Defending Taylor (Hundred Oaks #7) (19 page)

In ninth grade, I worried that Madison and Steph were growing closer and that they didn’t need me as a friend anymore. To feed my bruised ego, I started hanging around Gabriella, this girl from Spain who was glamorous and sophisticated. I wanted her to like me because I thought that would mean I was also glamorous and sophisticated. To get her attention, I told her things I shouldn’t have, like that Madison had a crush on the basketball team’s senior forward. Gabriella thought that a freshman having a crush on one of the most popular guys in school was funny and told just about everyone.

When he heard the gossip, the senior went up to Madison in the dining hall, patted her on the head, and said, “I’m flattered, but you’re too young for me.”

The embarrassment turned Madison’s face purple.

She knew it was my fault, and for a while after the head-patting incident, I dreaded seeing her. I avoided her in the halls. I didn’t want to see the disappointment on her face. I wanted to crawl into a hidey-hole and never come out. But I apologized, and she forgave me, but that shame didn’t just dissolve. It stuck around.

That’s what I feel like on Election Day.

Six years ago, the last time Dad was up for reelection, I remember freaking out because mean girls at school kept saying, “
If your daddy doesn’t win, he’ll lose his jo
b
!
” That kept me up at night. I didn’t understand that he could always go back to work for my grandfather’s firm.

It wasn’t the end of the world.

But today feels like the end of the world. Because regardless of whether or not he wins, his reputation will never be the same, thanks to me.

After school, Ezra and I head to Nashville to join my parents, Oliver, and Jenna for the election results.

Ezra looks over at me from the driver’s seat. “You okay?”

“Not really.”

He reaches for my hand and squeezes it.

We drive to the Opryland Hotel, where Dad’s campaign rented out a ballroom. Tons of his supporters are here, waiting for the results that will come in over the next several hours. I take a peek inside to find an explosion of red, white, and blue balloons. Fun dance music is playing, and people seem to be having a great time.

Mom, my brother and sister, Dad, and his immediate staff have gathered in a smaller room next door. Unlike the ballroom, there is no party going on here. It feels like a funeral.

When Jenna and Oliver see we’re here, they stand up. Oliver pats me on the back and shakes Ezra’s hand, while Jenna gives Ezra a hug.

“Ezra, it’s so good to see you,” Jenna says in a sultry voice, her fingertips touching his chest.

“Well, aren’t you handsy as ever,” Ezra replies, extracting himself from her grip.

“Sometimes I worry you’re a succubus,” I tell her.

She winks. “Can you blame me? Your boyfriend’s hot.”

“That he is.”

According to the TV, Dad is ahead. I bounce up and down on my toes at that.

Camera crews from CNN, MSNBC, AP, and a bunch of other news outlets are here to film Dad watching the results. A publicist from the campaign tells the camera guys, “No footage of Taylor, got it?”

Talk about things I thought I’d never hear. I mean, I get it. People will be voting over the next several hours, so it’s best not to remind them that I exist. Still, I can feel my face getting redder and redder.

I sit down on a sofa near a television. Ezra gets me some crackers and water, but I’m too nervous to eat. All I can do is watch the results. Right now, with forty percent of precincts reporting, Dad is winning sixty-two percent to Wallace’s thirty-five. Other candidates account for the remaining three percent.

I inhale and exhale. Inhale and exhale. I can’t stop biting my thumbnail. After about an hour of watching results, it’s ragged, and the polish is chipped off.

Ezra grabs my hand and kisses it, twining our fingers together. He leans over to whisper in my ear, “I’m here with you.”

I nod and try to smile, but it hurts my face.

Over the next hour, Dad’s lead falls from sixty-two to fifty-five percent. Wallace is gaining. Whenever I look over at Mom, she has a fake smile pasted on her face for the media.

Dad walks by me a few times and squeezes my shoulder, showing he still loves me. Part of me wishes I could go hide somewhere, but I got us into this mess.

I have to face it. I have to stand tall.

The room grows quiet when polls close at eight o’clock, and the next report shows Dad and Wallace are tied at forty-eight percent. Eighty percent of precincts have reported. I cross all my fingers. I start making promises in my mind.
If Dad wins, I’ll never lie again. I’ll be a good girl forever. I’ll do whatever my parents say.

