Perfectly Messy (25 page)

“No. I questioned them each time. But
you…
I can’t even…” She grabs a rag and starts rubbing the granite, then tosses it at the wall. “You aren’t the man I married anymore. You aren’t the man who was my hero when our son died. What happened to you?”

Holy crap. I step back. Clearly, I’m not the only one who has felt Dad turn to slime. I knew there was some friction there, but never this bad.

Dad tosses his hands up like Mom’s insane. “Christy, you want to do this with Justin here? Fine.” He glances at me. “Justin, can you please let your mother know who I am?” His question steals my breath. I’ve never been dragged into a fight like this before. He waits for me and gives me his political game face, and I feel his pull for me to agree.

No.
Not happening anymore. I refuse to bend to that look again. I step next to Mom. If he wants to be immature and drag me into this, then fine. I’m eighteen. I can do immature.

“You’ve changed, Dad.”

Dad grasps the back of his chair. “Justin, I’ve done what I’ve had to do to get this family where it is now. You need to understand that.”

“This family didn’t need to go
anywhere
. As long as we are together, we are a family,” Mom says, her voice more solid than I’ve ever heard it.

“Come on, Christy, I led a family-centered campaign.”

“I agree, you did.” She places her hand on my shoulder. “But then you changed, taking for granted the people who were helping you most. Think of the time that Justin has given you.” She glances at me and her eyes go glossy. “Time he’s given us. We’ve taken away so much of his senior year, and we repay him by not believing him about these stupid photos.”

“Justin? What do you have to say about that? You enjoyed helping, right?”

I rub my jaw as I contemplate what I’m about to do. I’ve always done whatever it took to please Dad. This won’t please him though. If I don’t tell the truth, he’ll keep going down the road to being a political creep and I’ll be sacrificing my own career to help him in his presidential campaign.

“I…” Shit. This is hard.

“Out with it,” Dad snaps.

Oh, screw him!

“Do you hear yourself, Dad? Mom’s right. I’ve given up so much to help you become governor. I was fine with it, until you changed.”

“I still have the same policies and principals.”

“Do you? You don’t believe your own family!
Family-centered campaign
my ass. More like drive your family into the ground and then step on them because some weasel guy tells you to.”

“Leave Paul out of this.”

“Paul,
riiight.
You mean the guy who you’ve kept on staff despite the fact that he showed up on our family vacation in Hawaii with the contract for me to sign to be on that reality show?”

Mom gasps. “Jeffery. You didn’t tell me about
that.
”

“Christy, Justin only told me about that after the trip, in the airport.”

“And he’s still one of your advisors?”

“It’s complicated.”

“No, Dad. It’s not. Paul’s a creep and he’s turned you into one too.”

“Paul comes highly recommended.”

“From who? From people who’ve
won,
right? People who’ve gone on to presidential campaigns?” Mom says. “Shit, Jeff. We never wanted a presidential race, but now I overhear you talking about it with Paul all the time. You haven’t even considered to speak with me.”

Dad rolls his lips in for a mere second before recovering to his straight “I’m listening” political face.

“Dad. Who are you going to listen to, a guy who helps you win, or us?”

His face doesn’t twitch.

“Come on, Dad,” I say, sounding desperate. “This is your chance.” I dig in then, using the knife I swore I’d never wield on anyone but myself. “What would Jackson say?”

I study him, waiting for some sign that he gets it. He blinks a few times, but that’s it. Finally, he pulls his fingers through his hair like I do when I’m nervous. It’s a gesture I haven’t seen him do for a long time.

The front door squeaks open and someone clunks into our entryway. “Jeff? You in?”

“He has a key now?” Mom spits out.

Dad takes a deep breath, but doesn’t answer Mom. Instead he yells, “We’re in the kitchen, Paul.” My heart tanks. Mom and I look at one another and she gives my palm a squeeze. I don’t let go. If Dad’s about to side with Paul, we need to be united.

Paul steps into the kitchen with his iPad. “Christy. Justin.” He doesn’t even bother to say hello. “Jeff, good news. I’ve set up a chat with the PR rep who turned Tantem’s sex-tape scandal into a thriving career. I’m confident we can spin
this
,” he eyes me, “with inside help.”

