The Wrong Side of Right

by Jenn Marie Thorne

  As soon as the event ended, Evelyn was swarmed by press.

  “Come on,” Meg groaned, pulling us to her mother-in-law’s rescue.

  We reached Evelyn just in time to make out, “I wanted to hear what he had to say about some issues that are important to me. I liked his answers and he’s got my vote.”

  The cameramen laughed, the reporters thanked her, and behind me, Nancy giggled with relief.

  Despite her confrontational campaign appearance, Grandma Evelyn was more than happy to join us for lunch. But as soon as we settled into the roomy corner booth at a local diner, it was my turn to be interrogated.

  “You look skinny. They’re not making you diet, are they?”

  “No!” I laughed.

  She glared at Meg, who rolled her eyes.

  “What about school?” Evelyn went on. “Have they signed you up? What are you—eleventh grade? What about college?”

  I tried to shrink into the plastic upholstery, but Evelyn wouldn’t break eye contact. She was even better at staring contests than I was.

  “She’s a senior,” the senator corrected. I turned to him, my breath stalled. “And don’t worry, Mom. We’ve got it all in hand.”

  All in hand. Did that mean they’d enrolled me?

  I opened my mouth to ask, but Evelyn’s skeptical squint stopped me cold. Asking would mean admitting that I didn’t know. If anybody would judge me for that, it was my grandmother. Better to find out later, I decided, and feign confidence now.

  I beamed through the rest of the meal, eating an extra-large portion of curly fries and strawberry milkshake to prove to Evelyn that I was diet-free.

  When we said our good-byes, Grandma Evelyn shoved a crumpled piece of paper into my hand and whispered, “I’m gonna check up on you. Stay strong,” as if she were passing a secret message to a hostage.

  On the plane, I stared at the paper, where above her prepared questions, she’d scrawled a phone number that I had to assume was her own. The senator sat with Elliott, Lou, and Nancy, laughing about the disaster they’d just managed to avert. I curled up in my seat, wishing he’d leave them, walk over here, sit down next to me, and tell me exactly what he’d meant by “all in hand.”

  A strong woman would have walked over herself, demanded an answer. But despite Grandma Evelyn’s vote of confidence, I couldn’t muster the courage.

  27

  Tuesday, August 12

  St. Louis: Debate Day One

  84 DAYS UNTIL THE GENERAL ELECTION

  Meg whispered last-minute instructions to the twins as the university auditorium’s lights pivoted and the producer at the front began a silent countdown.

  “Sit nicely, no squirming, no yelling, just nice clapping, got it?”

  They nodded and I sat on my hands to keep from picking nervously at my nails. A second later, the entire crowd fell into a charged silence.

  “Good evening and welcome to the first of three presidential debates,” announced the moderator, a venerable news anchor who looked remarkably calm considering he’d frantically downed three glasses of water before the cameras started rolling. “The subject tonight is the American economy. Please welcome to the stage President Mitchell Lawrence and Senator Mark Cooper.”

  Across the gallery, Andy Lawrence let out a whoop. Knowing the cameras were all focused on the stage, where the senator and president were locked in a manic handshake, I narrowed my eyes and mouthed the words It’s on. In reply, he shot me a leering wink. I had to fight to stifle my church giggles. The First Lady was too busy Barbie-smiling for the cameras to notice, but when I felt Meg’s eyes on me, I returned my attention to the stage. The debate had begun.

  It was basically a game show. Podiums, timers, a host who asked questions. The object of the game was to rack up the most crowd-pleasing answers in the allotted time. There would be polls later to determine which debater America considered the winner. But from here, it looked an awful lot like the senator was wiping the floor with his opponent.

  Not that President Lawrence hadn’t come out swinging. With the very first question, he attacked the senator’s economic credentials, citing the fact that unlike himself, Cooper had never run a business.

