The Wrong Side of Right (27 page)

Nancy stood very straight and very still. No one moved. I wasn’t sure what was happening.

And then, after what seemed like an eternity, she nodded. “You’ll have my resignation by this afternoon.”

She strode out past them, shoving her tablet back into her bag.

“What . . . ?” I held on to the desk. “Why is she resigning?”

Neither of them answered.

“Because of me?”

The senator blinked wearily past me out the study window.
I turned to look at what had caught his attention. It was a sparrow, sitting on a tree branch. When it flew away, he turned and left the room.

By the time my head stopped spinning all I could see was Meg staring at me.

“Go to your room,” she whispered, and I ran.

In the empty foyer, Nancy was blocking the way up, perched on the steps, rifling through her giant bag for her car keys with shaking hands. Her stiletto was slipping off her foot. She looked so lost all of a sudden. So unlike herself.

Nancy Oneida was her job. Without it, what would she become?

“You don’t have to resign over this,” I said.

“Yes, I do,” she hissed, scrambling up and straightening her skirt. “It was a condition of our agreement.”

I shook my head. “What was?”

“You.” She let out a tinkling laugh. “A sixteen-year-old bumpkin from the barrio. What was I
thinking?
”

“What are you talking about?”

“I went to bat for you, Kate.” She dabbed at the corner of her eye, her face growing serious. “I thought I saw myself in you, if you can believe it, someone who deserved a chance. But I didn’t realize how immature you’d turn out to be. How
selfish
. I’ll never make that mistake again.” She sniffed, then let out another hysterical giggle. “Not that I’ll ever get the chance again.”

The word
selfish
hit me like a low punch, but it was something else she’d said that was still pulsing cold through my veins. “Went to bat? What are you—?”

Something in her green eyes told me I should never have asked. But it was too late.

“I was the one who told him to acknowledge you,” she said, so sweetly it stung. “He and Elliott disagreed with me. Mark wanted to put our efforts into denying it, hushing it all up until after the election. He couldn’t see the
angle
in it. I made a case. I said I’d stake my career on it.”

She leaned in to whisper.

“You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.”

I felt her breath on my neck even after she stepped away.

It can’t be true. She’s lying. She’s leaving the campaign, bitter, taking it out on the easiest target. Senator Cooper wants me here—because I’m his daughter. Because I belong to this family, not because some aide talked him into it.

Not because there was a closed-door conversation in my uncle’s living room for the better part of two hours . . .

“No,” I heard myself say.

“I thought you were a star, but I was wrong.” She smiled and started away. “You’re nothing.”

“I don’t want to be a star.” My voice came out as less than a whisper. It was the voice of a ghost. The voice of nothing. “I don’t want any of this.”

She watched with grim satisfaction as I groped for the banister and let it guide me downward, as tears streamed hot down my cheeks and I gasped for air like I was drowning. Then she turned, flicked her mussed hair straight, and left the Coopers’ house for the last time.

Nancy Oneida was a skilled communicator. She’d gotten exactly the reaction she wanted out of me.

30

When the light outside was dimming, Meg came to my room, sat on the edge of the bed, and said, “Explain this to me.”

I’d spent all day deciding how I would explain, what I would be willing to apologize for, what I had to defend. I’d gone over it again and again as I sat peeking from my window to see the campaign staffers’ cars trickling out the gate one by one, hearing Gabe outside my bedroom door ask if he could check on me, hearing Meg say a quiet no, watching James pull the car around to the front drive, blinking out blankly as the senator got in with Elliott Webb and drove away.

I’m not sorry for helping my friends,
I recited as the car disappeared past the oaks lining the front lawn.
I’m sorry I lied about Andy. I’m sorry you’re not the father I hoped you would be.

With her glasses on for the evening, Meg looked even more professorial than usual, probably as deliberate a costume choice as her gardening clothes on the day I’d met her. She wasn’t here for denials, for tears, for guilt—just a simple recital of facts. It worked. I felt my defensiveness dropping away.