“Paul,” I take a deep breath, doing everything to not swear him into the ground. Mom squeezes my hand as I hear her breath catch in her throat. She looks at Dad.

His face changes then, the muscles in his cheek relax and there’s that look in his eye that I’ve missed so much. Honesty. Comfort. Strength. Home.

Dad claps Paul on the back. “You’re fired.”

“Yes. I’ve got you scheduled to meet with him in three weeks. I think we can make it that long as long as no more photos come out.”

Dad clears his throat. “Paul, did you hear me?” He takes the iPad out of Paul’s hands. “You are fired.”

“Excuse me?”

“Get out of my home.”

Paul points at me. “You aren’t listening to a kid’s advice, are you, Jeff? If you want a presidential run…”

“I don’t care about that right now. My son is telling the truth about the photos.”

“You can’t honestly believe that.”

“Oh, I do.”

“That’d take an extraordinary photographer with professional editing skills.”

“Exactly. The type of person a producer from a reality show many know.” I offer. “He’s got reason to take me down. Take
you
down.” I nod to Dad. “What did you think would happen, Paul, when I didn’t sign that contract after he gave that crap load of money?”

Paul shifts in place and I swear a bead of sweat drops down his cheek.

“Why did you push the reality show?” Dad asks.

Paul wipes the sweat off his cheek. “This is ludicrous. You can’t really believe Justin.”

“Answer the question.” Dad demands.

Paul’s eyes dart to the floor.

“Was this the investment opportunity you mentioned last summer?” Paul doesn’t react. Dad swears as he takes him by the arm and leads him from the kitchen. “You’re fired. Never show up on this property again. If you do, I’m calling the police.” He hands Paul his coat.

“Bad move, Marshall. Other people can hire me. Opponents. I know your weaknesses.”

“His only weakness was you,” I say, holding open the door.

“Goodbye, Paul,” Dad says.

“I’m going to destroy you.”

“I don’t care. I’ve got what matters. You can’t take that away.”

Paul laughs like a freak as he steps out the door. “Don’t even pretend you don’t care about what others think about your term as governor. You’ll never get re-elected without me.”

“Re-election is the least of my concerns right now.
They
come first.”

“I’m going to turn you into a fool.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Dad says as he closes the door in Paul’s face. This should be where the crowd roars, but there’s only Mom and me.

Dad rubs his face. When he uncovers it, his eyes are wet with tears. “To answer your question, Justin, a grown-up Jackson would have said ‘Screw you’ and stopped helping me long ago.” He reaches for Mom’s hand. “I am sorry that I couldn’t see who I’d become.” Mom starts to cry and he pulls her in. “I will fix this, Christy. I promise. I want to be your hero again.”

I step away, letting them have their moment. “Justin,” Dad calls when he realizes I’m down the hall. “Hold up.” He gives Mom’s palms a squeeze and her cheek a kiss, leaving her crying in the entryway, and follows me down the hall. He puts both hands on my shoulders, looking me straight in the face. “I’m sorry for not believing you. I’m sorry for using you. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t the example of who a man should be.”

“Thanks,” I say as he pulls me into a hug. “You’re forgiven.”

“Thank you for being such a man, son.”

My eyes itch and I’m pretty sure I’m going to lose it if he says anything more. “I’ve got to go finish a paper.”

“I understand. Let me know if you need help, okay?”

“I will.”

“Sounds good,” he says as he makes his way back to Mom.

***

Failure is worse than forty kicks to the balls.

Dear Mr. Marshall,

Thank you for your company’s bid and proposal to paint the interior of the historic James. J. Hill Mansion. Although the proposal was researched thoroughly and within the MN Historic Society’s budget, we unfortunately cannot commit to a company whose values do not reflect our own.

We appreciate the time and effort behind your proposal and wish you the best of luck in upcoming endeavors for Painting Purposeful Inc.

Sincerely,

The Minnesota Historic Society

“Son, you’ve got to stop reading that notice. It’s not going to change anything,” Dad offers from behind his laptop in the armchair next to mine. “Let me talk with them.”

