Hurricane Days (19 page)

Hearing noise downstairs, Robin rushed to change into a more comfortable outfit—a simple shirt and pants. She knew she needed to talk to Tom and Kendrick before they heard anything shocking on the news. She didn’t trust anything Adrienne was going to say. So much for Adrienne “declining” to be interviewed. She could only perceive this move, made without letting her know what she was planning to say, as a betrayal. As she buttoned the last button of a crisp, white shirt, a wave of fear rippled through her body. How could she tell her family? What would they think of her, knowing that she’d deceived them? Especially her daughter, who she wanted so much to look up to her. And Tom, would this be the final nail in the coffin for their marriage? Never mind what might happen to her career…

She descended the staircase, her palm moist on the banister, her head starting to spin. Though Robin had never fainted before, there was a first time for everything. She was struck with a sharp, sickening sensation—the thought of her father learning her secrets on live television. She almost couldn’t breathe. She started to feel the stairs move underneath her feet, until she saw Tom in the living room, which prompted her to stay alert and focused. He was very dapper looking in a gray, pinstriped suit. He’d just set down his briefcase to ask Kendrick how school was. Both of them stopped their conversation when they saw her.

“You’re home early,” Tom said.

“I need to speak to both of you,” Robin said somberly. Her voice was different, odd.

They followed her out to the backyard terrace where they could be away from the probing eyes and ears of the housekeeping staff.

“I can’t change clothes first?” Tom complained, loosening his tie. He removed his jacket before sitting in one of the patio chairs.

“No, this is important,” she said. It was also only a half hour before
The Jay Savage Show
would be airing on CNN. She tried to stay focused, but noticed Kendrick’s gloomy face as she slumped in the chair beside her. “How was school?” she asked.

“Sucked.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Robin cleared her throat, preparing herself. It was better they hear the truth from her, not from a stranger on a news show. She owed them that much. She said, “I have something to tell both of you.”

“Another woman came forward?” Tom joked, though there was a smear of bitterness on his face.

“No,” Robin replied, offended that he would make such a joke in front of their daughter.

Her mother’s deadly serious face got Kendrick’s attention. It was as if she could tell this wasn’t going to be some banter about one of her mother’s opponents. This was going to be serious, like death-in-the-family serious. She brushed the hair out of her face and watched her mother closely.

“I have to tell you…” Robin’s voice cracked. Neither Tom nor Kendrick had ever seen her so vulnerable. The strength seemed zapped out of her, replaced with raw nerve endings. “I haven’t been honest with either of you. I was afraid…if you knew the truth…”

Tom closed his eyes, opening them slowly, as if he knew what she was going to say.

“I’m sorry I lied to you.” Robin couldn’t look at either of them. “I was ashamed. It’s not something I’m proud of.”

“What?” Kendrick interrupted. “You smoked once and inhaled? What?”

“I did have an affair,” Robin said. “With Adrienne Austen.” She still couldn’t look at them.

Kendrick tilted her head, making sure she heard her right. “No way!” She was almost smiling. To her, it was probably a little exciting to learn her straitlaced, conservative mother once had a wild side.

“Yes,” Robin answered reluctantly. When she raised her eyes to meet Tom’s, she feared what he must have been thinking.

“Can you excuse us a minute, Ken?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Kendrick came over and kissed her mother on the cheek. “It’s okay, Mom. Even if the dweebs don’t vote for you, I still love you.”

“I’m sorry about your friend.” Robin felt responsible for everything her daughter had been going through. But like Scarlett O’Hara, she’d have to think about that tomorrow.

“Screw her,” Kendrick said, then corrected herself. “I mean forget it. I’m not talking to her.” She gave her dad a quick kiss, then looked at her mother again. “I still love you,” she repeated, then left.

Before Robin could collapse in tears, Tom reached for her hand. “You know that goes for me too,” he said.

She shook her head. “Tom…”

“Don’t say anymore. I thought maybe…”

“I don’t deserve your kindness,” she managed to say.

“You’re human.” He traced his forefinger along his chin, a gesture she noticed he did in times of stress. “I don’t care what you did in your past. But…I do care if this affects us now. Does it?” He dared to look at her, even though he probably feared her answer.