I told her about meeting Andy at the Tauber retirement party in Pennsylvania, how he’d started calling me after that,
and how I’d started calling him back. I told her the truth about Jake Spinnaker’s birthday party. Meg winced when she heard that we’d gone to a fundraiser for the president, and I felt shame flood my face before realizing that her reaction meant she was surprised. That was a good thing. It meant the press didn’t know about it either.

I told Meg that Andy and I had started calling each other a few times a week. That I was always careful not to give away anything private about the campaign, but that it was nice to have someone to talk to about it, someone who understood.

Her squint relaxed when I said that.

“You had
us
.” Then she shook her head. “But I know it’s not the same.”

Had
.
Past tense.

“And then Andy was there in Kansas,” I went on, my throat tight. “He showed up right when I found out about the Diazes, what Elliott did . . .”

Meg took her glasses off, fingers pressed to her nose like she was squeezing away a migraine. “You told Andy that Elliott did this.”

Everything seemed blurry now in recollection. “I don’t remember what I said, exactly. I just kind of vented.”

Meg let out a quiet groan. “Kate. Why on
earth
did you think Elliott Webb had anything to do with this?”

“He hates me. And he’s anti-immigrant. And—and when I accused him, he didn’t deny it. It was almost like he was happy that I was upset. So I thought he was . . .”

As the words dried up in my mouth, I suddenly felt very small and very foolish.

“Getting revenge?” She shook her head. “Let me tell you something. Elliott Webb is a political animal. He would never do anything to jeopardize his own career. And in this case, that means helping your father to win his election. So—”

I turned away, but she grabbed my hand.

“No, I want you to think about this, Kate. Why would Elliott do something that would draw negative attention to the campaign? If he’d learned about the Diazes, wouldn’t it make more sense to hush them up, keep the story quiet, rather than inflaming the situation?”

“I don’t know.” I knew how sullen I sounded, but I really wasn’t in the mood for a lesson in political strategy.

She sighed. “Anyway, the White House is already issuing a retraction.”

I gasped. “How—?”

“News travels fast. The LAPD made a statement around noon saying the Diazes were picked up by a random traffic stop. Their brake light was out, and when the police officer asked for ID, neither of them could supply a driver’s license.”

“Is that the truth?”

Meg looked confused. “Of course it’s the truth. What, do you think we’re bribing police departments now? Kate.” She cocked her head. “You’re
smarter
than this.”

I swallowed, hollow with disbelief. “So this was random. It had nothing to do with us.”

“No. It didn’t. Not that it’ll matter. The accusation is out there and it will stay out there forever. That’s the way these things work.”

Because of me. Because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

“Now,” Meg said, her voice a shade sharper. “What about these photos?”

“I didn’t expect him to kiss me,” I said, my heart stuttering at the recollection. “I think Andy felt bad for me. I’d been crying, he was just trying to get me to stop.”

Meg looked doubtful.

I tried to laugh but it wouldn’t come out.

“We’re not dating, whatever that website said.” My attempt at a smile flickered and died. “But I guess it’s like you said. The accusation is out there.”

Meg motioned me over. I swung my legs around the edge of the bed so she could slide an arm around my shoulders. We sat there, my head bowed as we rocked gently back and forth. With every rock, I could feel Meg forgiving me.

“I’m sorry this happened,” she finally said. And then, her voice icy: “I could
kill
that kid.”

“Andy?” I leaned away, confused. “Why? This isn’t his fault.”

“Kate. Sweetheart.” She blinked as if seeing me for the first time. “Andy Lawrence played you.”

I could only stare at her. “He—what?”

“Maybe this is all a little fresh for you, but think about this objectively.” She brushed my hair back from my face and peered at me. “
Andy
finds your number.
Andy
calls you. Andy won’t let up until you’ve gone out with him. You keep the campaign private, so he
keeps
calling. Keeps asking questions. I don’t know if he was instructed to do this or took it upon himself, but the fact is—he got close to you, learned something damaging, and brought it to his father. And you’ve seen the results.”

My mouth wouldn’t make a sound. I couldn’t deny her accusation. But I couldn’t believe it either. Andy was my friend. He did this to help me. What she was saying was . . .

