I sighed. “And how are you planning to explain your presence to the media?”
He raised his eyebrows, doing an innocent act that really didn’t suit him. “Your sister’s been working for my campaign. . . and I care about my people.”
He called her my sister, but “Dad” knew damn well she was my mother. Biological mother.
“You really think that explanation will satisfy the twenty-four-hour news cycle bunch?”
“Why shouldn’t they accept it?”
I lowered my voice. “How long till some would-be Woodward or Bernstein finds out Peggy Sue was once a just-out-of-high-school campaign worker that you got pregnant ... and that I am the evidence?”
Nonplussed, my father put a hand on my shoulder. “Brandy, since finding out about all this a few months ago, I’ve made no effort to hide any of it.”
“Well, you should!”
His smile was unsettling in its humanity. “We both know that sooner or later the truth will out.”
“Can’t you make it later than sooner? You’re going to lose, if this gets out.”
The senator was up against a formidable opponent this time, and the poll percentages were closing fast.
“You surprise me,” he said. “I hardly thought you’d have a rooting interest in my reelection.”
“Maybe I just don’t particularly relish being at the center of a scandal! Peggy Sue is still reeling from her husband’s tragic death, and our mother is a fruitcake who doesn’t need Christmas to come early this year, if you follow me. And I have a young son of my own who I don’t particularly want to subject to seeing his mom turned into an unwilling reality star.”
He listened patiently to me rant and rave, then bestowed a fatherly smile. “Brandy, please trust me. Not my first time at the rodeo. I do know what I’m doing.”
I felt suddenly sick at the pit of my stomach. Was this some kind of fourth-quarter play by the good senator to grab headlines? Could he play our twisted little family soap opera for sympathy?
He was reading my mind, or at least making a good guess, patting the air with upraised, calming palms.
“Brandy,” he said, “I was going to wait for a better time to tell you this, because I really do want your support ... your blessing... .”
I frowned and spat a word: “What?”
“... but you’ll hear it soon enough from Peggy Sue.” He paused. “We’re going to be ...”
My Medusa expression had frozen him, and I heard myself completing his thought: “... married?”
He nodded, rather embarrassed.
Stunned, all I could do was crank my gaping mouth closed again. But my eyes were so wide, they were burning.
The bucket-headed aide intruded tentatively. “Senator ... we have to go, if we’re to make the next event on time.”
His boss waved a dismissive hand, and the aide backed off.
My father’s attention shifted back to me. “You seem less than ... ecstatic at this prospect.”
I got my mouth working again. My tone was about that of William Shatner reporting a gremlin on the wing of the plane to a stewardess. “Isn’t this ... union ... a little sudden? I mean, you only found out this summer about Peggy Sue having a kid ... having me... .”
He smiled patiently. “Brandy, in recent days, I’ve gotten to know Peg well enough to see that she’ll make a wonderful wife.”
“Really? She strikes you as a genuine, warm human being?”
“She strikes me as ... an ideal politician’s wife.”
At least he was being honest—not so common in his game. And he was right—Peggy Sue would be brilliant in that role.
But I didn’t see anything like love entering into the equation anywhere. And I had a right to wonder about that. After all, I was their love child, wasn’t I?
He touched my arm and his smile wasn’t the practiced, charismatic one. “Brandy, I do have to run now ... but we’ll talk again soon, all right? We have decades of catching up to do.”
“I’m more concerned about right now,” I insisted.
“Of course you are. You’re a pragmatist. Like your mother.”
For a moment I thought that was gibberish—who ever thought Vivian Borne was a pragmatist? Then I realized he meant Peggy Sue.
And at that moment, he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.
Numbly, I watched the senator and his two aides walk down the hallway in military lockstep, then disappear toward the elevator.
Shell-shocked, I shuffled back to Peggy Sue’s room.
When I entered, Sis was reading Harper’s Bazaar—a fashion magazine too rich for my blood—and I took the vacated chair next to her.
She smiled at me as she set the magazine aside on the nightstand, next to a huge vase of red roses, most likely sent by the senator.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Whatever could be the matter?”
Never one to look too far under the surface, she took me at my word.
She inhaled deeply, breasts rising and falling, then cooed, “Isn’t he just grand?”
“You can cover those up now,” I said, nodding to her cleavage. “He’s off to his next stop.”
She ignored that, her eyes sparkling, probably with visions of the diamond ring that would soon grace her finger. “Brandy, I have some wonderful news! You will never guess.”
“You’re gonna marry the senator.”
Her eyes flared. “Edward told you!”
I nodded.
She clasped her hands as if in prayer or maybe in anticipation of a feast. “Isn’t it marvelous? Imagine, me, a senator’s wife! ... You seem less than overjoyed for me. I would think you’d be thrilled.”
“Should I be?”
She frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? Don’t you realize if this gets out before the election, you’ll be married to an ex-senator?”
She smiled teasingly. “Not jealous, are you?”
“Jealous! Of what? Of who?”
“Of me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t be you for anything.”
Normally, such a caustic remark would have sent Peggy Sue into a conniptions fit. But she was flying too high.