“You deserve more.”

He shifted in his seat. “You don’t love me? Or you can’t love
any
man?”

“Don’t make me hurt you. Please.” She rubbed her face, grateful for the shield of her hands. She couldn’t stand to see his grief-stricken face and to be the cause of it. Ruthlessness in politics was easy; she could sign a bill and never have to see the despairing faces of the people who would be harmed by it. Now, being the executioner who had to sit across from the one being executed was a different story. “I don’t know. Things are confusing right now.” She was sincere, her shiny blue eyes pleading with him not to ask her any more. He really loved her, and that was the worst part of all.

“Whatever happens,” he said, “I’ll be by your side. Divorces don’t happen to good Republicans.” He smiled faintly, repeating her father’s words.

“I don’t want this to hurt your reputation,” she said carefully.

He didn’t understand.

“She’s going to do interviews,” Robin explained. “I’m not sure exactly what she will say.” Her face was pale, worried.

“That’s why you told us.” He nodded, realizing her confession wasn’t completely a selfless act.

“I thought it better if you heard it from me than on the news.” She saw his disappointed smile and had to look away.

He rose from the chair and left her to contemplate this dramatic turn of events. As she looked out at the pastoral, endlessly green landscape, she wanted to stay in this peace as long as possible. But just as the green was eventually swallowed up by the horizon, she too would have to go inside and face whatever forces were going to swallow her up as well. When this was over, what would her life be like? She couldn’t imagine…

Chapter Thirty-Six

I lifted heavy hand weights in the university’s weight training room, alongside a bunch of sweaty muscle guys. I didn’t care that the room smelled like dirty socks. I didn’t care that some of the guys were gazing at me like sleazy nightclub singers. I didn’t care about much of anything, just lifting each weight to my chest—again and again. I hoped the pain of lifting would overtake the pain in my heart. But it didn’t. So last night was something Adrienne had to apologize for. I was her drunken mistake. Of course. What else could I have been? As I replayed the night over and over, with flashes of moments so real, so honest, there was no way she didn’t feel something too. She had to. I was overcome with humiliation, alternating between anger and confusion. I hated her. Or maybe I loved her. They were the same anyway, right?

Andrew, my friend from film production class, ran on a treadmill beside me, while a radio played the local heavy metal station. “This music is so vile,” he spat.

“And juvenile,” I added with pleasure and an extra dose of “snob.” I huffed. “Just like the people who listen to it.”

He marveled at my determined lifting. He kept glancing over at me. “God, girl. You’re fired up!”

But he misunderstood. I wasn’t an athletic person. Bending over to tie my shoes was about as strenuous an activity as I ever wanted to do. Weight lifters had too many visible, unattractive veins, so I wouldn’t be doing this full-time. And joggers could drop dead of a heart attack at any time. It was a proven fact, according to my mother, whose biggest daily activity was beating eggs.

Of course today was different. Somehow I didn’t care if I had a heart attack. My heart was already broken.

* * *

The same group of students always hung around the film lounge between classes, sort of like the regulars in a bar. Carol was a permanent fixture on one end of the couch, sprawled out and smoking in her floral-pattern sundress like a lump of flowers.

Seated beside her today was Gina Chi, the only other female in the film program—a New Age girl dressed in organic materials and sandals. “It’s a Bergman film,” she commented as Carol waved her away. “It’s set during the time when people were dying of the plague. The symbolism is really great.”

“Fuck symbolism,” Carol fired back. She crossed her arms like a spoiled child who wasn’t getting her way.

“It’s about people whose lives are filled with pain.”

“Well, why the hell do
I
have to suffer?”

I could hear them before Andrew and I walked in with our gym bags.

“Where the hell were you guys?” Carol demanded.

“Some of us were training for the Olympics.” Andrew shot me an all-knowing smile and scurried off to the bathroom.

“Where’s he going?” Carol asked.

“Restroom, I think,” I answered, noticing the matchbook that fell out of his gym bag. I picked it up.

“Good idea,” Carol said. “We should pee before we sit through five hours of the plague.”

“It’s not five hours,” Gina argued, rolling her eyes.

