The Wrong Side of Right (9 page)

“Kate—how are you handling the shock . . . ?”

“Kate, did your mother ever . . . ?”

I couldn’t make out the questions, but it didn’t really matter. I wasn’t supposed to talk, was I? Just stand here and smile pretty.

“It’s going to be a long day,” the senator laughed, motioning the reporters to calm down. “Kate’s not used to this, so let’s go easy on her.”

Then I heard a question rising above the others.

“How did you react to the news?
Were you ashamed?
”

I thought for a second they were yelling to Meg. But no, everyone in the crowd was staring at me, shocked into silence by the question. Even the weasel-faced reporter who’d asked it suddenly looked sheepish. Gabe peered up at me with big eyes, and squeezed my hand twice, silently asking if I was okay.

“All right, that’s it for today,” the senator said, raising his hand good-bye.

That’s it?
I thought
. No. This can’t be it. That can’t be the last thing.
If the question went unanswered, it would stay in the air forever, an assumed “yes,” everyone in America believing I felt ashamed of my mother.

The senator stepped away from the microphone and I lurched forward to fill the space. My skin pulsed hot, my hands shaking at the question, but I forced them around the microphone.

“No, I don’t feel ashamed.”

My voice ricocheted from the speakers, echoed by a shriek of feedback. I guess I’d spoken a little too loudly. The crowd had fallen dead silent. I saw that the senator had come back, his hand hesitating inches from the microphone, but what could he do? I was talking, he couldn’t stop me. His hand dropped.

I swallowed.

“There’s no shame in being born. I don’t have to apologize for that. And as for Senator Cooper—”

My brain flashed to the car ride earlier in the week, the sound bite the senator had liked.

“I feel very
lucky
that he’s my father.”

Oh-kay, that was really all I could think of to announce and they were all still staring with rapt attention, so I added in a small voice, “Thank you,” and campaign-smiled, and they all erupted and started taking photos and talking into their microphones and I got shuffled off the stage with the others. Nancy looked a little green and Elliott like he was planning to strangle me later, but the reporters nodded, impressed, the
onlookers cheered and grabbed my hands, and when we got into the bus, my stepmother turned to me with a slow grin and declared, as if it were now official: “I
like
this girl!”

11

The sunlight was stretching dim over rolling hills dotted with cows and lined with long, low fences. Behind me sprawled the glittering tents of Senator Tauber’s party, currently a mess of politicos, their voices shrill with forced merriment. But out here, it was still and lovely, and while the senator and his team prepped our official entrance, I had two minutes to breathe.

We’d hopped from one event straight to the next since the press conference, even stopping off at a grocery store for a hand-shaking visit with potential voters. All I’d had to do was wave and smile. Since the press conference they’d been careful to keep microphones away from me. Not that I minded. I was all talked out and a little shaken at having so blatantly disobeyed the one directive they’d given me. My adrenaline rush had rushed back out.

It was harder work than I’d have guessed. I’d flung my arms around like a championship waver for the better part of eight hours. By now, they were hanging like rusted anchors at my sides. At least they’d let me change into ballet flats for our evening event. My feet were grateful.

“Kate!” Nancy motioned me over.

I took one more moment to drink in the sunset, drew a deep breath of hay-scented air, and hurried into the tents to join the Coopers.

There was a receiving line leading to our honored host, the newly retired Senator Tauber. This farm, estate, and grounds all belonged to Tauber’s wife, Nancy had dished on the way over. Tauber was the son of a coal miner who’d met and wooed an heiress after the death of his first wife. I took it Wife Two was the woman standing sentinel next to him, her white hair twisted upward like a cone of soft-serve ice cream.

When Senator Cooper stepped forward, the line of Republican well-wishers stumbled over themselves to clear the way for him. The Taubers reacted so cheerily that you’d swear they hadn’t known he was coming.

When it was my turn to shake Senator Tauber’s hand, he held on, his eyes crinkling with mischief.

“How are you enjoying the spotlight, my dear?” he asked, and I could tell by his expression that he’d seen our little press conference.

“I’m glad to be
out
of the spotlight tonight, sir,” I was quick to say. “It’s an honor to meet you. Congratulations on your retirement.”

He let out a hearty laugh. “She’s a natural, Mark!”

