America the Beautiful

by Laura Hayden

  Oh no. Those poor women. Kate said a small prayer for the innocents caught up in this nightmare.

  With her breath caught in her throat, Kate logged on to her e-mail account and watched as the mail started pouring in from friends and foes alike, all with subject lines like “!!??!?!!!!,” “Is This YOU!!!!?,” and “Why didn’t you tell me???” She turned off her instant messenger after the fifth acquaintance popped up to chat.

  She hit speed dial and managed to retain some semblance of control when she reached Emily. “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

  “What?” Emily sounded nonplussed. “I did what I had to do.” It was said in a matter-of-fact delivery. Just like her.

  “Are you so sure about that?”

  “Henderson had it coming. He refused to play ball. I don’t need his endorsement now, K. His supporters will come to me on their own. And wouldn’t we rather have independent-minded people come to us—folks who can think on their own rather than be told what to believe? To be told who is worthy to follow?”

  “What if someone traces the video back to us?”

  “They can’t. It didn’t come from us. You saw me give Henderson the only copy we had of the footage.”

  “Then how . . . ?”

  “Never underestimate the abilities of a woman scorned.”

  “His wife?”

  Emily laughed. “None other. She’s been pumping herself up with fertility drugs, undergoing all sorts of hideous and, as I understand it, really painful testing. She’s been doing anything and everything she can to get pregnant. But it only takes one whisper concerning the possibility of her dear hubby having put a bun in his mistress’s oven and boom! She goes for the jugular. Once a little birdie told her where to look for the goods, she got them and used them. And boy, did she use them—slam, right in the kisser, baby. Too bad she wasn’t his campaign manager. I gotta applaud her efficiency—maximum damage with maximum exposure. The girl’s got talent.”

  “Let me repeat the part of your little story that concerns me most: someone had to tell her where to look.”

  Silence.

  Kate was shaking, but she forced her voice to stay level. “Emily, all it takes is for one slipup for this to all get back to us.”

  “She doesn’t even know it came from us. C’mon, K, I’m not stupid. There’s no way to connect her to us. It came to her from a friend of a friend of a friend. And at that, I made sure it was an anonymous drop.” There was a long moment. “Kate, all I did was expose Henderson for what he really is—a liar, a cheat, and a real dog to do this to someone he supposedly loves. If anything, I’m protecting her and showing her she can’t trust a louse like him. When my marriage went on the rocks, I came out stronger for it.”

  The words were hauntingly familiar; Emily had said the same things about her own ex-husband. “Kate, he’s a liar, a cheat, and a real dog to do this to me. I’m supposed to be the person he loves most. . . .” Kate had said to Emily then, “If you trust God, you’ll come out of this adversity a better person.” She doubted that Emily had heard the “God” part of that statement.

  Kate drew a deep breath, then expelled it along with another quick prayer for strength. She seldom took on Emily head-to-head, but this was going to be one of those times. Emily needed to hear a few home truths.

  “Listen to me carefully. You’ve taken a big risk, one we didn’t necessarily have to take. Don’t you ever take a chance like this again. You need to be a role model. You need to keep your head above the fray. You can’t get elected if your hands aren’t clean.”

  There was a moment of eerie silence between them. Then Emily said quietly, “You’re right.”

  The admission startled Kate. “Say that again?”

  “You’re right,” Emily repeated. “I wasn’t looking at the big picture.” Then Emily Benton said two more words that Kate had seldom heard her utter together.

  “I’m sorry.”

  It nearly poleaxed Kate. That—Emily’s ability to see what mattered and change her course—was one of the things Kate loved about Emily.

  However, Emily was also capable of ducking when times got hot. Kate noticed that Emily didn’t say, “I’ll never do it again . . .” because they both knew that was a promise she couldn’t keep.

  The next morning, Kate woke early to an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach and a general sense of malaise. The feeling made her want to stay in bed for a year or so. If she’d had anything alcoholic to drink the night before, she would have figured she was hungover. But having imbibed nothing stiffer than a mug of Sleepytime tea, she decided it was an emotional hangover from the events of last night.

