Fellow Travelers

by Thomas Mallon

“Well,” said Mary, “they’re already getting Capitol Hill ready for your return. They’ve finished the foundations on that new Senate Office Building, the one going up where that little slum on First Street used to be? They’ll have the whole thing done in a couple of years.” She realized, suddenly, that she needed to concoct a fib. “I got all of that from Beverly. I think I wrote you about how much time she was spending on the Hill this spring.” Tim, certain that she’d gotten this architectural update from Hawkins, who visited the Capitol twice a week, just nodded. Mary now surmised what he was thinking, which was not at all what had made her worry. She had lied to protect a secret of her own, not Tim’s feelings. She’d seen the construction herself, during the two weekends Fred Bell had come down to Washington to see her, weekends the two of them had spent in a little room at the top of the Carroll Arms. Each Sunday afternoon, when Fred would phone his wife in Massachusetts to report on all the preparation he was doing for the next day’s lobbying, she would take a stroll around the Hill that took her past the construction site. “I may not come back to Washington at all,” said Tim, “but if I do I’ll be your neighbor a couple of times a month. The Army Reserves in D.C. are so hard up they drill in a State Department lecture room! Right at Twenty-first and C.” His face flushed with nostalgia for the handful of visits he’d made to Hawkins’ office. Mary saw his color rise and won...