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When she emerged from that hotel bathroom, towel-drying her hair, Alicia’s mind was on how comforting and alienating the smell of hotel soap always is: middle notes of something clean and crisp, with top notes of something spicy and sharp to remind you that you are most definitely not at home.
Will was sitting on the bed, watching the Cubs game on the TV.
Alicia plopped down next to him, still working on her hair. “Why does it sound like they’re playing ‘Monster Mash’ in the background?”
“Because the shortstop’s last name is Mashburn,” Will said. “It’s his up at bat song. All the guys have one.”
Alicia grinned at him, setting the towel aside. She got up and walked over to the suite’s vanity mirror. “What would yours have been? If you’d made it to the Major Leagues?” she asked as she reapplied her lipstick.
Will chuckled. “‘Mr. Blue Sky’,” he said, without hesitation.
“The ELO song?” She glanced back at him in the mirror, eyes warm.
“Yeah. It’s what they called me in college. Mr. Blue Sky. As in, ‘when he pitches, the balls don’t crack the air, it’s nothin’ but blue sky’.” He smirked, and she shook her head, laughing. “What?”
Alicia smiled. “No, it’s great. I just never would have guessed that.”
Will got up from the bed and walked up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist. “I can hear it now, you know, that piano intro, doot-doot, doot-doot, doot-doot, doot-doot, ’now up, Number Thirty-Seven…Will…Gahhhhdnnnaahhhhhhh’…’ And the crowd would go absolutely nuts—“
“Would they, now?”
“For the number two pitcher in the Central division? You better believe it.”
Alicia laughed again. “Number two, huh?”
“I’m just going off of current stats,” Will deadpanned.
“Mmm. And are your dreams always so firmly rooted in reality?”
“Not always,” Will murmured, kissing her neck.
—
Two months. Two months since the—
The word Alicia keeps trying to insert was “accident”, though she knows it’s not accurate. “Murder” just seems so deliberate by comparison, even though technically that’s what it was.
Two months that brought with them a host of miniature tragedies — the eyes of his sisters at the memorial, accusing her of something she didn’t want to name; his name everywhere, on old firm stationery and that pen she kept near the fridge for messages; that damned Chicago magazine with his picture in her nightstand. Her closet in particular seems full of reminders — suits worn in court, shoes kicked off in his office, dresses he’d unzipped.
And then there’s Finn.
Sweet, unnerving Finn Polmar, the one who lived. The one who has such a refreshing lack of vanity that she finds herself smiling even through the roughest of conversations. The one whose forthright kindnesses keeps her from thinking “I wish it had been you”, and when she realizes that she hasn’t thought that yet, she feels both relieved, as if a piece of her humanity were still intact, and ashamed, that she hadn’t grieved properly. But what is proper? She doesn’t know.
What she does know is that two months is not enough time to be prepared to hear that damned song as she reaches for some arugula in the middle of Whole Foods. Isn’t enough to prepare her for the full-body sobs as she clutches the bag of greens to her chest, gulping and choking as the voices in the song taunt, “Mr. Blue Sky, please tell us why you had to hide away for so long — where did we go wrong?”
She shoves the bag back onto the display and makes a beeline for the car, determined to go home and disappear into bed and a glass of red and not think about anything for the rest of the night—
Her phone buzzes: “FINN POLMAR cell”. Hands still shaking, she hits ’ignore’ before turning the ignition and pulling out of the parking lot.
—
She doesn’t take Finn’s calls for two days. When she finally picks up the phone and calls him herself, his relief is palpable.
“I thought perhaps you were mad at me,” Finn says, smile evident in his voice.
Alicia takes a deep breath. “No, no, I’m— No. I’m not mad. Not at you.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not today. But maybe someday.”
It’s Finn’s turn to take a breath. “Well, when that day comes, find me.”
“I will. Thank you.” Pause. “You want to get a drink?”
“I’d love to, yeah.”
—
Months have passed. Holidays, birthdays; drama. Alicia is now doing so many things she finds herself wishing every so often Will could be there to see: managing a firm with Cary and Diane; running for State’s Attorney.
And then there’s the thing she’s thankful he can't see — something she tries not to see herself.
“Mom, you seem lonely,” Grace says, settling next to her on the couch with a bowl of popcorn.
“I’m not! I have you,” Alicia says matter-of-factly, scooping up a handful of popcorn as Grace turns the TV on. A Cubs game is on, and Grace immediately flips past it.
“Wait!” Alicia says, suddenly. “Go back—“
“To what?”
“The Cubs game.”
Grace stares at her. “Why?”
“I just want to see the score. Then we can watch Darkness At Noon, promise.”
Grace flips it back. The Cubs are leading the Dodgers, 2-0. Alicia smiles.
“It’s early. They’re probably going to lose like they always do,” Grace mumbles before switching over to an On Demand menu.
“Oh ye of little faith,” Alicia teases.
“You’re one to talk,” Grace shoots back.
“Hey!”