  Despite the pseudo-heartfelt apology, Emily had still screwed up things further by adding a unique “coat the fan with excrement” complication. Left on its own, Kate’s original plan would have resulted in the desired bottom line—Henderson stepping out of the campaign and throwing his support to the Benton camp.

  But, no. Kate had negotiated while Emily had decided to go all scorched earth on her opponent. Emily had not only engineered the ruin of Henderson’s personal and professional life, she’d thrown three more souls into the media woodchipper with him—the wife, the girlfriend, and the unborn baby.

  Now Kate would need to spend an inordinate amount of time making sure everyone knew that Emily didn’t have a woodchipper, had no idea how to use a woodchipper, and even if she did, would never have shoved three of the four people involved into said woodchipper.

  All the while knowing that Emily just loved that nasty old woodchipper.

  And if people didn’t believe Kate’s song and dance . . .

  Kate didn’t want to contemplate that Herculean task. In fact she didn’t even want to be awake. She wanted to go back to yesterday and do it all over again—only this time without Emily in the room to mess things up. She wanted to seek forgiveness from God for not doing more to stop Emily from going all medieval on her opponents.

  She wanted to call in sick and lie in bed until some other horrible political mess took precedence in the news cycle.

  She wanted to go home with her dog and get a job where her heart wasn’t reamed out and chewed up on a regular basis.

  But if she didn’t get up and go to work, she couldn’t help make it right.

  Maybe there was something she could do to help smooth it over, for Emily and for Henderson.

  When she reached M Central, it was abuzz with the news of Mark Henderson’s humiliation at the hands of his angry wife. Staffers were joyous about the possible repercussions.

  Kate knew she couldn’t correct them. But she could ask them to have a little compassion.

  She did.

  They didn’t.

  They were too excited about what this might mean for their adored candidate, Emily Benton.

  Kate buried herself in her office and hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob. The only person who ignored it was Emily, who showed up with Kate’s favorite breakfast in the world, an Egg McMuffin and a grande Cinnamon Dolce Frappuccino.

  Kate’s stomach betrayed her by growling at the aroma.

  Emily held out the bag. “C’mon, you know you want this.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Kate accepted the bribe. “I’m such a fast food junkie,” she moaned as she unwrapped the sandwich and then took her first bite. No matter where they were, home or away, she could always rely on the consistency of her beloved Starbucks McMeal.

  “Your appetite for swill is one of your more interesting qualities.” Emily sat down in the side chair. “Did you see the Post this morning?”

  Kate shook her head. “I’m avoiding all media. I figure that’s the only way I can keep my spirits up and my breakfast down.”

  “Don’t be silly. Despite your concerns, the whole story is playing out perfectly. Infertile wife intercepts a call from hotel security about returning an article of clothing left behind in her husband’s hotel room. Trouble is, not only is it an article of women’s clothing, but it�
��s from a very trendy maternity shop. Then with just a little snooping, she realizes that her feckless husband is not only canoodling another woman but has gotten said woman pregnant. Oh, the inhumanity,” she deadpanned, then laughed.

  “It’s no laughing matter,” Kate said. “That baby hasn’t done anything to deserve the mess you made of its life.”

  “Maybe. But Henderson? He was an honest-to-goodness two-timing scumbag and he got caught. Womankind should link arms and lift their voices in solidarity, rejoicing in the spectacle.”

  “Don’t rejoice in someone else’s failure, Emily. It’s not becoming. Worse, it’s not right. You’ve got skeletons in your closet. One day they may come out to haunt you. Don’t you want to have your friends and opponents treat you with mercy if that comes to pass?”

  “It wouldn’t happen. They’d be on me like wild dogs.”