  “Well, Mr. President,” Senator Cooper rebutted, “I’ll grant you that I haven’t had the experience of managing the lucrative family business that you have.” I didn’t miss the dig there. Mitchell Lawrence grew up rich. Senator Cooper did not. “But it doesn’t take an MBA from Harvard to see that the economic principles that your administration has relied on are failing this country.”

  From there, he unleashed a torrent of statistics, and with every question that followed, provided more specifics, more data, saying “Let’s look at the record” so much that it became a catchphrase. Before long, the president was shuffling behind his podium, visibly uncomfortable.

  Then the moderator cited a quote that the senator had given the Wall Street Journal a few months back.

  “‘The borders are an economic issue. People who enter the country illegally pollute the workforce, stealing jobs and services that hard-working Americans desperately need.’”

  The moderator took off his glasses. “You received some push-back on the language you used in that statement. Do you stand by it?”

  The senator smiled in recognition of the question, as if he’d prepped for it in advance. “I do stand by that statement, especially given today’s high unemployment, which my opponent’s administration has done little to combat . . .”

  He went on to talk about maintaining the minimum wage, supporting small businesses through tax cuts. They were similar talking points to the ones he’d used for previous answers, but my mind remained stuck in a loop, repeating that harsh word—the one the moderator had quoted. “Pollute.”

  The president hadn’t forgotten it either.

  “I agree with Senator Cooper that these are serious issues facing our nation. But to call these individuals a ‘pollution’ shows, to me, a lack of basic compassion. And without that—from my seat, let me tell you—you cannot have any understanding of what real Americans go through on a day-to-day basis.”

  There was a smattering of applause from the audience. I fought to maintain my placid expression.

  A cloud passed over the senator’s face. “By using the word pollute, I was highlighting the economic impact of undocumented immigrants, not the individuals themselves. I want to be clear about that.”

  Beside me, Meg grabbed the bottom of her chair, her smile taking on a lacquered look. I sensed that something had shifted, but I didn’t actually grasp what had happened until we left the debate and watched the frenzied sum-up on the news stations.

  “Has Cooper gone soft on immigration?”

  “I don’t know how you can say you’re not talking about individuals, when the whole issue centers around individuals. I mean, it’s just double-talk.”

  “We might be seeing a change in policy here, and I can’t help wondering how much of it has to do with that photo that surfaced of his daughter Kate . . .”

  Hearing that sound bite, I immediately eyed the hotel doorway as a potential escape route, but drat—Elliott was already striding through and slamming it shut behind him.

  “They’re calling it a draw,” he said, and the senator looked pleased. “You really fumbled that immigration question. You know that.”

  The senator shrugged. “I answered honestly.”

  Elliott shook his head like he was trying to get a fly off of him. “Has your position changed on this?”

  The senator considered. “My position is that I need to know more about the issue before I can form a policy about it.”

  “It’s a little late for that, Mark. I don’t know if anybody told you, but you’re running for president.”

  The senator leaned past Elliott to look at me. “What did you think, Kate?”

  I grinned. “I thought you did great. It was fun to watch.”

  The senator smiled and settled onto the sofa, gratified
, but Elliott’s head pivoted to take me in, his eyes narrowing. It was the same way he’d looked at me that first day at headquarters.

  He was recalculating me. And not in a good way.

  I made it to the door, escaped into the empty hallway, and didn’t look back until I got to my room.

  Andy had been calling or texting every ten minutes. I wasn’t going to risk answering, not with the entire campaign machine surrounding me, but the boy was nothing if not persistent. Finally, I resorted to turning my cell phone off. But just as I’d flipped out my bedside light and settled under the covers, the hotel room phone rang. I picked it up with a gasp.

  “Sneak out with me,” Andy said. “Let’s go do . . . whatever it is people in St. Louis do.”

  I covered my face with a pillow, smothering temptation. “No. Go to sleep.”

  “Good idea. What’s your room number?”

