The Wrong Side of Right

by Jenn Marie Thorne

  He always hung around for a few seconds after he handed me the phone, like he was yearning for me to confide in him. It didn’t feel right to keep lying. But when I finally confessed who was really calling, his bright eyes narrowed.

  “That kid seems like bad news to me. On Fox & Friends, they said—”

  I grinned. “That’s just the Cooper campaign, Barry. They tried to make him look bad so I’d look better. It’s spin, that’s all.”

  He wasn’t easily persuaded.

  So when the phone rang the next night, and I heard my uncle in hushed conversation behind the swinging kitchen door, I leaned against the wall to hear what he was saying.

  “She’s not ready to talk to you, sir.” His voice was tense, an uneasy mix of defensiveness and deference. “Like I said before, I’m looking out for her best interests here. I’m sure you understand. She’s doing great. I’ll keep you posted.”

  He hung up and I ducked down the hallway—then took a step back, reeling as I realized who had been on the other side of that phone call.

  “Like I said before,” Barry said. How many times had my uncle turned him away? Had the senator been calling since I got here?

  The next day, I got up the nerve to turn on the TV. And not just the TV—the news. My aunt and uncle sat quietly next to me on the sofa, watching me instead of it. I tried to remain impassive, a calm observer, but soon found myself clutching the remote and flipping frantically between channels, catching every little bit I could, barely understanding the context.

  The senator’s numbers had dropped off a cliff. For the past few weeks, he’d been trailing the president by double digits, and tonight, every station was reporting more bad news.

  “The resignation of Calvin Montgomery comes as another huge blow to the Cooper campaign,” one pundit was saying, and then on another channel, a reporter chimed in with, “. . . weeks after Cooper fired his chief strategist, Elliott Webb, insiders tell us that the campaign is in near-complete disarray.”

  I turned the volume up, my jaw hanging open.

  I shouldn’t have been happy. This news spelled disaster for the senator’s campaign. But it set my heart racing, sent me scooting to the edge of the sofa as if that would help me learn more.

  They showed press footage of Elliott, surrounded by paparazzi as he entered a restaurant in DC. He looked uncomfortable. I felt a rush of sweet vengeance, until the reporter talked over the reel—describing the multi-million-dollar book deal that Elliott had just signed.

  He was a political animal, Meg had said. Whatever species that was, I supposed it was the kind that always landed on its feet.

  Despite the sour taste that that bit of news had left in my mouth, I went to bed feeling lighter than I had since the night I left the Coopers’ house, and woke the next day restless with hope.

  Emboldened by the news-scanning session of the night before, Tess had a confession to make. As I was riffling through my World History textbook, she tiptoed into my uncle’s office carrying a tome of her own—but hers had a thick cover decorated with sparkly American flags. She laid it shyly on the desk next to me.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I started this while you were gone.”

  My face was in the middle of all of the flags—judging by the makeup, a photo of me from some campaign visit somewhere. And when I turned the page, there was another shot, me at the press conference, speaking into the microphone, and alongside it, a press clipping from a Charleston newspaper.

  “You made a scrapbook?” I stared at the book to hide my chagrin. “Tess, that’s so . . . sweet!”

  The next page held another photo of me, standing beside the senator outside of a white, wooden town hall, overlapping with a clipping from a USA Today profile. She’d put little hearts all around it.

  “We were so proud,” she said, then corrected herself. “Are so proud. I just thought you might want to take a look.”

  After she left, I tried to get back to my homework, but my eyes kept veering to the scrapbook. With a groan, I decided to flip through and get it over with. After all, it was pretty touching that Tess had put all this effort in.

  It was fun too, I had to admit, seeing it all laid out in the order it happened. Me on the road. In DC, Nancy just inside the frame. With the whole family in the airfield in Massachusetts. The Time magazine cover story got four pages all to itself. My eyes lingered over the shot of me, Gabe, and Gracie, as if I could reach in and pull them out of it, wrap my hands around that moment and clutch it to me.