  “All the more reason,” Kate said, “to try to set a good example. They can learn from you. Some of the victims you’re gloating over are innocents. What about Henderson’s wife? Remember what you felt like when you found out Nick was cheating on you? I bet she feels even worse. Sure, Henderson was in the wrong, but he, like every person, lives at the center of a web of relationships. Going after him shakes that web. Those tremors we started hit everybody who knows Henderson, guilty and innocent alike.” Her stomach lurched on cue. “I feel sick about my part in this. Just sick about it.”

  “Don’t look now,” Emily said, “but you’re channeling your mother. I guarantee that Henderson’s wife is better off knowing she couldn’t trust him. And don’t get me started on the girlfriend. She blithely ignored the fact that he was married. She needs to learn not to play around with guys with wives. Don’t you think the country is better off now that they know what kind of man he is?”

  Kate sighed. “On that point, maybe I can agree. But not on the rest of it.”

  Emily released a self-satisfied sigh. “Well, we made that happen. I call that a win-win situation. Feminism at its finest.”

  “It’s a win for you,” Kate said, “and a win for your campaign. But not for me. I keep thinking about his wife. What did she do to deserve this?” Kate stared at her beloved breakfast, her appetite vanishing. “I feel so bad for her. And what about that unborn baby?”

  “Trust me. Everybody will get over it. You’ll see. When I’m president, I’ll address some of the laws that make this all such a tragedy. That baby should have an equal chance with any other baby, legally and morally, whatever his mother did. It’s something that a female president can make happen.”

  “Emily, I know you’ll be a great president. I’ve seen you in action. You don’t have to convince me. But that’s in the future. You need to be a great person, too. And that’s for right now. Try for a little mercy.”

  Emily took a deep breath, obviously ready to argue with that conclusion, but she was interrupted.

  “We have a big problem.” Chip McWilliamson stood in the doorway, his face pale and pinched. “I have a friend who works for the Maryland State Police. He told me they got a 911 call from Mark Henderson’s housekeeper. She just found Mrs. Henderson dead. Of an apparent suicide.”

  “Oh no,” Emily said.

  Kate put her head in her hands. She tried not to cry, but the tears came anyway.

  SHOCK BLANKETED THE ROOM, muffling all sounds except for the fountain on Kate’s credenza. Instead of being soothing, its sound was intrusive, like an annoying buzz in the back of her head.

  After a few moments, Kate dried her tears and looked at Emily, whose face was white with shock. Kate figured hers probably looked worse and was grateful she couldn’t see it. She wasn’t looking forward to facing her mirrored image.

  Rather than say the words that scalded her brain and burned the back of her throat, Kate controlled herself and simply said, “Leave.”

  Emily nodded, adding in a low voice, “I understand. We’ll talk later.” She paused at the door before exiting. “Just so you know, K, I didn’t see this coming. Not at all.”

  As the door closed, Kate leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes to prevent tears from welling up again. She told herself that if she cried, it would be because of the potential damage Emily had caused to their campaign. Not because her whole moral justification for her actions in digging up dirt on Henderson had crashed down on her head like a house of playing cards. Not because she had, indirectly, gotten the blood of an innocent woman on her hands.

  Sure, she’d never meant to hurt that woman. But she’d been the person who kicked the rock that started the avalanche down the hill.

  How was she going to live with herself?

  Kate didn’t really know Henderson’s wife beyond an occasional moment or two at various political get-togethers where the ebb and flow of crowds caused their paths to cross. They’d probably shared not more than a dozen words, all of them polite.

  But whether she knew the woman or not, Kate knew this: because she’d dug around in the shadows of a political opponent’s life, the man’s wife had chosen to take her own life. Had Kate seen that coming? Of course not. Then why did she feel so bad, so guilty, over this?

  Had she known that it would hurt Henderson if what she found got out?

  Yes.

  Had she known his wife would feel anything like the kind of overwhelming despair that would drive a person to suicide?

  No. Absolutely not.

  So why did she feel like a murderer?