“Can’t you just be happy for me, Brandy? If Edward loses the election, so be it—he and I will be together, and we’ll all be able to come out of the closet.”
“I like it in the closet! I like being nutty Vivian Borne’s daughter. What I don’t like is being part of some smear campaign launched against your precious senator. Peg, I’ve got a son. You’ve got a daughter. What are you thinking?”
She was staring at me with this peculiar smile, like she was trying to make out what I was saying but I insisted on speaking in Pig Latin.
Finally she said, “What’s the matter with you, Brandy? Haven’t we been closer these past few months than ever before? I was even starting to think we liked each other.”
There was some truth in that. But had I only been able to feel closer to Peg because she’d been knocked off her high horse, and brought down to my undignified level?
“Sis,” I said, “normally you’re the one who’s worried about what people might think. Can’t you see the dangerous line you and the senator are trying to walk?”
Her smiling expression was almost Madonna-like, and I thought I understood, though perhaps Peggy Sue herself couldn’t have articulated it: Even marriage to a disgraced senator, an ex-senator, was a step up from her current condition. She would have status, perhaps slightly tarnished, but status, and money, and a nice house again, and ...
Sis was saying, “If I’m willing to take Edward for better or for worse, I’d like to know why you can’t show me a little support.”
I got up from the chair, and went over to the window to stare out at the fall foliage.
Suddenly I turned and mumbled, “Maybe you will get away with it.”
“Get away with what?”
I half turned. “Living happily eve
r after.”
“Brandy, you’re talking nonsense.”
“It’s just that ...” I returned to the chair, slumped into it. Sighed. “... well, you’ve always had it so easy.”
“Have I?” Her eyes flashed. “Starting when I ... found myself in the family way, right out of high school?”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh brother. How did that shake down, anyway? Mother pretends I’m hers, you go off to college, marry Bob, get a big house, one perfect daughter, a country club membership, clothes, car, everything you could ever want... . Okay, sure, Bob dies and leaves you destitute, but then along comes Senator Clark on a white horse. Like I said, too easy.”
“So ... you want me to suffer more?”
“No. Not really... . well, maybe a little more.”
“How much more?”
I shrugged. “Not too much. I’m not sadistic.”
I let out a little smile and she returned it.
“Brandy, I can’t change the past, and I’m sorry you got saddled with taking care of Mom—which couldn’t have been easy. But you were always much better with her than I.”
“Because she and I are alike, you mean.” “I didn’t say that.”
She didn’t have to.
Sis sat up straighter in the bed. “Look, I’m no good to either you or Mom unless I get out of that house. When I’m Mrs. Senator Clark, I’ll be able to help you financially, especially Mom in her later years.”
I had to admit she was right.
“Do you love him?” I asked.
“Yes, of course.”
That had come a little too quickly.
A haggard-looking female nurse’s aide appeared. Heavyset, wearing white slacks and a teddy-bear-decorated smock, she was holding the small suitcase I’d dropped by the elevator, and forgotten completely about.
“I believe this is yours,” the woman said, handing it to me. She had the weary tone of the overworked and underpaid.
I thanked her and she departed.
Peggy Sue frowned. “That’s what you brought for me? Hello Kitty?”
I looked down at the pink vinyl suitcase with the iconic Japanese cartoon cat. When I was little, Mother bought it for me for those occasions when she would come into my bedroom in the middle of the night, saying, “Pack your little kitten bag, dear, we’re going on an adventure!”
(Sometime I’ll tell you about the “adventure” where Mother drove her car across a cornfield, with me and Hello Kitty in the back, and a trunk-full of butter.)
I said, defensively, “Well, I didn’t think you’d want to lug around a big suitcase.”
Sis muttered, “You might as well have brought a sack.”
“Couldn’t find one.”
“I can’t walk out of here carrying that! I’m going to be a senator’s wife! What did you bring for me to wear? ... I hesitate to ask... .”
I placed the pink bag on the bed, unzipped it, and yanked out some jeans and a sweatshirt. “Figured you’d want to be comfortable.”
Her expression soured further at the sight of the clothes. In her defense, they were a little dirty, having been hamper-bound—the only casual things of hers available.
“And,” she said, put upon, “I suppose you drove your dented-up car and not my Cadillac?”
Now I was put upon. “Don’t tell me, Sis—you can’t go home in it because you’re gonna be a senator’s wife.”
She gestured with an upturned palm and wiggling fingers. “Give me your phone.”
I dug in my purse, gave my cell to her.
She punched in some numbers, then: “Veronica? This is Peggy Sue... . Yes, I’m fine. Are you busy? ... Good. Could you take me home from the hospital? I can’t seem to reach Brandy... . Great. Oh! And would you bring something of yours for me to wear? All I have are nightclothes.”
Peggy Sue handed the cell phone back, with, “Veronica just got a new BMW, and wears Lauren’s Blue Label.”
“I’ll put her on speed dial.”
She pursed her pretty pink lips. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I have to start thinking about appearances.”
“I think you started thinking about appearances maybe forty years ago.”
“Brandy... .”
“I’ll see you at home.”
