The Wrong Side of Right (16 page)

They’d flown my usual makeup girl up for the interview. She was more nervous than I was. “Do you think I’ll get to meet Shawna?” she asked, dabbing my cheeks with liquid blush.

When I emerged from makeup and hair, Nancy was pacing the perimeter of the house with her earpiece in, conversing with the air and delegating tasks to aides in hushed asides.

She interrupted her march when she saw what I was wearing—a blue short-sleeved shirt and black skirt, the closest match to the ruined dress that I could muster from my luggage.

“What happened to what we talked about?” Her voice was quiet but sharp-edged.

Gracie chose that moment to walk into the hall. Hearing the conversation, she halted mid-stomp, her eyes frozen wide.

“I spilled something on it.”

“Kate,”
Nancy sighed. “Well, that’ll have to do.”

Gracie looked wary as I approached, eyes turned up and head hung like a dog expecting a beating. I was still angry, but I confined my revenge to bumping her with my hip as I sauntered past.

“Thank you,” she said, so quietly I could barely hear it. She trailed me into the kitchen, where Meg was trying to cajole Gabe into eating some cereal. I poured my second coffee of the morning and continued into the living room. The TV was on, of course. There didn’t seem to be anything new in the news ticker.

The back door opened with a creak. Elliott strode in and held it for the senator, looking, as usual, like he owned the place.

When he saw me, his face contorted. “No!”

I flinched.

“I told you, hair up! Ponytail!”

My mouth fell open in disbelief, sure that he was yelling at me—until I saw my makeup artist cringing in the doorway behind me. My fists balled up.

“It’s hair, Elliott,” I found myself snapping. “It’s just
hair
.”

Before he could start screaming about the importance of minute stylistic details, I smiled. That shut him up.

“We’ll fix it!” I spun, grabbed the stunned makeup girl, and left the room.

Everyone’s wound up,
I reminded myself.
Let’s just get through this.

Once my horrifying hairdo error was fixed, the staff fled the house like it was on fire—first stylists, aides, and then, finally, thankfully, Elliott himself—until only Nancy remained.

As she trotted past me in the hall, she tugged on my ponytail. “You look
so cute
! Good call on the outfit.”

I was still glowing from the compliment when the senator opened the front door and Shawna Freaking Wells walked in with her camera crew.

She looked exactly the same as she did on TV, a tall, beautiful black woman with a chin-length bob and skin that seemed never to age. Seeing her here, in the flesh, right in front of me, felt somehow more surreal than any of the other celebrity encounters of the past several weeks. When I shook her hand—her warm, soft, actual hand!—my words of greeting sputtered and died in my mouth.

Shawna had been a morning fixture in our house in LA for as long as I could remember, practically an alarm clock. Every day, without fail, “
I’m Shawna Wells and here’s this morning’s news . . .”

If seeing the president and his wife was like watching wax figures come to life, today was that much stranger—I was meeting someone I’d known my whole life. And what was even more amazing, Shawna greeted us the same way—as old friends, a family that she was thrilled to catch up with at long last.

“Senator.” She clasped both of his hands in hers. “Thank you for welcoming me into your home.”

They started by getting what they called “B-roll” shots of all of us hanging out around the house. I noticed again what a nice job the campaign staff had done here, making it look lived-in, cozy, even a little messy. Shawna chatted with us the whole time, small-talk questions, off-the-record, like “What’s the best place you’ve visited so far, Kate?” I knew it was to warm us up, to get us relaxed so she could ask more pointed questions. They’d prepped me on that. Even so, I liked her for it.

When it came time for the first set of on-the-record questions, we all sat on the sofa, Gabe and Gracie to my right, and the senator and Meg to my left. Nancy orchestrated it carefully as the crew was setting up, making me wonder how long the aides had deliberated on the right seating arrangement for this shot.

