All Our Yesterdays

  “There was so much blood,” he whispers.

  I swallow. “I know. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

  “Yeah.” Finn jumps to his feet. “Come on, Jimbo. Let’s go to the bathroom.”

  James doesn’t resist. He barely even seems to notice Finn pulling him to his feet and maneuvering him toward the men’s restroom at the end of the hall. I head for the nurses’ station.

  “I need some scrubs or something,” I say, “for my friend to wear.”

  The nurses look taken aback. Nice, Marina.

  “Sorry,” I say. “But do you have anything he could change into? His clothes are . . .”

  I can’t finish the sentence.

  “I’ve got some extra scrubs in my locker,” the male nurse says, rising. “I’ll get them for you.”

  He comes back with a neatly folded pair of blue scrubs. As I take them in my hands, I don’t feel completely useless for a whole half a second.

  I got James a clean shirt. What an achievement.

  I rap on the bathroom door. “Guys? I’ve got some clean clothes.”

  “Come in,” Finn calls.

  I’ve never been in a men’s restroom before, and with everything happening right now, it shouldn’t feel as weird to me as it does, but I still push the door open slowly, like I’m afraid of getting caught. Inside, James is leaning against a sink, and Finn is wiping tiny droplets of blood off of his neck with a damp paper towel. James’s blood-drenched shirt and jacket are draped over a stall door, and his stomach and chest are wet from the recent washing. I try not to look at James’s bare torso. I get an impression of skin pale from months of winter and a stomach taut from hours of laps in the pool, and then I close my eyes. I don’t trust myself not to think terrible things.

  “Marina?” Finn says. “Can you hand me those?”

  I open my eyes again and find Finn looking at me, annoyed. He has one hand paused with the paper towel against James’s neck and the other outstretched.

  “Sorry,” I murmur and step forward to hand him the scrubs. James looks at me with dazed eyes, and with his body naked to the waist, he suddenly seems incredibly vulnerable. Like I could break him with one hand.

  “Arms up,” Finn says. He gathers the clean shirt in his hands, and when James raises his arms, Finn expertly slips it over his head like a parent dressing a toddler. It’s an odd sight. James emerges from the shirt with his hair rumpled, which makes him look as young as Finn is treating him.

  “Pants,” Finn says, all business, and James obediently reaches for the fly of his tuxedo trousers.

  “Oh. God.” I turn away. “I’m going to go.”

  “I told you, man,” I hear Finn say as I leave. “Taking off your pants is not the way to get a girl. Just scares ’em.”

  Before I close the door to the restroom, I actually hear James laugh.

  A few minutes later, a freshly cleaned and changed James follows Finn back into the waiting room. He sits down for about ten seconds before rising to pace across the length of the small room, mumbling under his breath.

  “How did they do it?” he says softly. “How did they get in?”

  Mayor McCreedy thinks James is talking to him and replies, “Someone will be coming to brief us—”

  “It’s like Bobby Kennedy, right?” James continues, as if the mayor never spoke. “It’s just like that, only . . .”

  Mayor McCreedy, Senator Gaines, and the other officials from the fund-raiser try to hide their puzzled looks. They mostly fail, but James doesn’t notice. He doesn’t notice anything when he’s like this. Sometimes when James has a problem—like how to work out an equation for Dr. Feinberg or even something as trivial as what kind of takeout to order for dinner—he retreats into his mind to work it out. Unlike the men in the room, Finn and I have seen these episodes enough times that it doesn’t faze us.

  The mayor takes a step toward him. “Son, are you—”

  I catch his sleeve. “Please, don’t disturb him. It’s just something he does. It’s better if you don’t interrupt.”

  Whatever’s going on in James’s head, it’s something he needs to work through. If he’s prevented or distracted, he can fly off the handle. James doesn’t lose his temper often, but when he does, it’s spectacular.

  The mayor pats my hand. “I’m glad you’re here for him, Marina,” he says, and leaves James alone.

  “Nate was on Intelligence, so maybe he . . .” James mutters. “But the vice president was there! It shouldn’t have happened. It shouldn’t have. . . .”

