Life of the Party

by Kris Fletcher

  “Oh my God.” Jenna’s mouth sagged. “He said the same thing.”

  “Who? Cole?”

  “No.” Jenna braced her hands on the table. “Dad.”

  Neenee’s mouth sagged. For a second, Jenna thought her mother was on the verge of tears.

  “Huh,” she said, low and wondering. “We always were on the same page when it came to you girls.”

  But as quick as it had hit, the moment passed. Neenee squared her shoulders and looked Jenna straight in the eye.

  “You have a choice, Jenna. You can let the actions of two lousy men keep dictating your life.” She leaned forward. “Or you can say ‘screw them’ and make your name your own.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was around four-thirty when Cole looked up from his desk to see Ram hovering in the doorway yet again.

  “Don’t you have a job?”

  “No. I thought I’d quit to spend my days writing poetry on the beach.” He dropped into the chair in front of the desk. “It’s called a personal day, you half-wit. One of those benefits of selling out to The Man. You should try taking one sometime.”

  “I did. The day after the primary.”

  “When you still landed in court.”

  “Just one case. A quickie. Barely enough to count.”

  “Uh-huh. And how much downtime have you had since then?”

  Brockport. He’d had a day of nothing but Jenna when they went to Brockport.

  “Not much,” he confessed. “But it’s only a couple more days.”

  “That’s true. The election is just a few days away.” Ram leaned back and propped his feet on the desk. “I bet you’re planning to take a day off after that.”

  “Yeah, I am. Is there a point to this?” He eyed Ram’s sneaker-clad feet. “You know, this desk belonged to my grandfather.”

  “Sturdy piece. They don’t build ’em like that anymore. Let’s say you win, Cole. After you take a day to breathe, you’ll be pretty busy again, right? I mean, it’s not that long until January, especially with the holidays in there.”

  “I am well aware of that. Are you here just to shoot the breeze, or is there something you’re trying to say? Because I’m kind of busy right—”

  Ram’s feet hit the polished wooden floorboards with far more of a thud than Cole would have expected sneakers to provide. “You’re busy. I know. That’s a permanent state with you.”

  “No, it’s—”

  “Oh, please. You want to remind me why you came back here, buddy? Wasn’t it something about slowing down and having time to appreciate life?”

  “This is a rhetorical question, right?”

  “You’re damned right it is. You moved back to get a grip on life. You said, and I’m quoting, that you wanted ‘a job and a life.’ That you wanted time to be with your family. That you wanted to know what it was like to get more than five hours’ sleep a night for more than two nights in a row.” He paused, no doubt for dramatic effect. “That you didn’t want to lose another relationship because you didn’t have time to do it right.”

  Prickles of recognition made it impossible to deny the statements. “Right. And I did.”

  “Did you?”

  “I— Yeah, I did. Until the election, I mean.”

  Ram crossed his arms and gave Cole the adult equivalent of a middle school stink eye.

  “What?”

  “How the hell can you go out there, campaigning about honesty, when you’re so full of it?”

  Cole couldn’t name more than two or three times over the decades when he feared for his friendship with Ram. But he was pretty sure the number was close to increasing.

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve had a pretty lousy twenty-four hours. I would really appreciate it if you would get to the point so I can finish this will and get down to headquarters.”

  “You’re not going to headquarters.”

  “The hell I’m not.”

  “You called in sick. Everyone knows you won’t be there.”

  “I called in sick before that crap came out in the paper. I’m not going to hide away now. And what the hell does this have to do with me being busy?”

  “If you go anywhere near that office tonight, Allison, Tim, Aubrey, and I are all quitting.”

  What the . . .

  Ram leaned forward, his finger tapping the aged desk as he spoke. “Look, Cole. You’re right. You’ve been through the wringer over the past day. Usually I would be the first to say, back in the saddle, yeehaw, ride ’em cowboy. But you need to step back for a minute.”

  Cole thought about protesting, but one scowl from Ram had him reconsidering.

  “Here’s the thing, Cole. It wasn’t the job that made you keep that crazy schedule back when you were in the city, and it’s not the election doing it now. It’s you. And before you get all high and mighty, I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. It is what it is and you are who you are. Some people thrive on having a lot going on, and buddy, no matter what you said about wanting to slow down, the simple fact is that if you really wanted that to happen, you would have done it already.”

  Shit. None of this really sounded surprising. More like . . . like something he had known for a long time but had hoped that if he didn’t admit it, it might not be true.

  “What are you saying, Ram? That I should drop out of the race and adopt a houseful of cats?”

  “Remember when I called you a half-wit?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was giving you too much credit.” Ram hunched over, elbows on knees, and focused on Cole more intently than Cole would have thought possible.

  “You didn’t lose Meredith because you didn’t spend time with her, Cole. That was a symptom. The real problem was that you talked yourself into thinking you felt something you didn’t.”

  Everything Ram was saying sounded true. But for the life of him, Cole still didn’t see how any of it fit together.

