The Wrong Side of Right (28 page)

“Hello?” I tried to sound cheerful, casual, not terrified.

“So you’re alive.”

I blinked. This was
not
Andy. This voice was female, dry, crackling with age and barely restrained irritation.

“Evelyn?”

“Call me Grandma.” She snorted. “Those other two do, no matter how many times I tell them not to.”

“How are you?” I craned my neck around the corner, but Meg was studiously pretending not to listen.

“Don’t you worry about me, this call’s about you. I want to know why you’re still in that house. Don’t you have an uncle who can take you?”

Just as I was staggering from the sting of that comment, she kept going.

“Or you could come and live with me.” She sniffed. “I’m an old loon, but it’s not so bad here. There’s a school, I assume. I see people your age when I go into town. I could introduce
you to them. And I’ve got a shotgun to keep the reporters away.”

“I . . .”
Wow.
I was utterly at a loss. “That’s very kind—”

“You don’t want to. That’s fine. I’m just reminding you that if you want to escape from the terrarium, I still live in the same place. Show up anytime. I’ve got a room ready. And a fully stocked pantry.”

I tingled from the generosity of the offer but wasn’t even remotely tempted to accept, having spent maybe ninety minutes with her in my life—a fun ninety minutes, but still.

“Whatever your reasons are for staying under my son’s roof, I don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck there for the
wrong
ones. You’re planning to go to college.”

It was not a question, but there was a pause, so I stammered an answer.

“I—yeah. Definitely. My top choice is Harvard, but I’ve got a list going . . .”

“That’s where Mark went,” she groaned. “Can’t be helped. In any case, I’m going to pay for you to go.”

She kept talking over my astonished attempt at a reply.

“I’ve got money put aside, and you need it sooner than the twins, so you’re getting it, and that’s all there is to it. Not another word out of you.”

My mouth shut obediently.

“So if you stay with Mark and Margaret, it’ll be because you choose to, not because you need to. But like I said—I’ve got a room for you too. You just remember that.”

There was something about her directness that cut
through my befuddlement, made me squint at the phone as I asked, “You don’t like him much, do you?”

“I love my son. I just wouldn’t wish him on anybody.” She laughed. “He’s a politician. Has been since college. I’m not saying he doesn’t have his moments, but . . .” She let out a musical sigh, a little wordless tune. “I’m looking forward to his retirement. It’ll be good to see the real Mark again.”

When I hung up and left the kitchen, my stomach was tight with nerves. I wasn’t sure what to tell Meg. Would she resent me for taking a college fund that was meant for the twins? Or Evelyn for trying to get me to move out?

Meg was out by the pool, laughingly fending off wet hugs from her dripping children. I watched them and made a bargain with myself.

I’ll tell Meg what Evelyn said—as soon as she tells me why she bought me the Farnwell Prep summer reading list.

And if she doesn’t bring it up? Do I dare confront her with the biggest question of my life—“What next?”

Meg glanced up at the window and then away. I leaned my forehead against the glass.
She’ll tell me. Any day now.

32

Thursday, September 4

First Day of Classes Back in South Carolina

Eleven Days Until the First Day of Classes at Farnwell Prep
61
DAYS
UNTIL
THE
GENERAL
ELECT
ION

The senator came back, not that it mattered.

Both Thursday and Friday, he left the house before dawn, returning only after midnight. Meg said that there was an important vote in the Senate, but there was something apologetic in the way she told me, so despite my curiosity, I didn’t even ask what the vote was for. Around 1:00
A.M.
Saturday morning, I was up reading when the car pulled in, its lights scanning my bedroom wall as they circled the front drive, and a few minutes later, I heard his voice and Meg’s rumbling from the living room. I dimly considered coming downstairs in my pajamas to say hello, but couldn’t muster the energy to put on a smile.

He doesn’t want to see me,
I thought, but the truth was worse.
He didn’t want me in the first place.

He left again a few hours later for an event in Florida, and Meg filled me in on recent campaign developments. The senator’s approval numbers were creeping slowly upward. The president had suffered a backlash from the Diaz debacle, so even though he was still leading in the polls, it was closer than it had been. Cal had taken over for Nancy as
Communications Chief, and as I’d guessed, he’d been wringing out the Andy scandal for every possible drop of sympathy.

Cal was Nancy’s true protégé. It was working.

“These people donated to the campaign mentioning you by name,” Meg explained, passing me a long list, a stack of recognition cards, and a pen.

I scanned the list, astonished by the length of it, and by the comments people had made.

