The Wrong Side of Right

by Jenn Marie Thorne

  He cared about me. My little brother was worried. But it was more startling than that too—a reminder. This was my choice. Sometime in the last two months, I’d forgotten that leaving was even an option, that my real home was in South Carolina with my aunt and uncle. So what if they only called me once a week, the bare minimum of check-in: “Are you having a good time? Do you need anything? Talk to you next week!” They were still my legal guardians. I could pack up and go any time I wanted. I had a choice.

  I forced a smile and ruffled Gabe’s hair as he restarted the game. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  23

  The sun was inching toward the hills when Meg and Gracie came back, bearing fat paper bags from In-N-Out Burger.

  “This is the good one, right?” Meg asked, a weary peace offering. “The one you told us about.”

  Something in the way she watched me as we ate set my nerves on edge. And sure enough, once the empty wrappers were crumpled into the trash, she invited me onto the patio to talk.

  I wondered where the senator was, whether Meg was his proxy in this conversation. But then, had I ever had a meaningful conversation with the senator? Had Gracie or Gabe, while I’d been here? Meg was the official representative of both parents and probably always would be.

  “None of this is your fault,” she started, surprising me. “But you’re a smart girl. You know how to be helpful to this campaign.”

  “I wasn’t trying to screw anything up.” My anger was starting to crumble. I clenched my fists, fighting to keep it. “I was just living my life. My old one, I guess.”

  She rubbed my back in a circle and I found I couldn’t look at her. I turned instead to stare over the patio rail at the hazy LA skyline, the hills beyond, and the mountains you could only see if you squinted. Meg’s arm rested warm against mine as she gazed out with me.

  “In two hours, the delegate votes will be in and your father will officially become the Republican nominee.” There was a note of sadness in her voice. “And then it’ll be fourteen more weeks until the election. Weeks like this. Some easier, some worse.” She gave my wrist a gentle squeeze. “And they’ve done it—the press has crossed the Rubicon where you’re concerned. From now on, it’ll be fair game to criticize you. It’s not fair, but it’s the way it is.”

  Our team will go after Andy now, I realized. He might enjoy it in some perverse way.

  “Are you up for this?” Meg had turned to face me. The red sun shone on half of her, so that on one side she glowed like an avenging angel, and the rest of her just seemed kind of exhausted.

  “What if I’m not?” I swallowed dry. “Up for this.”

  She wouldn’t answer. Not directly.

  “It’s still your choice, Kate.”

  She went inside after that, leaving me to replay the conversation, wondering what the dark note in her voice had meant. Was she concerned for me? Or for them?

  Did she want me to leave the campaign?

  She popped on Fox News for the twins and me before she left to join the senator and a number of supporters in the wings of the arena, where they would watch Governor McReady accept his vice presidential nomination.

  When the camera showed Carolee in the front row, her whitened teeth glittering under the lights, fake eyelashes fluttering, Gabe, Gracie, and I grimaced in unison. I clicked off Fox News, and turned the Xbox on so Gabe could continue his fight against the zombie horde.

  • • •

  The next morning, I woke still uneasy. I’d always believed that Meg had my best interests at heart. Was that changing, now that my hopes and the campaign’s weren’t perfectly aligned?

  I didn’t doubt that she cared about me. But caring about my life and wanting to be a part of it were two different things.

  When the wake-up knock sounded on my door, it was Nancy, not Meg in the doorway. Her red hair was swept up in a sculptural simulation of a messy bun, and she was dressed down in jeans that I was sure had never seen the inside of a shopping mall, unless you counted Neiman Marcus.

  And speaking of Neiman Marcus, she was holding a garment bag.

  “For tonight.” She swept past me and unzipped the bag, revealing an unbelievably gorgeous pale pink dress with silk layers that sunk against each other like rose petals. A discreet label with cursive stitching inside the low backline read MONIQUE LHUILLIER.

  As in celebrity weddings Monique Lhuillier. Vogue five-page spreads Lhuillier.

