Someone Like You: Wild Widows Series, Book 1 Read online

  Sam hands me a tissue. “I haven’t been where you are, and I pray to God every day that I never will be. My heart aches for you, Roni, for Patrick, for everyone who loved him. It’s so incredibly unfair that he was taken so suddenly from you.”

  “Thank you. It is so unfair.”

  “I’ve only known you without him, but I don’t need to see you with him to feel your love for him. It’s so much a part of who you are, who you’ll always be.”

  Her words are so sweet and kind and exactly what I needed to hear.

  “That said,” she adds with a small smile, “you have a very long life to live, and you should be free to feel and do whatever makes you happy or provides you comfort. As the first lady of the United States, I give you permission to be happy, Roni.”

  I laugh through my tears as I lean into the one-armed hug she gives me.

  “I’m so, so sorry you’re going through such a rough time, but seeing you becoming friends with our beloved Derek makes me happier than anything has in a long time. And you should know, I used to hate when my world and Nick’s would collide, like it did when Gonzo and Christina got together or Terry and Lindsey—his people dating my people. Cringe.”

  She’s nothing if not irreverent and funny.

  “But you and Derek… If those two worlds collided, no one would be happier about that than I would be. I just want you to know that.”

  “You’re very sweet to say so, but there’s no colliding going on. Just a friendship borne out of mutual understanding of tragic loss.”

  “Which is lovely, and I’m so glad you both have that kind of support.”

  “It’s mostly been him supporting me so far.”

  “I’m sure it helps him to pay forward the things he’s learned, having been on the journey longer than you.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Roni, I’ve known him well for more than two years, and in all the dreadful months since he lost Vic, I’ve never seen him look the way he did this morning, except for when he’s with Maeve. Don’t think you aren’t helping him, too.”

  “What would people say if I started hanging out with someone new a few months after Patrick died?”

  “Who gives a crap what people say?”

  “Um, well, everyone does, except for you, of course.”

  “You can’t care about that shit, Roni. You need to live your life in a way that makes sense to you. As long as you aren’t hurting anyone else, you should do what feels good to you.”

  “It would hurt Patrick’s parents if I dated someone new.”

  “Would it, though? I assume they loved you as much as he did.”

  “We’ve always had a nice relationship, and they’ve been lovely to me since he died.”

  “Then I feel pretty confident they’d tell you the same thing I am—do what feels good to you, and don’t worry about what other people say.”

  “Last night, we went for a drink after we attended a meeting for the Wild Widows—”

  “Wait. What? The Wild Widows? That’s a thing?”

  Laughing at the stunned face she makes, I tell her, “It’s a group for young widows with only one rule for members—we have to be open to the possibility of falling in love again.”

  “Oh, that’s incredible,” she says on a deep sigh. “I love that such a thing exists.”

  “It’s an amazing group made up of such strong, resilient people. Anyway, Derek and I went for a drink after the meeting, and I saw my sister’s in-laws there. They were shocked to see me with him, even though I told them we were friends.”

  “It’s really hard to not care what other people think of you and your choices, Roni, but you simply can’t let people who’ve never suffered through what you have make you feel that anything you do is wrong.”

  “I want to be you when I grow up. You’re such a badass.”

  “So are you. Everyone who knows you probably admires the way you’ve handled such a devastating loss. That makes you the baddest of badasses.”

  “Is ‘baddest’ a word?”

  Snorting out a laugh, she says, “If it isn’t, it should be, with your name next to it.”

  “Thank you for this. It helps.”

  “I wish there was more I could do for you.”

  “Are you kidding? You’ve given me a job that’s made me the envy of everyone I know, and you’re sitting here with me in the residence of the White House when we’re both supposed to be at work. You’re the best shit friend I’ve ever had.”

  We share a laugh that makes me feel infinitely better than I did before she brought me up to the private area she shares with her family.

  While we have this moment, I want to tell her about the baby. “There’s something else I should probably tell you…”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, it seems that I’m pregnant.”

  “Oh, Roni. That’s amazing news. Right?”

  “Yes, of course it is. I’m thrilled and sad and, you know, generally a disastrous mess over it. But I get that it’s a tremendous gift to have part of Patrick living on in our child, even if I’m scared shitless of single parenthood.”

  She hugs me tightly. “You’ll be a wonderful mother. I have no doubt about that.”

  “I’m glad you don’t.”

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m better than I was. I’d assumed the nonstop nausea was a side effect of widowhood, but I found out otherwise right before Christmas.”

  “I want you to let me know if there’s anything at all we can do to support you through this. After the baby is born, you can bring him or her to work. I’m sure Shelby would be happy to share her nanny with you. They’re on the third floor when Shelby is here.”

  “You’re like my fairy godmother,” I say, my eyes filling, “fixing everything for me.”

  “Nah, I’m just a friend doing what any friend would do for another.”

  “Not just any friend. An extraordinary one. I hate to say I got lucky in any way the day Patrick died, because that would be morbid, but I’m thankful to have you in my life.”