The camera turned on and I gave Gabe’s hand a squeeze. Shawna noticed it, motioned to her cameraman. When she asked the twins how they liked having a new big sister, they stayed with what we’d practiced. Then Gracie added something of her own.

“I like that she’s pretty and that she’s smart.” She glanced at me, an apology in her eyes. “She’s a really good sister.”

In answer, I broke from the polite posture we’d practiced in “media training” to gather Gracie up in a hug. Gabe crumpled out of the way and we all started laughing.

“That was great, Kate,” Nancy whispered when we broke for a new setup. “They’ll use that. Nice work.”

During planning, they’d asked me whether I’d prefer to be
interviewed with just the senator or both Coopers. “Both,” I’d said quickly. Nancy seemed pleased, Elliott less so. I guess he hadn’t noticed how stilted my conversations with the senator still were, how much closer I was with Meg.

We shot this portion in another corner of the living room where the crew had rigged up a draped backdrop and a set of blinding lights. Shawna was studying note cards when we sat down.

Here we go
.

We were prepared for most of the questions. Nancy and Elliott had been smart to focus so much on prepping us—and accurate in their predictions of what “America” would want to know.

“What was your first reaction?” Shawna asked me. “When you learned about your father.”

“Mostly shock,” I said, the honest answer we’d arrived at by committee. “But once I met my dad—and then Gabe and Gracie and Meg—it all kind of clicked that this was my family and this was where I was meant to be.”

Judging by Shawna’s glowing reaction, my answer was a winner. I relaxed even more as she asked Meg and the senator how they’d told the twins about me. It was as though she was following the campaign’s script for how this interview would go.

Off on the sidelines, Nancy had a tight almost-smile, like a coach watching her team taking the lead.

The first surprise came after the cameras stopped rolling. Shawna stood and touched me lightly on the shoulder.

“I’d like to do a one-on-one with you, Kate, if you don’t object.”

We hadn’t planned this, but it seemed like a reasonable request, so I said “Sure,” just as Nancy stepped in to decline. Shawna looked to each of us for a response and I shot Nancy a reassuring smile. “It’s fine.”

She nodded, trust in her eyes. I was prepped. And besides, I came from a long line of Goodwin women, all of them strong. I could handle this.

But none of these questions were on our list.

“Tell me about your mother,” she started, and I pressed my lips together to keep from showing alarm.

We strolled along the edge of the woods outside the house, the cameraman walking backward just ahead.

“She was wonderful,” I answered, remembering the words I’d used when Andy asked. I smiled at the memory. “She was a great mom.”

“Did it surprise you to find out that she and the senator had an affair?”

The only reply that sprung to mind was the truth. I hesitated. But the cameras were rolling. It was easier just to answer.

“It
still
surprises me, actually,” I said, and felt my whole body relax the second those off-script words spilled out. “It doesn’t really fit with everything I know about my mom. She was an incredibly moral person, talked all the time about how even little actions can affect other people, how responsible you have to be.”

As Shawna nodded thoughtfully, my mind began to whir.

“Maybe it took this happening for her to learn that lesson. I don’t think she set out to hurt anyone, but she did—and maybe I was a reminder of it.”

It wasn’t a happy thought. My eyes hit the ground and it took effort to force them up again. Look out at the horizon, they’d told me in media training. It conveys optimism. Trustworthiness.

“You mentioned responsibility,” Shawna said. “Is that something you learned helping your mother at her nonprofit?”

“Definitely.” We’d touched on this a little in prep. “It gave me a sense of perspective—and it taught me how important it is to help people in need.”

That seemed like a safe statement, in line with my other sound bites, but Shawna’s gaze intensified. “Do you think your father shares those values?”

“I . . . um.” I swallowed, suddenly flushing hot. “Sure. Yeah, probably.” My forehead was prickling. “I mean—absolutely!”

I blinked hard, wishing I could take back all those ums and go straight to “absolutely.” What was the matter with me?

Shawna winced.

