Eleven
Eleven
AUGUST 2021
I order a beer, because when you’re sitting at a rooftop bar in the summer, the Washington, D.C., humidity blanketing every porous surface, it’s a requirement to order a beer. But as soon as the waiter brings over the frosty mug and I take a sip, I regret my decision.
This isn’t a relaxing afternoon to unwind. I’m no tourist, gawking at the White House. I already feel anxious about the idea of this meeting and the conversation that’s about to take place. The beer tastes bitter sliding down my throat, a sourness sitting in my stomach. I push the mug away and stare down at my phone, my knee bouncing up and down uncontrollably.
“Grant.”
I look up and Tess is standing in front of me. Her hands rest on her narrow hips. Time isn’t kind to some people, but Tess doesn’t fall into that category. She looks exactly the same as she did twenty-five years ago, except she’s traded cutoffs and T-shirts for power suits in jewel tones. Her long black hair is twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck, but a few strands have managed to escape, sweeping across her cheek. Her lips are pulled tight and her face is flushed. I’m not sure if it is from the heat or the anger.
“Want to join me?” I ask, motioning to the empty seat across the table.
When she speaks, I’m surprised by the resentment in her voice. “No. I don’t want to join you, Grant. I want nothing to do with you, but we’re both in this mess, so we have to find a way out.” Tess’s eyes survey the nearly empty bar before she eases into a chair, her nervous energy impossible to ignore.
She tries to plan for the unpredictable. This meeting location, in a touristy section of town away from political insiders, is as careful a meeting spot as possible for two people who look like they’re grabbing a quick drink before returning to work.
I close my eyes briefly. “Yes, Tess. You made that clear. Then and now. I’m well aware you want nothing to do with me.”
She’s sitting ramrod straight, legs crossed at the ankles. Grateful for the beer in front of me, I take a sip to break the tension. I sigh deeply. “We don’t have much choice in dealing with each other now. Show me the picture.”
Tess reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone. She slides it across the table. I’m confronted with an image I’ve never seen, yet it feels as familiar as morning coffee. My young arm is wrapped around Tess’s tanned shoulders.
If I were more in control, I would have remained expressionless. But that was never the case with Tess.
I smile as I ask, “Do you remember that day? We were in my mom’s backyard. I think we were about to sneak off to the river. Just like every afternoon that summer.”
“Don’t do this, Grant.” Her eyes are pleading when she speaks.
“Do what?”
“Start dredging up these buried memories. It’s not good for either of us.”
She’s right. I push the phone back across the table. “Where did this picture come from?”
“I have no idea,” Tess says, sighing. “My campaign manager received an anonymous email. Someone knew about us and held on to this picture for twenty-five years. Who would do that?”
Ever since Tess called and told me a secret photograph existed, I have been trying to answer that question. Shaking my head, I say, “I don’t even know who took this picture.”
Tess shifts uncomfortably in her chair. She looks away as her fingers twist the hem of her skirt. Tess fidgets when she’s nervous. I know this about her, but I don’t know why she’s nervous.
She finally looks me in the eye and whispers, “Your mother took the picture, Grant. She gave it to me that summer.”
My eyes narrow. “What?” I knew Tess kept things from me, but I didn’t know she had secrets with my mother.
Tess seems to sense my spiraling confusion. She speaks quickly as she explains. “Your mother took that picture and gave me a copy. But I didn’t keep it. I threw it away when you left. I haven’t seen that picture in twenty-five years, Grant.”
I stare at her, pushing aside doubts about whether she is telling me the truth. Because even though decades have passed, Tess is still the easiest person to read. Her eyes are focused and her lips are still. If she were lying to me, I’d be able to see it on her face.
“What did she say?” I ask.
“Who?”
I look at the ground. “What did my mother say when she gave you that picture?” I’m not sure whether I want to hear Tess’s answer, but when you lose someone you love, you cling to stories about them, especially those you’ve never heard.
“She told me to be careful,” Tess says quietly. “She seemed to know you would break my heart.” I watch as a glassy sheen appears in Tess’s eyes before she blinks it away.
