Edgewater (30 page)

“I said I didn't want any, Annette,” Julia said sharply. “I need you to get this down—we need a motorcade into the city. Franklin attended the Church of the Heavenly Rest when he was a child, so I want the public viewing there. Then a flight down to DC, and another motorcade to the service at National Cathedral. I was up all night, and I've got fifteen hundred people on the guest list so far—”

“Mom?” Charlie said.

“Charlie. I wondered where you'd gone.” She seemed about to say something else, but then she noticed Lennox and me hanging in the doorway. “May I help you?”

“This is Lorrie and Lennox,” Charlie said. “You met them at the party. They just got here.”

“I'm so sorry, Mrs. Copeland,” Lennox said, her voice thick again.

“Me, too,” I said.

“Thank you, girls,” Julia Copeland said. “But I'm sure you understand that this is not the best time. Annette will show you out.” She nodded toward her assistant.

“I've got it,” Annette said.

“No,” Charlie said. “I asked them to come. I want them to be here.”

“Oh, Charlie, at a time like this? We're in the middle of making all the arrangements.”

“I didn't think—” Charlie started, but then he cut himself off and tried again. “It's only been a few hours.”

“There's so much to plan,” Julia Copeland said. “It's good to plan.” And for a split second she sounded vulnerable. But she recovered quickly. “There are fifty-six senators attending and nearly a hundred from the House. The Secretary of State, the President. I'm expecting you to speak.”

“I'm not sure I want to,” Charlie said.

“This is for your father,” Julia Copeland said. “It's not about what you want.” She turned to Annette. “What did Victor say his ETA was?”

My gut twisted at the mention of his name.

“An hour,” Annette said. “And the senator's chief of staff and communications director are on their way.”

“It's
not
a good time for guests,” Julia told her son.

“You have your people here,” Charlie told her. “I want mine.”

I was embarrassed that I took pleasure in that: We were his people. Lennox stood beside me, her eyes wide at this unbelievable scene.

“They'll help me with my speech,” he said.

Julia Copeland let out a deep breath, and I could tell she'd surrendered. “Where will you be?”

Charlie shrugged. “I don't know. Somewhere outside.”

“The officers are working on securing the perimeter,” Annette said.

“That's right,” Julia said. “You can't go outside right now.”

The phone in Annette's hand rang, and she answered it. A few seconds later she held it out toward her boss. “Julia, the President is on the line.”

“Stay close,” Julia told Charlie. Then she took the phone. “Hello, Mr. President,” she said.

I half expected Charlie to grab our hands and say, “Now's our chance,” and make a run for it. Instead, he only walked us up a flight of stairs to an atrium that looked out on the ocean. Charlie gestured toward the Point. “It was my dad's favorite place in Idlewild,” he said. “He never said it quite like that. He wasn't the kind of guy to list his favorites. But he was always looking at it.”

I looked out at the Point. There in the distance were specks of things that might have been a car and a crane. “We could go to another room,” I offered.

“No, it's all right,” Charlie said. “I want to look at it.”

“Do you think that's why he was driving there?” Lennox asked. “To look at it up close?”

“I don't know,” Charlie said. His phone pinged, and he pulled it out of his pocket. “Sebastian is in Rome, and he's been texting every twenty minutes like clockwork.”

“I'm sure he feels bad that he's not here.”

“He switched his ticket so he'll be back for the service,” Charlie said. Then, to himself, he added, “More of a show than a service. It'll be such a spectacle.”

I remembered the spectacle of his grandfather's funeral that we'd seen on TV. People lining the streets like spectators at a parade. Inside, the pews were packed with a couple thousand of the most important people in the country—in the world. And thirteen-year-old Charlie, in his black suit, sat in the front row beside his parents.

In this version of the spectacle, Charlie would be next to his mother. I pictured myself on his other side, comforting him.

God, what was wrong with me?

Charlie tapped out a message on his phone and pocketed it again. “I can call for breakfast if you guys want.”

