Free The Company She Kept by Archer Mayor Page B

he’d normally be tucked away, engaged in some project, but her senses told her that he was up to something else.
    She rose and quietly walked through their neat, spare home, located at the top of a semicircular block of similar houses in West Brattleboro. It had been Willy’s when he’d lived on his own, and in large part remained so, at least in spirit. Of Willy’s multiple demons, one was a quasi-obsessional need for cleanliness and a lack of possessions, which Sam thought stemmed from his past or his occupation, or both. Either way, it resulted in an environment in which Sam certainly, and Emma by proxy, had to step with some care. Willy wasn’t overbearing about it—he made an effort not to show his near-visible discomfort. But he would tidy up behind them, which in a way was a blessing. Sam hadn’t touched a broom, a rag, or even washed the dishes since moving in.
    A friend had asked her if any of this made her feel like a guest in her own home. But that was where Sam’s emotional needs almost perfectly complemented Willy’s. Given a youth of chaos, violence, and confusion, where she’d craved not being at the center of a whirlwind, here she cherished inhabiting a neutral space. For her, their neat-and-tidy home amounted to a haven of calm.
    By instinct, she went directly to Emma’s halfway-open door and peered in, not surprised to see Willy lying stretched out on the rug, parallel to the crib, staring meditatively at the slowly revolving mobile hanging over his daughter’s sleeping form.
    Without a word, Sam slipped through the doorway and lay next to him, hooking a pinkie finger around his.
    He turned his head toward her. She stayed quiet, looking back. When the two of them had gotten together, years ago, no one except Joe had given them hope. Joe, typically, hadn’t even registered surprise. This Sam had interpreted as the one vote of confidence she might have actively sought out otherwise. Willy hadn’t expressed any need for acceptance, of course, but she thought that he, too, had appreciated Joe’s blessing.
    It wasn’t lost on her that two grown adults had wanted the approval of a man who was not a family member and was also their boss. But such was the nature of what their small squad had become—versus their actual families.
    By extension, however, it occurred to her that even Joe’s opinion no longer mattered now. Emma’s arrival had marked a passage toward independence and self-confidence, if one occasionally jarred by doubt. She and Willy worked hard to maintain a balance within this house, even encouraged by the challenges that had hounded them since youth.
    â€œIce cream?” he whispered to her.
    They moved to the kitchen, where she let him prepare two small bowls—frozen yogurt for her, a cloying and layered concoction of Cherry Garcia, nuts, sprinkles, and maple syrup for him.
    â€œHow’s the campaign going?” he asked, busying himself.
    As requested during the staff meeting at Joe’s house, Sam was trying to organize the forces at their disposal.
    â€œIt’s tricky right now,” she said. “We have so little to go on, while we have a growing chorus of people demanding results.”
    â€œDamn peanut gallery,” he groused.
    â€œI’ve been figuring out how many people just to assign to media relations. Joe told me that the national news guys are already pounding at the door.”
    â€œTell him I volunteer,” Willy said. “And I’ll do it solo.”
    â€œRight.” She laughed. “Like the Unabomber, maybe.”
    He placed the bowls on the kitchen table and sat opposite her. “You wanna waste manpower, be my guest. Before this is done, I have a feeling we’re gonna be yanking troops from media relations and putting them in the trenches.”
    â€œReally?” she asked, genuinely surprised.
    He looked at her knowingly. “I’m not the only one.