  “You said something about you and Jenna never having a chance, that you should have known better than to try to squeeze something permanent into something temporary. But Cole, you’re missing the point. Everything is temporary. Nobody gets forever, buddy. And even though you screwed things up with Jenna by trying to buy more time with her, the fact is, you’re an efficient guy. You’ve already built something lasting with her, and don’t insult us both by trying to deny it.”

  God, how he wanted to believe Ram. And yet—

  “It’s not something lasting if one person calls it quits.”

  Ram sighed. “Cole, you hurt her. But here’s the thing. Relationships don’t live or die by time. It’s all about the effort. And the fights and the making up and the screwups and the times when it all works. You guys have that.”

  “This was more than just forgetting a birthday or something, Ram. I don’t think there’s anything I could have done that would have hurt her more.”

  “Remember Mrs. Cowburn?”

  Cole blinked. Roller coasters didn’t have as many twists as this conversation.

  “Yeah, I remember her. Grade six. Why?”

  “Remember when she made us write that essay defending Benedict Arnold?”

  Decades of distance didn’t keep Cole’s stomach from cramping in memory.

  “I lost three nights sleep over that one.”

  “I remember. You were one sorry sight, especially when you fell asleep in her class and snored so loud that they could hear you in the next room.”

  Did Ram have to look so delighted over the memory?

  “The point is, once she woke you up and got the whole sad story out of you, she told you to stop making things so—”

  “So complicated,” Cole finished. “And that all I needed to do was figure out what she really wanted, and make sure I did that.”

  “Right. Because once you had that par
t down, the rest would fall into place.”

  “This is a little more important than a middle school exercise on point of view, Ram.”

  “And there you go, making things more complicated again. Think, knucklehead.” Ram rapped on the desk. “What does Jenna really need from you?”

  Cole remembered the argument.

  Remembered her saying she had believed in him.

  Remembered her loathing for her father.

  And knew, with the same certainty that told him he loved her, that all Jenna wanted was the exact thing he had been promising everyone else all along.

  The truth.

  ***

  Jenna expected to spend the night staring at the ceiling. And there was an hour or so during which she tossed and turned and heard her mother’s words over and over.

  Which would have been okay if she hadn’t kept hearing her father saying the same thing.

  When she did fall asleep, though, it was blessedly peaceful. No scary dreams. No waking. Just deep, restoring sleep, that left her opening her eyes calmer and remarkably more settled.

  Kyrie had told her to take the morning off. Jenna hadn’t bothered with even a token protest, assuming she would be wiped out. So instead of setting up coffee, she sat up, peeled back the covers, and looked at her leg.

  Everything she had said to Cole that first time was true. There were no repulsive scars. But as she traced the fading lines, she knew that not every scar was the kind that could be seen. And that maybe her parents—both of them—might have been onto something.

  Maybe it was time to stop setting her focus elsewhere. Maybe it was time to claim her life as it was, here and now.

  Though how she was supposed to build her life in the town where Cole’s name blazed out at her from lawn signs up and down every street was beyond her.

  “No.” She couldn’t let that stop her. Couldn’t let her actions be dictated by her relationship to another man. Not anymore. She had to do what she had to do.

  Step one was to stop being an idiot about using the skills and relationships she’d developed when she was with Kendall.

  Back when they were together, she had always made a point of befriending his secretaries and assistant. Not to get dirt on him, as he once accused her, but because it had seemed like the right thing to do. They were the most important people in his world. He spent more time with them than with her. So it had seemed only logical to get a feel for them, their quirks and personalities, so when Kendall talked about them—or complained about their incompetency, which turned out to be the case most often—she would have an idea of who and what she was dealing with.

  Yeah, she could write a book. Trophy Wife 101, by Jenna Elias Stirling Carpenter.

  Her efforts had ended up being a huge help during the divorce, when Kendall’s assistant, Rico. had seen fit to slip her a few warnings about upcoming shenanigans. She hoped his loyalties still rested on her side as she hit the number she had never removed from her phone.

  “Hello?”

  He sounded surprised, but in a good way, like someone who had just found a winning lottery ticket on the street.

  “Rico. Hi. Can you—”

  “Give me a minute, sweets. I need to get those figures.” There came the sound of movement, a door closing, and then a long, drawn-out whistle.

  “Jenna Elias, how are you, you sweet thing?”

  “Much better now that I’ve heard your voice.” No lie there. Cutting Kendall from her life had turned out to be distressingly easy, but losing Rico and the others—oh, that had been the killer. “I hate to be horrible cliché, but I need a favor.”

  “Does it have anything to do with that hatchet job that was done on you in yesterday’s paper?”

  “Holy— You know about that?”

  “Oh, you sweet innocent. Kendall keeps tabs on all his exes. I think he can’t quite believe that anyone could ever go on living without him.”

  Oh, it felt good to laugh. “You are such a bad employee.”

  “On the contrary, my darling girl. I am a most excellent, hard-working and resourceful assistant. But that doesn’t mean I can’t use those talents for good on occasion. Especially when I spent all yesterday hearing some evil overlord snickering over people getting what’s coming to them.”

