Enrico put his hands out like a bodyguard, quieting the group. “No more questions. Kate’s probably dating, like, the president’s kid. It’s top secret—classified. If she tells you, she’ll have to kill you.”
My friends cracked up, not noticing that all the blood had just left my face. Except Penny. Her suspicious squint had only deepened. Enrico nudged me.
“Just messin’ with you, K.”
Faking a laugh, I punched him in the arm. His beer spilled and something flashed. At first I thought it was lightning, but we never got thunderstorms here. The voices of the group fell lower, confused, and Penny stood up on tiptoes, peering past the crowd.
It was a photographer, his head poking out of the driver’s-side window of a car idling on the other side of the street. And from the other direction, a news van had just shown up, the crew rushing out to get a shot.
I groaned. “Let’s just pose for them, then they’ll go away.”
“Why are they here?” Mr. Diaz shook his head, bewildered. “Did they follow you?”
“Maybe.” I grinned, pointing. “Or maybe it’s the ginormous sign. You tipped them off, Mr. Diaz.”
“This is, like, normal for you now?” Irina asked. “People following you around to take your picture?”
She pinched the flouncy skirt of my dress and I wondered with a start whether she was jealous of the attention. She was Miss Drama Club in school, hoping to start auditioning professionally as soon as her conservative mother would allow it. But for now, she was just another high school junior, languishing in obscurity. Didn’t she know I’d swap places with her in a heartbeat?
Except for the Coopers. Them I’d keep.
We gathered the group into a goofy pose and sure enough, the photographer thanked us and drove on. The film crew rushed in, ready for an interview, but I wasn’t going to sign on for that, not without Nancy here to okay it.
“I’d better go,” I sighed, hugging Penny. “But I’ll be back.”
“Every day, right?” She had her arms crossed to show me she meant it.
I grabbed her pinkie with my own. “As much as I can.”
As we drove away, I watched the light become more golden, dustier, noticed the lawns growing first greener, then gated and sprawling, talked James out of taking the freeway, got stuck in traffic anyway, and made it back for the first event just in time, feeling like Cinderella—except for the whole covered in dirt thing.
Or so I thought.
That photo was everywhere. In less than five hours, it hit the web, the evening papers, the top right corner of every cable news station. And not just the posed photo—video too. That crew had managed to get an impressive amount of party footage, mostly of me trying to ignore them.
Elliott was inexplicably livid. He stormed into the living room of our suite with his finger pointed at the TV like he was going to stab it, yelling, “Why wasn’t I told about this?”
“Whoa—what?” I muttered, my own temper flaring.
“You need to keep a better handle on her!” he yelled, never so much as glancing at me.
“Lay off, Elliott,” Nancy snapped. Seeing her blanch, I remembered that day back in South Carolina when he told her that I was her responsibility.
The senator stepped between them, while Meg positioned herself in front of me. I appreciated the protective gesture, but it wasn’t necessary. I wasn’t the one Elliott was furious at. It was the one up on the screen, the one who went off-plan to visit friends in a “bad” part of town.
“Just lower your voices and look,” the senator said, calmly motioning to the TV. “This is not a crisis.”
“Kate Quinn celebrated her return to her hometown of Los Angeles by paying a visit to old friends,” the busty cable anchor was saying. So far so bland. What was Elliott so pissed off about? “But some are wondering whether this is a move by the Cooper campaign to pander to Hispanic voters. We have with us Carlos Muños, Professor of . . .”
My mouth fell open. “‘Pander’? What the—”
Elliott whirled on me. Oops. Really should have kept my mouth shut.
“Everything. We do. Has. Impact. Everything!” He paced away. “Why am I explaining this to her, it’s a waste of—” He pointed to Nancy. “Do your job!”
And he stormed out of the suite.
The senator sighed, putting his hands up in response to Nancy’s death-glare. “I’ll talk him down.”
Why? I wondered, and not for the first time. Elliott was disrespectful, bad-tempered, arrogant. No one liked him, as far as I could tell. And he’d never even pretended to be nice to me—not for a second. So why not fire him?