“Let’s switch gears,” she said, waving a finger for the cameraman to keep rolling. I nodded, grateful for the reprieve.

Then she said, “Is there a special someone in your life?” and my mouth went dry all over again.

“Um—n-no!” I stammered, newly suspicious of the twinkle in Shawna’s eye. She’d started her career as an investigative journalist. Did she know about Andy? The street had been
deserted that night in DC. But what if someone had seen? What if there was a rumor going around and I had no idea about it?

I drew in a steadying breath. “I’m pretty focused on family right now.”

“And they certainly seem to be focused on you.”
Phew.
She cocked her head for the follow-up question. “How do you get along with Mrs. Cooper?”

“Meg?” I grinned. This was an easy one. “She’s great. She—”

She should hate me, but she doesn’t,
I thought.
She’s a miracle.

Oh God, here it came. I was absolutely not supposed to cry.

I started to cry. Shawna touched my shoulder in sympathy.

“She’s been so accepting,” I managed, swiping the corner of my eye with my pinkie, praying my makeup hadn’t smeared on top of everything else. “She’s a wonderful mother too.”

“And your father?”

My tears evaporated. That question I had an answer for. One I’d rehearsed in front of Elliott Webb.

“He’s everything I always dreamed my dad would be.”

“So . . .” Shawna beamed down at me, that comfortingly familiar face, everybody’s best friend. “What happens after the campaign, Kate?”

My mouth opened—and nothing came out.

Because nothing could come out. I didn’t have an answer.

“I think that’s all we have time for!” Nancy ran into the shot and latched on to my arm. I held on to her as she whirled around and walked us away from Shawna and the crew.

Behind us, I heard them setting up for the last part of the day, a sit-down with Meg and the senator.

Why didn’t we prep that question?
I wondered.

And—more importantly—why did I still not know the answer?

18

Wednesday, July 23

Paying Respects

104
DAYS
UNTIL
THE
GENERAL
ELECTION

The Maine sky was a bright, cheerful blue. The mourners lining up to enter the little stone chapel cast their faces down as if to block it out.

The senator hadn’t spoken a word since we’d landed for this unwelcome visit. He’d stared at his speech with heavy-lidded eyes, his thumb rubbing the page as if to erase the words he’d written.

This was the kind of funeral that politicians had to attend. Supreme Court Justice Thomas Bellamy was well-liked by many in DC. And because he’d died so suddenly—during an election cycle—the press would be on hand to document exactly who showed up to pay respects.

But for the senator, this funeral was different. In law school, it was young Professor Bellamy who’d taken Mark Cooper under his wing and encouraged him to turn his attention toward a life in the public eye. I remembered Nancy saying that he’d given a thoughtful quote to the press right after my existence had come to light, and I’d heard the senator laughing on the phone with him from time to time. Apparently, Justice Bellamy had suggested we get our families together after the election was done.

But now, at the age of only fifty-nine, he was gone.

The press waited a respectful distance from the small church where Justice Bellamy was being laid to rest, cameras rolling. The senator didn’t open the car window when we arrived. Didn’t raise his eyes from the page. Meg watched him, one hand placed gently against his knee. The twins, oblivious, fussed in their black outfits, nudging each other with their elbows.

A large security detail flanked the church, their sleek suits clashing with the centuries-old stone walls surrounding the chapel. As we passed into the church, one of them pressed a finger to his earpiece, muttering softly.

Sure enough, the president was here. He and his family stood near the organ, the First Lady grasping Bellamy’s widow’s hand with both of her own. I could see the back of Andy’s head. He didn’t turn.

Mrs. Bellamy glanced around the president’s shoulder, spotting Meg and the senator. At the sight of friends, her face relaxed, grief showing even more plainly through.

To her right, three children stood in a staggered row, watching the crowd with hollow eyes. The youngest, about five, had her mouth pursed tight to keep tears in check. The oldest was a boy a little younger than me. He looked like he had just woken up to a nightmare.

