Dad rolls his lips in for a mere second before recovering to his straight “I’m listening” political face.
“Dad. Who are you going to listen to, a guy who helps you win, or us?”
His face doesn’t twitch.
“Come on, Dad,” I say, sounding desperate. “This is your chance.” I dig in then, using the knife I swore I’d never wield on anyone but myself. “What would Jackson say?”
I study him, waiting for some sign that he gets it. He blinks a few times, but that’s it. Finally, he pulls his fingers through his hair like I do when I’m nervous. It’s a gesture I haven’t seen him do for a long time.
The front door squeaks open and someone clunks into our entryway. “Jeff? You in?”
“He has a key now?” Mom spits out.
Dad takes a deep breath, but doesn’t answer Mom. Instead he yells, “We’re in the kitchen, Paul.” My heart tanks. Mom and I look at one another and she gives my palm a squeeze. I don’t let go. If Dad’s about to side with Paul, we need to be united.
Paul steps into the kitchen with his iPad. “Christy. Justin.” He doesn’t even bother to say hello. “Jeff, good news. I’ve set up a chat with the PR rep who turned Tantem’s sex-tape scandal into a thriving career. I’m confident we can spin this,” he eyes me, “with inside help.”
“Paul,” I take a deep breath, doing everything to not swear him into the ground. Mom squeezes my hand as I hear her breath catch in her throat. She looks at Dad.
His face changes then, the muscles in his cheek relax and there’s that look in his eye that I’ve missed so much. Honesty. Comfort. Strength. Home.
Dad claps Paul on the back. “You’re fired.”
“Yes. I’ve got you scheduled to meet with him in three weeks. I think we can make it that long as long as no more photos come out.”
Dad clears his throat. “Paul, did you hear me?” He takes the iPad out of Paul’s hands. “You are fired.”
“Excuse me?”
“Get out of my home.”
Paul points at me. “You aren’t listening to a kid’s advice, are you, Jeff? If you want a presidential run…”
“I don’t care about that right now. My son is telling the truth about the photos.”
“You can’t honestly believe that.”
“Oh, I do.”
“That’d take an extraordinary photographer with professional editing skills.”
“Exactly. The type of person a producer from a reality show many know.” I offer. “He’s got reason to take me down. Take you down.” I nod to Dad. “What did you think would happen, Paul, when I didn’t sign that contract after he gave that crap load of money?”
Paul shifts in place and I swear a bead of sweat drops down his cheek.
“Why did you push the reality show?” Dad asks.
Paul wipes the sweat off his cheek. “This is ludicrous. You can’t really believe Justin.”
“Answer the question.” Dad demands.
Paul’s eyes dart to the floor.
“Was this the investment opportunity you mentioned last summer?” Paul doesn’t react. Dad swears as he takes him by the arm and leads him from the kitchen. “You’re fired. Never show up on this property again. If you do, I’m calling the police.” He hands Paul his coat.
“Bad move, Marshall. Other people can hire me. Opponents. I know your weaknesses.”
“His only weakness was you,” I say, holding open the door.
“Goodbye, Paul,” Dad says.
“I’m going to destroy you.”
“I don’t care. I’ve got what matters. You can’t take that away.”
Paul laughs like a freak as he steps out the door. “Don’t even pretend you don’t care about what others think about your term as governor. You’ll never get re-elected without me.”
“Re-election is the least of my concerns right now. They come first.”
“I’m going to turn you into a fool.”
“Well, good luck with that,” Dad says as he closes the door in Paul’s face. This should be where the crowd roars, but there’s only Mom and me.
Dad rubs his face. When he uncovers it, his eyes are wet with tears. “To answer your question, Justin, a grown-up Jackson would have said ‘Screw you’ and stopped helping me long ago.” He reaches for Mom’s hand. “I am sorry that I couldn’t see who I’d become.” Mom starts to cry and he pulls her in. “I will fix this, Christy. I promise. I want to be your hero again.”
I step away, letting them have their moment. “Justin,” Dad calls when he realizes I’m down the hall. “Hold up.” He gives Mom’s palms a squeeze and her cheek a kiss, leaving her crying in the entryway, and follows me down the hall. He puts both hands on my shoulders, looking me straight in the face. “I’m sorry for not believing you. I’m sorry for using you. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t the example of who a man should be.”
“Thanks,” I say as he pulls me into a hug. “You’re forgiven.”
“Thank you for being such a man, son.”
My eyes itch and I’m pretty sure I’m going to lose it if he says anything more. “I’ve got to go finish a paper.”
“I understand. Let me know if you need help, okay?”
“I will.”
“Sounds good,” he says as he makes his way back to Mom.
***
Failure is worse than forty kicks to the balls.
Dear Mr. Marshall,
Thank you for your company’s bid and proposal to paint the interior of the historic James. J. Hill Mansion. Although the proposal was researched thoroughly and within the MN Historic Society’s budget, we unfortunately cannot commit to a company whose values do not reflect our own.
We appreciate the time and effort behind your proposal and wish you the best of luck in upcoming endeavors for Painting Purposeful Inc.
