The Wrong Side of Right

by Jenn Marie Thorne

“I’d like to do a one-on-one with you, Kate, if you don’t object.”

  We hadn’t planned this, but it seemed like a reasonable request, so I said “Sure,” just as Nancy stepped in to decline. Shawna looked to each of us for a response and I shot Nancy a reassuring smile. “It’s fine.”

  She nodded, trust in her eyes. I was prepped. And besides, I came from a long line of Goodwin women, all of them strong. I could handle this.

  But none of these questions were on our list.

  “Tell me about your mother,” she started, and I pressed my lips together to keep from showing alarm.

  We strolled along the edge of the woods outside the house, the cameraman walking backward just ahead.

  “She was wonderful,” I answered, remembering the words I’d used when Andy asked. I smiled at the memory. “She was a great mom.”

  “Did it surprise you to find out that she and the senator had an affair?”

  The only reply that sprung to mind was the truth. I hesitated. But the cameras were rolling. It was easier just to answer.

  “It still surprises me, actually,” I said, and felt my whole body relax the second those off-script words spilled out. “It doesn’t really fit with everything I know about my mom. She was an incredibly moral person, talked all the time about how even little actions can affect other people, how responsible you have to be.”

  As Shawna nodded thoughtfully, my mind began to whir.

  “Maybe it took this happening for her to learn that lesson. I don’t think she set out to hurt anyone, but she did—and maybe I was a reminder of it.”

  It wasn’t a happy thought. My eyes hit the ground and it took effort to force them up again. Look out at the horizon, they’d told me in media training. It conveys optimism. Trustworthiness.

  “You mentioned responsibility,” Shawna said. “Is that something you learned helping your mother at her nonprofit?”

  “Definitely.” We’d touched on this a little in prep. “It gave me a sense of perspective—and it taught me how important it is to help people in need.”

  That seemed like a safe statement, in line with my other sound bites, but Shawna’s gaze intensified. “Do you think your father shares those values?”

  “I . . . um.” I swallowed, suddenly flushing hot. “Sure. Yeah, probably.” My forehead was prickling. “I mean—absolutely!”

  I blinked hard, wishing I could take back all those ums and go straight to “absolutely.” What was the matter with me?

  Shawna winced.

  “Let’s switch gears,” she said, waving a finger for the cameraman to keep rolling. I nodded, grateful for the reprieve.

  Then she said, “Is there a special someone in your life?” and my mouth went dry all over again.

  “Um—n-no!” I stammered, newly suspicious of the twinkle in Shawna’s eye. She’d started her career as an investigative journalist. Did she know about Andy? The street had been deserted that night in DC. But what if someone had seen? What if there was a rumor going around and I had no idea about it?

  I drew in a steadying breath. “I’m pretty focused on family right now.”

  “And they certainly seem to be focused on you.” Phew. She cocked her head for the follow-up question. “How do you get along with Mrs. Cooper?”

  “Meg?” I grinned. This was an easy one. “She’s great. She—”

  She should hate me, but she doesn’t, I thought. She’s a miracle.

  Oh God, here it came. I was absolutely not supposed to cry.

  I started to cry. Shawna touched my shoulder in sympathy.

  “She’s been so accepting,” I managed, swiping the corner of my eye with my pinkie, praying my makeup hadn’t smeared on top of everything else. “She’s a wonderful mother too.”

  “And your father?”

  My tears evaporated. That question I had an answer for. One I’d rehearsed in front of Elliott Webb.

  “He’s everything I always dreamed my dad would be.”

  “So . . .” Shawna beamed down at me, that comfortingly familiar face, everybody’s best friend. “What happens after the campaign, Kate?”

  My mouth opened—and nothing came out.

  Because nothing could come out. I didn’t have an answer.

  “I think that’s all we have time for!” Nancy ran into the shot and latched on to my arm. I held on to her as she whirled around and walked us away from Shawna and the crew.

  Behind us, I heard them setting up for the last part of the day, a sit-down with Meg and the senator.

  Why didn’t we prep that question? I wondered.

