37
The phones were ringing off the hook when I came into the office on Monday. We had gotten a third line installed, and Charlie was manning that one, with Claire and Stuart on the other two. Every time one of them hung up, the phone rang again.
“What’s going on?” I asked Paul.
He grinned at me. “You missed a hell of a speech.”
“So I heard. But who’s calling?”
“The press—the Baltimore Sun wants an interview.”
“Take it.”
“Stuart already did,” Paul said. “The Montgomery Sentinel , the Prince George’s Sentinel , the Frederick Post-Gazette ,” he said, ticking them off on his fingers.
“No Washington Post ?”
“Not yet.”
I pursed my lips. That was the one we needed. Then again, I realized, I—or more accurately, my mother—might be able to swing that one if they didn’t call on their own. Mama had been friends with Anna Wainwright for decades—a relationship that had certainly been mutually beneficial for my father and Anna’s husband, who had taken over management of the Post when Anna’s father stepped down. I never liked Henry, but Anna was a Washington icon.
“And speaking engagements. All of Baltimore wants him now.”
Baltimore was a major victory—especially if the minority groups turned out to vote. Sam certainly hadn’t encouraged or inspired them to do so. We would never get the more conservative Annapolis, but if we had a strong-enough foothold in the rest of the state, particularly the most heavily populated areas—namely Montgomery and Prince George’s Counties—we wouldn’t need it.
Charlie stepped away from the desk in a brief lull, only for the phone to ring again. “I’ll take it,” I said, shooing him away.
He looked at me gratefully. “Thank you. I’m dying for a cup of coffee.”
We need more help, I thought as I sank into the desk chair. And now that we actually had the money to pay for it, I decided to give Fran a call. If she was still working the perfume counter at Woodies, a secretarial job would likely be a welcome reprieve. “Landau campaign,” I said into the receiver.
“I’m calling for Beverly Diamond,” a woman’s voice said.
“Speaking.”
“Please hold for Mr. Patterson.”
Great timing, I thought as I crossed my fingers, toes, and legs that the private investigator he had hired had turned something up.
“Beverly,” he said. “Is this a good time?”
I looked at the chaos of the office and saw the phone ring again within a second of Stuart hanging up. “A little busy, but it’s fine. What can I do for you?”
He sighed. “The private investigator has been following Larry for three weeks and hasn’t found a thing,” he said. “I would guess his lawyer told him to lay low.” He paused. “Have you given any more thought to talking to his secretary?”
I hadn’t. “Yes,” I lied. “I’ll do it if you think it’s absolutely necessary.”
“It’s absolutely necessary,” he said.
“Right. I’ll take care of it.”
“In good news, his lawyer agreed to the visitation agreement with only a couple of modifications.”
“Which are?”
“In your favor. He’s not set up for overnight visits— yet , he said. And he only wants a weekend visit every other week during campaign season.”
Of course, I thought bitterly. He wanted to take them when I actually had time to be with them. He knew I was working too now.
“And if all goes well,” Greg continued, “this will be knit up with a neat little bow by the time the election comes around.”
“You’re mixing your metaphors there.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind.” It was either all knit up or tied up with a neat little bow . But what would a man know about knitting or wrapping presents?
I thanked him and ended the call, the phone ringing again immediately. “Landau campaign.” At least I was too busy to worry about how I was going to convince Linda of literally anything.
By the time I left the office, the sky was ominously dark, thunder rumbling in the distance as a summer storm came in.
I debated going back inside and asking Michael for a ride. He had made it clear he would give me one whenever I needed it. But I had been enough of a burden the day before. And the spark I had felt when he put his hand on mine ... No—better not.
The rain held off until I got onto the bus, then began to fall in thick drops that pinged off the roof and reduced visibility even with the wipers on full speed.
The bus stop was only a block from my house, but I didn’t have an umbrella, and the newspaper I had brought with me that morning did little to protect me from the rain that seemed to be falling sideways. I was soaked through by the time I reached my front porch and wished I could shake off like a dog. Instead, I opened the door and yelled for my mother to please bring me a towel.