I smiled politely, thinking that if I were actually a natural, I wouldn’t have had to mentally practice that greeting all afternoon—and my palms wouldn’t have gone clammy the second I’d opened my mouth.

The line moved on and I found myself shuffled off to a table in the dining tent with Gracie and Gabe, while Meg
and the senator went around shaking hands. Libby, who’d hovered around me since the press conference, had been waylaid by what looked like her male counterpart at another table, hideous brown sweater vest and all.

Gabe tugged on the tablecloth.

“You don’t like these parties much, do you?” I asked.

Even Gracie didn’t fake enthusiasm.

“We hate them. They’re
boring
.” The ultimate insult to an eight-year-old.

The wood-paneled bar along the side of the marquee looked less than mobbed for the moment, so I jumped up.

“You guys want some soda?”

It was an innocent offer, but something about the eager look they exchanged made me suspect that soda wasn’t usually on the menu. Now that I thought of it, the only beverages in the Coopers’ fridge were juices—with an added spritz of seltzer from the soda stream if we were lucky.

Gabe opened his mouth to confess, but Gracie cut him off. “Coke!” Her eyes grew wider as she attempted some sort of twin mind-meld.

“Me too.” Gabe’s mouth curled upward despite his best efforts to remain poker-faced. “A Coke. Thank you.”

Three steps from the bar, I felt the heat of someone sidling up behind me. Before I could look, a wry male voice murmured low into my ear.

“Heya, new girl.”

I froze long enough to wipe alarm from my face and replace it with the campaign smile before turning.

Facing me stood a blond boy in an expensive suit, casual
as all get out, hands in his pockets and an easy grin like he’d known me all my life. He did look sort of familiar. My brain spun, trying to figure out where we might have met—headquarters maybe?—but with everything going on today and the blurry memory of all the people who crossed my path this week, I couldn’t quite land on an answer. He looked about my age—too young to be a volunteer, let alone a staffer.

“Hi,” I tried, thinking that didn’t tip my hand one way or the other.

“I liked your moves today.”

I blinked, even more confused. He slid one hand from his trouser pocket to mime grabbing something out of thin air. It looked vaguely dirty and I froze.

“Gimme that mic!” he laughed, and I realized with horror that this kid was imitating the press conference. My face started to flush and, not knowing how else to react, I turned away.

He ducked around me to lean against the bar, face contrite and hand raised in apology. He wasn’t that tall for a guy, maybe five foot nine, but compared to me, he was a giant—and besides, there was something about him that seemed to take up extra space, like the entire bar area was his stage. I couldn’t look past him, let alone
get
past him.

“No no no!” He grinned. “I’m not kidding, that was awesome. If you only knew how many times I’ve wanted to do that, and seriously—that reporter had it coming. What kind of bullshit question was that?”

I felt a small measure of relief. There was something
dangerous about this kid, something mocking, but at the moment, it didn’t seem to be directed at me.

“Thank you for the encouragement,” I said, and his cocky expression wavered, as if he hadn’t expected a reply.

“You’re very . . . polite, aren’t you?” He stepped back to get a better look, his gray eyes scanning me like I’d just stepped out of a UFO.

This might have been a good chance to make a break for it, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. I crossed my arms so he couldn’t get a good look at
all
of me and coolly stared back.

“Why not?” I replied. “There’s no reason to be rude to a total stranger.”

I was very good at staring contests. An expert, in fact. It was an ability I’d honed through almost a decade of practice with Penny during pockets of weekend boredom. So it was only a few seconds before I had the pleasure of seeing the blond kid look away, masking his failure with a smile.

“Good point,” he said. “Touché. For that, I owe you a drink.” He knocked on the bar. “What’s your poison? Martinis? Tequila shots? You seem like a bourbon girl, am I right . . . ?”

He was obviously kidding—but at the mention of alcohol, I finally realized who he was. How had I not recognized him sooner? The hair, the smirk, the attitude. It was like I was staring into Lily Hornsby’s locker.

And so I was only mostly bowled over when in the next blink, a man in a boxy suit entered the room with one hand touching his earpiece and announced:
“Make way for the president!”

The crowd stopped their conversations as President Mitchell Lawrence entered the tent, his hand raised in a jovial greeting, the sweet-faced First Lady on his other arm. I held my breath, trying not to be star-struck and only partially succeeding. They were shorter in person, but wasn’t that what everybody said about celebrities? It was like watching wax figures walk into the room. They beelined for Senator Tauber, and I spun around to gape at their son.