I swallow. It’s been years since I’ve allowed myself to think about my mother and those final weeks of her life.
“I’ve always disappointed the people I love,” I say, unable to meet Tess’s eyes.
“Grant.” Tess whispers my name. I look up and something seems to have softened in her. “Your mother would be proud of you.”
“No, she wouldn’t,” I quickly reply. “You don’t even know me, Tess. Stop the bullshit.” My words come out harsher than I intend. But Tess knew my mother better than most, and proud wasn’t a word my mother used in describing her son.
“You’re right,” Tess says, swallowing, an iciness returning. “I don’t know you. And if Kay Alexander were here, she’d tell us to clean up this mess.”
I nod. “She would.” I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. “Any ideas on how to fix this one?”
Tess winces. “I have an idea. But you aren’t going to like it.”
“We have to start somewhere.”
Tess looks upward, running her fingers through her thick hair. She meets my gaze and hesitates before saying, “I think your father is involved. He could have found Kay’s roll of film. Maybe he had a copy of the picture and kept it all these years.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t even know she took this picture. How would he know?”
“Grant, it was sent to my campaign. You know what your father is capable of. The games he plays with the people he loves.”
“My father doesn’t love,” I say, trying not to think too hard about that reality.
“Ask him if he did it,” Tess says.
“I already spoke to him. He hasn’t done anything. The picture didn’t come from him.”
“He wants to destroy me,” she says, a tremble in her voice.
It’s a reasonable fear. I’ve seen my father destroy lives to get what he wants. I’m just not sure he thinks Tess Murphy is important enough to factor into his plans.
She continues. “You’re protected, Grant. You always were.” Her voice teeters between tough and frail. “That’s the part of this that you never seemed to understand.”
I look around the empty bar, momentarily concerned that someone may have overheard Tess, my eyes darting over to the bartender across the room, who is busy slicing limes, unconcerned with our conversation.
“If this leaks, I’m the one who will be judged,” Tess continues. “I’m the one who will lose my career and family. And your life will remain the same.” She may have lowered her voice to a whisper, but the intensity persists.
“I don’t know why I’m surprised by any of this,” she says. “I could never trust you.”
“You want to talk about trust? After what you did?”
“What exactly did I do, Grant? Please tell me. Because the way I remember it, you were long gone. I’d love to hear your judgment of actions you weren’t even present for.”
We aren’t fighting about the present anymore. She’s ripped off the Band-Aid of a wound decades old and I’ve waited years to have this exact conversation with her. “You didn’t give me a chance.”
She quickly replies, “You didn’t earn it.”
She’s right, but her words bite. We exchange a look, knowing we’ve both hurt each other too much for one lifetime. I can see her mind working. She’s trying to put together pieces of a puzzle that neither of us can solve. I used to love watching her think, delighted by the complicated pathways of her world. But now, it’s like watching the clock on a bomb wind down.
“Are you sure this wasn’t your father?” Tess asks.
I nod. “I’ve had plenty of experience with my father’s manipulation. Anonymous emails aren’t his style. His blackmail is a little more straightforward. I don’t know who sent that picture, but it wasn’t my father.”
She leans against the back of the chair, seeming to relax for the first time since she arrived.
“Relieved?” I ask.
“No. We still have no idea who is manipulating us. We’re just as fucked as before.”
A small smile creeps across my face. Because she’s right. But even in the midst of this crisis, I can still appreciate the bluntness that is pure Tess. Once, I had a front-row seat to her magnificence. Now I’m just a distant spectator like the rest of the world.
Tess motions for the waiter and orders a glass of sauvignon blanc. We sit in silence until she gets her drink. After she’s taken a few sips and I’ve downed about half of my beer, we both find ourselves willing to converse.
“Who do you think it is?” Tess asks.
“I’ve been racking my brain. I can’t remember anyone else that summer.” I find myself clenching and unclenching my fist. “That was part of the problem, I suppose.”
“How is your campaign reacting?” she asks. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. There is an unspoken rule that Tess has broken, asking about the details of our campaigns. But I suppose when we both showed up for this meeting, we knew the rules no longer applied.