  “Whoa,” I breathed. “Nancy, I’m not sure I can pull this off.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I respectfully disagree.”

  “Did you pick this out yourself?” I touched the soft hem, fearful of leaving so much as a fingerprint.

  “You think I’d delegate something this important to one of my staff?” She snorted, and even that sounded elegant somehow. “Tonight’s your big night, Kate. It’s time to bring out the couture.”

  I knew what she was doing, and I didn’t complain. With one zip, she’d managed to make me start the day glowing, believing that tonight represented a big moment for me, Kate Quinn, that I was a key component of my father’s success. It was enough to take away the sting of yesterday, the queasy mix of guilt, defiance, and worry that I’d woken up with.

  The pampering helped too. I felt quite couture all day, even in my lounge-around clothes, while catered trays of fruit and hors d’oeuvres were brought up by the hotel staff. Admiring my hung-up dress—no, I’m sorry . . . gown—I couldn’t help smiling, thinking of Andy, who had called me late last night to complain that I hadn’t made a TV appearance to defend myself against Kategate.

  “I’ll be on tomorrow,” I’d said. “Just to listen to speeches. Not to make any.”

  “What are you wearing?”

  “Not sure yet.”

  “No, right now.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Fuzzy slippers. Nothing else. Got it.”

  When I examined my made-up reflection in the tall bathroom mirror, I saw someone else. Not a stranger exactly. I knew this girl. She was Whiteboard Kate 2.0, the one polling groups and consultants liked, the one who had law-abiding friends or, even better, no friends at all, who did as she was told without question.

  “Smile,” the makeup artist said, applying more blush to the apple cheeks of that nice girl in the mirror.

  Andy wouldn’t see me on TV tonight either. He’d see Kate Cooper.

  Even so, Kate Quinn couldn’t resist feeling a frisson of delight when Libby carefully zipped the dress and it fit like it was made to measure.

  And when I took my place in the arena next to Meg, Grace, and Gabe and watched Senator Cooper stride across the stage, wearing a dark suit and red tie like the first time I’d met him, my own voice drowned in the roar of approval from the thousands of supporters around us, and I thrilled along with them.

  I had helped him get here. All of us had. His family, the people who voted for him—even the people who ran against him—we were all an intrinsic part of history.

  “My friends!” He waved, and the crowd settled. Then he laughed. “It’s been a long road to get here!”

  The sound the arena made was a dam bursting, an echoing tumult that crashed, crested, and fell again into a hum when the senator raised his hand to speak once more. I felt like I was being carried by the noise.

  “And tonight I am pleased and proud to accept your nomination for President of the United States of America.”

  With that announcement, we were pulled to our feet, all twenty thousand of us lifted by some invisible force, and I was beaming, joyful, yesterday’s conflicts forgotten, especially when the senator said, “I want to thank a lot of people for their hard work and dedication to this country, but first I want to give a special thanks to my daughter Kate.”

  It wasn’t one of Cal’s “applause lines,” designed with a pause so that the audience would clap. The senator phrased it simply, as if it were something he said every day. And when he peered down from the stage, he looked right at me, his eyes wa
rm in acknowledgment.

  “Kate is a daily inspiration to me. She’s living proof that miracles can happen. Seventeen years ago, I went through a dark time. A challenging time. For a little while, I wasn’t sure if my marriage would come out of it intact. But it did, thanks to the love and strength of my incredible wife, Meg.”

  I clapped along with the audience, not sure where the senator was going.

  “And in June, I learned along with the rest of the country what else had come out of that challenging time seventeen years ago. I’ll tell you what that was—a blessing. A miracle. My daughter Kate.”

  The audience applauded but it seemed muffled to me. Inconsequential. All I could focus on was up on that stage. My father was looking at me.

  He nodded and turned away.

