The Wrong Side of Right (32 page)

His voice was full of bitterness, his hands scraping against
each other, picking themselves apart, a battle of nails and skin. I reached out and held them.

“You’ve done a lot of good for a lot of people,” I said. “I’ve seen it. You care—you actually do—and that’s not something a lot of people can say.”

There was something so pained about the way he peered across our linked hands at me, like he was allowing himself to hope, to feel for the first time in a long time.

“I had trouble with you, Kate,” he said, and I started to lean away, but he held on. “Not because of you. You were perfect.
Are
perfect. You’re considerate, moral, brave. But you reminded me . . .” He couldn’t finish.

I swallowed through a dry throat. “Of her.”

“No.” He blinked. “Of
me
. Who I used to be. Somebody who would stick up for his friends, even if it was risky. Somebody who put other people first. Somebody who . . .” He let out a helpless laugh. “Somebody who screwed up a lot.”

I blushed, but a smile fought its way through. “
That
sounds a little like me.”

“And a lot like me. I wasn’t ready to look hard at myself, but I think I am now. And I want you to know that.”

I considered for a moment. There was something else I needed to ask.

“In the interview with Shawna Wells . . .” I pressed my lips together, suddenly shy, confessing that I’d watched it. He nodded encouragement. “Meg said that, right before that first campaign, you were trying to have a child?”

I didn’t finish the story, but remembered it vividly. In the interview, they’d said that they couldn’t conceive. They
believed the timing was wrong then because I was the child that was supposed to be born. It was one of many parts of that interview that I’d found myself replaying over and over again, partly to make sense of it all, and partly just to spend more time with the Coopers, even if it was only over a TV screen.

“That’s all true.” The senator’s expression made it clear that he was answering the question I hadn’t asked. “We’ve talked about that a lot. And, you know, I wish your mom were still here. It’s not fair that she isn’t. But Meg and I both feel that you were meant to be our daughter too. Even after having Grace and Gabriel—in a sense, we were always waiting for you. And then there you were. Now—” He drew in a breath. “It took us a few weeks to see it that way. We needed to get past the shock. When we first found out about you, neither of us was able to think clearly. Well. I wasn’t, anyway.”

I could tell from the intensity in his eyes that he was apologizing. Nancy was right, then. He’d wanted to hush me up. And he was ashamed of it now.

So maybe he’d panicked that day in June. Maybe it was too much for him to process, so he’d reverted to political strategy, until Nancy talked sense into him. Honestly, I myself had expected him to disavow me. I’d been shocked when he invited me to DC.

Now I knew. The senator’s heart wasn’t in the right place then. But so what? I could see it today, beating, right here in front of me.

My fingers were shaking, so I slid them under my knees. “In the interview, you also said that being a parent is a more important job than being president.”

I hoped I didn’t sound too reproachful. That wasn’t how I felt. Not now.

“I meant that too,” he said. “But—I
understand
it a lot better now. I hope I can find a way to apologize in the way you deserve. I hope you give me that chance.”

“Well . . .” I raised my eyebrows. “I can think of a good place to start.”

He saw the humor in my eyes and smiled. “I’m sorry, Kate.”

Then he peered at me, sad and nervous, and so hopeful.

“You’re right, you know,” I finally said.

He cocked his head, confused. I drew a breath.

“Whatever happens? We’re going to be okay.”

He beamed, gave my hands another squeeze, and stood, offering me a hand up.

“I’m heading to the airport in twenty minutes. Everybody’s waiting for you on the plane—Gabe, Gracie, Meg. Will you come with me?” He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and rocked on his heels, a nervous dance. “I want you with us for election night, Kate. I need my family with me. My
whole
family.”

My mind whirred with images of past election nights on the news. They tended to be swanky affairs, no matter the outcome, so I’d need something formal to wear. My heart started to beat faster just thinking about it.

“What should I pack?” I asked.

He smiled. “Everything.”

37

Tuesday, November 4

Election Day

When I woke up in the Coopers’—no—
our
farmhouse in Massachusetts, it took me a few bleary seconds to realize where I was, how I’d gotten here, what day it was, and why, exactly Gracie was sitting cross-legged at the end of my bed.

“Good morning,” she said, then launched herself over the mattress to tackle me in a power-hug.

I glanced over her shoulder to check on my hanging garment bag. The gown was intact.

She murmured hot into my shoulder, “You’re still here.”

I leaned away, peering into her worried eyes. “Of course I am.”

Gracie’s expression clouded and I felt guilt pulse through me. She was making sure I’d stayed the night. The last time we’d been under the same roof when she went to bed, I wasn’t there in the morning. How could I have put her through that?

“I have bad dreams sometimes,” she said, picking at a loose thread in my quilt. “Like, the same dream, a lot? That Daddy goes to work, and I’m watching him, and sometimes he’s walking but sometimes he’s driving, and then he disappears and none of us can find him. And we look and look, but . . .”

“That’s kind of what happened with me, huh?”

She nodded. “I wasn’t nice to you all the time, so I thought maybe you didn’t want to be my sister anymore.”

I felt my eyes stinging, and then Gracie, seeing me crying, started to tear up too. “No, Gracie.” I grabbed her hands. “It was never about you. You’re the best.”

She looked dubious.

“Look.” I dug into the neck of my pajamas and pulled out the little star necklace she’d given me for my birthday. Her eyes widened to see it. “I wore this almost every day while I was away. It reminded me of my sister. Kept me from feeling so lonely.”

“But you’re not going away anymore.”

“No.” I grabbed her pinkie in a promise. “I’m not.”