Exactly what I’d suspected from the moment he first called me.

The more I’d gotten to know Andy, the more authentic he’d seemed. He felt like the one steady thing in my life, a reliable voice on the other end of the line who could cut through all the political nonsense swirling around me. He was my lifeline to reality. And Meg was telling me that he was a liar.

Andy played me.
It didn’t ring true. But I wasn’t exactly in a position to trust my instincts, now was I? I’d been wrong to accuse Elliott. Wrong to trust Nancy. And if what she’d maliciously told me this morning was true, then all of my hopes about the senator were wrong as well.

“This isn’t your fault,” Meg said, standing up. “But I’m going to be honest here. It’s bad.”

“Whose idea was it to invite me for the summer?”

The words charged out of me the second Meg’s hand touched the doorknob. She froze, trapped by the question. I stared back, unflinching. I had to know.

“I think Nancy suggested it first. Why?”

Her voice was casual, but I could see her nerves at work. She wasn’t quite mustering the cool, calm exterior I’d grown so used to. She knew what I was really asking.

And yet I couldn’t voice the question. Couldn’t even think it. It was too stark, too cruel.

“Did
you
want me to come?” I asked instead, standing
from the bed to face Meg. “Did you want to meet me? Get to know me?”

“Back in June?” She let out an exasperated huff. “You want an honest answer here, Kate? No. I didn’t want
any
of it to be happening at the time. But . . .”

She reached her hands out.

“I’m glad
now
.”

“What about him?” I couldn’t lift my hands to hers. I felt like stone, every part of me heavy. “Is
he
glad?

Her eyes were pained. She backed away.

“Give him time.”

31

Thursday, August 28

63 hours since I last spoke to Andy Lawrence

68
DAYS
UNTIL
THE
GE
NERAL
ELECTION

“It’s not fair
!
”

I’d picked the wrong time to come downstairs. Gracie’s screams of protest were loud enough to silence the crickets in the backyard and nearly sent me careening out of the living room myself.

But Meg had spotted me, and by her expression, she needed backup. The senator was in Idaho, so it had fallen to his wife to tell the twins that they’d be off the campaign schedule for the foreseeable future. To Gabe, this was fantastic news. To Gracie, it was the end of the world.

I entered the fray.

“It won’t be so bad, Gracie,” I tried. “We’ll get to hang out just the three of us when Meg’s away. No supervision. Woo-hoo?”

Gracie’s glare only deepened.

“This is your fault. You messed up, so we’re stuck here with nothing to do!”

Yep,
I thought.
Pretty much.

“Watch your tone,” Meg cautioned, but an idea had struck Gracie, her big blue eyes widening with sudden hope.

“What if just me and Gabe come along, and Kate stays behind?”

“I’ll stay behind,” Gabe offered, and Gracie not too subtly kicked him. “Ow.”

Meg closed her eyes. “Grace. This is not up for debate. You’re starting school in less than three weeks and I want you focused.”

We all knew that wasn’t the real reason. Governor McReady was whooping it up across the country with Carolee in tow and her school year down in Texas had already begun. This wasn’t about academics. It was about politely burying me. The campaign had deemed it too conspicuous to exclude only me from appearances, so the official story was that all three of us were spending much-needed time out of the spotlight.

That was not where Gracie Cooper wanted to be.

“I don’t want to stay with her,” she said, turning away in a sulk. “It’s not fair. We’re your real kids. We should get to go. She’s just . . . a
bastard
.”

I gasped, stung, not just by the word but by the way she’d looked at me when she said it, aiming it with intent to wound.

But before I could react, Meg had launched herself across the room, landing in a crouch, her white-knuckled hands locked around Gracie’s collar.

“You do
not
use that word, do you understand me?”

Gracie’s face went red. “I . . . yes? I don’t even know what it means!”

Meg let go. “It’s an outmoded term denoting lineage in a patriarchal . . .” She groaned, frustrated. “It’s a word you are never to use. Apologize.”

“I’m sorry I called you a bastard.”

She said it so mournfully that I almost burst out laughing.