  Somewhere near the middle of the scrapbook was a strange document—not a press clipping or a photo, but a printed-out e-mail, with pressed flowers for a border. I flipped back and angled the desk light to get a better look.

  It was from the senator. He’d sent it to Barry in mid-July, updating my uncle on how I was doing. It was the last paragraph that really caught my attention.

  I’ll never be able to replace her mother. And I’ll never be able to get back the seventeen years that we lost not knowing each other. I won’t be able to rewind time and see her walk for the first time, or laugh, or ride a bike, or even call me “Dad.” But I wanted you and Tess to know how grateful I am for the opportunity you’ve given me to get to know her now. You’re her home and her base, and I respect that. But let me reassure you once more that she’s in watchful hands, surrounded by a family that already loves her very much.

  All my best,

  Mark Cooper

  That night, I followed a hunch to the TV room, where, as I’d suspected, Barry and Tess still had the Shawna Wells interview saved on the DVR.

  With a trembling hand, I pressed PLAY.

  36

  Friday, October 31

  Palmetto High School Halloween

  Aka: Alert! Kate Cooper Lives in South Carolina! Day 4 DAYS UNTIL THE GENERAL ELECTION

  Thank God I decided not to wear a costume to school, because the morning of October 31, half the reporters in South Carolina figured out where I’d been hiding for the past month.

  When I pulled into the lot, I saw the mob of them lurking just off school property, following the letter of the law, but to cross from my car to campus meant passing right by them. I contemplated mussing my hair or keeping my sunglasses on despite the cloudy day, but sensing the jig was up, I lifted my chin, checked my teeth in the rearview, and stepped out of my dilapidated Buick with my spine straight and smile in place.

  I got halfway through their receiving line before they even realized I was there. They must not have been expecting a bobbed haircut. Then the noise hit me like a sonic boom, my name, over and over, voices raised with questions. I waved cheerily, letting it blur, walking past with as upbeat an expression as I could muster.

  Just across the school property line, Lily Hornsby stood shell-shocked, wearing a pair of fairy wings over an otherwise normal outfit.

  I let my smile drop away. “They found me.”

  “This is what you deal with all the time?” She glanced over her shoulder, then covered her face with her hands. “Ohmigod. They’re taking my picture too!”

  She was bright red and shrinking. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Watch,” I said, then turned and waved at the group of photographers. “If they come after you, just smile and wave and walk away. You get used to it, trust me.”

  Lily turned very slowly, her eyes still huge as saucers. Slowly, her hand lifted and her cheeks did too.

  “Smile and wave,” she repeated, after we were safely inside the air-locked walls of our school lobby. “Got it.”

  • • •

  I talked to Penny later that night, after I’d gotten off trick-or-treat duty and claimed my spoils in leftover Snickers. There were a lot left over. No one had come to the door. No one could get through the wall of reporters surrounding the house.

  As usual, Penny didn’t mince words.

  “What are you still doing there?”

  I shrugged. “Where else should I be?”

  �
��At your house. In Maryland.”

  I popped another mini candy bar into my mouth. “I haven’t been invited.”

  “You told me Meg invited you. She enrolled you at that snooty school.”

  “Farnwell. It’s actually not that snooty.”

  “So why aren’t you there?”

  “My father hasn’t asked me.” I sighed. “You don’t understand, Pen. You don’t come from the mother of all broken homes.” She was silent for so long that I hastily added, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you don’t. You’re lucky that you can’t understand.”

  Penny was quiet for another moment before she said, “Do you remember Zach Burgis?”

  “Of course,” I answered, not sure where she was going with this. Zach was Penny’s boyfriend for a year before turning out to be a complete jerk. She’d lost her virginity to him the summer before I left.

  “The week after we broke up, Papi was looking for something in my room and . . . he found a pack of condoms.” She drew in a breath, the memory still raw for her. “Papi wouldn’t talk to me. Just stopped looking at me, like I was dead to him. Avoided me until dinner, and then he stared at his plate or talked to Eva the whole time, every single night. I tried to get through to him, but he was so cold, I couldn’t do it.”