  “Likewise. And I’m just saying… Derek certainly understands single parenthood if you need someone to talk to about it.”

  I roll my eyes at her shameless matchmaking. “Duly noted.” I take a long look around at the beautiful room. “I can’t believe you live here.”

  “How do you think I feel? Want to see the rest of the residence?”

  “Is that a yes-or-no question?”

  Laughing, she helps me up and links her arm through mine as she gives me a guided tour of the residence. By the time we head downstairs, I’m half an hour late for work, but since I was with the boss, I hope that won’t be held against me.

  Sam walks me to the East Wing offices and pops her head into Lilia’s office. “I waylaid Roni on the way in, so don’t dock her for being late.”

  “We’ll let it slide this one time,” Lilia replies, her dark eyes alight with amusement.

  “I’ve got to get to my day job,” Sam says. “I’ll check in with you ladies later on.”

  “Have a good day, Mom,” Lilia says.

  “You, too.”

  After Sam walks away, Lilia gestures for me to come into her office. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, of course. I just have to say how much I adore our boss, however. She’s the best.”

  “She really is. I feel very blessed to not only work for her, but to have her as a friend.”

  “Same.” I take a sip of my hot chocolate, which isn’t so hot anymore, but it still tastes good. “What’s on our docket for today?”

  We spend the next half hour sorting through yet another massive stack of interview and speaking requests that’ve come in for Sam. Because her time is at such a premium, we once again narrow it down to a few that we think will best suit her. Lilia asks me to compose an email that outlines what we’ve come up with to send to Sam for her thoughts.

  The day passes in a flurry of activity, meetings and planni
ng. The German chancellor is coming to the White House in two weeks, and the president and first lady are hosting their first state dinner. Lilia and I meet with Shelby Hill, the social secretary, to go over the details of that event and the various demands that will be required of the first lady while the chancellor and his wife are in town.

  My favorite meeting of the day happens at four o’clock, when Scotty Cappuano and his dog, Skippy, come to the office to, as he puts it, “take a meeting.”

  He’s a handsome fourteen-year-old adopted by Sam and Nick out of state custody in Virginia, after having met Nick during a campaign stop at the group home where he lived. Skippy is an adorable, full-of-energy golden retriever puppy.

  “Ladies, I apologize in advance for anything she does while she’s here,” Scotty says. “She’s incorrigible.” Stopping, he glances at me and says, “Did I use that word right? It was one of our vocabulary words last year, but that was a lifetime ago.”

  “If you mean you can’t do a thing with her, then yep, you used it right.”

  “Excellent,” he says, grinning. He has dark hair and eyes and bears a faint resemblance to Nick. The first time I met him, I noticed how he’s affected his father’s expressions and mannerisms, which is so sweet. “My mom tells me you guys can help me deal with her exploding social media accounts. Dad says I’m going to start an international incident if I make the wrong kind of comment there, so I need all the help I can get. Not to mention the mail. She gets more than my dad does!”

  “We heard that,” Lilia says. “Let’s see what we can do to help you manage that.”

  We spend a delightful hour with Scotty and Skippy, who is indeed incorrigible, but so damn cute, too. Lilia and I are both covered in blonde dog hair by the time Scotty says he must head upstairs to the residence so he can get a jump on his dreaded algebra homework.

  Before he leaves, he solemnly shakes hands with both of us. “Thank you so much for being willing to help us.”

  “It’s a pleasure,” I tell him, and I mean it. Running an Instagram account for the first dog sounds like the most fun anyone could ever have at a job. “I’ll be in touch with some thoughts about how we can show the two of you together, and with the twins, as we go forward. People love the narrative of a boy and his first dog.”

  “Especially a boy who was adopted himself,” Scotty says.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Excellent. You know where to find us if you need me and the superstar.”

  “Good luck with the algebra,” I tell him.

  He scowls as he heads for the door to our suite. “My dad is going to outlaw it.”

  “What an awesome kid,” I say to Lilia after he leaves.

  “He really is. We all adore him, and Skippy is beyond cute. I love how he named her for Sam’s late dad.”

  “It’s all so sweet. Running that account is going to be a blast.”

  “I agree, but we’d better see about a lint brush for the office.”

  I crack up laughing and head back to my own office. With my day winding down, I take a second to text my parents, Pen and Rebecca about dinner on Saturday night. I end the message with, I’m looking forward to hosting you guys, and don’t worry about bringing anything.

  I no sooner send that message than my phone vibrates with a text from Derek. Can you bust loose yet? I’m heading home soon.

  Since the temperature is expected to dip into single digits tonight, I decide to take him and his heated seats up on the offer of a ride home. Meet you in the foyer in ten?

  I’ll be there.

  The quickening of excitement that occurs when he texts those three little words has me on guard against the crush I feel forming. While I know there’s nothing wrong with that, it still seems wrong to me.

  Don’t be ridiculous, Ron. I hear Patrick’s voice as if he’s right next to me. I stand perfectly still, hoping he’ll have more to say. I loved you so much. You know that. And everyone knows how much you loved me. My eyes dart around the room, a place Patrick has never been. Where’s it coming from? I want you to be happy. You do whatever it takes to be happy, you hear me?