  James is still pacing and talking to himself when Nate’s fiancée, Vivianne, rushes into the room, her coat mis-buttoned and a chalky undertone to her brown skin. I’m the closest one to her, and she grabs me, clutching me like a drowning woman.

  “Oh, Marina,” she says tremulously. She sees James over my shoulder and pulls away. “Oh, no. How long has he been like that?”

  “Not long. Twenty minutes.”

  “Great.” Her fingernails dig into my shoulders. “Marina, what am I going to do?”

  I don’t know what to tell her. There’s nothing to tell her.

  “Can I get you anything, Viv?” Finn asks. “Water or coffee?”

  “An herbal tea would be great, thank you.”

  Finn goes to get her a drink from the vending machine, and Vivianne, without letting go of me, sinks into a chair, pulling me down beside her. She and Nate are supposed to get married this summer. They’ve been together on and off since law school, soul mates who couldn’t quite get the timing right. She was working in New York at a high-powered litigation firm, trying to pay off her student loans, and he was here, raising his kid brother. It took him years to convince her to quit her job and come to D.C. to work for one of the nonprofits she loves, because they pay next to no money and she didn’t want him supporting her. But he finally wore her down and convinced her to marry him.

  Which she may never get to do now.

  “Have they told you anything yet?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “Just that he’s in surgery.”

  “Viv?”

  She and I look up. James has stopped pacing and seen Vivianne for the first time. She stands and enfolds him in a hug.

  The next hours are a blur. Nate’s in emergency surgery deep into the night, and there’s nothing for us to do but wait. Mayor McCreedy is called away, and once he leaves, Senator Gaines and the others begin to drift away with murmured apologies. After a while, it’s just the four of us and the Capitol Police agent at the door.

  Vivianne keeps up a near constant monologue. “I called your cousin Alice, and she’s flying down from Westchester. She said Nancy is looking for someone to watch the kids—you know Benjamin only just turned two and apparently their nanny is on vacation—but then she and John will be on their way. William is in Shanghai, but I’m sure he’ll be here just as soon as he can. . . .”

  Meanwhile, James doesn’t speak, just stares at the floor with a fine line creasing his brow. Like the thin maroon carpeting has insulted him.

  I excuse myself from the waiting room and pull my cell phone from the clutch Sophie stole from Mom’s closet. I texted Luz when we first arrived to let her know where we were—I couldn’t bear to hear her voice, because I knew I would break down like a baby—but then turned it off because of the constant stream of text messages from friends and people I barely know. I turn it back on and wait to see if I have any voice mails. Just two, both from Tamsin. I fiddle with the phone. I’ve been thinking about making the call for hours, but even now, with my finger poised over the number, I’m not sure. Why haven’t they called me? They must have heard by now. If I don’t call, then they can’t fail to answer. If I don’t want, I can’t be disappointed.

  I press the number, labeled dad’s cell, and the phone starts to ring. I close my eyes and try to figure out what I’ll say when he picks up. Daddy, the world’s ending, please make it stop.

  “Hello. You’ve reached Daniel Marchetti. I’m not availab
le—”

  I jab my finger at the phone to end the call. I try Mom. Her phone goes straight to voice mail, and I’m willing to bet a million dollars she’s in the spa. Dad goes to Vail for the skiing, but she spends almost every moment being massaged or plucked or exfoliated.

  Or so I hear, since they’ve never taken me with them.

  I jam the phone back into the bag, my fingers curling into the material as I make fists. The delicate Swarovski crystals that adorn the outside strain against their threads, and I claw at them with one hand, my fingers catching and popping a half a dozen glittering pieces off. Mom will kill me, and I don’t care.

  I go to the restroom and splash some cold water on my face. I try not to look too closely at my reflection. My hair and makeup are a wreck, and I suddenly don’t recognize the person looking back at me. She’s like a photograph of some distant cousin. Vaguely familiar, but strange. Not me.

