Page 49

I know you won’t see this until after the game, I just wanted to tell you how handsome you look in your uniform.

I can’t wait to be there to cheer you on.

jersey, jacket, your number on my face, I’ll pull out all the stops.

Fitzy

Good. There shouldn’t be any doubt about who you belong to.

I roll my eyes and look at the TV, which has gone to a commercial instead of live coverage of the stadium in Tampa.

Shouldn’t you be warming up or something?

Fitzy

That’s done. Just wanted to check and see if you needed me.

Abby is on her way. We will be okay.

Fitzy

Yes. You will.

I lock my phone and sigh, trying not to feel guilty that I’m not there, even if this game isn’t a big deal for Fitz personally. That team? They were part of our wedding.

The doorbell rings and I jump, hurrying over to open it. I told Agent Samuels that Abby was coming and Cam would follow later.

“Come in.” I hold open the door. “Thanks for coming here to do this. I didn’t want to risk meeting somewhere public.”

Abby’s eyes grow wide as she takes in the space.

“Are you okay?”

Abby sighs. “It’s just a lot.”

Taking her hand, I give it a squeeze. “I know. But I want you to see something.”

I bring her to the dining table that we only use to store our completed puzzles, which Fitz, thankfully, was alright putting away in their respective boxes.

“I wrote a lot. When I was at Horizons.” I straighten one paper, a copy of Day 91, which I had originally written out but Fitz suggested I type instead. “I sent all this to your lawyer. These in the bags are the original copies. You’re welcome to read all of them. But based on what I wrote, I know when she got sick. And I know how many times the infirmary told her to,” I pause. “To tough it out.”

Abby’s face breaks. “I’m sorry. I…”

I pull out a chair for her to sit.

“I’m amazed you were able to do that,” she says quietly. “And I hate that. This just all feels so personal for you, Parker. These were written to your husband when you guys were kids?”

I slide into a chair beside her. “I never sent them. And I only told him recently. If I had known about Sarah, I…”

Abby shakes her head. “No. None of this is your fault. I had a bad feeling about that place when my parents sent her. And after? I tried. I tried to find others until it became too frustrating. But you found me. It’s never too late.”

After a pot of tea and reviewing what I organized, I talk to Abby about Cam, explaining how he had mentioned he would be interested in moving the bill forward. But to do that, we needed to make it a story . It needed national attention to get priority for consideration sooner rather than later. This is where Abby is wrong. Sooner rather than later matters. Because the longer we sit, the longer this abuse continues without reprimand.

“How do we do that?” Abby asks.

The convention is still an option, but my gut tells me it’s the wrong one. “We’ll talk with Cam today and see what he thinks. He should be here in a half hour.”

Abby nods. “Can I just use your restroom?”

“Of course.” I lead her to the hallway, pointing to the powder room beside the study where Fitz’s game is on. The Rebels are winning.

And today, I have a feeling, they’re going to win off the field too.

My phone chimes from where I’ve left it in the kitchen, and I rush to get it.

Congressman Cam

Hate to cancel last minute but I’ve been summoned to the White House.

A wave of nerves washes over me.

“Son of a bitch,” I mumble. I’m trying to think about what to text Cam back when there’s a knock at the door.

When it opens, I expect Agent Samuels to pop his head in. Maybe there’s a delivery. But it isn’t him. It’s another agent. Two of them actually. Neither of them I’ve seen before.

I slide around the counter so it’s between me and them. “What are you?—"

The two agents walk forward into the base of the living room area. “Where’s your friend?” one asks.

“What the hell is?—”

“Parker?” My head flings to the right when Abby appears in the doorway.

The agents turn in place, not approaching Abby. They only motion to the door with their hands. “Ma’am, I’m afraid we have to clear the place of nonessential personnel.”

I groan even though inside, I’m sighing. At least, it’s only Mom. “You can tell the First Lady my friend can stay.”

“Parker, it’s okay. I’ll go, you can call me later, okay?” She scoots past me, mouthing, I’ll wait downstairs , but I shake my head. I want her far from this.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Fitz will be home soon.”

He won’t. And something tells me that everyone in this apartment already knows that, but it’s worth a try.

