“The name is different depending on which bakery the cookies ship from. But to me, they’ll always be Samoas. Caramel deLite is a stupid name. Sounds like a stripper in a cheap nightclub.”
He smiled a little. “You’re never shy about giving your opinions, are you?”
“I’m in the wrong line of work for that.”
His smile faded. “According to last night’s Quinnipiac poll,” he said glumly, sinking back into his seat, “I’m not going to be commander in chief. They still show us down by four points.”
“They’re wrong. It’s going to come down to Texas, Illinois, and the weather. If the rain holds off and we get a good turnout in Chicago, we’ve still got a chance.”
“So that’s it?” he huffed. “After three years of campaigning and billions of dollars, the question of who gets to be president comes down to whether or not it rains in Cook County? Insanity.” He laced his fingers behind his head, looked up at the ceiling, and blew out a long breath.
“Sure you don’t want a cookie?”
He shook his head and sat up straighter in his chair, his expression solemn.
“Lucy, the reason I came by is . . . I just wanted to say that, no matter what happens today, I’m glad we made the trip. We changed some attitudes and moved the debate. Even a Gardner administration is going to have to pay attention to the issues we raised and try to be more bipartisan. That ain’t nothin’,” he said, his voice becoming a little emotional. “And I’m truly grateful to you for making it happen.”
He held out his hand so I could grip it.
“Stop it.”
He frowned. “Stop what?”
“Stop making concession speeches. I mean it.” I raised a single finger to stay his protestations. Tom withdrew his hand.
“If it comes to that, I’ll be the first one to say so, but now is not the time. You’ve got to keep your game face on and believe. Believe in yourself. Believe in the smart people who helped you get this far. Believe in the voters.”
“Believe in the weatherman?” He cocked an eyebrow at me.
“Him too.
“Governor,” I said, “you and I have been down this road plenty of times. I could sit here for the next fifteen minutes and pump up your confidence, tell you how brilliant you are, how brilliant your campaign strategy is, how your message has resonated with the voters, but frankly, neither of us has time for that today. I could pull out a bunch of charts and graphs to try to convince you that I know what I’m talking about, but I don’t have time for that either. You’ve known me long enough to know that I’m not just trying to pump sunshine up your kazoo. I’ve always told you the truth, and the truth is: We’ve still got a chance.”
I leaned toward him, both hands flat on the desk. “Quinnipiac doesn’t know what I know. And what I know, with every ounce of political instinct in my body, is that you’re still in this thing!”
I smacked my hand so hard on my desk that the plastic cup holding my pens tipped over. The governor flinched, which was good. I had his attention.
“So quit making speeches, all right? Because it’s really starting to piss me off.”
He raised his hands as if to protect his now smiling face from my ire. “All right! Don’t go upsetting yourself.”
I smiled back, and for a moment it was like the old days, when it was just Tom and me, making it up as we went, before the arrival of the entourage.
“Now, get out of my office and get back to work. I’ll see you at the party.”
There was a knock on the door. The governor straightened his shoulders and tie.
“Can’t I sit and drink my coffee first?”
“I’ll have Jenna put a lid on it. You can take it with you.”
I got up from my desk and opened the door. Jenna was standing there with empty hands and anxious eyes.
“Sorry, Luce. I know you said to hold your calls, but Barney Purcell is on the line. He says it’s urgent.”
Barney Purcell? I knew that name. He was . . . a field operative?
“He’s calling with updated polling data?”
Jenna shook her head, her face somber. “Barney Purcell. Your cousin. He’s calling from Wisconsin. Lucy, there’s been . . . an accident. It sounds pretty bad.”
Chapter 5
I bit my lower lip, the phone pressed to my ear, as Barney, who sounded shaken, described what had happened.
“They don’t know how long she’s been unconscious. One of the neighbors came over this morning and found her in bed, unresponsive, with an open bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand. She was barely breathing.”
