How is it that we’re so alike and yet so different?”
For a moment he looked nonplussed. Then he changed gears. “I’m sorry you won’t be with us in New Hampshire. I was hoping to see you.”
She shook her head. “I can’t, Trev. I can’t support his position on austerity.”
“A lot of that is posturing. You know his convictions.”
“Do I? I knew Mom’s. I know Sylvia’s. But Dad is a chameleon.”
“I thought you hated single-issue voters.”
“This isn’t about voting. It’s about endorsement.”
“It’s not, though. It’s about family.”
His words knocked the wind out of her and transported her at the same time. Suddenly, she was eight years old again, worshiping the ground her father walked on. She had thought him incorruptible. But chance and choice had proven her wrong.
“I’m sorry,” she said in time. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“I don’t need to. You’re my sister.” At once he brightened. “Hey, it’s your birthday. What are you going to do today?”
She forced herself to smile. “I’m going to sit out by the pool and do absolutely nothing.”
He applauded. “Good for you. Wish I could join you.”
“Come visit,” she said, feeling a resurgence of her fondness for him.
He winked at her. “You never know. I might just do that.”
The following day, Zoe returned to work, her conscience tangled in knots. At the all-staff meeting, she found herself glancing surreptitiously at Joseph, wondering what he was thinking. She spent that day and the next three weeks in turmoil. Workdays were tolerable because of their activity. Cases required prosecution, evidence had to be gathered, witnesses needed to be interviewed, and briefs required polishing. Evenings and weekends, however, were insufferable. To escape thoughts of the past and the future, she immersed herself in the present.
She increased the frequency of her visits to St. Francis and spent time with Kuyeya. The girl was particularly fond of gardening. She loved to watch Sister Irina and Zoe harvest vegetables and herbs from the earth. But observing wasn’t enough—she liked to touch everything. As she rummaged through the pickings, Zoe encouraged her to talk.
“What’s that?” Zoe asked one Sunday, pointing at the object in Kuyeya’s hands.
“Potato,” Kuyeya said. “Mommy says potato is good with nshima.” Zoe held up a large leaf. “What’s this?”
“Pumpkin,” said the girl, dropping the potato. “I like pumpkin with groundnuts.”