Chapter 12 #2
When the press conference begins, Eleanor doesn't time herself in her head.
She knows this is probably the shortest speech she's given in her entire career and also — though no one in that room knows it — the one that costs her the most. Not because of the words; those she has under control.
Fischer is good, but Eleanor is better, and the text they've put together in two hours is flawless.
It costs her because of what the words mean, because of what Eleanor knows is left after this — an empty office and a position she won't hold anymore, after all these years.
"Effective immediately, I am stepping down from my duties as congresswoman and as party leader in order to facilitate the ongoing investigation and ensure the highest level of institutional transparency.
" She pauses for two seconds. "I want to make clear that my decision to step aside is not an acknowledgment of any responsibility for the events under investigation.
It is a decision I am making because the party and the people of Illinois deserve a clean process, and my continued presence in this office would hinder that process.
" Eleanor looks at the reporters in front of her.
"In my absence, the party will be in the hands of Congresswoman Patricia Webb, in whom I have full confidence. "
The camera flashes bother her more than they ever have today, and she'd rather not still be standing there, but she has to finish her statement.
"As for my personal life, I ask that you respect my privacy," she adds coolly, in a tone that makes it plain no one has any business intruding on what is happening in her marriage. "This is a matter that concerns only Daniel and me."
Hands go up and Eleanor takes only four questions directly, then thanks them and steps away from the podium without breaking — at least not in public.
Three hours later, Eleanor walks through the front door of her house. She knows Daniel is there, and she goes looking for him immediately. He's in the living room, his laptop closed on the table, his face tight — an expression she knows means he's sorry. Idiot.
"Eleanor," he says when she walks in.
She crosses the room and stands in front of him, because sitting down would imply a long conversation, and Eleanor doesn't have the energy for one that lasts hours — only for one that lasts as long as necessary.
"How long?" She fires the question without wasting a second.
Daniel opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. There's anguish in his eyes.
"How long, Daniel?" This time Eleanor presses, jaw tight.
"Eight months," he finally says, and the pause that follows leads somewhere she doesn't want to go. "But before that there were—"
"Don't tell me about the others," Eleanor cuts in. "I don't care about the others."
Daniel stands and takes on a posture Eleanor recognizes as that of a man bracing himself to ask for something he knows he doesn't deserve.
"I know our marriage isn't what it used to be." His voice is careful — Daniel has rehearsed this. "But it's a solid marriage, Eleanor. It works for both of us. We can find a way to—"
Eleanor laughs. It's an involuntary laugh, the kind that escapes when you hear the most absurd thing imaginable on a day that already had too much absurdity piled on top of it.
"A solid marriage?"
"Eleanor—"
"Daniel." She steps forward, and in his eyes his wife seems taller.
"Our marriage was over years ago — we both know that.
It worked in its way because there was an unspoken agreement we both kept.
" She pauses to pinch the bridge of her nose.
"You owed me public respect. That was the only thing I asked of you, and that included, at minimum, having the decency to be discreet. "
Daniel goes pale and opens his mouth.
"No." Eleanor raises one hand. "I'm done."
She turns and walks toward the stairs when she hears Daniel's voice behind her again.
"The scandal doesn't have to end us," he says. "If we present a united front—"
Eleanor stops on the first step.
"Don't ask me to save your image at the expense of mine, Daniel. I've had enough of that for one day. I want you out of here before tonight."
Daniel takes a step forward and opens his mouth to protest, but there's nothing he can say — because the house belongs to the congresswoman, or the former congresswoman.
It's well past midnight when Eleanor steps out onto the small balcony off the bedroom — the only one private enough that the press vultures can't get to her — because she needs air.
She has a half-finished cigarette in her hand and feels the Chicago air cut across her skin, a sensation she's grateful for because it's something physical and concrete, and those are the things keeping her in the present tonight instead of getting lost in the future scenarios her mind won't stop building.
She stands there for a while, staring into the dark, exhausted from three days of listening to her soul break apart piece by piece while she could do nothing about it.
She's lost, and she has the feeling it's the first time she's been lost to this degree — the kind where she genuinely doesn't know what to do next.
She takes the last drag and stubs the cigarette out on the balcony railing. Tomorrow will be another day, and she'll find a way to face it.