“You changed the subject. You’re not lonely, are you, Mom?”
Alicia reaches for more popcorn. “You kidding? I don’t have time to be lonely. I’m working all the time.”
“You can be lonely in a room full of people, Mom.”
Alicia shakes her head, pressing a kiss to the top of Grace’s head. “How’d you get to be so wise?”
“I don’t know,” Grace says, hitting ‘play’.
—
That night in bed, Alicia finds herself scrolling through text messages from Finn — nothing particularly interesting or even all that loaded with meaning, just short and sweet and efficient. “Great, see you there.” “I’d love to.” “Very good idea.” “My pleasure”. She clicks over to her voicemail and scrolls to the bottom.
“They’re probably going to lose like they always do,” echoes Grace’s voice in her head as her thumb hovers over “WILL GARDNER - cell” and hits ‘play’.
—
It’s been almost a year. For someone who made her living in the world of hard and fast rules and regulations, Alicia increasingly finds herself caring less and less about following rules anywhere else.
That being said, as Election Day nears, as Frank Prady’s admonitions about playing clean and not giving in to politics as usual dog her every step, Alicia finds herself wishing she could make amends to the one person she can’t.
One morning, she drives herself not to work but somewhere else entirely — first, past Wrigley Field, and then deep into the suburbs, past rows of identical houses and then to a small cemetery where she pulls off into the grass and parks. She’s only been here once — the day of the funeral — but she remembers exactly where to go.
She kneels at the base of the stone, tracing it lightly with her fingers. WILLIAM ALLEN GARDNER, 1971-2014, Beloved Son and Brother. There’s a fresh bunch of flowers tied in blue and white ribbons. Cubs colors, she thinks to herself. One of his sisters, probably.
“God, I miss you,” she whispers. “I miss you and I— Will, I fucked up. You saw right through me. Goddammit—“ Tears start falling. “I loved you so much. So much—“ She chokes back a sob. “And I never told you. I told myself that I didn’t, because I was afraid. And you want to know the worst part? This is what I was afraid of. This right here. Loving you and losing you. But always thought it would be to some tiny blonde 2L from Northwestern, not—“ She shakes her head. “Jesus, Will.” It takes her a moment to calm down, and when she finally does, she whispers, “I want to make this okay. Help me make this okay.”
She presses a kiss to the stone before getting up, brushing the dirt off of her knees, and walking back to her car. By the time she arrives at work, she’s put on just enough concealer that nobody’s any the wiser.
—
She wins the election. Eli’s beside himself with giddiness. Marissa can’t stop grinning, and the whole rented ballroom is full of bubbly, happy, drunk people. Alicia’s hand is sore from all of the congratulatory handshakes, her cheeks aching from smiling for so many pictures.
Peter and the kids are gone, and even though everyone in the room is wearing a button with her name on it, Alicia hears Grace’s voice in her head: “You can be lonely in a room full of people, Mom.”
After thanking Eli one last time, Alicia excuses herself from the party and pulls out her phone. She pulls up her texts and sends one to Finn: “Meet me at that diner again?”
She’s halfway to the elevator and given up when the phone pings. “I’d love to.”
“Give me an hour and I’ll be there,” she shoots back.
—
She’s changed into a sweatshirt and jeans, and other than a bit of lipstick, she’s taken off her makeup, too. Saint Alicia, the martyr, the candidate, the wife, the new state’s attorney, they’re all gone. What’s left is a woman who barely recognizes herself, but maybe, she thinks, maybe today’s the day I get reacquainted.
Finn’s sitting on a barstool, sipping at what appears to be a glass of chocolate milk. He grins when she walks in. “Hi.”
“Hi. Is that chocolate milk?”
“It’s a chocolate egg cream. Well — it’s as close an approximation as I could get the guy to make, anyway. I had to explain it. It's what I get for leaving New York.” Pause. “Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thank you,” Alicia says, taking a seat. “So—“
“So—“ Finn echoes, smiling softly.
“Maybe this was a bad idea—“
“Maybe,” Finn says with a shrug, taking a sip of his drink. As he does, the song overhead shifts from Nat King Cole to a song Alicia hasn’t heard since that day at Whole Foods. Her eyes flood with tears, and she smiles.
“Hey—“ Finn says, reaching a hand out and lightly touching her shoulder, eyes full of alarm. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I— I just can’t believe this song is playing.”
Finn smiles. “Yeah, well, believe it, baby, I played it. Five plays for a dollar. Right between ‘Mona Lisa’ and some Herman’s Hermits, then ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ and ’Hotel California’, because I believe in getting my money’s worth. You know, it’s my belief that the Electric Light Orchestra is the finest of all the light orchestras—“
She cuts him off with a kiss, which after a moment he returns.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but I think I like it,” Finn murmurs as he pulls away.
“Do you remember how once you asked me if I wanted to talk, and I said that I didn’t then, but someday?”
“I do,” he says.
“Today’s the day.”
He grins, nodding. “Today’s the day.”