We all got ready together, eating breakfast in private before the campaign machine started up for one last day. As Gracie ran from the kitchen to give the senator a fresh mug of coffee, I caught a glimpse of her face—the eagerness in it, the need. And like that, all of my sister’s bizarre actions from the past few months suddenly made perfect sense. She was just like me—terrified of losing her family, of not knowing her place within it, of having it all slip away.

• • •

As we waited outside the polling place in Boston where the senator and Meg were casting their votes, I held Gracie’s and Gabe’s hands tightly. A cameraman swiveled toward us and I
• • •

raised their arms high and led them in a cheer that the gathered crowd caught and amplified. The day was sunny and crisp, the sky a deep, autumn blue. I couldn’t help but feel optimistic.

The campaign had taken out a few suites in a swanky Boston hotel. In a few hours’ time, its ballroom would be full of supporters, ready to cheer the next President of the United States or to mourn together their candidate’s loss. I tried not to think too hard about either scenario as I changed into my last official campaign dress. It was BCBG, deep green—my favorite—and just the right mix of conservative and flirty. Meg and I had gone to a local boutique after hours last night to pick it out together. She fussed over the dress for a proud moment before returning to Gabe’s clip-on tie.

I snapped a quick selfie and texted it to Tess, who’d made me promise to send more photos for her to add to the last blank pages of my scrapbook. The senator had invited them up to Boston to join us for Election Night, but they’d exchanged a panicked, completely intimidated glance before politely declining.

“You enjoy some time to yourselves as a family,” Barry had said. “We’ll be rooting for you from here.”

We had managed to talk them into coming up to DC for Thanksgiving, though. It was nice to have that to look forward to, no matter what happened tonight.

In the suite next door, I heard voices and the dull drone of the TV. As soon as Gracie was done admiring her freshly curled ringlets in the mirror, we headed over. Past the door, I saw a wall of strangers. No Nancy, no Elliott, no Cal. Not even Libby. But as I was glancing at the TV, where Texas had just popped up red on a large digital map, I felt a shy tap on my shoulder.

It was Tim the Sullen Aide—but somehow, he didn’t look as grumpy as I remembered. He was wearing a lanyard bearing a new, higher-level campaign title and a twitchy smile that I had never before witnessed.

“It’s so good to see you!” I said, a little surprised by how much I meant it. “I wasn’t sure how many people I’d know tonight.”

He shook his head with that trademark Tim scowl. “A bunch of people left with Cal. He had a ‘job offer he couldn’t refuse’ from Nancy’s new company. It couldn’t wait until after the election?
Coward
.” He said it with such venom that I thought for a second he was going to spit on the carpet. “Anyway.
Some
of us know what loyalty means.”

I followed his eyes across the room and was rewarded with the most beautiful sight in the world—a short, bald, middle-aged man cracking a joke while pointing at the TV screen. The senator was quipping back, laughing easily. I could tell by the notable absence of a cell phone in Lou’s hand that he wasn’t here in an official capacity. He must have come as a friend.

It was no wonder the room felt so light, so relaxed and upbeat, despite the fact that the United States map on TV was getting bluer by the minute.

As the evening became night, even Lou couldn’t keep the mood from sinking. Meg sat next to the senator, rubbing his knee when wins came in—and when yet another loss was announced. The senator’s face got tighter and tighter, the pain behind the practiced smile impossible to disguise.

Just yesterday, he’d said he would be fine either way, but I saw now that the truth was a lot more complicated than that. This was his dream. And it was evaporating.

Gabe was the first to catch on.

“He’s not winning, is he?” When I replied that it was still early, he shot me a look that was way older than his years.

Once the reality became impossible to ignore, the suite emptied out, except for me, Meg, the twins, and Lou—the new inner circle. The senator sat on the sofa with the TV muted, making phone call after phone call to his most loyal supporters and Republican colleagues, thanking them for all the work they’d done in the past year. I couldn’t believe how well he was holding it together. One deep breath between calls and he would dial again, his voice upbeat, full of genuine appreciation for each person on the other end of the line.

In the face of devastation, he was doing his job. Watching him now, I saw what all those cheering crowds saw in my father, and suspected sadly that he might have made a great president after all.

At around midnight, they called it. We nudged the twins awake, left the suite, and rode the elevator in silence. At floor ten, I reached out for the senator’s hand. He held on until we got to the ground floor.

The hotel ballroom was packed with cheerfully dressed supporters. Music played, the bar served drinks, the stage was colorfully festooned, a huge
COOPER FOR AMERIC
A
banner covered the wall, but there was no celebration at this party. The air was thick with stunned disappointment. It was like being on a cruise ship that had just learned it was sinking.

Tim held us in the wings until the cue came through on his earpiece, then waved us on with a sympathetic sniff.

We stood behind the senator while he gave his concession speech, the McReadys lined up beside us. Carolee’s mascara was running. She’d been crying. I liked her better for it.

The senator’s speech was so simple, direct, and lovely, that I knew he’d written it himself. The audience cheered as loudly as they had at any of his early rallies. It was disorienting. When we left, waving at the crowd, Gracie looked around, confused and upset.

“He’s not going to be president?”

“No, sweetie,” I said, squeezing her hand.

Her forehead knotted as she fought to form the next logical question. “Is it going to be okay?”

We all looked to Meg for the answer. She was watching the ballroom, where people were hugging each other, wiping their cheeks, patting shoulders, and waving good-bye—and where her husband was shaking hands with well-wishers, saying thank you one last time. Meg’s expression was raw with grief. But then she turned to us, taking us in as if evaluating us academically. And at last, she smiled.

“You kidding?” She rumpled Gracie’s hair, but her eyes were on me—a promise. “It’s gonna be great.”