Page 75 of Our Last Vineyard Summer

CHAPTER THIRTYVirgie

1965

The drive to Washington wasn’t as bad as she remembered, all of them somehow more prepared for the monotony of the New Jersey Turnpike. While Louisa and Aggie were excited to return home and see their friends for a few days, Betsy had cried as she hugged James goodbye. Pamela had helped her pack the trunk with suitcases, and when Virgie tried to pay her—for all her work helping that week—the woman refused. “It makes me feel happy to think that I’ve helped you too,” Pamela said, tucking the money back into Virgie’s palm.

Virgie slipped the money into James’s shorts pocket, just before they drove away.

They weren’t leaving for the summer, so it wasn’t necessary to pack up the kitchen cabinets or wipe down the cloudy refrigerator shelves, but their return was open-ended. After her showdown with Charlie, she wasn’t sure when she’d have the energy to drive back up to Cape Cod to catch the ferry, and she certainly couldn’t expect the girls to do that long drive too soon after returning.

Around four that afternoon, they pulled up to their small red rowhouse on P Street in Kalorama. It was swampy hot, and inside, theliving room smelled of cologne. Cigar smoke. A few dishes were still in the sink.Charlie.Living alone as a bachelor. Would she ever be able to look at her husband again and think him true? How had she been so blind to his relationship with Melody? Then again, she’d been home with toddlers, trying to cook dinner while keeping them away from electric sockets.

The girls were tired from the drive, but Virgie felt energized, knowing that Charlie was in the same city. She settled them into the house, then hurried back into the car. Charlie was five miles away at the Capitol. She needed to see him immediately.

Parking on a leafy street near the Russell Senate Office Building, Virgie walked with a sense of purpose down the sidewalk until she reached the grand rotunda of the beaux art Senate office building, eighteen Corinthian columns surrounding her in the lobby. Men strode by in suits, ignoring her as she hurried to the elevator bank.A woman belongs here just as much as a man does, she reminded herself.

When the elevator doors opened, she heard the lonely click-clack of her heels through the quiet hallway; most staff went home to their states or took vacation about now. In his office, his secretary, in her twenties with cat-eye glasses, stood when Virgie entered; even if they hadn’t met, the young woman knew who she was.

“Mrs. Whiting. Nice to meet you.” The girl’s white blouse was starched, tucked astutely into a trim burgundy pencil skirt. “The senator will be so happy you’re here.” She moved to let Charlie know of his guest, but Virgie ignored her, pushing right through the dark heavy wooden door, blustering into the chamber as though she was walking into a room of standing applause.

Charlie was at his desk, his frame hunched over a stack of bound pages. A bill, no doubt. He lowered his fountain pen and grinned; it hurt to see him smile like that. Truly happy to see her. “What are you doing here?” He seemed astonished.

“The girls and I decided to come home for a bit.”

“I’m so glad.” He was in front of her now in his navy-blue tailored suit, his hair freshly cut as it always was, and he leaned in to kiss her. She turned her head, leaving him to stare at her cheek, and then she moved past him and sat with purpose in the royal-blue office chair opposite the one at his desk.

“Welcome home,” he said, irritation in his voice.Good, she thought.Let him suffer.

“Yes, well, it’s not a happy visit, I’m afraid.” Virgie kept her posture prim, legs turned to one side, her hands folded in her lap.

He clasped his hands together in prayer. “But I have such big news.”

This much she hadn’t anticipated, and her curiosity got the better of her. “Oh?”

“Oh, my love. My dear Virgie. I didn’t see this coming, but Rockefeller is polling poorly in New York, and there’s a good chance that he won’t win the governorship next year. I have some backers that want me to jump into the race. People believe it’s the perfect springboard.” This was the point when Charlie was used to Virgie cheering him on; when she remained silent, forming her thoughts, he said, “We all know governors have a much better chance at winning the presidency than senators. I’ll be in a better position, and I can make an enormous difference in New York.”

It would never be enough though. For him, the goalpost was always changing. She and the girls were always following.

Her voice sailed through the room like a dagger.

“Well, you’ll never win,” she said.

Maybe it was cruel, but she didn’t care. It was true. He’d always said he had to work three times as hard as the other men to get elected, but had he? She proceeded with her thinking slowly, making sure that Charlie had time to hear every word that she was saying. “That reporter who knocked on our door. He returned, and he said if I really wanted to know you, I needed to visit 12 Chapel Way. On Nantucket.”

A truth, and a lie. At this, Charlie felt his chest pocket for his pack of cigarettes. Pall Malls. He swore the brand tasted of a beach bonfire,and he lit one, leaning back in his chair and taking a long, slow inhale. His face sat expressionless, unreadable even, and she wasn’t certain what he was thinking. The clock ticked on his desk, a small square clock, and outside his office, she could hear his secretary on the telephone, “Good afternoon, Senator Whiting’s office.” Virgie thought she knew Charlie so well, but she’d never seen him so utterly frozen.

“I asked Wiley to kill the story, and he will, at least in the short term, but I think you’ll have to pay him some favor for it. As you know, nothing is free in this town. Not even money from fat cats on Nantucket.”

Charlie let his cigarette burn in the ashtray, the fiery tip turning to ash bit by bit. “This has nothing to do with my chances at governor.”

It stung, how easily he could toss away her feelings, to protect what he wanted. He hadn’t always been that way. Politics had done it to him. The need to win. The city hardened the softest of men.

“But a divorce will ruin your chances.” Virgie shot again, a dagger hitting him square in the chest. “No man can make it through a divorce and a campaign, not even you.” Her eyes fell onto her hands in her lap. It was easy to be brave when you were accusing someone of wrongdoing, but this was terrible of her. She was threatening him. As much as she believed it was in her right, it didn’t feel moral.

Charlie came around to the side of the desk where she sat in her dotted blouse and summer skirt. He crouched down so he was on his knees looking up at her, like a puppy heeling for a bigger dog. “You are right. I made a big mistake, Virgie, and I only ask that you listen to my side of things. I tried to do the honorable thing.”

“I don’t think anything you did was honorable.” She moved away from him as gently as she could, standing to pace the royal-blue carpets. “Where did that house on Nantucket come from?”

“It isn’t just my name on the deed. It’s yours too.” There were voices in the hallway, and it made Charlie stand up from the rug, brushing off the pinstripe sleeves of his jacket. He seemed frustratedthat she hadn’t given in to his apology; was that how easy it had been for him before?

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