  I hung up and pushed the DO NOT DISTURB button with a smile that I’m pretty sure stayed on my face until morning.

  • • •

  We watched the second debate from the comfort of the Coopers’ living room. Meg said her nerves needed a rest from the beating they’d taken last time.

  “Really?” I squinted at her. “You didn’t look nervous at all.”

  She laughed. “I’ve had a decade to practice the cool, calm exterior. It’s a fine art.” She turned to me with her eyebrows raised. “Don’t try this at home.”

  The team was on-site with the senator in Denver. I was glad they weren’t here with us. No cameras either. I curled up on the family sofa between the sleepy twins, nestling happily into the cushions as the debate began.

  Meg stared up at the screen as if watching the world’s most important tennis match, her eyes darting back and forth between the men. When the senator got in a good dig about a gaffe the president had made in a visit to China, she let out a joyful hoot and we all laughed at her.

  But our smiles dropped off when President Lawrence countered by mentioning that he’d paid a successful visit to Mexico in the last month to talk about some of the issues plaguing both nations.

  “My opponent prefers to bury his head in the sand when it comes to foreign policy.” The president smiled, smug. “It’s helpful not to have all the information—it allows you to see issues in black and white. I can see how that could be tempting. But as president of this nation, I simply can’t afford to think in those terms. Too many people’s lives hang in the balance.”

  President Lawrence was in full command of himself this time. He came across as both folksy and stately. I wasn’t sure how he pulled off that balance, but it was probably a combo that had helped him win the presidency four years ago—and it certainly wasn’t hurting him tonight. Next to him, the senator seemed ordinary, like a nice guy who was out of his depth.

  Until he countered.

  “While you were in Mexico, sir, I was speaking with people a little closer to home about their lives and their struggles. I listened to a young Mexican-American girl telling me about her dreams of attending college, and of helping her parents, who had entered the country illegally, realize their dream of becoming legal citizens of this nation. So to call my thinking oversimplistic I call playing loose with the truth.”

  Meg’s hand flew to her forehead. I couldn’t move. Did he just say what I thought he said? For a moment, I hoped Penny was watching, that she knew that she’d been heard. And then reality struck, and with it, panic.

  Had he just outed the Diazes? He’d promised not to betray their trust. If he kept their names anonymous, did that count?

  My pulse kept pounding as the moderator interrupted.

  “Are you telling us, Senator, that you have met with undocumented immigrants in person?”

  “It’s important to me to learn as much about these issues as I possibly can, especially one as crucial to our nation’s future as this one.”

  When the question was later posed on how best to address the problem of illegal immigration, I knew what the senator’s talking points would be. By now, I had them memorized, a grim roll call—immigrants should have to prove their legal status in order to enroll children in school or receive medical treatment . . . stricter crackdown on those who employed undocumented immigrants . . . tighter border control . . .

  The president went first. When he had finished his meandering answer about continuing to provide a path to citizenship for those who’d been in the country for twenty years or more, the moderator turned to the senator. But instead of jumping into the sound bites I knew he had prepared, the senator froze. It was just for a moment, one strong blink as he considered his answer.

  I held my breath, wondering if I was seeing in that pause what I’d hoped to see from the moment I joined this campaign—a moment of truth, of careful consideration. The senator’s conscience at work.

  No—Mark Cooper’s conscience.

  He looked at the audience.

  “We need to examine the root causes that lead people to enter our country illegally,” he said. “And provide better options for those individuals.”

  Now I really hoped Penny was watching.

  You could hear the pundit on the news station we were watching mutter, “Wow,” and a ticker appeared instantly.

  “Cooper backtracks on immigration.”

  Meg pressed her hands to her cheeks, physically holding herself together. I wasn’t sure whether her reaction stemmed from awe or horror, but as the debate concluded, she reached over and squeezed my hand. And when she finally turned to me, I saw my own pride mirrored in her eyes.