“We don't need anything,” I said quickly.

“Yeah, we're not here to be fed,” Lennox said. “We're just here for you. Whatever you need.”

“I gotta eat anyway,” Charlie said. He stood to pick up the house phone on a side table and asked whoever was on the other end—Annalise, I imagined—to send up a spread. He glanced back at me. “And a Coke,” he added.

When he sat back down, he stared out at the Point, and I watched him. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but that seemed like the wrong thing to do. You can't help the thoughts you have in your head, but privately I admonished myself for having all the wrong ones. “I just want to say . . .” I started.

He turned to me. “What?”

“I'm really sorry about yesterday.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It does,” I said. “I was so rude to you at the barn. And then, when I came here afterward—”

He cut me off. “Let's not talk about it.”

“Okay,” I said.

He looked back out the window. In profile, he looked so much like his father.

“Do you want to work on the speech, then?” I asked.

“I was thinking about what we talked about on the Fourth,” Lennox said. “How he said you can't ignore the past if you want to step boldly, confidently into the future. You could say something about that and maybe tie it to your dad's work and his legacy.”

“That's a nice idea,” Charlie said. “But my mom doesn't really want me to write it myself. The funeral is going to be a campaign event for her, so whatever I say will be written by her team and approved by Victor Underhill.”

I felt the trademark Victor Underhill gut twist.

“Can I ask you something?” Lennox asked.

“Shoot,” Charlie said.

“What's the name of Victor Underhill's company?”

“I don't know,” Charlie said. “Why?”

“I just wondered what his job was.”

“He's a political consultant.”

“So, you call him if you're running for office?”

“Yeah, or if your dad suddenly drives off a cliff.”

Lennox and I shifted uncomfortably.

“Sorry,” Charlie said. “I just meant he's the go-to guy if something goes wrong.” He shook his head. “I don't know why my dad had to pick last night to drive, out of all nights,” Charlie said quietly. “Given the state he was in.”

“Was he not supposed to drive?” Lennox asked. I could see the wheels turning in her head: The senator would certainly
have been advised not to drive if he had a drinking problem.

“Why? Are you going to blog about it?” Charlie asked. His voice had a sudden edge.

“No, of course not,” Lennox said. “I'm here as a friend.”

Charlie nodded.

I was flushed from head to toe. “I just need to say, if I did anything to upset him yesterday, I'm really sorry.”

“He was having a hard time lately. It didn't have anything to do with you.” Charlie paused. “I'm glad you guys are here. But can we just not talk for a little while?”

Lennox and I both mumbled our assent. A few minutes later a cart arrived full of bagels and croissants and various butters and jam, plus fresh-squeezed juice, and coffee, and of course the soda for me—which Annalise opened and poured, as if I couldn't do it myself. I didn't really want it, but I took a sip to be polite. Lennox grabbed a dry bagel, but she turned it over in her hands instead of eating it. Charlie didn't make a move for any of the food. His phone pinged on the table where he'd left it, presumably with the next text from Sebastian. But when Charlie picked it up to look at the screen, his voice came out awestruck. “Oh God, it's Shelby,” he said, and he stood up. “She wants to come. I've got to . . . I'll be right back.”

He walked out faster than you'd ever want the boy you liked to leave a room while you were still in it. I felt like an idiot. Of course he'd leave me in a room to go talk to Shelby. Maybe this tragedy would even bring them closer together. I felt bad for myself, and I felt bad for feeling bad, because this day and this house and the aftermath of everything that had happened were not about me.

“Lorrie,” Lennox said, but I waved a hand to stop her. I didn't want to talk about it. So we sat in silence, looking out at the exact spot of the ocean where the senator had died.

“Maybe we should go,” I said.

“If you think that's best. Whatever you want.”

“I think it would be easier for him if we did.”

“All right.”