“You’re . . .”

He extended a hand and I shook numbly. “Andy Lawrence. Nice to finally meet you,
Kate Quinn
.” Before I could close my slack jaw, he shot me a wink and leaned in to whisper. “We’d better not talk too long. They’re already staring.”

He was right. As he strolled off whistling something that sounded suspiciously like “Hail to the Chief,” I saw eyes all over the room travel between us. Us—the children of the two men competing for the office of President of the United States, chatting away. At a
bar
.

I feverishly scanned the crowd for Meg and the senator. They were deep in conversation with two couples I didn’t know, backs turned to the president.

When I brought the sodas back to our table, Gracie grinned. “That boy likes you.”

“I don’t think so,” I muttered, hesitating by my chair. Over my shoulder, I saw Andy with his parents, shaking Senator Tauber’s hand. He was laughing at a joke his father made, but I had the irrational sense that it was at my expense, that he was celebrating somehow—that whatever conversational
sport we’d been playing at the bar, he’d scored the winning point by virtue of his last name.

Worse, just as I was about to look away, he caught me staring.
Awesome.
Point two to the president’s son.
And then, making my defeat that much more spectacular, as I tried to casually take my chair, my ankle twisted and I stumble-sat, sloshing my drink onto the white tablecloth. I’d made it through an entire day of high-heelage without stumbling—and managed to trip in flats. Typical.

Forcing myself not to turn and see Andy’s triumphant reaction, I gulped down what remained of my ginger ale, seething with embarrassment.

“Soda, huh?” Meg said dryly behind us. She sat with an indulgent sigh. “I suppose there’s no harm—if it’s
just this once
.”

She looked right at me when she said it, one eyebrow raised, giving me the sneaking suspicion that she wasn’t only referring to my choice of beverage.

• • •

We rolled away in the dark of morning the next day, traveling via bus to Ohio. Maybe to test my babysitting prowess, Meg had booked a separate hotel room for me, Gracie, and Gabe the night before. They’d celebrated their freedom by jumping on the beds until two in the morning. When the knock sounded on our door at 4:00
A.M.
, we all groaned.

Gabe and Gracie piled into the bus in their pajamas to sleep a little longer. I considered dozing in the office chair, but opted for a strong coffee instead.

As I sipped, I studied the day’s pinned-up schedule—
back-to-back solo events for the senator. The rest of us were off the hook. I decided to spend the morning plowing through
The Fountainhead
, my feet kicked up on the seat next to me.

“
Life-changing
, right?” Cal said, leaning across the aisle.

I wouldn’t have gone that far. The death of a parent, the sudden discovery of another one—those were things I’d probably rank more life-changing than a melodrama about architecture. But Cal beamed and I mustered an enthusiastic nod, thinking that this sweet guy, however brilliant a speechwriter, was just this side of clueless.

By the third campaign stop, I’d nearly finished the novel, Gabe and Gracie were up, and Meg was threatening to put an end to their game of Sorry!, observing that both of them were saying “
Sorry
” in a not-very-sportsmanlike manner. It was drizzling outside. The bus felt cozy and calm. A lazy day with the Coopers. I smiled into Cal’s paperback. But as the senator mounted the stairs to complete our tableau, Elliott slunk up after him, and my mood took a nosedive.

He pointed at me. “Kate. Get dressed.”

I glanced at my jeans and T-shirt in confusion before catching his meaning. Libby scrambled aboard as the doors were closing, clutching a Starbucks cup and a hanging garment draped in plastic. I reached for both, but she handed the coffee to Elliott.

Meg peered up from her newspaper. “I thought we had the day off.”

“Not Kate,” Elliott grunted. “She’s blowing up. But don’t get too comfortable. We might need you later too.”

“Blowing up?” I asked.

Elliott clenched his jaw before answering, like he was fighting to remain civil. “Your little stunt yesterday seems to have paid off. We did some phone polling last night and your likeability quotient skyrocketed. Yours too, Meg,” he added with a vicious smile. “Believe it or not.”

She ignored him.

“So get dressed. We need you out there, visible. Go.”

Another skirt and sweater-set. It was like they’d decided this was the magic outfit, the only one America would like me in. I myself suspected that if I slugged Elliott on live television, my “likeability” would shoot even higher.