I answer truthfully. “I haven’t told them anything. How much does your staff know?” I’m hoping that Tess has guarded this secret just as closely as I have.
“I told my campaign manager, Mara, that I worked for your mother. That’s it. She knows there’s more to the story. She threatened to quit, but for now, I’ve convinced her to stay.” Tess takes a small sip of her wine before continuing. “No one else knows anything about that summer.”
“Not even your husband?”
“Don’t mention my husband, Grant. And I won’t bring up perfect Cecilia.”
The last thing I want to discuss is “perfect Cecilia,” as she is often referred to in the media. In fact, I’d be happy if “perfect Cecilia” disappeared forever. I much prefer the version of my wife that I first met—the one who danced on bar tops and took spontaneous road trips in search of the best nachos. Cecilia easily slips into the mold of the ideal candidate’s wife—beautiful, polished, intelligent—but I miss her messier side. When she had tousled hair and wrinkled T-shirts because we stayed up too late playing poker with our friends, or trying to re-create a recipe from our favorite restaurant, or christening a new piece of furniture.
When we started a family, our priorities changed, and I’m so grateful that she’s such a dedicated mother. I just wish responsibilities didn’t erase fun. Because we used to have so much fun together, and now we review our calendars over oatmeal.
I look at Tess, and despite the fact that there is a twenty-five-year hole in our relationship, I know that she’d never morph into some sterilized version of herself. Even on the campaign trail, she’s been relatable and candid. The media has been replaying a blooper of Tess eating a hotdog, mustard dropping onto her blouse, and the toddler sitting at her side handing over his bib. Tess’s giggles with the child have gone viral. I’ve watched that clip too many times. But Tess isn’t my wife. She’s just someone I used to know who haunts my past. And threatens my future.
“You know my wife’s name,” I point out sheepishly.
A flash of embarrassment streaks her face, and then Tess’s stoic exterior resumes. “Of course I know her name. It would be very hard to miss the Republican Party’s Most Photogenic Couple.”
“I’m sure we’ll be replaced with another couple by the end of the summer.”
“I’m not so sure about that. The public loves blondes. Golden couples.” Tess self-consciously pushes away a wisp of her dark hair. “And those twin boys. You have children.” There is a slight hitch to her voice, signaling that those words were difficult to escape from her mouth.
I nod slowly.
“It’s hard to imagine you as a father,” Tess says.
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Because I’m not eighteen anymore?”
“Partly,” Tess says softly. The expression on Tess’s face is unfamiliar. It isn’t one of the easy smiles I memorized the summer we were teenagers or one of the focused faces I see in her print ads. Her eyes drift past my shoulder, her face almost wistful. I can’t let myself imagine what she is longing for.
I lean forward. “You and Mountain Man are pretty popular too.” Tess’s eyes narrow and I hold up my hands in surrender. “I didn’t say his name.”
“Let’s not discuss our families.”
“What should we discuss?” I ask.
“A plan. Until we know who has the photo, I think we should keep quiet. It’s possible that nothing more comes of this, right?” I understand the desperation in Tess’s voice, hoping for the unlikely.
“Maybe. But if there are more pictures, Tess, or this gets leaked to the press—”
She cuts me off. “I know. It could get worse.”
We both stare off into the distance. I wonder if she is imagining the dominoes of disaster that I am. It was necessary to erase that summer from our history, because of what happened, and because we both had to find a way to move forward. If the truth begins to unravel, I’m not sure either of us will be able to recover from those revelations.
Tess absently twirls her wedding band. I thought I’d be the person to put one of those on her finger. And yet, here we are, sitting across from each other, strangers and enemies.
“I should go,” Tess says.
I nod. She’s right, we’ve been sitting together too long. But I want to keep talking. I want more time. That was always my problem with Tess. I never knew when to stop.
I stand as I say, “When I saw that photo, it made me feel like that boy again. Our lives were so different.”
“Were they?” Tess asks rhetorically. “We’re still the same people.”
I think she’s joking, but she’s not. “No. We’re not the same as those kids.”
“I am,” she says defiantly, as if she’s convincing herself that there’s truth in her statement. We are standing on opposite sides of the table, our faces inches apart.