I turned the matchbook over in my hand. It read: “THE COBRA.” On the back was a picture of two snakes entwined. I eyed it curiously. It wasn’t anyplace near campus. I tried to guess where and what it might be. It seemed like some sort of a club.

Gina was still agitated with Carol, so she tried a new audience. “Bergman is a master of depicting pain and suffering.”

“Oh, like he’s cornered the market,” I muttered in a way that caught Carol’s attention. She knew something was wrong.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Never mind.” I glanced away, grateful to see Andrew rounding the corner. It was amazing how fast guys could go to the restroom.

“I want details,” Carol persisted.

Meanwhile, Gina dove into a book, ignoring everyone. She muttered something about how we didn’t appreciate real art.

I handed the matchbook back to Andrew. I tried to be delicate, but I was obviously curious. “Is this…a men’s club?”

He smiled secretively. “No, we get quite a few ladies in there too. You should come with me.” He winked at me as another student walked by.

“Two minutes, guys,” the student called. “Can’t put off the inevitable.”

Of all things, why did it have to be a Bergman film? I was already feeling dark and hopeless. I gave Andrew a sideways glance as we made our way to the auditorium. Was that wink because he knew my secret? Was it written on my face? The hard part about this situation was that I was so completely self-absorbed with my own lovesick drama, that I was convinced it was and should be very obvious to everyone. On the other hand, unless everyone was a mind reader, I could’ve simply appeared to be another brooding film student. I wouldn’t be the first. All the film majors wore black and walked around, making sarcastic comments. But I wondered if Andrew could sense others like him, like the “gaydar” I’d heard about in some of the books I’d read. Was I so obvious I was causing his gaydar to ping?

In the dark auditorium, Carol and I sat in the back. The last thing I wanted to do was contemplate the mysteries of death in black and white. My eyes kept blurring, and I’d try to casually wipe a stray tear away from my face so that Carol wouldn’t notice.

But she noticed everything. As we watched a man playing chess with Death, I felt Carol reach for me in the dark. She took my hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

TVs were set on CNN throughout the mansion. Robin watched and waited in the library, armed with a glass of brandy. She tried to brace herself for what seemed like an inevitable bombshell interview.

Jay Savage appeared stern in all of the promotions for tonight’s broadcast. “The mystery woman from Robin Sanders’ past comes forward.” Or “Rock musician finally breaks her silence about her relationship with Governor Robin Sanders.”

There was no light at the end of this particularly dark tunnel for Robin.

When she first saw Adrienne on the show, she appeared calm and relaxed, undaunted by the build-up and obviously frothing anticipation of the anchorman—not to mention everyone else in America and on Twitter.

“Did you have a relationship with Robin Sanders?” Savage was known for cutting to the chase, and he wasted no time tonight.

“Yes.” Adrienne nodded, a slight smile broke across her face. She was dressed more conservatively than usual, wearing a black pantsuit with a white shirt and small gold hoops in her ears. Her hair was smoother, not quite as wild, but still with blond streaks. Robin could tell it had been cut before the interview.

“Was the relationship romantic in nature?” he asked.

“Robin was my roommate in college,” she said. She seemed very confident and self-possessed, not at all a tool of one of Robin’s opponents wanting fifteen minutes of fame. She was clearly not like the picture Robin had tried to paint of her. “We lived together for a year.”

“Did you have an affair?” Savage pressed.

“No,” Adrienne said. “We were friends, nothing more.”

“What about the rumors that—”

“I was joking in a bar, and a reporter misconstrued what I’d said.” Adrienne was unflappable, even believable.

Robin’s heart was pounding so hard, she had to consciously remember to breathe. She wasn’t going to betray her. If anything, she was
helping
her? Robin’s mind raced to the three words Adrienne had said to her. Now more than ever, it seemed to be true.

Tom poked his head in, then made a beeline for the wet bar. “The woman can keep a secret,” he said knowingly. The room was too dimly lit for her to see if there was pain in his eyes. If there was, she couldn’t bear to see it. The idea that she could have spared her family any knowledge of her affair…somehow, clearing her conscience did not make Robin feel better. If anything, it probably raised more questions for Tom.