  “Consequences.” She heard her favorite law professor’s voice in her ear. George Madison Canton had been in his mideighties when he taught Advanced Ethics. When he spoke, his voice always rang with the authority of a long and rich lifetime of experience. She could hear him just as clearly now as she had then, his stentorian voice echoing through the lecture hall.

  “There are always legal, moral, and ethical consequences to every action you take,” he’d said. The trick, he had said then, was to anticipate the probable outcomes but not to get bogged down with the infinite possibilities of any course of action.

  Should she have anticipated this particular consequence? Could she have foreseen this outcome when she tapped the fountain of information named Carmen del Rio? Should she have predicted that because of her investigation, Lee would find not only a spent shell casing of corruption but the entire smoking gun?

  More important, could Kate have anticipated Emily’s decision to go public without consulting her?

  Maybe, she told herself.

  Then her self-defense mechanism clicked on. Had Emily spent any time considering the possible repercussions of releasing that video?

  When it came to the big picture, Emily was like a chess player, plotting strategies, calculating her moves six, seven, even a dozen steps beyond the current picture. It’s what made her a good lawyer and an even better politician. It was going to make her a great president.

  Obviously even Emily hadn’t anticipated this.

  Emily had figured that the wife would react just as she had and kick the bum out, preferably in public.

  But as Professor Canton had always said, “The ethical person accepts responsibility for the unfortunate as well as the fortunate consequences of his actions.”

  Kate was the one who triggered the investigation, who hired the people to dig the dirt, who took the results of her research to Emily, who allowed someone else to control the knowledge. In essence, the whole chain of events began with Kate.

  She’d acted, and someone had died.

  She finally put her head down on her desk and cried, letting the tears pour out. And she prayed.

  Lord, please forgive me. I don’t know how to forgive myself.

  Time passed. Her tears slowed, then stopped.

  And Henderson’s wife was still dead.

  The peace that confessing her sins usually gave her refused to come on this day. Christ could forgive anything. But Kate couldn’t. Not her own sins. And she could never, ever forget.

  Kate sat at her desk, rehashing her ev
ery action, every reaction, going back and recognizing the possible outcomes she’d obviously missed earlier. After almost an hour of tearing her own actions apart for a review of her motives and methods—interrupted on occasion by frantic sounds beyond her closed door—Kate knew what the bottom line was.

  She’d blown it.

  She’d stepped out of bounds, over that bright line where she asked herself, “What would Jesus do today?”

  Maybe she couldn’t change the past.

  But she could change the future.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  Emily stood up and slammed her palms down on her desk as she leaned forward. “Then let me put it another way. No way in heaven or earth will I accept your resignation.”

  “It’s the only way to save your campaign,” Kate protested. “You’ll need to redirect the fallout. The most effective way to do that is to blame me.”

  “No. Let someone else be the sacrificial goat.”

  “It won’t work. You have to cut hard, cut deep, and cut high so that everyone knows you’ve removed the gangrene from your staff. Firing a couple of low-level staffers won’t work. Firing me is the only way to assure your supporters that you personally had nothing to do with the leak and that you take something like that very seriously. If you can’t fire me when the situation warrants it, the press will have a field day, blaming your inability on your gender.”

  Emily moved from behind the desk and circled the room like a caged tiger circling its dinner. “They’d be wrong. But no matter. If you walk, then we fold our tents and slink away. I’m not going to try to run a campaign, much less the country, without you.” Emily slammed into the seat by the window. “You’re my chief of staff—now and later, in the White House. You know that.” She turned away so that Kate could see only her profile. Emily’s expression was unreadable from that angle. “I can’t imagine trying to be president without you at my side. How did that Newsweek reporter put it? ‘Every head of state needs someone to help them also be the heart of the nation.’ You’re the heart in this campaign. Everyone knows that. But what they don’t know is that you’re far more than the heart—you’re the brains, the brawn, the soul, the conscience. You keep me honest. You keep me sane. I cannot and will not continue this campaign without you.”