An hour later, and with ninety-three percent of precincts reporting, the race is still too close to call. Mom and Dad are holding hands tightly, unable to tear their eyes from the TV. Jenna looks up at the ceiling, her lips moving as if she’s talking to herself, doing math in her head, calculating our odds of success tonight. Oliver crosses his legs, shaking his ankle.

Then at nine thirty, the news says all precincts have reported:

Wallace pulled ahead by two percent.

With mouths gaping, Randy and Kevin look like they just found out the moon landings weren’t real. Honestly, prior to me getting kicked out of school, that would’ve been more likely than Dad losing the election.

My brother stares down at his folded hands. Jenna’s mouth hangs open.

Mom tries to keep a strong front, but tears roll down her cheeks. Being a senator’s wife—working with Tennesseans and volunteering—has been her job for eighteen years.

Dad lost the election, and it is all my fault. I let out a sob.

Dad reaches a hand toward me, and I go sit with him on the couch. “It’s okay, Tee. It’s not the end of the world.”

“But it’s your job. I’m so sorry, Dad.”

“I know.” He wraps an arm around me and kisses my temple.

I wipe away the tear rolling down my cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

“Senator?” Randy says to Dad, still looking shell-shocked. “We need you to address the crowd.”

Dad gives me a small smile and pats my knee. “Time for me to get back to work.”

• • •

The morning after the election, Mom and Dad are up early to take Jenna to the airport so she doesn’t miss her afternoon classes. I go out to the front porch and wave as they are pulling out of the garage. My parents wave back, but my sister flips me off, then follows with a thumbs-up. I return the thumbs-up and roll my eyes.

Back inside, I climb the stairs to Oliver’s room. He’s heading for the airport later this afternoon, and I don’t want to miss him before I leave for school. I take a deep breath, then knock.

“Come in.”

I push open the door to find my brother lounging on his bed, reading a textbook.

“Hi,” I say.

He sits up to face me. “Hi.”

“What are you working on?”

“Studying for my classics test on Friday.”

“Are you ready for it?”

“Yeah.” He shuts the book but wedges his finger in it so he doesn’t lose his page. “Did you need something?”

“I’m leaving for school. I wanted to say bye.”

“I’ll be down in a few weeks for Thanksgiving.” Avoiding my eyes, Oliver shakes his textbook and proceeds to dismiss me. “I better get back to it. See you.”

I look around his room, at the old-school record albums framed on the wall. At his stereo system. Anywhere but at him. Things have never been awkward between me and my brother before. I don’t know how to handle it.

“Oll, I’m sorry I disappointed you. I screwed up. I didn’t mean to hurt you or for you to think I didn’t trust you with the truth. I love you.”

He nods. “I love you too. We’ll talk soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

He goes back to studying, and I shut the door with a click. I lean my head against the wall, clenching my eyes shut. Will things ever go back to normal?

Will people ever think of me the way they used to? Will I need to prove myself trustworthy again? Once they doubt, can that ever be repaired?

• • •

The rest of my week mostly sucks, given how much Dad’s campaign and my name are in the news, but I must say I feel better than before, when the lie was bottled up inside. It’s nice not having to always be on my toes for fear that my lie might come out. And I’m glad my parents know I was never into serious drugs.

When I get home from school on Friday, Dad is already there. It shocks me to find him sitting in the sunroom, reading a newspaper.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I left the office early. I want to take you and your mom out for dinner. Unless you already have plans with Ezra.”

Wow, we haven’t gone to eat together in forever. “We were going to see a movie, but I’ll call him and cancel.”

“Invite him along. I’ll get a reservation for four.”

After I text Ezra, I shower and change into a sleek black dress for dinner, but when I get downstairs, I find Dad in a pair of jeans and Mom in a casual flowered skirt and pink blouse.

“Dad, I didn’t know you owned jeans.”

He cracks a smile. “Neither did I.”

“Tee, why don’t you go put on something more comfortable?” Mom suggests.

This is all so weird. First of all, my family rarely eats together. Second, did Mom just tell me it was okay to dress down? I change into leggings, a white blouse, and leather boots, then meet my parents in the front parlor.

