The Wrong Side of Right(9)

This isn’t about me at all.

But did it matter?

I didn’t know the senator well enough to trust him—that was a fact. But if I said no now, would I ever get the chance again?

Past the fence, the press chattered to their cameras, and inside, the masses of staffers placed calls, made plans. But out here, all I could hear was the quiet tapping of rain on plastic. I closed my eyes and listened.





4


Thursday, June 12

Visiting My Long-Lost Family 145 DAYS UNTIL THE GENERAL ELECTION



If the flight attendant recognized me, she did a good job of pretending not to.

“Beverage before takeoff?” she offered.

“Thank you!” I reached across my seatmate for a cup of orange juice. Tim, the aide that the campaign had assigned me, held his newspaper way back like he was terrified I’d spill something on it. I hazarded a smile. “I’ve never flown first class before.”

Sighing, Tim crammed away the newspaper and pulled out an e-reader. He was probably mid-twenties, awkwardly skinny, with a giant Adam’s apple bobbing above the collar of his boxy suit.

“Do you live in DC too?” I asked, by way of, you know, friendly conversation.

“Yeah.” He stuck on a giant pair of noise-canceling headphones. I snuck a look at his screen, spotting something about “jellybeans” and the “INF Treaty.” My AP brain whirred. A biography of Ronald Reagan? Okey dokey.

Tim and I were clearly not going to be pals. He hadn’t for one second warmed to me since he’d piloted me out of the house, through the backyard, over the fence, past my neighbors’ houses, and down the block to a waiting Town Car in the 4:00 A.M. darkness to keep the press from noticing. At first I’d interpreted his silence as grogginess, but after the fourth “Thank you!/grunt” exchange, it occurred to me that Tim was sulking.

He probably blamed me for derailing the senator’s campaign, like I was some dastardly mastermind, plotting to destroy his beloved Republican Party. Step One of Evil Plan: Birth.

If only I were plotting all this. Then I’d know what to do now, exactly what to say when I met Margaret Cooper—the one person who had a legitimate reason to despise me.

My stepmother. Officially.

Nancy had called late last night as I was packing for the weekend.

“The tests came back.” I held my breath, in some weird way clinging to that last moment of ambiguity. “Congrats, Kate. He’s your dad!”

I wasn’t sure congrats was the right sentiment, but I appreciated her attempt, and kind of wished that she were waiting for me in Maryland instead of the senator and three strangers.

Not strangers, I reminded myself. My family.

• • •

The Coopers’ Maryland home was sprawling and grand, surrounded by a high iron fence and acres of green lawn, old oaks dotting the property as if they were keeping guard. It was built in a style that I guessed was Colonial—the wooden exterior was painted a clean, crisp white, but you got the sense that this house had been here for hundreds of years.

When we pulled into the circular front drive, I saw the senator waiting on the porch, a huge oak door ajar behind him. Beside me, Tim perked up like he’d been poked with a cattle prod. He smoothed his suit, and as soon as the car stopped, leaped out to open the door for me and carry my little bag to the house. I shot him a sidelong glare, remembering what little help he’d been this morning as I’d clambered over wooden fences with it slung across my shoulder.

As I reached the top of the brick stairs, the senator gave my arm an awkward pat, then turned brightly to Tim, hand extended. “Thank you for your help today, son.”

“It was my pleasure, sir. Your daughter is delightful.” Tim shot me what I’m sure he thought was a million-dollar grin as he trotted back to the car.

Delightful. Whatever, Tim.

The senator coughed. “Come on in.”

Stock smile in place, I stepped into the house and prepared to greet the family, but the only person in the gleaming front foyer was the security guy from back in South Carolina, the one who’d pulled me from the mob of reporters.

“Oh, hi again!” I grinned. “I’m Kate, by the way.”

“I know.” He winked. “James.”

“Nice to meet you.”

The senator hesitated at the far end of the room, apparently perplexed by the exchange. “Meg’s out back. Come say hello.”

We passed room after lovely room, a bright parlor, a dining area, a wood-paneled library, plodding along in heavy silence. It was fine with me, despite the awkwardness. I had too many questions to know where to start, and besides, I’d have the whole weekend to get to know him. At the thought of it, I glanced over, but the senator was frowning into his phone.