Abby nods gently, understanding, and I walk alongside her to the elevators, seeing her out. When I step back into the apartment, I bark, “You don’t have a right to barge in here. I don’t care who?—"

“Hi, sweetheart,” Dad says from behind me. I jump, spinning on my heel. “Oh. Well, what a beautiful place.” He leans forward, kissing my cheek.

I shiver, and I swear, from behind him, my mother smiles at my discomfort.

“What are you doing here?”

Dad smiles tightly. “We were up in Brookline for a fundraiser thrown by some old buddies. Figured we’d pass by.”

“Actually, I was just on my way out.” I grab my keys off the tray sitting on the table in the entry and head to the door.

But now the two agents stand in front of it, making sure I have nowhere to go.

I cringe when Mom puts her arm around my shoulders and turns me toward the kitchen. “I’m sure you can make a little time for us,” she says.

I press my lips together, watching as my dad sits at one of the barstools. “What do you want?”

“To drink? Diet soda for your father and tea for me,” Mom says. “Anything without caffeine. I hate being kept up all night.”

“Who was that friend of yours?” Dad asks as I fill the kettle, wondering if we have not just decaffeinated tea but arsenic as well.

“She’s my trainer,” I tell them. “I’m riding again.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Mom comments. “Do you have a competition coming up?”

I lower my head. “Does it make a difference?” I open the drawer where I keep the tea bags. “The caffeine?”

“Without it, I sleep like a baby.”

I bring the kettle to the stove and turn on a burner. “I’m not sure why I thought something else might keep you up all night.”

Mom takes a seat next to Dad. “What’s that?”

“What you did to me.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Where you sent me.”

“Here we go.” Mom lifts her blonde head to the ceiling.

“Here we go?” I ask, dumbfounded. “Do you know someone died at that place? When I was there. She died because no one would take her to an actual doctor ?”

My mother folds her hands together and leans forward on the island. “Did you die, Parker?”

“Part of me did.” I give her the answer I should’ve given Madeline when she asked the same thing.

Dad sighs. “We put you there so you?—”

“Don’t feed me that bullshit. You put me there so you wouldn’t have to deal with me. You put me there because it didn’t— I didn’t—look good for Dad’s campaign. Just admit it!” I scream, reaching behind me and turning the burner off when the kettle begins to whistle. “Just admit it. I want you to say the words. I want you to say that your love for me—if you have any at all—is conditional on behaving in a way that looks good for you.”

Dad looks away, and Mom takes a deep breath. “In this family, Parker,” she says, “we all have jobs to do.”

“I was a kid. I was a kid who needed help. Not someone who needed to be locked away, to be tortured ?—”

“Is that what the meeting with Congressman Holdings was about?”

I step back from the island, and Mom scoffs. “What? Do you think you can just alert your security detail that a congressman is coming to your apartment and we don’t find out about it? Honestly, Parker, I thought you were smarter than that.”

My mouth falls open slightly, but I’m not sure why I’m surprised. “You’re right. I should know better than to ever have come back around and think, to help you. After what you did to me?—”

“Oh, would you stop with the theatrics! For god’s sake, Parker. That was years ago. If you haven’t moved past your experience there, it certainly was the right place for you.” She sits back, pulling her hands into her lap. “My only regret was not listening to James Foller and sending you there sooner.”

I almost fall down. “What? What did you say?”

“The moment you started acting out at school, Mr. Foller suggested we look into alternative treatment for you. He had previous students who had success in the program. But your father”—Mom points at Dad and rolls her eyes—“he’s a bit of a softy. He thought you’d grow out of it. But I knew all along. You’d only grow worse. And you proved me right.”

My heart twists and my gut sinks. My pulse pounds in my ears. I knew Mr. Foller was ruthless. But now I know, he’s evil.

“Mr. Foller said,” Mom continues, “that they had an excellent success rate in turning kids around. But I guess we can’t be right all the time.”

It takes a second for me to push the words through my trembling lips. “Get out.”

“Parker—”

“Don’t tell me to stop with the theatrics. I’ll never say anything more real than this.” I lean forward and stare them both down. “I hope you both go to hell.”

Dad looks away.