As I watched him, the church seemed to tilt and then to sink. The room felt small, more people walking in behind us, and I reached my hand out as if to grasp Penny’s, but she wasn’t here, and my breath caught, my eyes pooling.

Meg glanced at me in alarm. I tried to croak an excuse,
but instead just squeezed past all the mourners and out the side door of the chapel, spots gathering.

I drew in a greedy, cool breath, smelling salt in the air. It took me a few seconds to realize I’d emerged into a graveyard. Past the crumbling headstones, I could see a lighthouse and the ocean.

“You all right?”

I spun to find Andy Lawrence a few feet away, his hand half extended, like he was waiting to grab me if I passed out.

“Yeah,” I lied. The word hardly came out.

Andy squinted, his head cocked. “It’s a little soon, isn’t it?”

“I think it might always be.” I steadied my breath as I stared at the glittering ocean.

Andy circled a stone angel, looping closer.

This isn’t safe,
I thought.
Anyone could see us.
All the same, I felt my shoulders loosen, my hands unclench as he walked over.

“This doesn’t bother you?” Andy motioned to the graves.

“Not really.” I tried to smile. “She was cremated. After the funeral, we sprinkled her ashes up the coast at her favorite beach.”

“In the ocean?” Andy stood next to me and turned toward the view.

I nodded, watching a boat draw its wake across the water. Andy’s pinkie grazed mine.

“That’s smart. You don’t have to go to a specific grave to visit her. The earth is seventy percent water, and it’s all connected. So in a way, you’re visiting her right now.”

I blinked away tears, the light from the ocean glittering
bright, blinding me. Andy’s fingers found mine and danced against them until they were entwined. I dared a glance. He was watching me—with concern, but something else too. Something I was suddenly desperate to define.

“Andrew.” A sharp voice sounded behind us and we jolted away from each other. I turned to see the First Lady’s expression travel from annoyance to shock and then back to placid politeness. Barbie face.

“The funeral is starting,” she said softly. Her eyes traveled to mine, a worry-line creasing her forehead, then darted away again. “I need you inside.”

Does she know?
I wondered, the usual question following on its heels.
Know what?

As Andy walked away, I imagined a cord connecting our hands, pulling me after him. Even once I’d sat down in the chapel between Gabe and Gracie, other people’s grief settling on me like a sodden blanket, I could almost feel Andy’s fingers sliding over mine, telling me through touch that he understood.

I woke from my daze to see the senator rise to the podium and begin his speech.

“In a time like this, a time of grief, of shock—a time when the world seems unfair, the universe uncaring, it is important to hear words of comfort. Of reassurance. But I’m here today as someone who was lucky to know Thomas Bellamy—and to love him, like a brother. So those reassuring words are hard to find.” He swallowed. “I’m angry. Tom was taken too young. And I’m angry about it.”

Everyone leaned forward. This was not the usual eulogy.

“But Tom believed in objectivity.” The senator paused, grinning as if someone had just whispered a joke into his ear. “His favorite quote at Yale was, ‘Let’s look at this from another angle.’ I’m sure his colleagues in the Supreme Court heard those words on more than one occasion—probably pretty maddening if you were about to break for lunch.”

Several people in the congregation chuckled in recognition.

“So, to honor Tom, why don’t we look at this from another angle. Thomas Bellamy’s time on this earth has ended. Let’s take a look at his life.”

As the senator’s words rolled over the chapel, it seemed to settle back into its foundation. The world felt orderly again. Safer. Looking around at the other mourners, I could see their own expressions changing as the senator’s speech unfurled. His words—they were helping.

I stared at the senator with new wonder as he concluded his speech. He seemed to fill the room, the churchyard, the coastline. It wasn’t just that he was charismatic.

He was presidential.

As we left the church, I searched for Andy, hoping to convey with a look my gratitude. But it was his father’s expression that caught my attention and held it.

The president looked worried.