by Mara Jacobs
It seemed Caro was in the process of going through the kids’ photos, with the idea of putting them in albums, but that never seemed to happen. She and Dotty would start to reminisce about the day such-and-such had happened with each picture.
But that was probably more important than organizing the pictures—reliving the pictures.
Reliving her life.
It felt odd seeing the pictures. Seeing the life I almost lived. The life I never could. And yet I was fascinated by them, too.
Dotty was suspicious of me at first, but warmed up after a few visits. Most times, she’d take advantage of our visits to go grocery shopping or run errands or something, never wanting to leave Caro home alone.
And yes, I started calling her Caro, after she’d asked me to. It felt odd at first. I’d so often heard my mother say, “that fucking Caro” that I stumbled the first few times. And then, like the whole surreal situation, it started to feel natural.
I hadn’t told Lily or Syd about my sojourns to Chesney. They both worked during the late afternoons, so it wasn’t obvious to them that I wasn’t around.
I don’t know why I didn’t say something to them. Partly, I guessed, because I’d have to tell them about Caro’s health, and I wouldn’t do that. But I also sensed they’d read more into it than there was.
Or more than I wanted to admit there was.
Another part of the routine was the kissing. It was as if turning off Yvette’s ignition after we were parked in Lot H was some kind of starting gun going off, the way we’d be at each other the second it happened.
Sometimes I’d reach for him, sometimes he for me. Most times it was hard to tell who moved first. We’d kiss for half an hour, longer. It was always too long, and it was always not long enough.
Yvette, champion chaperone that she was, prevented things from going any further, though there was some furtive groping—on both our parts.
As sleek and cocoonlike as each side of the cockpit was, it was hell to try and make out in.
“Why did you choose a Corvette,” I’d moaned more than once into Stick’s mouth as he kissed me when I’d try to get closer to him, only to be thwarted by the console and stick shift.
“Right now, I have no fucking idea,” he’d say, and keep kissing me senseless.
When we were at Caro’s, or even on the drive to or from, we were our usual selves—trash talking and constantly bickering.
Except when I’d go to the garage while he was working. He’d be mellow there, humming while he worked, a quizzical look on his face as he studied a car. A smile spreading wide as he would solve whatever mystery that car held for him.
It was too pure for even me to want to muddy up with insults, and I’d leave him alone, content to watch him in a place he belonged.
It occurred to me more than once that I had no such place. Never had.
I think it was the pool for Lily. I’d seen her swimming, and just after she’d be done. It was the same look of…completeness that Stick had when he worked on cars. He even had it when he was helping Caro.
But the kissing…that was definitely the best part of our afternoon jaunts.
Eventually one of us would come to our senses and end it. And then a little trash talk would fly, usually followed by a curse or two (by both of us).
And always—always—when he would get out of the car, he’d lean back in, look at me and say, “Tomorrow?”
I would nod and he would leave. And I would walk to my dorm room swearing to myself that I wouldn’t let it happen again.
But it always did.
Spring came early to the area, and by the first week of March I was roaring Yvette up and down the backroads by Caro’s estate.
“Why’d you get me a stick, anyway? Why not just an automatic?”
“Because the manual transmission gives you torque.”
“Whatever that is.”
He sighed. “Yeah, just trust me. You want torque. Especially now that the snow is behind us.”
“Hopefully.”
“Yeah.”
But it had been a low snowfall winter for us, and it had never deterred me, though the first time I’d driven Yvette in the snow Stick had given me pointers about how to handle her.
Now I raced Yvette up and down the road a few times, reveling in the feel of her. How she knew me, and I knew her. It was like Stick had first said—I got so I knew what she needed.
And she needed to go fast.
“See? That’s torque,” he said as I peeled out of first and took the deserted road once more.
“I like torque,” I said. Stick laughed, and I couldn’t hide my smile. “Soon we’ll be able to put the top down.”
“That’ll give the students walking from Lot H quite a show,” he said.
I didn’t bother saying that wasn’t going to happen again—we’d both know I was lying.
When we pulled through the gates to Caro’s house, I immediately saw two vehicles parked in her circular drive.
“Oh, shit,” I said.
“Why? Whose cars are those?”
“Well, one looks just like the Caddy that Grayson Spaulding was driving when he picked up Lily at Christmas.”
“Oh.”
“And the other is definitely my father’s.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah. Should we just keep going? Not stop?”
“No. I don’t want them giving Caro a hard time about the campaign or anything.”
“Do you think that’s why they’re here?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know she shouldn’t be alone with them in her current state.”
He’d gotten very protective of Caro, and I had to admit I admired it in him. And, in a sick way, was kind of jealous of it. Pathetic to be jealous of a dying woman, I know.
I parked the car, and reluctantly followed Stick into the house. I could hear voices coming from the dining room, a room I’d never even been in.
When we entered, we saw it was indeed Grayson Spaulding and my father. They were seated at the table with Caro, Grayson at the head. Laptops were open in front of all three of them, mugs and empty plates were at each place and papers were strewn all over the massive table. There was even a big whiteboard placed on a portable easel with a bunch of diagrams and a calendar on it.