“Your great-aunt Ada would have skinned you alive for shouting in the doorway like that,” she said as she looked me over. “Don’t you walk in this house dripping wet. I’ll get a towel.”
“Why did your parents send you to spend a summer with her?” I asked as she handed me a towel, and I dried off as best as I could before removing my shoes and stepping inside. “You never would tell me.”
“And I still won’t,” she said primly. “Now go get changed before you catch your death. Why didn’t Michael drive you home in this weather?”
I pretended I hadn’t heard her as I went to my room and peeled off my wet clothes and changed into dry ones. If the storm didn’t let up, I wouldn’t be able to wash my hair, so I had to hope wetting and setting it would be good enough.
A huge clap of thunder boomed, and the kids both screamed. “What’s all this?” I asked, coming out of my room.
“Scared,” Debbie said, running to me.
I felt her forehead with my lips—cool and dry. If she slept through the night and woke up fever-free, we could stop giving her the Tylenol. “There’s nothing to be scared of,” I said. “You and Robbie make more noise than this when you don’t want a bath.”
Another boom of thunder punctuated my sentence and Robbie joined Debbie at my legs. I hugged them both to me. “In good news, unless it stops by bedtime, no baths tonight.”
Robbie looked up at me. “Really?”
“Really. It’s not safe in a storm.”
“Gramma will make us anyway.”
I laughed. He wasn’t wrong. She’d boil water in the kettle and scrub them down that way like people who lived before plumbing. “I’ll see what kind of magic I can work with her.”
When the storm hadn’t abated, Mama grudgingly agreed to let them just wash their faces and hands—a true sign that she was softening in her old age. That or the kids had finally broken her.
I got them into bed and then went and joined my mother in the living room, where she was watching television. “I have a favor to ask,” I said as I curled up on the sofa, tucking my bare feet under me.
“Ask it at the next commercial,” she said.
Thunder cracked again, and the power went out.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Mama said. “The one break I get. Do you have candles?”
“I’ll get them,” I said as I rose to feel my way to the kitchen. I found two, then fumbled in the junk drawer for matches.
I lit the candles, brought them back to the living room, and set them on the coffee table.
“What were you going to ask me?”
I sat back down. “Have you spoken to Anna Wainwright lately?”
She pursed her lips at me. “I’ve been a little busy these last few months. Someone doesn’t exactly give me time off—or pay me.”
I ignored the last part. “Do you think you could give her a call?”
“Why?”
“I want the Post to endorse Michael.”
“Darling, Anna has nothing to do with the paper. Her father talked about leaving it to her, but Henry expressed interest and that was the end of that.”
“I know she doesn’t work there, but I also know being in their social circle is practically a guarantee of an endorsement.”
She couldn’t argue there. Henry was the one who pushed for Johnson to be Kennedy’s vice president. And what the Wainwrights wanted frequently happened.
“I’m not sure Michael is exactly ...” She trailed off.
“He grew up poor,” I said. “But I didn’t. And I can give him the Pygmalion treatment for a night.”
She looked unconvinced. “He’s a very nice man. And he’d be a breath of fresh air in the Senate, but the Wainwrights ...”
“They like people in power. And is there anything Henry likes more than putting people in power?”
“They endorsed Sam last time.”
I met her eyes over the candlelight. “Who introduced Henry to Sam?” I asked point-blank. We both knew it had been my father.
“I’ll call her tomorrow,” she said. “But don’t embarrass me. I don’t want to lose my place at their parties if I ever have time to attend one again.”
I stood up and kissed my mother on the forehead. “Thank you, Mama,” I said.
After picking up my candle, I told her I was going to bed. But first I wet my hair and set it in rollers as best as I could with the small flame’s flickering light. I blew out the candle in the bathroom and made my way to the bed, where I found two squishy, sleeping forms. Thunder cracked again, and Debbie whimpered in her sleep. I kissed her forehead, smoothed her hair, and snuggled in beside her.