“Your confidence is the same, that’s for sure,” I say.
She rolls her eyes like a teenager, and it’s unsettling that one look can transport me back in time.
“You have the same …” There’s a grin on Tess’s face, but she hesitates.
I can’t figure out what she is about to say. A slight nod signifies that she’s stopped herself. This is a different Tess, because the girl I knew never thought before she spoke.
“You’re right. You’re a completely different person.” Tess’s face is serious. “And I wonder if I ever really knew you.”
Her words slap me. Of all the lies she must have told herself throughout the years, this must be the biggest.
I stare intently. “You knew me. You knew me better than anyone.”
Tess swallows. She must know I’m right.
“We made so many mistakes, Grant.” Tess’s voice hitches and I see the corners of her eyes fill. “I’ve been wondering if all of this isn’t exactly what we deserve. Maybe this photo coming out is our punishment. Maybe we should have to finally explain our lives to the ones we love.”
I understand what she means, because I’ve thought the same thing over the last few weeks. But hearing this, my stomach drops. Because there was a time when Tess was the one I loved and there was never a need for explanation.
I shake my head and gently say, “We were kids. We did what we thought was right.” I reach out to grab Tess’s hand, but she pulls it back quickly, wrapping it around her purse strap.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” Tess says, wiping away her tears.
“I’m sorry.” I look away. “I keep forgetting I hate you.”
“I know.” Tess nods, agreeing, and the sadness of this situation sweeps over me.
I want to reverse time and protect our teenage selves from the heartbreak we suffered, erase everything that happened. But at the same time, I know those months with Tess were the best of my entire life. I’ll never feel that way about myself again. I can’t help but wonder if she feels the same. Except I’ll never know because Tess and I are experts at avoiding the difficult conversations we should be having.
Tess walks toward the exit but stops and turns back, asking, “Why did you run, Grant?”
I shrug. “I was asked.”
“Your life was always that simple.”
“I never understood why some people make things more complicated than they need to be,” I say.
Tess’s shoulders scrunch upward. It’s the same motion she’d make that summer when we disagreed. We were teenagers discovering that the same world looked very different through two sets of eyes. It makes me answer honestly.
“I ran because I wanted to do something outside his control.”
“Your father,” she says softly.
I nod. When Stuart approached me about running, I was drunk on possibility. Someone outside my father’s influence believed in me. Of course Richard came around acting as if governor was a piece in his master plan. There’s no part of my life he won’t try to manipulate, but not even my father is powerful enough to buy off every Virginia voter. I want the job and I want the feeling of worthiness that comes with each ballot cast in my favor.
“How’d you switch from woodworking to politics?” Tess asks.
I grin. Of course she remembers some stupid teenage idea I confessed at a time when Tess gave me hope that anything was possible.
“This seemed more realistic,” I say, smiling. “Why did you run, Tess?”
“I’ve always wanted this. You know that.”
“You wanted to conquer the world. I didn’t know governor of Virginia was one of your stepping stones. When I saw your name on the short list of the potential Democratic candidates, I almost dropped out.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I never imagined that this would happen,” I say, gesturing at the space between us. “I never thought we’d be running against each other. Once that became more likely, I was in it too deep to leave.”
A small smile creeps across Tess’s face. “You didn’t think I’d win the nomination? You underestimated me.”
I can’t help but smile. “I forgot how much you enjoy being underestimated.”
Tess cocks her head to the side, looking out over 15th Street and across to the White House. “I didn’t want to conquer the world. I wanted to change the world. I thought you knew that.”
That summer, I saw Tess’s heart search for ways to make the world kinder than the place she knew. Mostly by trying to fix my broken family. I thought she’d eventually realize it’s impossible to force change upon others.
“If you get what you want, I lose,” I say.
Tess’s face crumples before I realize that I’ve said those words before.
That was the last thing I told Tess when she left my room that day years ago. I see the devastation on her face and realize, Tess never learned. She’s still making the same mistake, hoping for change that will never come. Tess does the same thing she did twenty-five years ago. She runs away.