“Ah, just the person we need,” Grayson said as we entered the room. I looked to Stick, who shrugged.
“Jane, it’s time to get you involved,” my father said, flashing me his best politician smile.
My hands began to tingle with dread as I stepped into the dining room and took my seat at the table.
Chapter Twenty-One
There was an empty seat next to my father and one next to Caro. Grayson read my mind and quirked a brow at me. Already the power play had begun.
I moved to Caro’s side of the table and sat next to her. Grayson gave me a knowing look, and my father pretended that he didn’t notice. And maybe he didn’t. Maybe he left things like that up to Grayson.
Caro smiled warmly at me. “How are you today, Jane? Your Econ quiz go okay?”
I nodded. “Yes. Aced it.”
“Good for you,” she said, placing her hand on mine and giving it a squeeze.
Caro had been very nice to me these past weeks, and we’d talked about a lot of things. I would even say we’d grown quite close. But she wasn’t a toucher. In fact, I think this was the first time she’d touched me.
It did not escape my notice that it happened for the first time in front of my father and Grayson.
They noticed too. My father gave a small smile, like he was happy I’d become so close to his ex-wife.
Grayson eyed Caro suspiciously.
“We’re trying to figure out what might be best for Joe’s campaign as it applies to my…involvement. And yours as well,” she said, ignoring Grayson’s look and giving my hand another squeeze before returning hers to the tablet and pen in front of her.
“Then it’s probably a good thing
I’m here,” I said, looking pointedly at Grayson. He and I had not finalized any kind of deal about how much I’d be available for my father’s campaign. Yvette was an opening bid, sure, but there was still negotiating to be done.
I scooted my chair up closer to the table, took off my coat. pulled my laptop, a notebook and pen out of my backpack, and placed them on the table.
“Okay, let’s talk about it,” I said.
“Can I get anyone anything?” Stick said, still in the doorway. “Caro? More tea?”
He made his way around the table, collecting empty plates and mugs.
“Dotty can do that, Stick, you don’t need to.”
“It’s fine. Tea?” He picked up her empty mug.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Sure thing.” He was just about out the doorway when my father said, “More coffee for me, please.” Stick kept walking. I wasn’t sure if he’d heard my father or not. Or, more likely, he’d heard him but pretended not to.
We talked for a bit about my class schedule and how much I’d be available until school got out. It was assumed I would be part of the campaign full-time during the summer break.
“What if I’d wanted to get a job?” I said.
“Is your mother not passing on the money I send her for you? You don’t need a summer job.”
I had no idea how much he was giving my mother, and what percentage of it was being put into my account by her, but no, I didn’t need money, and I said as much.
“Then I don’t understand,” my father said. “Why would you want to get a job?”
I shrugged. “Responsibility, accountability…you know, all that grown-up shit that I’m supposed to be learning.”
Stick was back with Caro’s tea and a bottle of water, which he placed in front of me.
“I was thinking I might stay here for the summer, get a job and take a few extra classes.” I hadn’t thought any such thing until that moment, but it was awesome watching everybody’s reactions.
Stick’s hand stayed on the water bottle in front me, flexing just a tiny bit. He then removed it and stepped back, behind me.
My father looked confused.
Caro and Grayson shared the same look. One that said the bargaining was just beginning.
“How are you enjoying your new car, Jane?” Grayson asked, throwing the first volley.
“Considering I didn’t ask for it, didn’t want that kind and couldn’t drive a stick shift…I like it just fine.”
“Would you like a different make? That can be arranged.” This from my father. He was looking over my shoulder, at Stick, giving him a “what a fuck-up” look.
“Actually, turns out it was the perfect car for me,” I said. “I just never asked for one.”
“What kid doesn’t want a new car?” my father asked.
“The kind of kid who wants to bargain for something else,” Grayson said.
There was a small snort from Stick, which he quickly covered with a fake cough. “If you don’t need anything else, Caro,” he said, and I imagined him staring down my father as he said Caro’s name, “then I’m going to hit the garage.”
“Why don’t you stay?” Grayson said. “You might have a good understanding of what Caro would feel up to.” He waved at the chair next to me, and Stick, after receiving a nod from Caro, sat next to me.
Now it looked like three against my father, with Grayson being the referee.
“You don’t think I’m the best person to say what I’m able to do?” Caro asked Grayson with an iciness in her voice.
“No,” he said, then looked back at this laptop.
I imagined this scene, or something similar, had played out around tables with these three for years before I was born, and for quite a few after. Even after the divorce.
Minus the dying of cancer, though that had been present before.
And certainly minus the bastard daughter sitting in.
Caro and Grayson would plan and plot, sometimes in sync, many times not. And my father would sit and listen…and let them try to make him king.