  And—more importantly—why did I still not know the answer?

  18

  Wednesday, July 23

  Paying Respects

  104 DAYS UNTIL THE GENERAL ELECTION

  The Maine sky was a bright, cheerful blue. The mourners lining up to enter the little stone chapel cast their faces down as if to block it out.

  The senator hadn’t spoken a word since we’d landed for this unwelcome visit. He’d stared at his speech with heavy-lidded eyes, his thumb rubbing the page as if to erase the words he’d written.

  This was the kind of funeral that politicians had to attend. Supreme Court Justice Thomas Bellamy was well-liked by many in DC. And because he’d died so suddenly—during an election cycle—the press would be on hand to document exactly who showed up to pay respects.

  But for the senator, this funeral was different. In law school, it was young Professor Bellamy who’d taken Mark Cooper under his wing and encouraged him to turn his attention toward a life in the public eye. I remembered Nancy saying that he’d given a thoughtful quote to the press right after my existence had come to light, and I’d heard the senator laughing on the phone with him from time to time. Apparently, Justice Bellamy had suggested we get our families together after the election was done.

  But now, at the age of only fifty-nine, he was gone.

  The press waited a respectful distance from the small church where Justice Bellamy was being laid to rest, cameras rolling. The senator didn’t open the car window when we arrived. Didn’t raise his eyes from the page. Meg watched him, one hand placed gently against his knee. The twins, oblivious, fussed in their black outfits, nudging each other with their elbows.

  A large security detail flanked the church, their sleek suits clashing with the centuries-old stone walls surrounding the chapel. As we passed into the church, one of them pressed a finger to his earpiece, muttering softly.

  Sure enough, the president was here. He and his family stood near the organ, the First Lady grasping Bellamy’s widow’s hand with both of her own. I could see the back of Andy’s head. He didn’t turn.

  Mrs. Bellamy glanced around the president’s shoulder, spotting Meg and the senator. At the sight of friends, her face relaxed, grief showing even more plainly through.

  To her right, three children stood in a staggered row, watching the crowd with hollow eyes. The youngest, about five, had her mouth pursed tight to keep tears in check. The oldest was a boy a little younger than me. He looked like he had just woken up to a nightmare.

  As I watched him, the church seemed to tilt and then to sink. The room felt small, more people walking in behind us, and I reached my hand out as if to grasp Penny’s, but she wasn’t here, and my breath caught, my eyes pooling.

  Meg glanced at me in alarm. I tried to croak an excuse, but instead just squeezed past all the mourners and out the side door of the chapel, spots gathering.

  I drew in a greedy, cool breath, smelling salt in the air. It took me a few seconds to realize I’d emerged into a graveyard. Past the crumbling headstones, I could see a lighthouse and the ocean.

  “You all right?”

  I spun to find Andy Lawrence a few feet away, his hand half extended, like he was waiting to grab me if I passed out.

  “Yeah,” I lied. The word hardly came out.

  Andy squinted, his head cocked. “It’s a little soon, isn’t it?”

  “I think
it might always be.” I steadied my breath as I stared at the glittering ocean.

  Andy circled a stone angel, looping closer.

  This isn’t safe, I thought. Anyone could see us. All the same, I felt my shoulders loosen, my hands unclench as he walked over.

  “This doesn’t bother you?” Andy motioned to the graves.

  “Not really.” I tried to smile. “She was cremated. After the funeral, we sprinkled her ashes up the coast at her favorite beach.”

  “In the ocean?” Andy stood next to me and turned toward the view.

  I nodded, watching a boat draw its wake across the water. Andy’s pinkie grazed mine.

  “That’s smart. You don’t have to go to a specific grave to visit her. The earth is seventy percent water, and it’s all connected. So in a way, you’re visiting her right now.”

  I blinked away tears, the light from the ocean glittering bright, blinding me. Andy’s fingers found mine and danced against them until they were entwined. I dared a glance. He was watching me—with concern, but something else too. Something I was suddenly desperate to define.