An overdose? Oh, dear God. I thought we were past all that.
“How many did she take?”
“Nobody knows,” Barney said. “The doctor said it could have been an accident. Maybe she woke up, forgot she’d already taken the pills, and took more.”
I pressed my hand to my forehead and closed my eyes, picturing Alice awake and alone in the night, dialing my number, getting no answer, getting no rest, reaching for the bottle of pills. Why hadn’t I left the phone on? Why?
“But she’s okay? The doctor said she’s all right?”
“He said her respiration is good.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank you.
“They’re running some blood work. I’m here in the waiting room, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I think you’d better come out here.”
“Sure, sure,” I said quickly, my mind racing, a little less panicked now that I knew Alice was breathing without a problem. “Hang on a sec, Barney.”
I tucked the phone tight between my shoulder and ear, grabbed a pen, scribbled Flights to Wisconsin on a yellow Post-it, and handed the note to Jenna, who hurried off as soon as she read it.
“Okay. I’ll catch the first flight out tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow?” Barney sounded frantic. “Lucy, you’ve got to come now. I can’t handle this! You’re the one who should be making the decisions, not me.”
I propped my elbow on my desk and rested my forehead in my hand, eyes closed, trying to focus. “I know, Barney. I know. I’ll be there just as soon as I can, I promise. The election . . .”
The weight of a hand on my shoulder interrupted my words. I opened my eyes. Tom Ryland stood over me.
“Tell him that you’re catching the next plane out of here.”
“But, Governor . . .”
“You’re going. If I have to drive you to the airport myself, you’re going right this second. This is your sister we’re talking about, Lucy. You’ve got to go.”
Looking into his eyes, stern and as gray as granite, I knew he was right. The realization splashed over me like icy water, shocking me back to sensibility. What had I been thinking? Alice was breathing, thank God. She would be all right. But she was frightened of hospitals. When she woke up, I had to be there.
Phone still to my ear, I stood up and grabbed my coat off the back of my desk chair.
“Barney, I’m leaving right now. I’m not sure about the flight schedules, but I’ll call you when I change planes in Chicago. If they’ll let you in the room, tell Alice she got her way. Tell her I’m coming home.”
All the outgoing flights from Denver to the Midwest were full—there was a snowstorm coming and everybody was trying to get out of town before it hit—but I headed to the airport anyway, figuring I could just go standby. Surely a seat would open up for me. It did, but not until five o’clock.
By the time I finally boarded a flight to Chicago, the snow was starting to fall. We taxied to the runway only to be told that air traffic control had just declared that visibility was too low to allow takeoffs. Rather than return to the gate, we sat there waiting for the runway to open. By the time it did, ice had built up on the wings, so we got to sit some more, waiting for the ground crew to de-ice us.
I’m sure I’d been more frustrated in my life, but it was hard to remember when. Having my phone battery give out did nothing to improve my mood, n
ot even after we were finally able to take off. For the next two hours and thirteen minutes, there was nothing for me to do but drink scotch, eat pretzels, and think.
I thought about Alice, of course. I felt incredibly guilty for leaving my phone off the night before, for possibly being the catalyst for Alice’s accidental overdose. But . . . was it accidental? Could she have taken those pills on purpose?
Alice had had a tendency toward depression since her early twenties, after returning home from a disastrous and ill-advised year at college. Once, she swallowed a whole bottle of some over-the-counter painkillers and had to be hospitalized. But that was a long time ago. The doctor put her on medication after that, and her mood swings became less pronounced, but it wasn’t always enough, especially during the winter. That’s why I always leave my phone on. I can usually gauge Alice’s mood by listening for the twitches and repeated phrases that signal anxiety, the sighs that accompany a rising tide of depression. I can usually pick up on those things, but I hadn’t heard anything worrisome lately.
No, that wasn’t true. Not really.