Later that night, after Meg had gone to sleep, Gabe and Gracie snuck into my room with a flashlight, and then froze in the doorway, surprised to see that I was still up reading.

They climbed onto the end of my bed, Gracie a few inches behind Gabe, as if she was worried I might lunge at her. Gabe absently clutched the flashlight to his chest, so it lit up his face campfire style. I almost expected them to launch into a ghost story. Instead, Gabe whispered, “What does
bastard
mean?”

Gracie’s eyes remained locked on mine. She really didn’t know.

“It means somebody who was born . . .”
How to put this.
“Outside of a marriage.”

I hoped it was dim enough in the light from my bedside table that they couldn’t see me blushing.

“So . . .” Gracie looked as uncomfortable as I’d ever seen her. “
Are
you one?”

I smiled. “Yeah, kinda. But like your mom said, nobody really uses that word anymore.”

The twins looked at each other. They weren’t done.

“Did Dad love your mom?” Gabe asked.

They waited, patient as statues, while I tried to recover from the sensation of having been stabbed by the question.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “Why?”

They glanced at each other again. Gracie inched closer.

“Mom said that when two people love each other very much, the man puts his penis in—”

“Okay!”

I cut her off, my hand pressed to her mouth. A giggle bubbled out of her and Gabe started to grin, and I couldn’t help laughing myself.

“I don’t know anything,” I admitted. “I’m as confused as you guys are.”

I fell back onto my pillow and Gabe and Gracie crept up around me, flopping onto their backs in imitation.

“And I wish we could be out on the campaign trail,” I said, nudging Gracie. “All of us. But them’s the breaks.”

“Them’s the breaks,” she repeated, with all the world-weariness an eight-year-old could muster.

• • •

I’d hoped that our late-night bonding session would be enough to crack the wall that had come up between me and my sister, but when Meg hit the road the next afternoon, Gracie protested by locking herself in the upstairs bathroom, refusing to come out to say good-bye.

Meg smiled ruefully and gave Gabe and me each a kiss on the forehead. “Be good. Lou will drop by later, but call me or the campaign phone if you need anything. Or ask security.”

“Got it,” I said, simultaneously shooing her away and fighting the impulse to drag her back into the house.

When her car disappeared, Gabe grabbed my hand.

“Mom’s only gone for the weekend,” he reminded me. “Gracie will come out before then.”

He was right. In fact, Gracie came out one hour later, once the smell of stovetop popcorn curled its way under the bathroom door and Gabe and I turned the volume way up on the movie we’d just downloaded. I hid a smile as Gracie clomped
her way to the very far end of the sofa and sat with her arms crossed, a scowl etched deep into her face. It took her five minutes to sneak a bite of popcorn when she thought we weren’t looking. But halfway through the movie, I heard her laughing and saw with relief that she had her legs kicked up on the coffee table, today’s anger forgotten for the moment.

She’ll forgive me,
I told myself.
And then she’ll get mad at me for something else. This is just being a sister.

And the senator will forgive me too. I just need to give him time.

That last thought evaporated as soon as it formed.

Louis came by around seven with some takeout dinner and groceries. He had his baby at home and a very patient wife, so I knew he couldn’t stay long. But even if it was brief, I was happy to see him. It occurred to me now that Lou Mankowitz was the one person in the campaign that I’d never felt uncomfortable around. He was also the one member of the inner circle that I’d gotten to see the least. When we were on the road, he was manning the shop at headquarters. When we were home, he was on the road, getting the field staff ready for the senator’s arrival. But for the next four days, his job was restocking our cereal and ice cream and making sure we hadn’t torn the house down in Meg’s absence.

And . . .

“Sorry, kiddo.” He really did look sorry as he extended his hand and I relinquished my campaign-issued cell phone.

Meg had warned me in advance that they were taking the phone back. Apart from this week’s house arrest, it would be my only punishment for what I’d set in motion.

“You can use the phone in the kitchen,” Meg had offered wryly, and I knew I was in no position to object, given the trouble that all the clandestine cell phone calls of the past few months had caused. Still, I wasn’t relishing having to talk to my friends in the center of household operations, within constant earshot of Meg and the twins.