  “Andrew.” A sharp voice sounded behind us and we jolted away from each other. I turned to see the First Lady’s expression travel from annoyance to shock and then back to placid politeness. Barbie face.

  “The funeral is starting,” she said softly. Her eyes traveled to mine, a worry-line creasing her forehead, then darted away again. “I need you inside.”

  Does she know? I wondered, the usual question following on its heels. Know what?

  As Andy walked away, I imagined a cord connecting our hands, pulling me after him. Even once I’d sat down in the chapel between Gabe and Gracie, other people’s grief settling on me like a sodden blanket, I could almost feel Andy’s fingers sliding over mine, telling me through touch that he understood.

  I woke from my daze to see the senator rise to the podium and begin his speech.

  “In a time like this, a time of grief, of shock—a time when the world seems unfair, the universe uncaring, it is important to hear words of comfort. Of reassurance. But I’m here today as someone who was lucky to know Thomas Bellamy—and to love him, like a brother. So those reassuring words are hard to find.” He swallowed. “I’m angry. Tom was taken too young. And I’m angry about it.”

  Everyone leaned forward. This was not the usual eulogy.

  “But Tom believed in objectivity.” The senator paused, grinning as if someone had just whispered a joke into his ear. “His favorite quote at Yale was, ‘Let’s look at this from another angle.’ I’m sure his colleagues in the Supreme Court heard those words on more than one occasion—probably pretty maddening if you were about to break for lunch.”

  Several people in the congregation chuckled in recognition.

  “So, to honor Tom, why don’t we look at this from another angle. Thomas Bellamy’s time on this earth has ended. Let’s take a look at his life.”

  As the senator’s words rolled over the chapel, it seemed to settle back into its foundation. The world felt orderly again. Safer. Looking around at the other mourners, I could see their own expressions changing as the senator’s speech unfurled. His words—they were helping.

  I stared at the senator with new wonder as he concluded his speech. He seemed to fill the room, the churchyard, the coastline. It wasn’t just that he was charismatic.

  He was presidential.

  As we left the church, I searched for Andy, hoping to convey with a look my gratitude. But it was his father’s expression that caught my attention and held it.

  The president looked worried.

  19

  Friday, July 25

  Winging Our Way to the City of Angels

  102 DAYS UNTIL THE GENERAL ELECTION

  My birthday was the same week as the Republican National Convention.

  When Meg found out, her first reaction was, “Oh no!” followed by an anxious, “And what’s on your birthday list this year?”

  I was already getting what I wanted. This year’s GOP convention was in Los Angeles. For weeks, I’d been alternating between cold panic and breathless excitement at the thought of this visit. On the one hand, we were all preparing to step onto the biggest stage of our lives in front of an audience of millions of viewers, the fate of the country hanging in the balance. On the other hand, I’d have nine whole days back home. The scales were balanced as far as I was concerned.

  Penny had been counting down to my arrival for weeks. “You’d better come straight over, or I’m going to kidnap you. I don’t even care if Secret Service is listening right now. Consider this your warning.”

  I promised her I’d see her first, even though I knew I’d still be scheduled to within an inch of my waking life. Probably my sleeping life too. There had to be pockets of time I could steal, though, and maybe even times that Penny could tag along, see what the campaign was like. I couldn’t wait.

  When we boarded the plane, Meg presented me with a stack of books that she was careful to say were not birthday gifts, just something for our long plane and bus rides. The titles were familiar, some because they were classics, and the others because I’d heard them mentioned recently—by Andy and Jake and Lucy.

  Meg had bought me the Farnwell Prep summer reading list.

  I wondered what it meant, but didn’t quite know how to ask. I just thanked her and started to read. The books were almost, but not quite, interesting enough to keep my mind off the trip ahead—and the Shawna Wells interview.

  It had aired yesterday while we were “getting an early night,” as per Meg’s orders. I knew Meg well enough to have already suspected we wouldn’t be gathering with a bowl of popcorn to gawk at ourselves on the Coopers’ flat screen. And for once, Nancy had agreed with Meg.

