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Two men, both in dark glasses, their muscular builds evident beneath brown utilitarian suits, stood chatting at the front entrance to the church. The shorter of the two strode purposefully toward Maren. “This way, please.” He rounded the edge of the building to a large parking lot in back.
Maren followed, running her fingers through her hair, resulting in what she hoped was a more attractive arrangement. Not wanting to please Ray Fernandez, but also not wanting to fall short of how he once thought of her.
There were two cars in the lot: an impressive black stretch limo and a small silver Mercedes with a convertible top that was closed. Maren recognized the Mercedes as Ray’s private vehicle. The limo was unfamiliar to her. She concluded he must have had a prior meeting, perhaps with a large donor to talk money, necessarily accomplished away from the governor’s office.
Orange cones blocked other cars from coming in. One of the security team moved them aside to let the limo leave, reestablishing the modest barrier afterward.
As she got closer, Maren could hear music coming from Ray’s car. Brass and woodwinds punctuated Hernaldo Zúñiga’s sultry voice singing Insoportablemente bella—unbearably beautiful. She found herself thinking back, hard-pressed to put a label on her past with Ray Fernandez. Not an affair, but certainly more than a flirtation. Whatever it was, the rich melody now filling the church parking lot had been the featured soundtrack.
The governor emerged from the driver’s seat, the music louder through the open door. He took Maren by the elbow to steer her toward the passenger side. “Let’s take a ride.”
“Where?” she asked.
He didn’t respond. It had been an assertion, not an offer. Still, she could refuse. Governor or no governor. Though most likely the destination wasn’t the purpose of their meeting. She assumed Ray wanted to speak with her inside the car because it would be private. That was fine with her—she hoped she might get her questions about what Ray had done that was “awful” with Tamara finally answered. In any case, she figured that unlike the fate of unwitting cats, curiosity wouldn’t kill her. At least, not with a witness. As the security guard moved the cones aside to let them pass, she gave him a hearty wave.
Governor Fernandez turned the music down. “How did your cell phone bill fare?”
“Fine.”
“The vote count?”
“Seven to four.”
“Ah, our Republican friends are not happy with you.”
Maren unwound her scarf and willed herself to be patient. At lunch with Garrick Chauncey, physical proximity had renewed her feelings for him. But she felt no latent attraction in Ray Fernandez’s presence. Far from it. In fact, she wanted out of the confined space. But Ray was the sitting governor. She would need his signature on her cell phone bill and likely many others. So being with him was, at least from a work perspective, a good thing.
“I think Republicans will see the merits when I have more time to present the evidence. Hands-free mobile use while driving is simply not safe. And Senator Joe Mathis, head of their caucus, is a reasonable man.” She looked out the window as she spoke. Nicknamed the “City of Trees,” Sacramento was reputed to have more trees per capita than any other city in the world, except perhaps Paris. The California capital had over one million trees by the latest count, and wasn’t stingy with variety—within a few blocks Maren saw maples, oaks, pine, and palm trees. She checked the side mirror to see whether a security detail followed. If so, she couldn’t make it out.
As the governor neared the end of I Street, the Tower Bridge with its two thick, H-shaped arches came into view. Only in Sacramento would a city allow its residents to vote on the bridge color, Maren reflected. Gilded gold had won, in keeping with the capital city’s status as the birthplace of the California gold rush.
Ray appeared relaxed as he tapped the beat to the music on the steering wheel, occasionally smiling at Maren as he changed lanes or came to a stop. The Mercedes revved impatiently as he downshifted and took the last exit before the bridge onto a side street leading down to the river. He pulled into a parking lot next to a deli and removed his seat belt, but made no move to get out, instead reaching for a briefcase in the small area behind his seat. He said nothing as he set it on his lap. The music continued to play, shifting from Zúñiga to Luis Miguel singing “No Sé Tú.”
That’s it? Maren thought. A trip from one parking lot to another?