I’d hurriedly texted the new number, first to Penny, Lily Hornsby as an afterthought, and then to Uncle Barry and Tess, in case they didn’t have it. Not that they were likely to use it—Barry had skipped this week’s checkin call, and hadn’t tried to reach me at all since Kansas, even after the word
Kategate
had started scrolling across news tickers again, accompanied by that lurid shot of me and the president’s son. Maybe he’d figured that the Coopers were managing my media circus of a life just fine. Or maybe he was mad at me too.

Then, with a last burst of rebellion, I texted the house phone number to Andy Lawrence, Mr. Lurid Shot himself, wondering whether he’d have the guts to call knowing that Meg or the senator could be on the other end of the line.

“
FYI—my cell phone’s been confiscated. Here’s the landline . . .”

I hoped that had sounded casual enough. Warm enough. I hoped he would call, using some phony accent or fake name, and that they wouldn’t know. Or even that they would. That Meg would pick up and realize that Andy really did want to connect, even after getting information out of me. That he cared.

With Meg gone, I might have the chance to talk to him in private.

If he called. Every time I passed the kitchen, I stared at the phone, trying to summon a ring through sheer force of will.

It didn’t work.

• • •

One benefit of being unsupervised was that we could now watch the news to our hearts’ content. Gabe grumbled, but Gracie was obsessed, flipping compulsively between channels, hunting for any mention of Meg or the senator—or even better, footage. She missed her parents, really, but she was putting on a brave face, pretending she was getting “prepped” for the moment we were called back to the campaign trail. I snuck looks over her shoulder, but every time my name came up, I made her change the channel. Watching myself get picked apart by complete strangers on national television was not worth the stress headache.

I’d made it a game. Whoever could get to the remote first after hearing the word
Kate
was the winner. I knew Gracie was a born competitor, but even so, I was shocked by how well the tactic worked. She dove over sofas, ripped the remote out of Gabe’s hand, and on one impressive occasion, ran all the way downstairs, sprinted along the corridor and vaulted over a side table to get to the remote before me, suffering only minor bruises in the process.

But despite my attempts at avoidance, all the snippets we heard lodged in my brain, rearranging to form a mosaic of the campaign’s spin.

I was a victim of that cad Andy Lawrence. He was the one with a sordid history of bad behavior and pranks. My only crime was naïveté. The cable news commentators ate it up and spat it back out. They had polls going—they always had polls going—and more than anything, America felt sorry for me.

I didn’t feel sorry for myself. Even so, I waited for that phone to ring.

When it finally did, late that first afternoon, it was Penny, asking how I was doing, whether I’d managed to talk to Andy yet. And then in the evening it was Meg, checking in from Baton Rouge. Then Penny again the next day, wanting advice on dodging paparazzi.

“They’re like camped out on the end of our block. What do I do?”

“Just smile at them and keep walking,” I offered, remembering Nancy’s first piece of media training.

“And . . .” Her voice dropped. “The Lawrence campaign keeps dropping by. They want us to endorse the president.”

“You should,” I muttered.

“Kate!” She made a sound like she was punching me through the phone. “Shut up, you know we’re not doing that. Mom and Papi love your dad, especially now. It’s not like he did anything to hurt us.”

“He didn’t do anything to help either.”

“Yeah, he did,” she said. “That day at our house. He listened.”

Meg got back on Tuesday, not a moment too soon. Gracie and Gabe were fighting over a pool float, Gracie having accidentally punctured the other one with a stick she was
pretending was a sword. When I went into the house to hide from the sound of them yelling at each other, Meg was standing in the kitchen, the house phone cradled on her shoulder as she slowly set down her luggage.

She looked confused. A little upset. When she saw me walk in, her eyebrows rose.

“It’s for you, Kate.”

My cheeks flushed, my heart thumping.
Of course. Andy picks
now
to finally call.
I took the phone, suspecting I was going to be hearing about this as soon as I hung it back up. Meg stepped into the living room, just within earshot, pretending to straighten up Gabe and Gracie’s pile of toys.