  “She’s a reminder to me too of what this nation has gone through over the past seventeen years. We’ve seen our economy stagnate. Our jobs shrink. Our competitive edge become blunted. Looking at the challenging situation we’re facing, it seems pretty clear that we’ve got two options. We can shrug our shoulders and fold under the pressure, acknowledging and even accepting that our time as the greatest nation in the world has passed us by—as my opponent’s rhetoric suggests.”

  Here he paused, and the crowd erupted in scattered comments. A man two rows back from us shouted “No!” and I had to suppress a giggle.

  “Or! We can work to make our country whole again, to find that light, find the upside, embrace and re-adopt that American ingenuity and strength that has always gotten us through tough times and always will!”

  We couldn’t give a standing ovation, because we were already on our feet, so all twenty thousand of us raised our hands above our heads while we clapped, and all around me, the sea of signs waved wildly from side to side. I couldn’t stop grinning and, judging by a quick peek at the twins, neither could Gabe and Gracie.

  “I believe that our younger generation has much to teach us,” the senator went on, to another smattering of applause, and I found my cheeks flushing even hotter. He motioned to our section. “My children see this nation as one of boundless opportunity. They see a nation that is fair. That is just and kind. A land of freedom and promise. I share that vision with my twins, Grace and Gabriel. And I share it with my daughter Kate, who has weathered incredible setbacks in her life, incredible turmoil, and sits here with us today, brave and optimistic. She’s truly an inspiration.”

  A tear streaked down my cheek. Meg was squeezing my shoulder and the camera was on me before I thought to swipe it away. I never knew he felt like that. He’d never told me. Until now, with the whole world watching. I was aglow, lit from within.

  He raised his hand.

  “But—” he said, and the crowd quieted. “But. This next generation also needs the temperance of their parents’ guiding hands. The wisdom of those who have come before, who have the knowledge and the experience to recognize the dangers and the threats facing our nation, even when those threats wear friendly faces.”

  I felt the light inside me flickering.

  “Our nation cannot achieve greatness if it continues to be burdened with a broken border and a system of immigration that has failed us as citizens.”

  I held my breath. He’d balled up his fist to strike the podium. And the crowd was going wild.

  “My opponent favors reform. I favor good old-fashioned buckling down.”

  Everyone cheered for that. I wished, half hoped that it was just another empty sound bite. But the senator went on.

  “Under my administration, we will protect those who are waiting in line to enter the United States legally, and in particular foreign-born residents with advanced degrees, who hope to start companies, create jobs, and drive innovation—those who will share in our vision for the future. But we will aggressively prosecute those who will not abide by our rules for entry, who—make no mistake—are criminals from the moment they set foot inside our nation. The flood. Must. Be stopped.”

  The camera was still on me. I fought to smile. Penny was watching. All of the Diazes were, I knew it. My eyes were swimming with tears, and I prayed that I looked “charmingly overcome,” not heartbroken.

  I was too busy keeping it together to listen to the rest of the speech. When it was over, Meg grabbed my hand and lifted it in the air as we turned to the rapturous crowd to wave.

  In the wings, Elliott was happier than I’d ever seen him. “You nailed it, Mark!” He wrapped his arm around the senator’s shoulders, and I was glad, for once, that my father was too distracted to notice me.

  24

  The moment we got back to the suite, the walls seemed to tilt in like a carnival funhouse.

  “I’ll be right back,” I blurted, at Meg’s quizzical expression. “Need a little air.”

  I rushed from the suite, past our posted security officer, and around the corner to the elevator. Ducking inside, I pushed the button for one floor down, trying to remember Nancy’s room number. 806? 808?

  I needed to see her. She was the one who’d suggested the senator change his speech, given the photo of me with my friends. She could tell me how the campaign’s official position had come about in the first place. Did the senator really believe the things he’d said? Or was he just using the issue to get more votes? I wasn’t sure which answer would be worse.

  Behind the door of 801, I heard the muted squeal of a baby. It was probably Lou’s room. The impulse to knock rose and fled in a heartbeat. This was his private time—I couldn’t intrude. I continued down the corridor, and after a few seconds of anxious indecision, rapped on 808.