  Nice to know Kendall hadn’t changed. It made it all the easier to ask for what she needed now.

  “I need Kendall’s office to have an ad crashed into the newspaper.”

  This time the whistle was far more subdued.

  “Tomorrow’s paper?”

  “Yes.”

  “Big ad?”

  “As big as possible.”

  “It’s going to be tricky. And expensive.”

  “I know. That’s why the request has to come from someone tricky and loaded.”

  “In that case, you’ve come to precisely the right friend.”

  Jenna’s shoulders seemed to sink about ten inches. “You are the most amazing doll ever.”

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I know that very well.”

  Of that, she had no doubt.

  “You’ll be able to do this quietly, right? I don’t want you getting in trouble.”

  “Jenna my love, don’t you worry about a thing. I can hide this so deep that even Liam Neeson couldn’t find it.”

  “Music to my ears, Rico.”

  “And you know how I love to sing. So tell me, sweetness.” His voice dropped. “What are we doing, and to whom?”

  ***

  Cole woke to the sound of bells.

  For one hazy moment he thought he was back in his undergrad dorm at the University of Rochester, where he had often been yanked into wakefulness by the playing of the carillon at the center of campus. Drove him crazy. How was a person supposed to catch a nap with stupid damned chimes clanging all the time?

  Except he was pretty sure these weren’t bells.

  He rolled over, cracked one eyelid, and squinted at the clock. 6:43. What the . . .

  The sound came again. His phone. Doing some kind of happy dance with the damned text message alert.

  He liked it a whole lot better when he woke up beside Jenna. She wasn’t nearly as loud. A lot more cuddly, too.

  God, he hoped he could make things right between them again. Nothing worked without her. Even the things that used to feel perfect, like waking up in this bed. It was too big now. Too lonely. And she’d never even been here.

  “You picked a hell of a time to fall in love, dipstick.”

  The phone beeped again. He was going to have to deal with that.

  He fumbled around the night stand, grabbed the instrument of torture, and pulled it to him.

  Huh.

  Eight texts. All of them from Ram, Allison, and other members of the team. That was good. It meant that nothing had happened with his folks. Or with Jenna.

  He closed his eyes again as the knowledge twisted deep in his chest. If something happened to Jenna, he wouldn’t know. She could be in a hospital bed this very second, hanging on to life by the skinniest thread, and he wouldn’t know.

  The phone beeped again. He could swear it had switched over to a tone like that of a schoolyard bully—nyah, nyah.

  “Fine. Fine.” He opened the first message, from Ram.

  Have you seen this morning’s paper?

  Well, no. He hadn’t. A quick jump to the newspaper’s website showed him just that day’s headlines. Maybe he was cynical, but he didn’t think his phone would be overflowing over a lead story about a bear that had been spotted on the edge of town.

  Back to the messages. Tim, his mother . . . yes. Allison.

  You had to go for the gutsy one, didn’t you, Loverboy? Page 2.

  Oh shit. Jenna had done something.

  The phone wasn’t going to cut it this time. He grabbed
a T-shirt, yanked it over his head, and ran downstairs, hoping to God his paper had landed on the porch this time instead of in the middle of the—

  No luck. There it was, by the sidewalk. And there he was, the day before the election, sprinting across the lawn in his old shirt and monkey-print boxers.

  Allison would kill him.

  Jenna would laugh hysterically and lock him out of the house.

  It was still early enough that he received only a couple of beeps from passing cars. Maybe he’d lost nothing more than his dignity.

  He could hope, right?

  The moment he was in the shadow of the porch he dropped to his grandfather’s rocker and opened up to page two.

  And was immediately glad that he was sitting.

  The entire bottom half of the page was taken up by one ad—an ad dominated by a photo of Jenna on one side and the words Let’s Talk Corruption on the other. Below the heading was another photo of a very young girl in a very frilly dress, held in the arms of a very young Robert Elias. The caption read, Me and my father, about thirty years ago.

  The message was simple.

  Cole Dekker knew who I was when he agreed to let me work on his election campaign. He knew then that I am not my father, and that each individual deserves to be judged on his or her own actions. He took a chance that many wouldn’t dare to take, because he believed in me.

  My father took bribes. Cole Dekker gave me a chance. My father faked his own death. Cole Dekker has told the truth, even when that wasn’t politically wise. You want to talk corruption? Come talk to me. I know all about it.

  Cole didn’t even realize he was still clutching his phone until it rang, sending him into a flailing shock wave that would probably have people calling for paramedics if they saw it.

  “Son of a . . .” He checked the display. “Ram? What the hell?”

  “Just wanted to be sure you saw the latest.”

  “Yeah.” Cole tapped the picture of teeny Jenna. When had her hair stopped being curly? “Yeah, I saw it.”

  “The girl has balls.”

  “That, she does.”

  “Allison thinks it’ll help.”

  “Why am I not surprised that you two are already having strategy conversations before seven in the morning?”