  “You did great, now let it go,” she said, echoing Lou’s advice from back in June. “Trust me—the more you watch yourself on TV, the more it changes you. And we want you to stay exactly the way you are!”

  Judging by the cheery attitude of the campaign staff who’d boarded the Cooper for America plane with us, it had gone well. I told myself that that was all I needed to know and almost, sort of, kind of believed it. At least this week would be full of distractions.

  As our flight descended, I leaned over Gabe to get a view of the wide crescent of the Pacific coast, the endless buildings like tiles in a mosaic, the mountains in the distance, the beautiful smog. Yep. I’d even missed the smog.

  My home for the next nine days would be very different from the little house I’d shared with my mom. The campaign was housed downtown in a high-rise hotel across the street from the convention. The staffers had rooms all over the hotel, but the sprawling penthouse suite was ours. It had three bathrooms with Jacuzzis, oil paintings on the gilded walls, a chandeliered dining room that the campaign staff immediately claimed as an office. Gazing over the city from my own private balcony, I promised myself I’d invite Penny to join me here this week. Maybe she could even stay the night for my birthday.

  Once we’d checked in, we had two hours to kill before the first afternoon event. After I’d explained my solemn vow, the senator laughed and agreed to let me visit Penny. It wasn’t until I said I’d take the Metro that he started to worry.

  “Where does she live?” he asked. “I didn’t even know there was a subway in LA.”

  “Of course there is!” I chirped. “I can hop on the Gold Line. Atlantic’s only like eight stops from here.”

  From his bemused squint, I realized he was thinking only of Beverly Hills, Brentwood, places he’d visited on donor calls.

  “And this is a safe neighborhood?”

  I just kept smiling. “It’s where I used to live?”

  He sighed, defeated. “Back by five. No subway. James will escort you.”

  I giggled on the ride over, picturing Penny’s face when I rolled up in a Town Car with my very own Secret Service agent. But as we rounded the corner onto her street, gliding past a familiar row of faded bungalows with dry,
carefully tended lawns, I was the one whose mouth fell open.

  Between two spindly palms in her front yard, a giant banner read “Welcome Home, Kate!” and under it, at least two dozen people were gathered. At the sight of the car, they jumped in celebration.

  I smiled so wide my cheeks burned, spotting friends from school I hadn’t spoken to since I left—Kevin, my old lab partner and sophomore semi-formal date; Irina, my gorgeous Latvian friend who still wore her crazy hair in pigtails; Chester, who was much taller than I remembered; Topes and his little sister, Angie; the still teensy Eva; and was that Enrico? I hadn’t seen Penny’s big brother since he’d joined the marines two years ago.

  And there in the middle of it all was Miss Penelope Diaz, black hair braided prettily and eyes welling up, her parents standing behind her.

  The moment I got one foot out of the car, they swarmed me. I glanced nervously back at James, but he was busy trying to stifle an unprofessional smile.

  “Look at you!” Penny released me from a bear hug and clapped her hands under her chin. “You’re still in costume! That. Is. Awesome.”

  I glanced down, realizing I was still wearing the photo-op floral dress from the airplane. In my rush to get down here, I’d forgotten to change into something less ridiculous. Enrico’s eyes were wide.

  “You’ve grown up, Skinny Kate,” he said, making me blush.

  By the time Penny’s mom made her way over to gather me up in a plush hug, my friends were all around me, asking a million questions a minute, mostly “What’s your dad like?” and “How are you doing with all this?” I answered as well as I could, overwhelmed and delighted. And then Penny’s little sister, Eva, tugged on my wrist with her own question.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  Everybody laughed—and, at my dumbstruck reaction, laughed harder. “I—Um . . . not really.”

  Penny narrowed her eyes. “Not really?”

  “There’s a boy,” I admitted, to general whooping. “But it’s not really anything.”

  Penny’s mouth fell open, her hands landing on her hips. This was an act, I knew—over-the-top indignant—designed to mask her hurt that I’d withheld such crucial information. I’d be hearing about this later.