Page 51 of The Senator: Raphael

“Are you enjoying your visit?” Andrea, the principal, asks me.

“I love the energy in this school. The kids seem happy to be here.”

“They are. For some of them, this is their only chance to live a normal life. Most of these families are living in poverty with four or five children, and sometimes sending them to school is the only way to give them a decent meal every day,” she explains as we walk toward another class.

I peek through a small window at four rows of kids who are enraptured by something their teacher is explaining. They’re looking at him like he can change the world and, somehow, he’s doing exactly that. One kid at time.

“Do you offer free meals at this school?”

She shakes her head. “No. But families decided to share the costs among everyone, so those who can pay a bit more make it possible to offer a hot meal to everyone in the school. No one is excluded,” she explains with a pride in her eyes I didn’t notice before.

I turn toward those kids and wonder which are the ones starving at home. They’re all the same, smiling and raising their hands to give an answer. But some won’t have a decent meal when they go home. Is it the girl with blond hair and pigtails or the boy with jet-black hair and a hoodie two sizes too big?

“What are you thinking about?” she asks politely.

I glance at Matthew, talking with the assistant principal and a couple of janitors, probably asking them to do something to accommodate me. I feel guilty for disrupting their day, just by being here and parading around the school like I’m someone important.

“There is no way to say it without coming off like a total bitch.” I smile at her, and she chuckles. If Matthew knew I was cursing in front of the principal, he’d scold me like a child.

“You can speak freely. Nobody will judge you here.” She invites me to continue and I’m a bit hesitant.

This could be her way of framing me into saying something compromising to sell to the press, but she seems genuinely interested in what I have to say.

“Why have kids if you know you can’t feed them? I’d never have the guts to do that,” I finally say and she studies me for a long moment.

She nods and then looks through the glass window. “I understand what you’re saying. How many people can you count on?” She glances at me.

I don’t answer. There aren’t many I trust. Once I would have said my family, but now? Raphael maybe, but I’m not sure about Lola. Not with a kid, at least.

“The extraordinary thing that happens when you live in a community where people don’t have much is that everyone helps his neighbor. Maybe there’s not enough money for daycare or for new clothes, but there’s usually someone willing to watch your child during the day if you keep an eye on theirs during the evening. There’s always an older kid who grows out of clothes you can pass down to your neighbor. What I mean is, sometimes when you’re poor, life doesn’t seem so scary because you have people around you that can help you.”

I nod in understanding. How many times did a neighbor kid have dinner with us because her mother worked long hours and my mom worked in the morning? The school bus dropped her in front of our door and my mom let her stay until her mom came to pick her up. I’m so used to being alone, to counting only on myself, that I forgot what it means to have a normal life, relationships, friendships. I’ve spent so much time lying to people that I don’t even trust myself, let alone trust someone else.

The rest of the day is a blur, eating with the kids in the cafeteria, reading stories during one of the classes, taking pictures and doing interviews for the press. All the time, feeling my chest splitting in two, divided between what my heart wants—what those kids have, the happiness in their eyes—and what my brain is reasoning against.

When it’s time to walk out of the school with the kids, I’m exhausted and watching them run toward their parents makes me smile. They wave goodbye to me like I’m one of them, and their parents give me curious glances. They knew I was coming today, and they’re probably just wondering how it went. But the crowd is lingering, taking pictures, and the wall of faces, smiles, and voices is a little overwhelming.

I start to panic slightly, scanning the crowd for someone I wouldn’t even recognize. How could I spot someone who wants to hurt me? I know the face of the person I sent to prison for the rest of his life, but I don’t know the people working for him. What if they decided this is the best time to kill me? In the middle of a crowd of kids, nobody is looking for a man with a gun.

I glimpse a guy on the other side of the street, a bit isolated from the others. He’s wearing a baseball cap, but I can see his eyes staring at me with an unreadable expression. A shiver runs down my spine. The feeling of cold ice expanding in my stomach is so sudden and unexpected that it takes my breath away. I’m so terrified I can’t take my eyes away from him. I want to call Sven and Matthew, but I’m petrified.

Just then, one of the kids crosses the street and the guy grabs his hand, smiles and says something, and walks away with one last glance toward me. The relief is so overwhelming I’m not sure I can keep standing. I let out a shaky breath and look around to find Matthew watching me from not too far away.

“Are you okay?” he asks as he comes closer.

“Yeah, sure.” I fake a smile and let him guide me to where the car is waiting for us.

Realization hits me hard in the chest. I was scared out of my mind for a few seconds out there. I put myself in the public eye, leaving the comfort of my anonymity, and I thought that guy came to kill me. And the worst part was that no one was there to reassure me that I would be fine, that nobody would have hurt me. Not that I expected someone to save me, I’ve always made it just fine on my own, but I realized that nobody has my back. When Raphael is not here, I’m totally alone. Everyone is here for him, not for me.

I sit down next to Matthew, and after closing the door, I relax a bit.

“Are you still reluctant to have kids one day?” he asks after a while.

I don’t know if Raphael told him something or if he just has a feeling about what I think about my future, but it irks me that he’s implying I’m some sort of monster that doesn’t want to become a mother.

“My reluctance to have a family has nothing to do with not wanting kids,” I spit a bit too harshly.

His lips curve in a contemptuous smile. “Why? Isn’t Raphael paying you enough? What would it take for you to help him out? More money? Name your price.”

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