  I listened in shock. They’d seemed fine when I’d visited.

  “The day your mom died,” she went on, and my heart seized up. “We got the call and Papi—he walked straight into my room and hugged me so tight and so long that I started to get nervous. He was crying—for her, for your mom of course, and for you—but I feel like he was crying for us too. And we’ve slowly gotten back to normal since then.” Penny’s voice was thick. I could picture her clenching her fists to fight back tears, like when we were little. “My point is—it’s tough no matter what. Fathers, daughters? It’s just tough. It is. But . . .”

  I knew what she was going to say, but I closed my eyes, needing to hear it.

  “You’ll never have the chance to work this stuff out unless you give yourself the chance.”

  I smiled, missing my best friend like never before. “Is that your two cents, Penny?”

  Penny tried to groan but laughed instead. “Shut up.”

  I ran into my uncle in the hallway as he was heading for bed. “Hey Barry? Next time my dad calls? I’ll speak to him.”

  Barry nodded gravely, but as he turned away, I saw the beginnings of a smile on his face.

  • • •

  That night, the senator didn’t call. He didn’t call the next day either. Or the day after that.

  I watched the news and understood why. It was the weekend before the general election, and he was everywhere at once, making as many appearances as humanly possible to try to shore up votes for the big day.

  He’d wait to call again until after the election. And I was okay with that.

  Andy more than made up for the lack of parental phone contact. He was out on the road with the Reelect Lawrence machine and going more than a little buggy.

  “I’m losing it here, Quinn. If I have to wave one more time, my arm is going to fall off. I’m telling you. Save me a spot for dinner. I’m hijacking the copter and coming down there.”

  As I drove home from school the Monday of election week, I laughed to myself, remembering the hopeless desperation in Andy’s voice on the phone the night before—but when I turned onto our street and stared out the windshield in disbelief, the grin melted right off my face.

  The whole street was cordoned off. There were police cars at either edge of the block keeping traffic away, and between them I saw no press vans whatsoever. I thought for a second that Tess had called the cops, trying to keep her day-care parents happy. But then I saw the Town Car parked in our driveway, and suited Secret Service agents pacing the sidewalk, talking into earpieces.

  I smacked the dashboard with a holler. Somehow, against all odds, Andy Lawrence had made good on his promise—and brought his entire security detail with him.

  And he was calling me right now, on my newly acquired, Barry-approved cell phone, probably to find out where I was. I clicked speakerphone.

  “Andrew H. Lawrence, I salute you! You are the best prankster in the world.”

  “Why, thank you! Do I get a plaque?”

  After a quick glance through the driver’s-side window, the police moved the barricade to let me through. I turned into the driveway a little too sharply, the brakes screeching as I came to a giddy stop.

  “You’re in a good mood,” Andy said. He sounded confused—he must not have seen my car pull up yet.

  “You’re never going to stop gloating about this, are you?” I danced to the front door and turned the knob.

  But it wasn’t Andy in the living room, rising from that same armchair, his eyes wavering, fearful, hopeful, lost, just like that day back in June.

  My phone was still making noise. “Okay, Quinn? I have a shocking admission to make . . .” Andy’s voice seemed to fade. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Hey,” I murmured. “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

  This time, the senator wasn’t wearing a suit. He had on a polo shirt and a pair of khakis, an outfit he seemed much more comfortable in. As comfortable as he could be, given the circumstances.

  “Hiya, kiddo,” he said.

  “I’m gonna give you a minute,” Barry said, ducking out of the room so fast I only saw a blur of leg before the door swung shut behind him.

  All I could get out was a soft “Hi.”

  The senator returned to the armchair and I sat opposite him on the stiff, faded love seat that Tess loved so well.

  His mouth opened, then shut again. His brow furrowed. But just as I was beginning to dread that this conversation would be a repeat of all the other empty ones, his voice shot out of him, low and clear.