“Especially you,” I tell him. “You are a softy. You’re weak. And you know what? One day, the whole world is going to know that you’re nothing but a lying alcoholic who only amounted as far as his name would get him and needs his wife to carry him the rest of the way. Honey thought that about you all her life.” I pause, turning my attention to my mother. “And you. I don’t have words anymore, Candice. When Karma comes for you, you better be ready.”

Mom tilts her head. “What a joy you are. And to think we were coming to talk about Captain’s Cottage.”

“I don’t want it. I won’t be involved with your campaign at all anymore.”

Dad hangs his head. “Parker?—”

“Do you know what I was going to do to that place?” I lower my voice. “Burn it to the ground.”

Now I get something from my mother—the slightest tightening of her jaw.

I move to the front door and yank it open. “You can leave. And take your henchmen with you,” I snarl.

“Parker,” Dad says. “We’re not going anywhere until we talk about all this. Enough with the drama.”

“You clearly haven’t seen anything yet,” I say, pulling out my phone and swiping at the screen.

Mom rises from the barstool.

Ignoring her, I dial quickly. “Hello? Yes. I need to report a case of stalking.” I smirk at my parents before I tell the operator, “Yes. The address is four…You know what? It seems they’re leaving now. Thank you.”

I hang up the phone. My parents haven’t moved, and neither have the agents who stand curiously and concerned in the doorway. “Go. Or I’ll call them back. And then I’ll call every news station, every blogger and journalist and give a sit-down interview, and your bid to stay in the White House will end by the evening news.”

It’s a generational standoff, but I am Honey’s granddaughter. I’m not a flower.

I’m a bomb.

And for the first time in my entire life, I think my mother recognizes that. Because she walks out the door without any other demands from me.

And as I crumble to the floor, I physically feel like a bomb. Because I’m about to explode, and I’m afraid Fitz will be in my sphere of destruction.

But then I remember, he told me his greatest wish is that he stood up for what was right.

So I can only hope he’ll understand I need to do the same, even if he’s in the path of the bomb’s destruction.

* * *

I’ve never felt the need to check the lock on the door more than I have in the last hour. And worse? It’s still light out.

In my bedroom, I stick my secondary lock against the opening and shut the door against it. Then I climb into bed and yank the covers over me, hiding my head in the mound of pillows, searching for Fitz’s lingering scent.

I wonder if this will be all I have. I wonder if when it comes down to Foller and me, I won’t matter as much. Because how can I compete with someone he stands by so firmly? My racing thoughts of worst-case scenarios are so exhausting that they themselves are a distraction from the need to get out of bed and check the front door again. My mind takes me to another door, one you had to be buzzed into, one with letters on it.

INFIRMARY.

I trace the letters as I wait to be let in, but it’s only so no one notices that I’m trying to look through the glass into the normally curtained-off area where I left Sarah.

It takes longer than normal, but I wait. All I can do here is wait for each day to pass until we get to the end. Until I get out. Finally, the lock whirs, and I pull the door open, holding up my hand with the papercut.

She looks at me like I’m crazy. And maybe I am. “What do you need for that?”

“A Band-Aid, I guess.”

The nurse folds her arms over her chest. “It’s not bleeding all that much.”

“I don’t want to get blood on my uniform. Laundry day isn’t until Saturday.”

While I talk, I keep trying to peek over the partition. It’s only when another nurse moves that I see the bed where I left Sarah. It’s empty.

“Fine. Wait one second.” She turns away. “I’ll give you a few so you don’t come back and bother me for this nonsense.”

I nod, but inside, I grow panicked.

“Is Sarah here?” I spit out, and the nurse turns back.

“Who?”

I look back at the bed again, making sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. “Sarah. My roommate. She was throwing up,” I remind her. “I brought her in the other day.”

The nurse shakes her head. “I’m not sure who you’re talking about.”

My eyes widen. “Yes. You do. You were taking care of her.”

I know it was her. I remember her shamrock earrings. One of them is missing a rhinestone.

“If I did, and she’s not here or in your room, she’s gone then. Take these and go,” she tells me. “And don’t come back here unless you’re dying .”

I wake with a jolt, my face and the pillow damp with my tears.

Maybe I should’ve known in that moment Sarah was gone.

Maybe I should know now that it’s better if I go too.