“No, this is my company. This is my battle.” Unfortunately, it’s one that’s already lost. They won’t understand until my name is cleared. The painting company was a way for me to escape Dad’s political world, something just for me. The paper nearly folds itself along the well-worn crease as I return it to my wallet, next to Jackson’s photo. My college fund and security rode on landing this gig.
Shit.

This letter didn’t surprise me though. Its arrival was inevitable. I stopped receiving updates from the board over a month ago. Since then, the photos that have surfaced are more incriminating than ever. What used to just be shots taken of me and Lucy have transitioned into me and any girl within a ten-foot radius. The miracle of Photoshop. Thankfully, no one from school has been implicated in any of the photos. But that’s probably only because of my refusal to interact with any girls outside of school property or someone’s home. I’m always sneaking into Lucy’s house through the back basement door. Mr. Zwindler started leaving it unlocked for me, with the rule that I had to call ahead. I wish I could bring Lucy out to a movie like a normal boyfriend. But there’s nothing normal about me anymore.

The weird thing is, at this point, I’m pretty sure I’m being set up for the shots. That one redhead from post-secondary who hunted me down in the parking lot to ask me a question about derivatives clearly had no idea what she was talking about. I should’ve left the moment she positioned herself between me and the door of the car, but I didn’t want to be rude, in case her question was real. The photo of us together surfaced three hours later. I’ve scanned the lecture hall for her every day since. She’s never there.

Dad closes his laptop, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “We’ll get to the bottom of this and clear your name, Justin. I swear to you. I know you wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for my foolish decisions.” He waves to the large oak room in the governor’s mansion that he now calls an office. “It’s not like I’m accomplishing much anyway.”

“It’s not your fault the house and senate have different majority rule. That’s like asking oil and water to get along.”

“They’re impossible. I pursued this role to make a difference. Instead, I run up against brick walls. The only thing I’ve managed to accomplish is helping get that wretched girls’ basketball coach fired.” He sighs as he heaves himself out of the armchair. “How’s Lucy?”

“She’s glad he’s gone but has hated the process. She’s had to tell her story so many times. I hated watching her relive it. So many former students and players have stepped forward with their own stories about Coach T’s ability to look the other way. She likes knowing she’s not alone in her history anymore.”

The iPad on the coffee table vibrates and Dad taps the screen. The pained expression on his face tells me everything I need to know.

“More photos?”

“Yup.” He presses the screen a few more times, navigating somewhere new.

“Please tell me Lucy’s not in them.” It’s so much easier to deal with the shots when she isn’t involved. Her eyes are swollen for days after each release but she doesn’t admit she’s been crying. Not since that first photo a few months ago.

“Unfortunately, she is.” He hands me the iPad. I study the photo which this website has censored with a blur over her chest. Again, I’m made to look like I just yanked and grabbed at her or something crude like that. “Where was this shot?”

“Yesterday in the school parking lot. I reached over her because she couldn’t get her seatbelt unstuck.” I shoot Lucy a text, giving her a heads up for the new photo.

“Photo on school property,” he mutters as he types a new email to our investigator. When he finishes, he looks up at me. “How about you take the rest of the evening off? Go see Lucy? Believe it or not, I’d prefer to do your work this afternoon. Answering letters from students about how government functions is one of my favorite parts of this job.”

“Thanks, I will.” I scoop up my stuff as Dad looks at some of the drawings from the first graders. He pins a blue squiggle dog to the bulletin board behind him.

I duck out without a goodbye, phone to my ear. First order, calling Lucy.

When she answers her voice cracks and it’s clear she just had one of those nasty snotty girl cries. “Hello?” she says again. “Justin, you there?” She sucks in a deep breath. “Justin?” she says again before she bursts back into tears.

That sound breaks my heart and, no matter how hard I try to fix the situation, I know there’s nothing I can say to take away all the wounds it’s caused. We’ve both canceled every social media account we own, but school makes everything worse. The way she ducks her head as she darts from class to class, it’s killing me. It’s like she’s breaking all over again.

My fingers find End Call. Self-hatred follows the silence as I realize I chickened out. Hung up. Yet another epic Justin fail. I’m horrid. I don’t know how to make it right though. No matter what I do, it gets worse. It’s totally unfair.