  “I don’t like the way we left things, Kate.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I don’t like the fact that we ‘left things’ at all.”

  My eyes sank to my feet. My pulse had just jumped, flooding me with a muddled mix of guilt and defiance, so I didn’t quite trust myself to speak.

  When I looked up again, his blue eyes were trained on me, waiting for me to meet them. And I saw something stirring behind them. Something real. Despite the security surrounding us, my uncle and aunt probably pressing their ears against the wall in the neighboring room, I had the sense that this was the most private conversation I’d ever shared with my father.

  Because this is my father, I realized. It’s not the candidate. It’s the human being.

  “Elliott’s off the campaign,” he said.

  “I know.” My voice burst back to life. “I’ve been watching the news—”

  “To be honest, Kate,” he interrupted, “I think I’m off the campaign too.”

  I shifted on the love seat, confused. “But the election’s tomorrow. You can’t just give up.”

  “Oh, I’ll show up. I’ll give it all I’ve got. I owe a lot of people that much. But I think what I’m saying is—whatever happens, I’m going to be okay.”

  He reached out and took my hand.

  “And we’ll be okay too.”

  It felt comforting to hold on to him, but I pulled back, still uneasy. He winced, thought for a moment, and nodded as if in recognition.

  “I’ve got a lot of apologizing to do. More than I can possibly fit into this conversation. But I want to start by saying that I know I took my focus off of what was most important. Not just you—Meg, Gracie, Gabe.” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Evelyn too, I suppose.”

  I smiled faintly in reply.

  “You know that,” he went on. “You as good as called me on it. But what you don’t know, Kate, is that I started doing it a long time ago.”

  He bit his lip, struggling with how to continue, and sensing that he needed to get it out in his own time, I put my hands to my knees and waited.

  “I met your mom in the middle of my first camp
aign,”

  he said, and the room seemed to swirl around us. “She was a poli-sci major. I don’t know if she ever told you that, but at the time, she wanted to go into politics and she saw the campaign as a learning opportunity. And at the same time . . .” He glowed with the memory, but there was pain mixed with it. “She was the most idealistic person I’d ever met in my life. Now, don’t get me wrong, I was a true believer. I was on a crusade from day one. But she made me look like an empty suit.”

  His smile faded. He glanced down at himself with an expression of disgust before going on.

  “She was beautiful too, Kate. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. I was drawn to her and she was drawn to me. And we were away from home and . . . we slipped.”

  He shook his head at my expression, whatever it was—shock, fascination, fear.

  “I need you to know this—I never stopped loving Meg. She was working long hours, teaching undergrads while getting her PhD, and she was not about to derail her career to follow me around on the local campaign trail. I respected her for it, frankly. And I missed her all the time. But . . .” He swallowed, a sheen of sweat appearing on his forehead. “I fell in love with your mother too. It was impossible not to.”

  I had to look away from him. I’d wanted to know and honestly longed to hear these very words, despite how much I cared for Meg. If we had to choose, we’d all choose to be born out of love, wouldn’t we? But now, sitting here, it was a horror to hear it. It was too honest, even for me.

  “This is not an excuse,” he said. “And it would be a lie to say it was the whole story. The truth is, I took advantage of your mom. I was thirty. She was a child.”

  I glanced up at him, about to argue, but his eyebrows were raised.

  “She was only a few years older than you are now, Kate.”

  “Okay,” I admitted. “That is a little creepy.”

  He laughed. It died quickly.

  “I was ashamed of it. Of her. I turned my back on her and she moved on and I never looked her up again. It was the right thing for my marriage, but now, of course . . .” He motioned to me and I nodded, understanding. “Whoever I was before that, I buried it. I told myself that that man was weak. That man slipped—didn’t keep his word, and even worse, he’d betrayed his own goals and aspirations, what he’d worked so hard for. I told myself that from that point on, I would keep myself moving forward with a kind of tunnel vision, doing whatever it took—in order to serve. But you know?”