He must be really good. Which means—he must be right.
I gulped and looked at the carpet. “Well, that was awkward.”
“Out of line is what that was. Elliott . . .” Meg sighed, not finishing the thought. She wrapped an arm around me. “But listen—you’re learning. We all are. Deep breaths.”
• • •
When she called that night, I thought Penny might be reeling from her first dose of media exposure. But she had other things on her mind.
“You gonna tell me about the president’s kid?”
I crept off my hotel bed and quietly shut the door. Then, with an extra burst of paranoia, I slid two pillows along the bottom of the doorframe.
“You can’t tell anybody,” I whispered.
“What could I tell? You haven’t told me anything!”
“There’s nothing really to tell.” I didn’t know until I said it how much of a lie that was. My heart started thudding. “He’s a friend, but it’s obviously not a great idea, so it’s a secret.”
“He’s a friend. That’s it, huh?” The other end of the line was suspiciously quiet.
“Yeah.”
Penny let out a very long sigh. “Okay, Kate. That’s how you want to play it, that’s how we’ll play it. Now tell me about your hotel. Rate the pool. One through ten.”
She was only letting me get away with this because her pride was hurt. Still, I was relieved. It wasn’t just that I knew Andy was a bad idea, that if word got out about him, it would be a disaster, that the delicate balance of my life right now depended on keeping him a secret. It was that he was my secret. It felt wrong to tell Penny—like whatever strange connection I had with Andy, it would disintegrate if anybody else in my life knew about it.
I felt uneasy enough after hanging up that when Andy called a little after eleven, I silenced the phone and let it ring out without answering.
And then I listened to Andy’s forlorn voicemail ten times before falling asleep, knowing that the next time he called, I’d pick up.
20
Saturday, July 26
Two Days Until the RNC
101 DAYS UNTIL THE GENERAL ELECTION
The next morning, Libby brought fancy coffees to the suite for Nancy and me, and I thanked her with a guilty smile—when Nancy had asked me where the best coffee in LA was, I’d blurted, “The Bean and Steam on Franklin,” before realizing they were sending Liberty clear across town to fetch beverages just as easily purchased from the Starbucks in the hotel lobby.
At least it had given her a chance to see the city. Spying loose wisps of hair around her usual tight bun, I wondered if she’d driven over with the windows down, and felt a surge of envy that lingered until she too ducked away, leaving Nancy and me with two lukewarm cups of the best coffee in LA. The senator and Meg were out to a private breakfast, Gabe and Gracie lolling on the sofa watching Saturday morning cartoons, so we had the terraced deck to ourselves.
“Your dad and Meg are meeting with delegates tomorrow,” Nancy told me, pushing her half-full latte away with a grimace. “So we thought you and Gracie and Gabe might want to go out and do something fun, just the three of you.”
If I could raise one eyebrow, I would have. “Just the three of us—plus security, you mean?”
She smiled, caught. “And a camera crew. Ours this time. Any ideas? The beach maybe
, or a studio tour? That could be fun, right?”
“How about Magic Mountain?”
I’d been hoping to go back ever since the end of the school year, when Penny told me I’d missed out on their junior trip. The twins were tall enough to go on a lot of the rides. And I couldn’t wait to introduce them to Penny.
“Great idea.” Nancy nodded and started making notes on that ubiquitous legal pad of hers.
“Maybe I could invite some friends along too?”
Her smile evaporated. “Just the three of you. Did I not make that clear?” She laughed lightly, but there was no warmth in it. It was like she was mocking me.
I froze, thrown by her mood change. The stress of the campaign must have been getting to her more than I’d realized.
Penny and I had talked for months about going together. It wouldn’t be the same without her. But with tensions this high, did I really want to risk a blowout over a trip to an amusement park?
“Yeah, okay,” I said. “The three of us sounds great.”
• • •
I didn’t find out until the next morning that this would be a first for the twins. They’d never been to an amusement park in their lives—never even gone on a roller coaster.
