“I’m so sorry,” Nina said, her face pinched with pain. “Is there anything I can do?”
Maura closed her eyes and took a breath. “Will you lie next to me while I fall asleep?”
The two women quietly climbed into bed, and a few minutes passed in silence, neither one yet asleep, before Nina turned and whispered, “Why don’t we go somewhere?”
Maura turned to face her, slightly confused. “I didn’t think you were that much of a night owl.”
“Not now.” Nina smiled. “But soon. Somewhere far away. Where neither of us have been.”
Maura was surprised. “Are you being serious?”
“If you’re feeling trapped,” Nina said, “then maybe it’s time we get out.”
“I mean, that sounds great, but . . . can we afford it?” Maura asked.
“We hardly ever leave New York, we deserve to splurge, for once. Especially on something important.”
“Okay.” Maura decided to humor her. “Where would we go?”
“I don’t know, anywhere! Maybe someplace romantic, like France or Italy.”
“Well, I did take a year of Italian in college that I never use . . .” Maura said. But then she paused. “You don’t need to do this for me.”
“Are you kidding? You know how much I love planning. I’m excited just thinking about all the hours I could spend on Tripadvisor.”
Maura laughed. “I just meant . . . I know things sound really bleak, sometimes, but . . . I’ll be fine.”
“I have no doubt about that,” Nina said. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
Maura kissed Nina’s forehead lightly. “Okay,” she said. “We can start brainstorming in the morning.”
Maura nuzzled her cheek into the pillow, as all the darkness of the day—the man selling fake strings, the woman suing her husband—retreated into the distance. Instead, she found herself thinking about a poster she had discovered at the school, its edges sticking out of a trash can yet to be cleared. Maura had spotted it on her way out of that night’s session, and when nobody else was looking, she stealthily lifted it from the bin.
The poster was covered with wrinkled photos of famous figures, all of whom had passed prematurely: Selena Quintanilla, Kobe Bryant, Princess Diana, Chadwick Boseman. A meaningful life, at any length was written across the top in cursive lettering.
Maura had no idea who had crafted the poster, or why, but, holding it in her hands, she felt, somehow, less alone. Somebody was on her side. Somebody saw the value in her life, in all the short-stringers’ lives. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one fighting.
It was then, in the final seconds before sleep pulled her under, that Maura decided where she wanted to go.
She could still see the photos from Italian class.
The canals, the gondolas, the dazzling masks.
The dire warnings, year after year, that the city was sinking.
The odds are against it, the water always rising. But still it stands, Maura thought.
A fighter.
Javier
Javi was hoping to see a fight.
The September primary debate had been advertised as a rematch between the divisive Anthony Rollins, whose aggressive targeting of short-stringers had made him a household name overnight, and the emotional orator Wes Johnson, whose speech at the first debate had moved many but failed to keep Rollins at bay. Javi was itching for Johnson to pull ahead somehow, never anticipating the next moves that both candidates would make.
Jack was away visiting his father, so Javi was alone in their apartment, streaming the debate on his laptop.
“I would like to use my opening statement to address the rumors that have been circling my campaign since June,” Senator Johnson began.
And then he said it.
“I am not ashamed to say that I received a shorter string.”
Johnson continued speaking atop the murmurs in the crowd and Javier’s own surprise.
“Some people will use this fact to question my fitness for this role,” he said. “I would like to remind them that eight of our presidents died while holding office, including some of the finest leaders that our world has ever seen. It is in their honor that I continue my campaign.”
The senator paused for a moment and drew a breath. “I would also like to speak directly to my brothers and sisters with short strings who are listening tonight. The great American writer Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, ‘It is not the length of life, but the depth of life.’ You don’t need a long lifetime to make an impact on this world. You just need the will to do so.”