On the night before my birthday, Alice told me she was sad. I’d felt a flash of unease when she sighed, but dismissed it as a ploy to convince me to come home for Christmas. I love my sister, but when she puts her mind to it, Alice can be a master manipulator. But . . . isn’t everybody? At least sometimes?
I should have left my phone on. From here on out, I promised myself, I would, no matter how exhausted I was. It would be easier once the election was over; I’d have more time. Well . . . probably not. Especially if we won. But I’d just have to figure it out. Once Alice was out of the hospital and feeling better, I would.
The plane shuddered and bounced and the “Fasten Seat Belt” light came on. The pilot announced that we’d begun our initial descent and advised the flight attendants to pick up any remaining cups and glasses quickly, then buckle up for the remainder of the flight. It was going to be a bumpy ride, he said; there were thunderstorms in Chicago.
Thunderstorms in Chicago? Damn it!
Rain was coming down in sheets. Pushed by side winds, the plane skidded to the right as we made contact with the tarmac, but we made it.
Sprinting up the Jetway and into the terminal, I started digging through my purse for my phone and charger, scanning the walls of waiting areas and corridors for an unoccupied charging station. There were people everywhere, and every one of them seemed to be tethered to an electrical outlet, captives chained to the walls by power cords. The storm had all but closed the airport ; planes were being allowed to land but not to take off. Stranded travelers trying to phone their families or access the Internet to rearrange their plans were making use of every available power source.
A man in the waiting area of gate C22 wearing earbuds and a T-shirt that said, “Another Day with No Plans to Use Calculus” sat cross-legged on the floor waiting for his iPod to charge. I squatted down next to him, but his eyes were closed as he listened to his music. I shook his shoulder to get his attention.
“Hey!”
He jumped, surprised to see a strange woman staring at him, and pulled the buds out of his ears.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll give you five dollars if you let me use that outlet to charge my phone.”
He frowned and looked around as if he thought this might be a joke and someone might be filming us. “Uh-uh. I’ve gotta charge up before my flight leaves. Can’t fly to LA without my tunes.”
“Just let me use it for a little while,” I begged. “Fifteen minutes. Ten.”
“Dude, I already told you. I don’t want to be stuck on a plane to—”
I reached into my purse and got out my wallet. “Twenty bucks,” I said. “Two dollars a minute. Please? I’ve got a very important call to make. My sister is in the hospital and I’m trying to get home. Seriously, dude. I’m not kidding.”
The man looked at the money, then at me, and shrugged. “It’s all yours.”
I plugged my phone into the socket, pressed the “on” button, and sat down on the floor with my back against the wall, chewing on my thumbnail while I waited for the phone to power up. I knew Barney would be anxious to know where I was, but I’d spoken to him not long before leaving Denver. Alice was doing fine then, so I wasn’t quite as concerned about talking to him as I was about getting in touch with headquarters. I’d check in with Jenna first, then call Barney. She’d be able to give me the latest on wins, losses, and projections . . . if my phone would just finish booting up! Why was it taking so long?
Glancing up, I spotted a television tuned to CNN on the far side of the waiting area. A red, white, and blue video graphic with the words “Decision: 2016” came on the screen. I asked the guy in the T-shirt to watch my phone for a minute and crossed the room to the television without waiting for him to respond.
A small cluster of other travelers stood under the television set, just as transfixed as I was, watching two anchors exchange backchat about it being a historic evening and an exciting race. I’d met the younger anchor, Sam, on several occasions. Right after Iowa, we’d gone out for a couple of drinks. I thought it was just a work thing, but the more we talked, the more I realized he thought we were on a date, so I said I had to get up early the next day, insisted on paying for my own drink, and headed up to my hotel room. I can’t date journalists. And he did this thing, constantly reaching up and smoothing his hair, that got on my nerves. Plus, he was shorter than me. Anyway, that was after Iowa. I’m sure he’d have found me less fascinating after New Hampshire.