“I mean, we’ve done spinny rides,” Gracie said, trying to save face.
Gabe nodded sagely. “We went on lots of rides at the Iowa State Fair and I almost threw up but then I didn’t.”
“Good man,” I said. When he blinked up at me, I caught a proud gleam in his eye that hadn’t been there before.
The camera crew was young—local volunteers who worked in the film industry. They made for a rowdy van ride up the 5 into Valencia. When the roller coasters rose into view, I watched my siblings fire up like rockets, ready to launch.
The park offered to let us skip the lines, but Nancy thought it would make us look elitist. I saw her point—although I’d secretly always dreamed of being a line jumper like the VIPs Penny and I used to grumble about in our hour-plus waits.
When we finally reached the end of the line for our warm-up ride, a steel coaster with a couple of serious drops but no loops, I took extra care to help Gabe get seated and belted in. But when our train started away, it was Gracie’s hands I noticed shaking.
“I can do this,” she muttered through a tight-locked jaw. Then she said it again. And again, a frantic mantra that increased in volume as the train car click click clicked its way upward. I had to nudge her twice to get her to wave for our camera guy in the seat behind us.
As we reached the apex, Gracie let out a keening whine, the prelude to a sobbing fit. My heart started to ratchet up, and not in a good way.
As we tilted over the rim, I lifted my hands and grinned at the twins. Their eyes were glassy, mouths agape, and then we dropped and they let out noncommittal screams as if they hadn’t yet decided if this was fun. I shot the cameraman a thumbs-up, hoping the movement covered Gracie’s horrified face.
As the train careened back into the station, I was brainstorming ways to salvage the day. Spinny rides. Or we could go watch a stunt show? But when the twins staggered onto the platform, they erupted into delirious laughter.
Gabe jumped up and down, electrified by sudden mania. “Let’s do a loopy one!”
Gracie blanched. “Loops. Sounds . . . great.”
Despite Gabe’s pleas, I didn’t push it. There were more than enough easy rides to fill the day, especially given the long waits and near-constant photo op breaks. Gracie buried her fear under a brave mask and eventually even that dropped away. By roller coaster three, she was doing the happy terror dance at the end of the line with everybody else.
And for those next seven hours, Gabe was a different kid, a puppy whose leash had been dropped. For one whole day, he took a break from caution, from waiting for others to react first. He didn’t even hide from the cameras, hardly noticing them in his mad rush from ride to ride. For the first time in months, I saw the kid that he could be, glowing and relaxed. Free.
As the sun was dipping low and the Ferris wheel’s lights were blinking on, the crew got one last shot, all three of us relishing the official last treat of the day—funnel cake. We took polite, teensy bites until the cameras stopped rolling. Then we dug in like wild pigs.
“My mom used to tell me you have to eat funnel cake after riding roller coasters, or you’ll feel dizzy the next day.” I laughed, spilling powdered sugar down my shirt.
Gracie squinted at the plate. “Is that true?”
“Nah. She just liked funnel cake.”
I peered up at the lights, remembering all the trips here we’d taken, just the two of us. I was younger than Gabe and Gracie the first time we came. After my first ride on a roller coaster, I’d burst into phlegmy tears. Mom was determined to raise a daughter who could ride the loops with her, though, so I tried again. It took me two visits before I actually enjoyed myself. I was about to admit to the twins how much braver they were than me, when Gabe cut in quietly.
“You never talk about your mom.”
The twins watched me try to form a response. “It’s because I miss her. So every time I talk about her, I get sad.”
As Gabe took my hand, Gracie stood, sending the last bits of funnel cake scattering onto the ground.
“We’re your family now.”
I smiled, but there was an odd steeliness to Gracie’s voice, making the sweet statement come across as more of an accusation. Her chin was thrust upward, her eyes stubborn and pained, a mirror of that night in Massachusetts when she’d cut up my dress and wouldn’t tell me why.