Sincerely,
The Minnesota Historic Society
“Son, you’ve got to stop reading that notice. It’s not going to change anything,” Dad offers from behind his laptop in the armchair next to mine. “Let me talk with them.”
“No, this is my company. This is my battle.” Unfortunately, it’s one that’s already lost. They won’t understand until my name is cleared. The painting company was a way for me to escape Dad’s political world, something just for me. The paper nearly folds itself along the well-worn crease as I return it to my wallet, next to Jackson’s photo. My college fund and security rode on landing this gig. Shit.
This letter didn’t surprise me though. Its arrival was inevitable. I stopped receiving updates from the board over a month ago. Since then, the photos that have surfaced are more incriminating than ever. What used to just be shots taken of me and Lucy have transitioned into me and any girl within a ten-foot radius. The miracle of Photoshop. Thankfully, no one from school has been implicated in any of the photos. But that’s probably only because of my refusal to interact with any girls outside of school property or someone’s home. I’m always sneaking into Lucy’s house through the back basement door. Mr. Zwindler started leaving it unlocked for me, with the rule that I had to call ahead. I wish I could bring Lucy out to a movie like a normal boyfriend. But there’s nothing normal about me anymore.
The weird thing is, at this point, I’m pretty sure I’m being set up for the shots. That one redhead from post-secondary who hunted me down in the parking lot to ask me a question about derivatives clearly had no idea what she was talking about. I should’ve left the moment she positioned herself between me and the door of the car, but I didn’t want to be rude, in case her question was real. The photo of us together surfaced three hours later. I’ve scanned the lecture hall for her every day since. She’s never there.
Dad closes his laptop, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “We’ll get to the bottom of this and clear your name, Justin. I swear to you. I know you wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for my foolish decisions.” He waves to the large oak room in the governor’s mansion th
at he now calls an office. “It’s not like I’m accomplishing much anyway.”
“It’s not your fault the house and senate have different majority rule. That’s like asking oil and water to get along.”
“They’re impossible. I pursued this role to make a difference. Instead, I run up against brick walls. The only thing I’ve managed to accomplish is helping get that wretched girls’ basketball coach fired.” He sighs as he heaves himself out of the armchair. “How’s Lucy?”
“She’s glad he’s gone but has hated the process. She’s had to tell her story so many times. I hated watching her relive it. So many former students and players have stepped forward with their own stories about Coach T’s ability to look the other way. She likes knowing she’s not alone in her history anymore.”
The iPad on the coffee table vibrates and Dad taps the screen. The pained expression on his face tells me everything I need to know.
“More photos?”
“Yup.” He presses the screen a few more times, navigating somewhere new.
“Please tell me Lucy’s not in them.” It’s so much easier to deal with the shots when she isn’t involved. Her eyes are swollen for days after each release but she doesn’t admit she’s been crying. Not since that first photo a few months ago.
“Unfortunately, she is.” He hands me the iPad. I study the photo which this website has censored with a blur over her chest. Again, I’m made to look like I just yanked and grabbed at her or something crude like that. “Where was this shot?”
“Yesterday in the school parking lot. I reached over her because she couldn’t get her seatbelt unstuck.” I shoot Lucy a text, giving her a heads up for the new photo.
“Photo on school property,” he mutters as he types a new email to our investigator. When he finishes, he looks up at me. “How about you take the rest of the evening off? Go see Lucy? Believe it or not, I’d prefer to do your work this afternoon. Answering letters from students about how government functions is one of my favorite parts of this job.”
“Thanks, I will.” I scoop up my stuff as Dad looks at some of the drawings from the first graders. He pins a blue squiggle dog to the bulletin board behind him.
I duck out without a goodbye, phone to my ear. First order, calling Lucy.
When she answers her voice cracks and it’s clear she just had one of those nasty snotty girl cries. “Hello?” she says again. “Justin, you there?” She sucks in a deep breath. “Justin?” she says again before she bursts back into tears.
That sound breaks my heart and, no matter how hard I try to fix the situation, I know there’s nothing I can say to take away all the wounds it’s caused. We’ve both canceled every social media account we own, but school makes everything worse. The way she ducks her head as she darts from class to class, it’s killing me. It’s like she’s breaking all over again.
My fingers find End Call. Self-hatred follows the silence as I realize I chickened out. Hung up. Yet another epic Justin fail. I’m horrid. I don’t know how to make it right though. No matter what I do, it gets worse. It’s totally unfair.
I text her.
Me: Bad service. I’m on my way over. Are you okay?
A moment later she texts back.
Lucy: Yup. Just laughing over this foolish photo. Don’t worry about me.
My insides burn knowing she’s hiding her real reaction from me. Why is she so afraid to let me know how hard this is for her?
As I pull onto the highway, the answer is clear. She’s trying to protect me from the truth.
That I should be protecting her.
There’s heaviness in my gut that sucks all happiness away.
It’s like I’m standing at the edge of a gorge, white rapids thrashing below. Lucy’s head pops up and she calls my name before she’s sucked under once more.
I’d jump without thinking about the rocks, the depth, and the rapids. I’d do anything to save her.
My knuckles have turned white from my grip on the steering wheel. I take a deep breath, knowing and hating what I have to do.