She unfastened her seat belt and tried the controls to lower her window, then to open her door, but neither moved.
Fernandez looked up and, seeing her futile attempt, pushed a button on his door. “Now,” he said. “The window will open now.” He smiled broadly, as though he had given her a tremendous gift.
The fresh air coming off the river had a pleasant, earthy quality. A couple seated on the patio of the deli tossed pieces of bread from their sandwiches to a group of small gray songbirds with yellow markings. The birds chirped excitedly. Noel had once tried to teach Maren the difference between the lesser goldfinch, the western kingbird, and the yellow-rumped warbler, all native to the Sacramento River region. She decided on lesser goldfinch for this crowd, although not with certainty.
Ray Fernandez extracted a document from the briefcase. “I want to speak with you about something,” he said, watching her closely, his dark eyes serious. “It’s time for you to make your mark. To show the world what you can do.” He handed Maren the papers.
She read the heading: Children’s Medical Services: Assistant Director, Environmental Safety and Injury Prevention. Responsible for liaison activities between Congress and the White House. Direct report staff of 11. Start date . . .
The next few pages provided a detailed job description for a high-level position in Washington, DC. An immediate vacancy, to be filled within ninety days.
Maren looked up, trying to read from Raymond Fernandez’s face what this was about.
His eyes were lit up, his broad, mustached mouth barely containing a smile.
But she could see only a man who she didn’t know. Maybe never knew, despite what had happened between them. Perhaps the last music he played, “No Sé Tú”—”I don’t know about you”—should be their new theme song.
“Es su destino,” he said at last. “A position worthy of you. I have secured your interview. They—”
Ray Fernandez stopped speaking abruptly.
He frowned as his phone, seated in a hands-free stand on the console, vibrated.
He eyed the Caller ID—a number, no name—then lifted the phone with one hand as he opened his door with the other. He closed the door behind him and walked several feet from the car, leaving Maren with her unexplained destiny.
For a moment, she felt insulted, set aside as she had been so many times by him long ago. Still, he was now governor of the most populous state in the union, and Maren figured there were at least a hundred, maybe a thousand things more important to the highest-elected official of the state than a conversation with her.
She looked again at the position announcement.
I don’t want a new job . . . not even a big, important new job . . . not even a high-paying, big, important new job. Maren tried out those statements, and wondered if they were true. Or if they would be true if anyone other than Raymond Fernandez had approached her with this opportunity. And then there was the unanswerable question of whether she would still have her current job if Ecobabe’s cell phone bill followed the household hazardous waste bill into legislative oblivion.
One thing she did know was that she was hungry. The clock on the dashboard, analog with silver hands imitative of days gone by, showed 2:30 pm. She’d missed lunch.
Ray was still on the phone, gesturing emphatically. He had walked farther away from the car so she couldn’t hear, but she was sure from his wide-open mouth that he was yelling. Her stomach growled uncomfortably. She remembered he used to keep mints in the glove compartment of his car, reliably there whenever they met. She looked again through the window. He seemed no closer to finishing his call. She pushed the button on the glove box. The small, hatch-like door fell open. There was a manual for the Mercedes, a spare phone charger, as well as a soft leather pouch, probably containing registration and insurance. Maybe in the back?
She lifted out the pouch and the manual, revealing the sought-after tin of mints. Next to it was a small white hairbrush, travel size, trailing several broken strands of beautiful, silky red-orange hair. Maren acted without thinking, picking up her satchel from the car floor, opening it, and reaching for the brush. She didn’t hear him return.
“Sometimes I wish we could travel back those fifteen years,” Fernandez said, his hand on the driver’s door, his face inscrutable, the ever-present smile gone.
Maren passed over the brush and picked up the mints instead, and then closed the compartment quickly. She fiddled with the mint container to open it, not trusting herself to look at him, what her face might reveal.
“You found them. May I?” Ray Fernandez reached for a mint, his large hand brushing against hers. His knuckles were cold.