  Tears slide down my cheeks, but I still don’t move, hoping there might be more. I have no idea how long I stand there, barely breathing, waiting for something that doesn’t come.

  14

  Roni

  Derek appears in the doorway to my office. “Hey, did you get sucked into something?” He takes a closer look, sees my tears and comes in, closing the door. “What happened?”

  I’ve only recently managed to convince him I’m not crazy. How can I share this with him or anyone?

  “Roni? Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I heard his voice. Patrick’s voice. It was like he was right here.”

  “Maybe he was.”

  The possibility of that breaks me wide open inside.

  Derek rounds my desk and puts his arms around me, holding me close while I sob all over him. “Shhh, it’s okay.” He rubs my back with just the right amount of pressure to be comforting. “I believe they’re always close by, keeping an eye on us from the other side of the veil.”

  “You do? Really?”

  “Yes, of course. Where else would Victoria want to be but watching over Maeve and me? I’m sure your Patrick is the same. He wants to be wherever you are.”

  “His voice was so clear to me.”

  “That’s a wonderful gift.”

  “Except I want more of it.”

  “I know.” After another long moment of silence, he says, “Do you want to talk about what he had to say?”

  “He said how much he loved me, how everyone knew I loved him, and I should do whatever it takes to be happy. He was quite insistent about that last part. He even called me Ron, which was one of his many names for me.”

  “It sounds like he really wanted you to know how he felt.”

  “Where would that have come from? I mean, it’s not possible for it to have been him.”

  “How do we know that’s not possible?”

  “He’s dead, Derek.”

  “I know, but how do we really know what happens after someone dies?”

  “We don’t, I guess.”

  “As long as we don’t know for sure, anything is possible.”

  We’re there for quite some time before I emerge from my grief state to realize my face is resting against his suit coat, and his arms are still around me. When I start to pull back, he releases me.

  I wipe my face with the tissue I take from the box on my desk. “I’m sorry for the meltdown.”

  “Please don’t apologize. There’s no need for that.”

  “Thank you for… for understanding.”

  “I do.”

  “Have you ever heard Vic’s voice like that?”

  “No, I haven’t, but I know what she would say if she were here. And I have proof of it in the letter she left for me. That letter set me free in so many ways.”

  “You’re lucky to have that.”

  “And I know it. Widow groups often debate which is worse—the sudden death or the lingering disease. They’re both horrible, but with the disease, at least you have warning that the loss is coming. The shock of what happened to us, of having the person we love the most ripped out of our lives suddenly and without warning… That’s not something I’d wish on anyone.”

  “Me either.”

  “I hate to say it, but I have to get home. My nanny has class tonight.”

  “Oh gosh.” I take a deep breath. “I’m so sorry.”

  His warm smile lights up his eyes. “You’re not apologizing to me, remember?”

  “In that case, then, I’ll just say thank you for being there for me.”

  “I’m happy to be there for you.”

  We walk out together, and as he holds the passenger door for me, I wonder if I’m setting off a White House scandal by being seen with him.

  “Will people be talking about the two widows coming and going together?”

  “Let t
hem talk. I don’t give a flying fuck what anyone has to say about it, and you shouldn’t either.”

  “Well, all righty then.”

  “I don’t mean to discount your valid concerns.” He waves to the Secret Service agent working the gate we drive through to leave the White House grounds. “It’s just that when you’ve been through what we have, you stop giving a shit about what other people think of you. At least I have.”

  “I’m still working on building up that immunity.”

  “Understood. If you’d rather not be seen together at work, that’s fine with me.”

  “I don’t care about being seen together or people knowing we’re friends. I’m just not sure I’m ready to be the target of workplace gossip.”

  “I’ll shut down anything I hear. As the number two staffer in the building, people tend to do what I ask, so don’t worry.”

  His no-nonsense protectiveness sends a jolt of awareness through me that has my full attention as he drives us home to Capitol Hill. The traffic is intense as always, and what should be a five-minute ride stretches into twenty minutes, but I enjoy every second of his heated seats and his company.

  I respond to texts from my family asking what they can bring on Saturday with absolutely nothing.

  “Do you want to have dinner with Maeve and me? I’m making pasta with meatballs for her and shrimp for me. I’ve got plenty of both, and we’d love to have you join us.”

  I have no idea whether it’s a good idea to encourage this friendship—or whatever it is—but all I know is I don’t want to be alone tonight, and his invitation perks me up. “Sure, that’d be nice. Thanks for asking me.”

  “No problem. Do you want to stop at home first?”

  “I’d love to change, but only if it won’t make you late for your nanny.”

  “I’ve got time.”

  A few minutes later, he brings the car to a stop outside my building. “I’ll be quick.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  I dash upstairs and change into leggings and a sweater and look around for something I can take to contribute to dinner. The only thing I can find is a bottle of white wine that I hope he’ll like. I grab my down parka out of the closet, put sheepskin-lined boots on in anticipation of the walk home and am back downstairs within five minutes.