  “You okay?” Finn asks quietly when I throw myself back into a waiting room chair. He’s looking down at my mangled bag.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Did you call your parents?”

  “I texted. Didn’t want to wake my mom.” He cocks his head at me. “What did your parents say?”

  I look away from him. “Nothing.”

  My eyes go back to James, who’s sitting in the corner of the room, just like he was when I left, except now he has his head bent over a yellow legal pad and is scribbling furiously. The ghostly expression has left his face, and his distant eyes are now focused as he stares fiercely at the pad.

  “What’s he doing?” I whisper.

  “Not sure,” Finn says. “He went and asked the nurse for a pen and paper after you left, and he’s been like that since. Think he’s okay?”

  “I don’t know.” James’s eyes are lit up with such a fire, I’m afraid he might ignite the paper. It’s a little frightening, but less frightening than the lost, blank look he’s been wearing for hours. “At least he’s doing something.”

  “Yeah, I guess I just worry what.”

  I look at Finn and am trying to decipher his furrowed expression when I hear the pad of paper hit the ground behind me. James has jumped to his feet, and I follow his line of vision to the doctor in a surgical gown standing in the doorway.

  Oh God, this is it.

  Vivianne stands beside James on one side and me on the other, and I search the man’s face as he pulls off his mask. I’m looking for some hint about the news he’s bringing, but his features are perfectly inscrutable, like a second mask. At first I’m relieved. If Nate died, he would look upset, wouldn’t he? But if everything is fine, it’s almost cruel for him not to smile.

  The four of us face the doctor like he’s the firing squad and we’re the prisoners.

  “Is he okay?” James asks.

  “Congressman Shaw was very seriously injured,” the man says, and I barely resist the urge to shake him. We know he was seriously injured; we were there. “We’re still working on fixing the damage done by the bullet, but he’s made it through the most difficult part.”

  James sags, and I put an arm around his waist to steady him. Thank God. I turn my face into his shoulder.

  “He’s still in critical condition, though. The next forty-eight to seventy-two hours are crucial.”

  James straightens, his muscles going rigid under my hand. “What does that mean?”

  “Let’s sit down, and I’ll explain everything.” The doctor turns to Finn and me. “I’m sorry, but details of the congressman’s condition are confidential, so I’m going to need you two to wait outside.”

  Finn squeezes James’s shoulder before he leaves the room. I stand on my toes to press a kiss to his forehead, and he catches my hand as I go so that our fingers catch for a moment and then slide apart. It’s such a little thing, but the touch leaves me shaking. I hate myself for feeling this way when Nate’s fighting for his life down the hall, but for a second it was almost like James needed me beside him.

  Finn and I sit in two chairs against the wall to wait. We don’t speak. He’s surprised me the last few hours, being so patient and kind and not the least bit idiotic. I hardly recognize him.

  The doctor soon leaves, nodding at us as he walks back toward the operating room, and I rush back to James’s side.

  “It’s bad,” Vivianne says. “He’s alive, but he’s not breathing on his own. The doctor says there’s only a fifty-fifty chance he’ll make it past—past the next few days.”

  “Jesus,” Finn whispers.

  “Oh my God.” I want to touch James, but I’m scared to, and my hands flutter uselessly at my side.

  James’s paper-white face is blank. “He said we should be able to see him in a few hours, but . . .” He suddenly loses the will to speak, and his head falls into his hands. I think of James the day of his parents’ funeral, bleeding from the cut on his hand he couldn’t seem to feel, hurling furniture across the library. I can almost see the string holding him together right now beginning to fray. If nothing changes, I’m afraid it’ll snap.

  I put a tentative hand on his back. “How about we go back to my house and you get some sleep? We’ll come back first thing in the morning, when Nate’s ready to see you.”

  “I think that may be a good idea,” Vivianne says.

  James shakes his head, voice muffled by his hands. “No. You guys can go, but I’ve got to stay. I could never forgive myself if . . .”

  . . . if I left and Nate died. I hear the words even in the silence.

  “Okay.” I look at Finn and shrug. “We’ll stay, too.”