***
Her hair hangs wild, curling loosely as she greets me at the door. Those blue eyes are beautiful, even when they’re bloodshot. My arms find their way around her, trying to memorize the feel of her. I breathe her in. My favorite smell will always be an apple.
“I’m sorry about the new photos, Lady.” My heart sinks… Lady… My Lady. How did I let this happen to her? “I’m so sick of this.”
Her face smashes into my chest. “Me too.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. I just want it to end, for both of us. It’s not who we are.” She looks over my shoulder at the driveway. “Where’s your car?”
“I walked.”
“From home?”
“Yeah, just needed to de-stress.” Another lie. My car’s around the block. A toy siren sounds from behind the kitchen door. “Is your family home?”
“Of course. After revealing the whole bullying thing, they barely leave me alone. It’d be nice to not have them hanging around every time you’re here.”
I nod, wishing they were gone too, but not for the same reason as Lucy. Her lips brush lightly against mine, and I force myself to keep still. Sensing my restraint, she ends the kiss quickly.
“Would you want to go for a walk?”
“Go outside with you? Really? Are our rules changing?” Lucy teases as she grabs her coat from the closet. My gut clenches. She has no idea how much the rules are about to change for us.
The current rules aren’t working.
It’s time for drastic measures if I’m going to keep her safe.
We walk hand-in-hand through the paths to a field. I scan the trees, looking for a flash, a lens, or, I don’t know, someone hanging out of a tree with a huge sign that says Camera Man. Who knows where the photographers are, but for once I’m relieved. This time, the photos will end up being a good thing.
“How’s everything going with your dad?”
“Good. He’s been much more himself since he fired Paul last month. We’re spending a lot more time together. It’s nice.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah.” Ugh, lame response. Seriously, I have to make this believable.
“You okay?” Her question is my window of opportunity. Spinning her around to face me, I take both of her hands.
“No.”
“What’s wrong?” The depth of her blue eyes torture me. For a moment, I almost lose resolve and tell her all about the bid rejection on the James J. Hill House. Or tell her how much it kills me that she keeps hiding how much the photo scandal is affecting her. Instead, I rub the stubble on my jaw and step away from her. Time to play douchebag.
“Lucy, this isn’t working.” My eyes dart away from hers, both purposely so she’ll think I’m immature and, more selfishly, because I’m not strong enough to watch her go through this.
“What do you mean?” Her voice is soft.
“Us,” I say bluntly. “We aren’t working out.” I pull my hands through my hair, flexing under my sweater to be the egotistical guy she hated last summer.
It takes her a moment but, finally, she steps away from me. I glance up, watching the clouds reflect in her eyes. “But…” She hesitates and looks at me. Those blue eyes penetrate my heart. She reaches out, placing her hand on my heart. “Justin Marshall, don’t you dare act like the hero right now.”
Bullseye.
The weight of her hand is easy to remove. “I’m sorry, Lucy. I wish that was the case, but none of this feels right.”
“Of course it doesn’t, you fool. You’re breaking up with me.” There’s fire behind her words and that’s the only thing that gives me the strength to keep going. I’ve seen that fire before. She’s strong enough to move on and away from me.
“It’s been a long time coming,” I lie.
“How so?”
“I don’t know. We just don’t mesh right. I can’t explain it. We’re rarely together anymore. I’ve
had a lot of time alone. Time to think.” Her brow arches. She’s totally not buying it. Why didn’t I plan this out? “The truth is, you’re not my type. You’re a bit too awkward and your family, well…” I can’t say it. I can’t actually throw her mom on the train tracks after knowing what they’ve been through.
Her lips part and her face drains of color. It’s slight, but her shoulders slump.
I hate myself.
“It’s time for me to move on.” I barely get the words out.
“To the other girls?” she whispers, giving me an out that I’d only take if I was cruel. There’s no way I can take it that far.
“There aren’t any other girls.” I take a quick breath, ready to make the final split. “Don’t you dare insinuate I’d cheat on you. You know I’m not like that.”
Her breath catches on her lip, hanging visible in the chilled air between us. Tears spill over her cheeks.
“I’m just not feeling it anymore, okay? Unfortunately, we aren’t meant to be.” I force annoyance into my tone, hating myself with each syllable. We stand, several feet apart, staring at the ground. I need to push it further. Give her a reason to hit me.
“But, listen,” I begin, ignoring my heart screaming in the flames. “I’m open to benefits occasionally.”
Her eyes fly to mine. “Benefits?”
I stretch out my shoulder to make myself look like a cock. “Yeah, you know—making out or whatever. Maybe next year in college, you can be my stress relief?” The words that fly out of my mouth bring a bit of bile with it. I swallow, not believing I know how to play this guy so well. It shouldn’t come this easily.
She takes a step closer. “Excuse me?”
“Maybe if we’re not together, we can actually get away with some of the stuff made up in the photos. Hands-on experience?”
With one step, her palms fly into my chest, throwing her weight at me. I fly backwards, taking the hit and landing dramatically in the snow. Grabbing my chest, I groan.
There’s your photo, dude.
Perfectly Messy Page 19