A sigh. “Yes. I already have the hospital release papers... . Brandy?”
“Huh?”
“Help yourself to any of those flowers on the windowsill—anything but these roses ... Edward brought them, and I’ll take them home myself.”
I crossed over to the window, and picked up a fall mum arrangement. “Say, this is lovely. Who’s it from?”
“James Lawrence,” she said. “You don’t know him.”
I set the mums down, and turned. “No, but I know of him. His brother was Stephen, the Lawrence boy who died in Vietnam.”
Sis looked almost confused. “That’s right—how did you know about that?”
Suddenly it dawned on me that we hadn’t yet told Peggy Sue about the valuable cornet Stephen had given to Anna, which wound up in our possession, and most likely was the cause of her hospital stay.
So I took the chair by her bed again.
When I’d filled her in somewhat, she said, “Look, if you’re thinking James had anything to do with our break-in, you’re loopier than Mother. James is an old peacenik who’s been living in Toronto since college.”
“And who is back in town, obviously. Did he send these flowers, or come to visit?”
“He came to visit.”
“Did he say when he got back to Serenity?”
She frowned in thought. “A few weeks or so, I believe.”
“Right.” I gave her a told-you-so smile. “And why did he come to see you, if not to find out whether you would recognize him from the assault?”
“Oh, Brandy, that’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? Why did he visit you? Did you know him from childhood? Did you go to school together?”
“How old do you think I am, anyway?” she asked, offended. “I didn’t go to school with either Lawrence boy—Stephen was eight years older, and James six. But everyone in town knew the two well-off Lawrence boys.”
I pulled up the chair. I wasn’t surprised Sis would keep track of rich prospects, even at an early age. “What were they like?”
Sis settled back against her pillows. “Stevie was a dreamboat, so handsome and smart ... I hated the fact that I was too young to date him.”
“Okay. What about James?”
“Jimmy was the complete opposite. Oh, he was almost as cute as his brother, but more in a James Dean kind of way, always in some kind of trouble. A real Peck’s Bad Boy.”
I didn’t know the latter reference, but got the gist, though how James Dean evolved into a harmless peacenik, I had no idea.
Sis was saying, “When he was eighteen, and I was twelve, something happened between us.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Not that kind of ‘something’ ... just something that happened, where I kind of helped him out of a jam, and he appreciated it and was always nice to me after. Despite our age difference, we stayed in touch off and on, even after he left for Toronto to avoid the draft.”
“Is that all there is to the story?”
She glanced at her watch. “Veronica will be here soon, and I have to fix my face.”
“Looks fine to me. Spill.”
“Maybe later. At home. Now go.”
Reluctantly, I got up from the chair and headed to the window to collect the mum arrangement from the mysterious James, when something occurred to me, and I turned.
“Please tell me you’ve been in touch with Ashley,” I said.
My niece was at college out east, and I’d spoken to her briefly the night after the break-in. She’d been alarmed obviously, and I’d played it down, but I hoped Peggy Sue had called her to ease any concerns.
And she had.
Peggy Sue said, “Ashley wanted to come, but I said I was fine and didn’t want
her to miss any classes.”
“What about this new wrinkle?”
“What new wrinkle is that?”
I winced; she was maddening. “The you-being-my-mother, me-being-her-stepsister, the senator-being-my-father, you-marrying-my-father-the-senator, all-of-this-maybe-coming-out wrinkle ... ?”
“Oh. That one.” She avoided my gaze. “Not yet.”
“Well, you’d better do it before cable news does!”
She raised a surrender palm. “I know, I know ... it just wasn’t the right time, over the phone. You’ve told Jake, naturally. I mean, he knows everything, right?”
“Uh ...”
Sis looked at me with an arched brow.
“I’ll call him as soon as I get home,” I said.
“Brandy?”
“Yes?”
Was my biological mother about to say something tender, something loving to me, that would begin healing wounds?
“When you get home, please hide that old car of yours around back of the house ... and leave the Caddie in the drive.”
I gathered the flowers, picked up Hello Kitty, and headed out.
At the veterinary hospital, I waited anxiously for Dr. Tillie to bring Sushi out from the back, and when he handed her to me, she was so excited, the little fur ball piddled on my T-shirt—but I didn’t even care. She was alive and happy and so was I.
“Any instructions?” I asked.
“She’s fine,” he assured me. “But if you have any concerns, you know where to find me.”
I laughed. “Not in the middle of the night, I hope.”
“I hope so, too,” he admitted.
I paid the bill—Yikes! The antiques booth better make a good profit this month. Then I left with my bundle—the smell of the mums in the backseat helping to hide the Eau de Sushi I was wearing.
On the ride home, the little darling—normally content with sitting in the passenger seat—insisted on perching on my lap. Apparently, from a side angle, this made it look like she was driving, judging by the double takes we garnered from pedestrians along the way.
Inside the house, I released Sushi at the edge of the living room and she scurried around happily getting her familiar bearings. Meanwhile, I checked the answering machine for messages—particularly any from the police department that might report Mother’s arrest on some downtown shenanigan or other.
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