  Cal opened the door. He had a glass of red wine in his hand. His striped tie was loose and his hair mussed.

  “Oh, I—s-sorry,” I stammered. “I’m looking for Nancy’s . . .”

  Then I saw her, over Cal’s shoulder, lounging on the bed and pouring wine from a nearly empty bottle into her own glass. She was dressed, thank God, except for her shoes, which were lying on top of each other in the middle of the carpet, but the scene was so odd, so intimate, that I backed away.

  “I’m so sorry.” I spun around and rushed away as fast as my feet could go without running.

  “Kate!” Cal called. “Wait!”

  The elevator wasn’t coming, no matter how many times I shoved the button, so I fled into the corner stairwell and started to climb. Half a flight up, my escape stalled out. I clutched the railing and sunk until I was sitting. I couldn’t go back up to the Coopers’ suite. Not yet.

  My head throbbed from trying to process the last twenty-four hours. And there was no one I could talk to about it.

  Nancy and Cal. She was married. Two children. I’d never met the kids, but I’d seen their pictures, and a photo of her husband too. He had a beard. He looked like a nice guy. Maybe it was harder to be faithful to photos. Maybe the rules were different on the campaign trail, looser. Nonexistent. Nancy and Cal.

  The image of room 808 rushed in again—but this time it was the senator answering the door and my mother looking up from the bed. I held on to the banister so hard it hurt.

  Did my mom love him? Did she think he loved her? Was she stupid and selfish enough to hope to steal him away from Meg? I didn’t like this woman, the mother I was getting a clearer and clearer picture of, and right now, I didn’t like Nancy much either.

  A door below me clanged and there was no time to scramble away.

  It was Cal. He collapsed against the railing with relief to see me sitting on the cement steps.

  “You’ve got this all wrong, Kate,” he said, and his voice echoed so loud throughout the stairwell that he flinched and started again in a whisper. “What you’re thinking—”

  “I’m not thinking anything,” I whispered back.

  His eyes widened, dubious.

  I sighed. “And if I were to think anything, I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  I will silently judge you, but I won’t rat on you.

  “She’s married,” he said, and I nodded, thinking th
at that sounded an awful lot like confirmation. What was wrong with these people?

  “And I’m . . .” He sat down next to me on the steps with a weary huff. “. . . gay.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t—”

  My mouth stopped working.

  “Wait. What?”

  This time, it was my outburst that echoed down several flights of stairs. Cal half rose in alarm.

  “Sorry,” I whispered, grinning like an idiot. “I’m just . . . surprised!”

  “It’s not common knowledge,” he admitted. “But it’s not exactly a secret either. Nancy knows, obviously. She’s a good friend of mine. A mentor, really.”

  So that explained the coziness of the scene. Nancy wasn’t betraying her husband, she was kicking back with someone safe, someone she’d known for years. I felt myself blushing and tried to nod soberly. Then the next realization hit.

  “What about the senator?”

  Cal looked at me quizzically. “Your dad? Yeah, of course he knows. I told him as soon as he hired me. I didn’t want there to be any whisper of scandal attached to his campaign.” He laughed ruefully and nudged me with his knee. “Little did we know . . .”

  “How did he react when he found out?”

  Cal shrugged. “He didn’t react at all. Just said he appreciated my candor, and we haven’t talked about it since, except in terms of policy.” He raised his eyebrows. “He’s in favor of gay marriage, you know. Equal rights for all Americans under the Constitution.”

  “But . . .” I couldn’t think of a better way of putting it. “He’s a Republican.”

  Cal grinned. “Kate—your dad is a true Republican. He has the same vision of America that Nancy and I share, a world where all individuals are free to achieve their potential, unfettered by the shackles of an oppressive government.”

  His eyes were gleaming with such fervor that I couldn’t suppress a smile, wondering if he was making mental notes for his next speech.

  “All individuals, huh?” Then my smile fell away. “All Americans, you mean.”