“Daniel’s going places.” She traces a finger in the sand. “Clearly. He was valedictorian, he got in early-decision to MIT. We’re alike that way…All I want is to get out of here.” She sweeps her hand across the horizon as though she could erase it with that one gesture. “I’ll apply ED to Columbia in the fall, I’ll get away from Tim and Mommy and Daddy and…everything.”
“Nan…” I say, then don’t know how to continue.
“Who’s he going to be, this Garrett guy?” Nan asks. “I mean, he’s gorgeous now, God knows. But in five years, ten…Just like his dad. Running some hardware store in this podunk Connecticut town. Having too many kids…Daniel and I may not stay together, but…at least…he’s not going to drag me down.”
I feel my face prickle. “Nan, you don’t even know Jase,” I start, but then he jogs up to us at exactly this moment, bends, his hands splayed on his outspread thighs, gasping for air.
“Hey Sam, Nan. Sorry, have to catch my breath. I gotta stop, Dad.”
“One more run,” Mr. Garrett says. “Just pull it out. You can do it.”
Jase shakes his head, shrugs at us, but wades into the water anyway.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Much to everyone’s surprise, and probably his own, Tim thrives at Mom’s campaign office. He makes voter registration calls in twenty different accents. He convinces ordinary folks who believe in Mom to write in to local papers about how their lives have been changed because Senator Grace Reed cares. Within two weeks, he’s even writing short speeches for Mom. She and Clay can’t stop talking about him.
“That kid really has it all going on,” Clay marvels as we drive to yet another meet-and-greet, where I stand next to Mom, trying to look wholesome and supportive. “He’s got smarts and he’s wily. Always thinking on his feet.”
“Yeah, well. Turns out it’s all about manipulating things—and people,” Tim allows when I repeat this to him. We’re hanging out in the driveway of the Garretts’ house while Jase works on the Mustang. I’m sitting on the hood, on a blanket, which Jase sheepishly insisted on, saying he didn’t want any of the primer scratched off. He’s wrestling with some sort of wiring issue. “Who knew that years of lying and bullshitting would be so useful?”
“You’re cool with this?” Jase asks. “Hey, Sam, can you hand me the wrench? God knows what the guy who owned this before me did. Drag races? The clutch is completely burned out…and the five-speed’s making this whining noise even though it’s still operable. Plus all the u-joints are loose.”
“English, dude?” Tim requests as I hand Jase the wrench. He’s under the car, working hard, and I feel this urge to kiss the line of sweat trailing from his throat. I’m out of control.
“Somebody didn’t take care of this car,” Jase responds. “But you—sorry Sam—you don’t believe in anything Grace Reed is supporting, Tim. You aren’t even a Republican. Don’t you feel wrong helping her out?”
“Sure,” Tim answers easily. “But when haven’t I felt wrong? Nothin’ new there.”
Jase ducks out from below the Mustang, slowly straightening up. “That feels okay? ’Cause I can’t see how.”
Tim shrugs.
Jase ruffles his hair, the way he always does when he’s confused or hesitant.
“So Nan went to New York with the boyfriend this weekend,” Tim mutters.
I start. I didn’t know Nan was going somewhere with Daniel.
“From what I can see, he’s a conceited douche bag who’s only going to wind up hurting Nan. But did I stop her? Nope. I’ve made a million mistakes. Time for ol’ Nano to catch up.”
Jase’s fingers close on something in his tool kit. He slides under the car again. “You’ll feel so much better when she’s unhappy?”
“Maybe.” Tim reaches for the Mountain Dew he’s been nursing for the last half hour. “At least I won’t be alone.”
“Samantha, you’re slouching. Stand up straight and smile,” Mom whispers to me. I’m standing next to her at a Daughters of the American Revolution gathering, shaking hands. We’ve been here for an hour and a half and I’ve said “Please support my mother. She cares deeply about the State of Connecticut” approximately fifteen million times. And she does care. That much is true. I just find myself feeling worse, more guilty, at each event, about what she cares about.
I’m no political animal. I know about current events from the newspaper and discussions at school, but it’s not like I go to rallies or picket for causes. Still, the space between what I believe and what my mom believes seems to be widening by the day. I’ve heard Clay talking to her, telling her it’s great strategy, that Ben Christopher’s big weakness is that he’s too liberal, so the more Mom talks up the other side, the better for her. But…last time she ran, I was eleven. And she ran against this maniac who didn’t believe in public education.