My mother’s voice came back to me: “The only reason he was ever with her—the only reason he’s still with her—was because she was almost as good a political mind as that prick Grayson Spaulding. He should have just hired her, not married her. But no, he had to hedge every bet and marry her for her father’s connections.”
She’d had lots to say about my father choosing to stay with Caro even after I was born. Stuff you probably shouldn’t share with a kid, but that never stopped my mother. To her, Joe staying with Caro and not wanting to be with my mother had always been about image.
“We just don’t want you to overdo it, Caro,” my father said.
“You just don’t want me to keel over when you happen to be standing next to me.”
“She totally emasculated him, Jaybird. No wonder he went looking. No wonder he fell so fast and hard for me. That’s the key, Jaybird, you have to soothe them. Even if they’re being total dipshits, you have to pretend everything they say and do is golden. That’s how you keep a man.”
Never mind that Caro Stratton kept her man for twenty years before my mother came along, and my mother had never managed to keep any man for more than a year or two, including my father. Especially my father.
“Caro, that’s not true, I—”
“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I find that dying gives me a sense of urgency I’d rather not ignore.”
“Okay, let’s not pussyfoot around,” Grayson said.
They’d been pussyfooting thus far? I couldn’t wait to see how they acted when the gloves came off.
Except I could. I didn’t really want to see these people interacting with each other as they normally did.
I’d kind of grown a grudging respect for Grayson Spaulding after Betsy’s wedding. My father, though he hadn’t earned my respect, was someone I was able to deal with.
And even after years of hearing my mother bad-mouth her, and having no illusions that she could be an ice queen at times, I’d grown to like Caro while watching her sift through the photos of her children.
I’d always respected her, been in awe of her, but now I liked the woman herself.
“Does the public knowing that I’m dying help you or hurt you?” Caro said. She directed this more to Grayson.
He shrugged. “It depends. And really, it could go either way. It could help with a sympathy vote. You and Joe have always shown a united front, been very upfront about co-parenting”—he waved a hand—“all that shit.” Caro and my father were nodding along with Grayson. Stick and I stayed silent, but I sensed him fidgeting beside me. This was new to both of us, but at least I was genetically predisposed to be a dispassionate cutthroat.
“You would obviously be openly supportive of Joe running for office.” He tapped his pen, looked around the table. “But…it could go the other way. Voters skew older, especially here, and people have a long memory. They might somehow equate you being sick with Joe cheating on you.”
“That’s absurd,” my father said.
“It’s a gut reaction. They wouldn’t logically believe that. But they’d see you two together, obviously note that Caro was dying.”
I looked out of the corner of my eye at how Caro was taking the frank talk, but she was nodding, and even finished for Grayson: “And emotionally make the leap from the man who hurt me to the state I’m in now.”
“Right. It’s a risk. But it’s probably more of a risk to not have you public at all. It will open a can of ‘what’s Caro think about Joe running’ that we’d do well to get out in front of.”
“You sure we can’t call Betsy and Joey back sooner?” my father asked Caro. “They’d help diffuse it all. If they were there too, supporting me and beside you, maybe people wouldn’t make that emotional leap.”
“No. I do not want them back until either after the election, or when I…need to say my goodbyes.”
I could tell my father wanted to argue with her, but he
wisely kept his mouth shut. His douche meter ticked lower by a few notches.
But he was still in the red zone.
Grayson was watching me, waiting. He knew it had to be my idea, even though he’d planted the seed at Betsy’s wedding. I took a deep breath, and he gave me a small nod.
“What if I was there? Whenever Caro was? I mean, surely she’s not going to—won’t be able to—do a ton of stuff, right? A few appearances?” I motioned to Grayson. “You said something about an interview early on with a friendly journalist? What if I was part of that?”
Grayson smiled at me—a small one, but it felt good.
“You’re just as much of a double-edged sword as I am,” Caro said. “We position you to show Joe’s a family man, but everybody remembers he was cheating on his wife when you were conceived.”
“This is all bullshit. Jane has nothing to do with this. She’s got a good thing going at school. You don’t want to mess with that,” Stick said from beside me.
It was sweet, kind of, that he was sticking up for me. Little did he know there was no room at this table for sweet.
My father looked at Stick like he was something from the bottom of his shoe. “I thought you were Caro’s help? How do you even know Jane?”
Stick looked at me, daring me to answer my father.
“He’s—”
“Irrelevant for this conversation. Stick, I know you mean well, but Jane is involved, whether she wants to be or not. This campaign—and governorship—will affect her. She might as well get used to that now, and be in on the decision-making process.”
Oh, crap. I hadn’t even thought beyond this governor campaign. What would it mean for me to have my father be the governor of Maryland?
There was no way a simple interview with Caro, then a summer of smiling and waving from a stage, would be the end of it.
It would only be the beginning. And somehow I just knew that Maryland wouldn’t be enough.
“This is bigger, right? I mean, Maryland is just the first step,” I said, looking at each of them.
None of them answered, but their faces all confirmed I was right.
“Oh, Jesus,” I whispered. “Jaybird will be back forever.”