  I pull out my phone and dial Luz. If we’re staying, I’m going to need something less ridiculous to wear.

  Of course, the real reason I call Luz is because I can’t take another second of pretending to be strong. If that’s what I’ve been so far. I need someone to put their arms around me and tell me it’s going to be okay.

  It takes Luz over an hour to be searched and cleared to enter, in no small part because she’s brought two enormous bags along with her. Once she gets the okay, she bustles past the agent posted outside the waiting room door and comes right for James and me, scooping us up in her fleshy arms and pressing kisses to our heads.

  “Ay, Dios mío,” she murmurs. “My darlings. God bless you.”

  I hide a smile as I suffer the indignity of having my face squashed to Luz’s breast, but James looks gone, like part of him has fled and left his body behind.

  Luz unpacks her bags. One contains a change of clothes for each of us, and the other holds more food than the entire hospital could consume in a week, from sandwiches and fruit to a casserole dish of enchiladas and a batch of freshly baked cookies. Luz cooks when she’s worried, and judging by the contents of the bag, she’s been freaking out.

  We’ve had nothing but vending machine food since the eight-hundred-dollar salmon, so Finn dives into the food, Vivianne takes a peach, and even James manages to nibble at a peanut butter sandwich. Finn offers me the plate of chocolate chip cookies, but I shake my head and grab the clothes Luz brought instead. I excuse myself to the restroom to change. It’s hard to imagine why I was once so in love with this dress. When I get home, I’m going to burn it.

  I come out of the bathroom stall clad in jeans and a sweater to find Luz leaning against the sink, arms crossed over her chest.

  “Mija, are you okay?”

  I burst into tears.

  Luz folds me up in her arms, rubbing circles against my back with her palm like she used to do when I was little. I’m making these incredibly embarrassing, ragged noises, and I’m pretty sure my nose is running on Luz’s sweatshirt, but she doesn’t let me pull away, and I’m glad.

  “I’m sorry for last night,” I say. “I know I’m a real bitch to you sometimes.”

  “Shh, shh.” She pushes my hair away from my face and mops my cheeks with the end of her sleeve. “Have you called your mama?”

  I shake my head. Somehow it’s easier to pretend I never even tried. Luz squeezes me ti
ghter, until my ribs ache. I don’t know what I was thinking, waiting so long to call her.

  We return to the waiting room, where Finn is shuffling a pack of cards he found, Vivianne is staring at her phone, and James is back to scribbling away on the legal pad. No one looks up when we enter. Luz takes a seat by the door and pulls some knitting from one of her bottomless bags. I sit between the boys and look for something to do with my own hands. I finally give in and start to chew on a fingernail while I watch James.

  This frantic writing is starting to worry me. It’s too intense, even for him. I want him to look at me and say something, anything to stop the manic scratching of his pen against the paper, so I ask, “Did you eat, James?”

  “He ate,” Finn says. James crosses something out on his pad with feverish strokes.

  “You mean that sandwich with the three bites out of it?” I say, nodding at the forgotten peanut butter and jelly on the table. “’Cause I’m not really sure that counts as eating.”

  “And you’re one to talk?” Finn says mildly.

  I feel the blood drain from my face. Luz glances up at me but quickly turns back to her knitting. “What does that mean?” I say.

  “Nothing.”

  “No, tell me!”

  “It means lay off, okay, Marina? He’ll eat when he’s hungry.”

  “I’m just trying to look out for him, not—”

  “Jesus, I’m still here, you know!”

  I whip my head around to look at James. He’s on his feet, and he flings the legal pad into the far corner of the room, where it smacks against the wall and flutters down behind a chair.

  “Nate’s the one dying,” he says. “Not me.”

  The air leaves my lungs. “James—”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Vivianne says. “They’re just trying to help.”

  James pulls on his coat. “I’m going to get some fresh air.”

  I jump up. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, Marina! I need . . .” He takes a deep breath and lowers his voice. “I just need a minute, okay?”

  I sink back into my seat and blink back tears. “Yeah. Okay.”