  The pundits were not so kind. They resoundingly declared the debate won by President Lawrence.

  After Meg tucked the twins into bed, she joined me downstairs to watch the press’s reaction roll out.

  “Cooper’s unraveling,” one analyst was saying. “He led the primaries with tough talk on immigration and now he’s completely betraying his base. They voted for him with this mandate first and foremost in their minds.”

  “I don’t get this!” I started pacing in frustration. “Why are they being so negative? Isn’t it a good thing that he’s learning more about the issue?”

  “It’s a policy shift,” Meg explained. “Very shaky ground.”

  “But why would voters want someone who never changes his mind?”

  “They see it as strength.” Meg sighed. “Consistency.”

  “It’s not.” I tossed the remote control onto the sofa. “It’s insanity. Or ignorance. One of those.”

  Meg’s face froze mid-laugh as her cell rang. She stared at it, confused, but muted the news to take the call.

  “Yes, Elliott?”

  His voice was so loud that I could hear it through Meg’s cheek. “Who is this family? The illegal immigrants—friends of Kate’s? Mark flat refused to tell me.”

  She blanched. “I won’t tell you either.”

  There came a blast of violent sputtering that made Meg recoil from the phone, and then the screen went blank. She shook her head with another heavy sigh.

  “When this campaign is done,” she said, closing her eyes in meditation, “I am not going to miss that man one bit.”

  • • •

  My own phone rang several hours later.

  “I get all dressed up and she doesn’t even show.”

  “Are you calling to gloat?” I climbed into my window seat and cracked open the window, breathing in the humid smell of green lawns and old oaks.

  “No,” Andy said. “But condolences nonetheless. I thought your dad made some really good points, personally.”

  I sighed. “America doesn’t agree.”

  “It’s a lot easier to get people scared than to calm them down. In the next debate, the winner will be whoever says that zombies are attacking and he’s the only one with a plan to fight back.”

  “I’ll suggest that. Thanks for the tip.”

  After we hung up, I heard Meg downstairs on the phone again, probably with the senator. I couldn’t hear words, but
I could imagine them—pep-talk words, cheer-up words. The last debate wasn’t until October. Plenty of time to regroup, right? This wasn’t so damaging.

  • • •

  His numbers plummeted.

  “Even Fox News is against him now,” Penny moaned. She’d become a rapacious news watcher in the past few weeks. “They’re acting like he’s a lost cause.”

  “Because of the debates?” I asked. Hearing her silence, my heart sank. “They’re blaming me, aren’t they?”

  She sighed. “It’s like they’ve completely forgotten the last few months . . .”

  Sneaking a look at a few news stations myself, I could see that she was right. Never mind the public’s sympathy, the bump in the polls following that first press conference, my “charmingly nervous” appearance at the convention—I was to blame. Everybody seemed to agree on that.

  Especially Elliott. He had reverted to the silent treatment whenever we were in the same room, but I felt his eyes on me whenever I looked away, sharp and resentful. Silent or not, the message was clear. He wasn’t trying to spin me anymore. He was trying to make me go away.

  I was removed from the week’s campaign schedule. There was even a new appearance scheduled at a local Children’s Wellness Day event that Gracie and Gabe were now slotted to attend without me. Meg tried to intervene but Elliott canceled it rather than include me.

  On the road that weekend, we were all supposed to make an “impromptu” stop at a popular highway farmer’s market to say hello and shake hands, but after I waited for Gracie and Gabe to get off the Locomotive, Elliott physically stopped me from following, his arm extended.

  “You’re laying low,” he said to the air above my head. I was too stunned to respond.

  Gabe turned back in confusion. “Let her out! Mom? Elliott won’t let Kate out!”

  It was only when heads turned from Gabe’s shouting that Elliott was forced to sheepishly walk away. And I joined the Coopers just as sheepishly, smiling and waving, questioning whether all these supporters were really detractors in disguise. Did they blame me too?