He was harkening back to the Iowa race now, saying it had been a game changer, had awakened the imagination of a previously apathetic electorate, thanks to the entry of dark-horse candidate Governor Thomas Ryland, the first successful presidential nominee from the state of Colorado, who had not only won New York and all of the New England states as expected, but also Pennsylvania and North Carolina, surprising everyone.
“Everyone but me,” I said under my breath, studying the electoral map graphic that appeared on the screen, clutching my hands into fists, mentally adding up the figures. It was close. Very close. My palms started to sweat.
Sam and his sidekick exchanged more banalities, eating up time and commenting about how Senator Gardner’s big electoral wins in Florida and Ohio meant this was still anybody’s race.
The older anchor, with a gray mustache and a grizzled voice, looked to his counterpart and said, “It’s a tighter contest than anybody could have guessed, Sam, but I predict that the outcome is going to come down to one state, which was still too close to call in our last segment—Illinois.”
“I already know that!” I shouted. “Come on, guys! Let’s just get to the results!”
“Seriously!” barked a middle-aged man who was standing next to me. “Cut the chatter and tell us who won!”
As if in response to our protests, the grizzled anchor lifted his hand to his ear.
“The polls have just closed on the West Coast. We are now ready to predict that Senator Robert Gardner will win the states of Michigan, Indiana, Missouri, and Iowa,” he intoned, the gray patches on the map behind him turning to red and blue as he spoke. “However, Governor Tom Ryland has all but run the board in the West, even squeaking out a surprising win in Texas and,” he said, his voice rising with excitement, his face splitting into a grin, “the state of Illinois! Which means that Tom Ryland is going to be the next president of the United States!”
“Yes!” I screamed. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
People surrounding the television broke into cheers or groans, depending on their political proclivities. I grabbed the man standing next to me and hugged him as hard as I could. Fortunately, he was wearing a Ryland button. He laughed when I let go of him, then whooped and hugged me back, actually lifting me a couple of inches from the ground and dancing around in a circle.
I didn’t mind.
I felt like raising a flag and ordering a twenty-one-gun salute to my candidate, Governor Tom Ryl
and! No! President Ryland! President of the United States of America! Tears came to my eyes. I actually started to cry! It was like Christmas, New Year’s, and Mardi Gras had all fallen on the same day. For about sixty seconds, I was having the best day of my life.
The man with the Ryland button put me back down. He laughed again, and so did I. I probably would have hugged him again, but felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around. The guy who didn’t like calculus was standing there with my phone.
“Dude, your phone kept ringing, so I went ahead and answered it. Somebody wants to talk to you. Says it’s important.”
“Sorry! I mean, thanks!” I laughed, breathless and flustered, grinning as I took the phone from his outstretched hand, certain it was Jenna calling to tell me the news I already knew. Or maybe even the governor—No! The president-elect!
“Hello? Jenna?”
I heard a voice, but the connection was bad and there was so much noise in the terminal that I couldn’t make out what it said.
“What? Jenna, what did you say?”
“Where are you?”
“Oh, Barney!” I laughed. “Sorry, it’s kind of noisy here. Listen, I’m still in the Chicago airport. There were a bunch of thunderstorms, so my plane was late getting in and all the outgoing flights are delayed. The board still shows my flight to Green Bay leaving on time, but I bet they end up delaying or even canceling. It’d probably be faster to rent a car and drive. I should be there in about five hours. How’s she doing?”
“The doctor just came out to see me,” Barney said, then fell silent, pausing for so long that I said his name again, thinking the call had been dropped. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse.
“Oh, Lucy . . . Oh God. She didn’t make it, Lucy. The doctor just came out to tell me.” He choked out a sob. “Alice died about twenty minutes ago.”
Chapter 6
For the next thirty-six hours, I felt like I was underwater. My reactions were slow and laborious, and the whole world was muffled and blurred at the edges.
The Second Sister Page 4