“Keep your chin up, Kate,” Roberta S. Johnson from Tennessee said. “I’ve been there too!”

Somehow I guessed she didn’t mean that she was also the illegitimate child of a politician.

“The Lawrences are scum,” wrote Morris Scheindlin of Jersey City. “Your father has my vote.”

I wrote a scripted thank-you to each of the donors, adding a happy face before my signature for the people who had commented that they were worried about me. My hand started to cramp, but I kept going into the evening. I might not have agreed with every stance the senator was taking, or even most of them, but the fate of the country wasn’t exactly at the forefront of my mind—not now, when my own future seemed to be drifting further into limbo every second. Sixty-one days to go. I’d write and smile and keep my mouth closed, just like Meg. I would give my family no excuse to shut me out.

At 9:00
P.M.
, Meg was already starting to yawn, hovering over her own pile of acknowledgments, and I was only three-quarters of the way through my list. The phone rang and Meg startled like a shot had gone off. We both laughed
as she went to answer it, but my body started whirring as it always did, wondering if this time it would be Andy, ready with an explanation, an apology, a joke. Anything.

“It’s for you,” Meg said—neutrally. My pulse returned to its regularly scheduled rhythm.

“Hey, Kate! It’s Lily Hornsby?”

“Oh my God! Hi! How are you? We haven’t talked in forever!” I pressed my fingers to my mouth to stop spouting exclamations, but she laughed breathlessly, as though she were relieved, making me wonder if she’d been nervous to call.

“I’m really good,” she said. “I got your text, so I wanted to catch up. Everybody’s been watching you on TV. Seems like things have been . . . um, kind of crazy lately?”

I leaned against the counter, a wave of exhaustion hitting, as if my body was answering the question for me. Meg looked up from the table. I flashed a smile and she returned to her signing.

“It’s been . . . interesting,” I admitted. “But it’s really nice to hear from you.”

Lily filled me in on her summer. She’d been working at a posh beach club as a waitress, which was awkward because she knew some of the members’ kids from school and they hadn’t been able to resist giving her a hard time. She’d started dating Scott, the tall kid I remembered from physics. She’d been “just friends” with him for as long as I’d known her. I grinned, glad to see my early hunch proven right.

“And now school started like two days ago, and I’m already counting down to graduation. Is that awful?”

I felt a strange shock hearing that, like I was Rip Van Winkle
finding out twenty years had passed. It was the end of the summer. Gracie and Gabe were days away from starting school. And as far as I knew, I was currently two days deep into the “absent” list at Palmetto High.

“So, are you coming back? A lot of people have been asking and I don’t know what to tell them.”

I glanced at Meg. She was setting down her glasses, rubbing her eyes, giving up for the night. “I might be. I don’t know yet.”

“Well, I hope you do. Or I’ll come visit you at the White House. Or whatever.”

As I forced a laugh, I realized that the idea was no longer so bizarre to me. Despite the recent drop-off in polling numbers, the election was close. The senator could win. We could all be moving there in a matter of months. They’d have to take me with them, I knew. After everything, it would raise too many eyebrows to send me back to my uncle’s house. And wouldn’t they want me to live with them, anyway? The senator might still hate me, but Meg would fight for me to stay, and Gracie and Gabe would miss me too much to let me go.

Not that any of them had actually told me this. We never talked about the future. It was as though we were expecting the world to end on November fourth.
This
world would end, of course—the road, the relentless schedule, the political machine that never stopped calculating. But what world would replace it?

I’d told Meg a month ago that I’d finished the books she bought for me. And still, not a word about starting school. I could have asked, cornered her, demanded to know what
the plan was for the future, but the more I debated which moment to pick, the more stubbornly I delayed. Maybe it was pride, but it didn’t feel right to ask. It was like inviting yourself over to someone’s house for dinner.
They
had to ask
me
—that was how these things worked—and then it would be my choice to say yes or no. Right?

Or maybe I just didn’t want to ask the question and hear that they did, in fact, have an answer. That I was going back to South Carolina. That they didn’t want me after all.

• • •

Meg got a call from the senator out on the road. She put him on speakerphone so he could talk to everyone at once. I yelled a hello along with Gracie and Gabe and that seemed to suffice. He sounded upbeat. A famous retired general had thrown his support behind his candidacy, apparently a major coup for the campaign. Things were going better, bit by bit.

That week, the senator’s three children were quietly placed back on the campaign schedule. I aired out my dresses, ready to put on my American Girl costume and once again step into the role of Katie Cooper—trusted member of the team. I knew not to read too much into it. Gracie and Gabe were starting school in five days, so I was sure the campaign was just eking out all the remaining family appearances they could. Meg intended for her kids to start on schedule, presidential campaign or no.