I watched her as we made our way to the parking lot. I still didn’t understand this side of Gracie, but a picture was starting to emerge. She’d felt threatened by me that day, for whatever reason. And today, she felt threatened by my mother, the huge part of my life that Gracie didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t understand.
As we rode back along the freeway, passing hills lit neon by the sunset, more memories rose up, creeping through the crack in the door that Magic Mountain had opened. I let them in, recalling the day I went to the LA County Fair with Mom and her best friend Marta when I wasn’t much older than a toddler. One of my earliest memories was sitting between them on the scrambler. As we smushed each other, Marta’s soda spilled on Mom’s shoes, but they just cracked up.
They were so young, I realized now. Mom was so young to have me. And so young to already be gone.
I caught Gracie watching me, but kept my thoughts to myself. Gabe might have wanted to know more, but Gracie couldn’t process it. In that way too, Gabe was braver than his sister.
When we got back to the hotel, an e-mail was waiting for me as if conjured by magical thinking. Marta had sent it this morning.
“It’s been so long,” she wrote. “I’d like to catch up.”
I was a little surprised to hear from her. She’d been a constant part of my life in LA, since she was Mom’s best friend and close colleague at the food bank. Still, we were never what I would call close. It wasn’t as though I shared secrets with her or came to her for advice. I’d had Mom for that. Over the past year, Marta had checked in with me in South Carolina from time to time, probably feeling like she owed it to my mom in some way. But calls from her had gotten more and more uncomfortable, and then more and more infrequent. This was the first time I’d heard from her since a few months before the Great Revelation, so it was no wonder she wanted to see me. There was plenty to catch up on.
But there was something oddly formal about the wording of her e-mail, like she was setting an agenda for a meeting at the food bank.
“I realize you must be busy, but I’d really welcome the opportunity to sit and talk.”
As awkward as her e-mail was, my response was probably worse.
“I can do Wednesday between 11:40 A.M. and 12:25 P.M.—would that work for you?” I tried to soften it with a smiley face. “Sorry to be so specific, but it’s been crazy. Maybe we could grab lunch?”
I wanted more w
iggle room in the time, so I didn’t sound like such a self-important jerk, but Nancy had insisted I write the exact allotted window. She watched over my shoulder as I typed my reply.
“We need you at the Costco meet and greet and then you’ve really got to be on time for the AIPAC luncheon,” she reminded me, running her hand anxiously through her hair. “But that should give you enough time to catch up with your friend, yeah?”
It was better than nothing. Marta’s reply came in almost instantly.
“Great! How about a neutral spot—remember our diner on La Cienega?”
I smiled, recalling our old tradition of bimonthly brunches there—just me, Mom, Marta, her little Yorkie Freddie, and occasionally one of Marta’s boyfriends, the poor guys she seemed to swap out every four months like clockwork. I wondered if she’d bring Freddie along on Wednesday.
Then I noticed, again, Marta’s odd word choice. Neutral spot.
Were we fighting and I didn’t know it?
I’d have a few days before I found out. And they would be full.
Monday morning, the first day of the convention, I woke up at 6:00 A.M. to voices in our suite’s living room. One of them grew unnaturally loud, and it took me a few groggy blinks to realize that the TV was being turned up.
Throwing on presentable clothes, I lumbered from my room to see Meg glaring at the screen. She hadn’t brushed her hair yet, which wasn’t like her, and she was clutching her coffee mug to her chest as if it were a teddy bear. Nancy and Louis stood behind her with their arms crossed James-style, and in the corridor that led out of the suite, Elliott paced, hissing into his cell phone. I pitied whoever was at the other end of the line.
Meg’s glare broke when she spotted me. “Morning, Kate. Coffee?”
I followed her as she shuffled to the kitchen and poured us both a wakeup dosage. It was only then that I saw the senator across the room, slumped against the glass doors to the terrace, squinting at the sunrise. That was not his get-up-and-go posture.
“What’s going on this time?” I asked Meg.
The Wrong Side of Right Page 16
