That part actually makes sense. When it comes to getting earmarks, the smaller companies try to do it by themselves. Then, when they fail, they get smart and cough up the beans for a pro. If Wendell had someone pulling for them, the name’ll eventually show up in this database. “Listen, I appreciate th-”

There’s a loud knock on the door. I go silent.

“Sir, are you there?” Gary asks through the receiver.

The person knocks again. This time to the tune of shave-and-a-haircut.

“It’s me, you shut-in!” Viv calls out. “Open up!”

I leap for the door and undo the lock. The phone cord is pulled so far, it knocks over the stack of keyboards, which go crashing to the floor as the door swings open.

“Mission accomplished, Mr. Bond. What’s next?” Viv sings, cradling the two notebooks as if she were still in high school. That’s when it hits me. She is still in high school. Sliding inside, she whips past me with a frenetic new bounce in her step. I’ve seen the same thing on staffers the first day they get on the Senate Floor. Power rush.

Gary’s voice crackles through the receiver. “Sir, are you-?”

“I’m here… sorry,” I say, turning back to the phone. “Thanks for the help – I’ll give you a call next week.”

As I hang up, Viv dumps the notebooks across the desk. I was wrong before. I thought she was the girl who sits silently in the back of the class – and while that part’s true, I’m quickly starting to realize that she’s also the girl who, when she gets around people she knows, never shuts up.

“I guess you didn’t have any problems,” I say.

“You should’ve seen it! I was unstoppable – I’m telling you, it was like being in the Matrix. They’re all standing there dumbfounded, then I weave around in super-slow-mo… dodging their bullets… working my voodoo… Oh, they didn’t know what hit ’em!”

The jokes are coming too fast. I know a defense mechanism when I see one. She’s afraid. Even if she doesn’t know it.

“Viv…”

“You woulda been proud of me, Harris…”

“Did Dinah say anything?”

“You kidding? She was blinder than the blind guy…”

“The blind guy?”

“All I need now is a code name…”

“Barry was there?”

“… something cool, too – like Senate Grrl…”

“Viv…”

“… or Black Cat…”

“Viv!”

“… or… or Sweet Mocha. Howbout that? Sweet Mocha. Ooh, yeah, let’s get down to Viv-ness!”

“Dammit, Viv, shut up already!”

She stops midsyllable.

“You sure it was Barry?” I ask.

“I don’t know his name. He’s a blind guy with a cane and cloudy eyes…”

“What’d he say?”

“Nothing – though he kept following me as I walked. I can’t… he was slightly off… but it’s like he was trying to prove – not that it matters – but trying to prove he wasn’t that blind, y’know?”

I lunge for the phone and dial his cell. No. I hang up and start again. Go through the operator. Especially now.

Five digits later, the Capitol operator transfers me to Matthew’s old office.

“Interior,” Roxanne answers.

“Hey, Roxanne, it’s Harris.”

“Harris… how are you?”

“Fine. Can you-”

“Y’know you’re in my prayers, sweetie. Everything with Matthew…”

“No… of course. Listen, I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s kind of an emergency. Is Barry still floating around back there?”

Viv waves for my attention, slowly moving toward the door. “I’ll be right back,” she whispers. “Just one more stop…”

“Wait,” I call out.

She doesn’t listen. She’s having too much fun to sit around for a scolding.

“Viv!”

The door slams, and she’s gone.

“Harris?” a voice asks in my ear. I’d know it anywhere. Barry.

“HOW ARE YOU? You okay?” Barry asks.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I shoot back.

“With Matthew… I just figured… Where’re you calling from anyway?”

It’s the third question out of his mouth. I’m surprised it wasn’t the first.

“I’m home,” I tell him. “I just needed some time to – I just wanted to take some time.”

“I left you four messages.”

“I know… and I appreciate it – I just needed the time.”

“No, I completely understand.”

He doesn’t buy it for a second. But not because of what I said.

A few years back, some coworkers threw a surprise birthday party for Ilana Berger, press secretary for Senator Conroy. As old friends of Ilana from college, Matthew, Barry, and I were all invited, along with everyone in the Senator’s office, and seemingly everyone else on the Hill. Ilana’s friends wanted an event. Somehow, though, Barry’s invitation went to the wrong address. Forever worried about being left out, Barry was crushed. When we told him it must’ve been a mistake, he wouldn’t believe it. When we told him to call the party’s hosts, he refused. And when we called the hosts, who felt terrible that the invitation didn’t get there and immediately sent out a new one, Barry saw it as a pity fix. It’s always been Barry’s greatest flaw – he can walk down a crowded street completely unaided, but when it comes to personal interactions, the only thing he ever sees is himself sitting alone in the dark.

Of course, when it comes to Hill gossip, his radar’s still better than most.

“So I assume you heard about Pasternak?” he asks.

I stay quiet. He’s not the only one with radar. There’s a slight rise in his pitch. He’s got something to tell.

“Doctors said it was a heart attack. Can you believe it? Guy runs five miles every morning and wham – it stops pumping in a… in a heartbeat. Carol is heartbroken… his whole family… it’s like a bomb went off. If you gave them a call… they could really use it, Harris.”

I wait for him to get every last word out. “Can I ask you a question?” I finally say. “Do you have a dog in this race?”

“What?”

“Wendell Mining… the request Matthew was working on… Are you lobbying it?”

“Of course not. You know I don’t do that…”

“I don’t know anything, Barry.”

He offers a playful laugh. I don’t laugh back.

“Let me say it again for you, Harris – I’ve never once worked on Matthew’s issues.”

“Then what’re you doing in his office?!”

“Harris…”

“Don’t Harris me!”

“I know you’ve had two huge losses this week-”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Barry? Stop with the mental massage and answer the fucking question!”

There’s a long pause on the other line. He’s either panicking or in shock. I need to know which.

“Harris,” he eventually begins, his voice teetering on the first syllable. “I-I’ve been here ten years… these are my friends… this is my family, Harris…” As he says the words, I close my eyes and fight the swell of tears. “We lost Matthew. C’mon, Harris. This is Matthew…”

If he’s yanking on my heartstrings, I’ll kill him for this.

“Listen to me,” he pleads. “This isn’t the time to zip yourself in a cocoon.”

“Barry…”

“I want to come see you,” he insists. “Just tell me where you really are.”

My eyes pop open, staring down at the phone. When Pasternak first hired me all those years ago, he told me a good lobbyist is one who, if you’re sitting next to him on an airplane and his knee touches yours, it’s not uncomfortable. Asking where I am, Barry’s officially uncomfortable.

“I gotta run,” I tell him. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Harris, don’t…”

“Good-bye, Barry.”

Slamming the phone in its cradle, I once again turn toward the window and study the sunlight as it ricochets off the roofline. Matthew always warned me about competitive friendships. I can’t argue with him anymore.