And yet, she still hadn’t said a word to me. My stomach had been in knots for the past few days as I dared myself to face her, the same running dialogue in my head urging me forward and pulling me back.

This is my senior year. It’s important. Critical.
I needed to say it, but every time I tried, my hands started to tingle, my throat shrinking dry.
One more day,
I kept telling myself.
She’ll say something today. And if not, I’ll ask tomorrow.

• • •

Meg had wrapped us in such a campaign cocoon since Kansas that it came as a shock to get back on the Locomotive and prepare to stand in front of a crowd. I felt awkward all over again, like I no longer knew the basics, from dressing myself to waving. Wednesday morning, the day of our event, there were no clothes set out for me. Nancy was gone and Libby had been reassigned, so I supposed I was on my own.

Which was
great.
I could certainly dress myself, especially given the months of couture training I’d just had.

After twenty minutes of deliberation, I put on the skirt and sweater set I’d worn for that first press conference back in June.

The Locomotive felt different from the last time I’d been on it. Apart from Nancy, the top-tier staffers were all in attendance, but it wasn’t the same light, jocular environment I remembered. The mood was studious, almost gloomy. The staffers read or typed or stared out the window—even Cal, who I couldn’t help but notice had avoided eye contact from the moment I’d gotten on the bus, like he was embarrassed on my behalf. Every time two of the staffers started to chat, Elliott would crane his head from the back office and they’d quickly shut up.

As we pulled up to the New Jersey park where the rally was being held, I spotted a group of people waving signs. They
looked like they were cheering until you heard the sharp, repetitive rhythm, saw their faces, wide mouths shouting.

One of the signs read:
VOTE COOPER, VOTE H
ATE
.
Another:
DEPORT
COOPER
.

They were here to protest. Many in the angry crowd were Hispanic. This was about immigration. It was about the Diazes.

I turned my face away as we passed them, trying to forget that I was the one who drew them here.

We parked, and Lou boarded the bus—as soon as his face popped through the door, it felt like the clouds had parted and the sun was finally shining again. I watched the staffers get up from their seats to stretch with sudden smiles. Lou strolled down the bus, greeting each one, and it occurred to me that despite how little I’d seen him on the campaign trail, in one sense, he’d been with us all along. As he passed through the aisle, I could almost see him drawing lines from one staffer to the next, holding them together.

“Okay.” The senator strode out from the back office, the sad lines of his face uncreasing as he put on his practiced smile. “Shall we?”

He averted his eyes when I stepped forward. It was a defensive maneuver. I knew that. If he looked at me, the smile would drop off—and he needed that smile to do his job. I stuck on my own fake smile and pretended I didn’t notice, or even better, didn’t care.

Lou caught my eye. He didn’t miss anything, did he? But he shot me a goofy wink and I relaxed a little, like all the campaign aides around me.

“What is she wearing?” Elliott said.

I blinked, surprised. He was pointing at me.

Libby giggled nervously, smoothing her braided bun. “You reassigned me! I’m not helping with Kate anymore.”

Meg motioned to the door. “The outfit’s fine. Let’s go.”

Gabe and Gracie hesitated beside the senator, their eyes traveling between all of us like spectators at a sporting event, Gabe’s with trepidation, Gracie’s with some emotion I couldn’t quite read.

“No.” Elliott pointed at me again. “Change. Don’t you have pants? Something without a skirt?”

“I—” My voice leaked out of me and died. Everyone was staring. “I only have jeans. You guys didn’t buy me any pants.”

“Oh, so it’s
our
fault.”

Before I could scream “YES!” Meg stepped between us, her face growing red. “She’s
fine,
I said. Let’s. Go.”

Elliott laughed sharply. “Great, Meg. You’re the expert here, clearly. America already thinks she’s a slut and now we’re parading her around in a miniskirt. That’s—”

His words cut off with a crack and I was still so stunned by what he’d said that it took the shouting and mess of arms and bodies pulling Elliott and Louis apart for me to realize that the unthinkable had just happened.

Lou Mankowitz had punched Elliott Webb in the face.

Lou was unrecognizable. Veins were bulging from his neck, and his arms were flying. The staffers fell back, suddenly eager to escape. Except Elliott. Despite the huge height difference between the two men, Lou had him by the throat, and was forcing him into submission with so little effort that
I wondered numbly how many fights Lou had gotten into during his “young and stupid” days.