Ezra is here, dressed to the nines in a black suit and shiny red tie.

“Why did no one tell me this wasn’t a formal dinner?” he grumbles.

Mom actually grins. “I’m sure you can find something to wear in Oliver’s closet.”

When we’re all finally dressed appropriately, Dad drives us to the Roadhouse.

“This is where we’re eating, Edward?” Mom asks, peering through the car window at the restaurant, which looks like a log cabin.

“I feel like a good steak and a baked potato.” At the look of horror on Mom’s face, Dad adds, “Don’t worry, dear. I checked. They have salads.”

Mom lets out a long breath of air.

“I didn’t know the Roadhouse took reservations,” I say.

“They don’t. I found that out this afternoon,” Dad admits, and Ezra and I laugh. “I learn something new every day,” Dad says.

We go inside the restaurant, where people are cracking open peanuts and throwing the shells on the floor. The hostess seats us at a little round table by a window. The centerpiece is a lantern, its wick flickering in the dark room. Before we can even get drinks, people start converging on our table to shake Dad’s hand. Everyone seems really sad about his loss, and some are pissed to have a Democrat in office. Dad is gracious and kind to everyone, even the nosy people who want to know what he plans to do next.

When everyone has gone back to their tables, the waitress takes our drink order. Mom seems a little horrified that they don’t serve wine, so she settles for iced tea.

“Make that four iced teas,” Dad says.

When the server is gone, Ezra clears his throat. “What
are
you going to do next, sir?”

Dad seems impressed Ezra has the balls to ask. “I have a lot of options, actually. I could teach or work at my father’s firm. I might take some time off to travel. I saw an ad for a Caribbean cruise that looks relaxing.” He glances over at Mom, whose eyes light up at that idea. “It’s hard to believe I won’t be in the Senate anymore… I’ll miss Washington. I’ll miss making a difference in people’s lives.” Dad’s voice is so sad, I’m afraid I might cry.

“You don’t need the title of senator to make a difference,” I say quietly.

Dad leans back in his chair, thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll consider the president’s offer for a position over at Treasury. One of his people called earlier.”

“But then you’ll never be home,” I say.

“You won’t be either,” he replies with a small smile. “It’s off to college with you. Your mom and I will be bored at home without you around.”

Since Dad was honest just now, I decide to do the same. “Mom, Dad, listen. I’ve decided I’m going to apply to some other schools…and not Yale.”

Mom sits up straight, shocked. She looks over at my father.
He didn’t tell her?
Dad doesn’t say a word, so I take a deep breath and keep going.

“I’m not sure what I want to do with my life, but I like the idea of being a museum curator,” I say, and before I know it, I’m totally word-barfing on my parents. “I love art history, and I think I want to major in it. That or history. Maybe minor in museum studies? Or major in museum studies and minor in business, like you want me to, Dad. That could be helpful if I’m running a museum one day. I’m still doing some research, but I think Boston University or GW or NYU could be a good fit. There’s also Vanderbilt, which means I’d be closer to home. The University of Chicago has an intern program, and I could work at one of the museums there. There are so many good museums in Chicago, you know? Well, in New York, DC, and Boston too. Yale is a great school, but there wouldn’t be as many internship opportunities in New Haven. That’s why I don’t want to apply there,” I ramble.

Mom sets her tea glass down. “Life is short.” Her eyebrows pinch together for a moment, and her eyes begin to water—she must be thinking of her sister. “You should do what you want to do.”

Dad simply stares at me. Finally, he cracks a small smile. “It sounds like you have a well-thought-out plan. Let’s talk about your college research tomorrow.”

Ezra squeezes my leg under the table and grins at me.

“Ezra Carmichael,” Dad says slowly. “Get your hands up where I can see ’em.”

Ezra looks sheepish. “Yes, sir.”

And I am all smiles for the rest of dinner.

• • •

When we get home, I invite Ezra inside.

“You can’t stay too late because I have my last soccer game tomorrow. It’s an early one. Eight a.m.”

“That’s fine. Shall we have dessert then?” He flashes me a killer smile.

“If by dessert you mean
dessert
dessert, sure.”

“I was thinking of the
other
kind of dessert, but I could settle for an ice cream sandwich. Do you have those?”