We walked downstairs very quietly, as if we were walking through a church. Down the hallway past the library, now empty. A crowd remained in the dining room, though it had thinned. But now there were more voices in the house, coming from the main foyer. They got louder as we drew closer. I hoped Victor Underhill's wasn't among them. Much as I wanted my questions answered, I didn't want the responsibility of having to deal with it right then. I stopped short, a couple of rooms away from the foyer, to brace myself, just in case.

“You all right?” Lennox asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

I was about to step forward again, but then I heard one voice ring out over the din of the others: “Let me see my niece! Lorrie!”

Lennox and I looked at each other, eyes riveted. All at once I realized how foolish I'd been—worrying about Shelby, worrying about Underhill. When my biggest problem was a few yards away, in the main foyer of the Copeland Compound. I thought I might die there, in the hallway, with Lennox beside me. And, honestly, right then I wished it would happen. I wished the floor would open and swallow me whole. Or I wished a bomb would go off. Even if its casualties included
people I loved, too. Anything to prevent what was about to happen.

Charlie appeared from around the corner. “I was just coming to get you,” he said. “There's a woman here—she says she's your aunt, and, well, she's creating a scene. My mom just can't take it right now.”

I nodded, speechless. I could still hear Gigi's voice. Now it was all I could hear.

“Can you come out?”

Lennox gently pushed me forward. Gigi was smack in the center of the room. She was wearing a new dress. But she was also in house slippers, she hadn't brushed her hair, and her right arm was in the tight grip of Officer Tim Blum.

Tim Blum, who was oh-so-familiar with my family because of all the calls he'd fielded over the years from our friendly neighbor Richard Deighton, railing against Edgewater. Susannah was standing on Gigi's other side. Brian was next to her, glancing around as if he was casing the joint. A dozen other people were observing the scene—Julia, Annette, Brock, some of the campaign workers, and staff members in uniform. Mouths gaped open at the sight of my aunt straining to break free of a police officer's grip.

“Lorrie,” Susannah said. “You
are
here.”

“I told you she was,” Gigi said. Her eyes were wide and wild, like those of an animal in a trap. She made a move toward me, but Blum pulled her back.

“Don't hurt her,” I said. “I'll get her out of here.”

“Wait,” Charlie said. “This
is
your aunt?”

“Yes,” I said softly.

“Lorrie likes to pretend she doesn't know us,” Brian said.

Lennox reached toward me. But I couldn't touch her. I could barely look her way. I felt bad for even having a best friend. If I'd stayed close to home and kept my life small, like Susannah, I wouldn't have to endure humiliation out in the world. Everyone in that room was looking back and forth among Gigi, Susannah, Brian, and me—the imposters. I was in the horror movie of my life all over again. My eyes filled, and I clenched my fists, just trying to hold it together, to get out of this scene.

“I thought the perimeter was secure, Officer,” Annette said.

“She got in because she said her niece was here, but we have a larger team working the gate now.”

“And what about these people?”

“We're leaving,” I said. I stepped toward Gigi and grabbed her hand, yanking her from Tim Blum.

“You mean we're not getting a tour?” Brian asked.

I glared at him. “Shut up.”

“Sorry, Lorrie,” Susannah whispered. “Gigi said you left a note. She freaked out and made us come here. She said we needed to get you right away.”

“Let's just go.”

We would've made it out, but the front door opened and Victor Underhill strode in. He surveyed the scene, and something registered in his face. I thought it was rage, but later I'd come to realize it was something else entirely: fear.

“Someone tell me what the hell is going on,” he demanded.

Gigi dropped to her knees in front of him. On the polished
floor of the Copeland house, at the entrance to the ballroom-size foyer, just hours after the senator had died. The people around us had multiplied, and she was the spectacle.

“She'll stay away,” Gigi said. “You promise, right, Lorrie? He said if you stayed away, it would be taken care of.”

“What would be taken care of?” Charlie asked.

“Ignore her,” I told him. “She's not well. Please, Gigi.” I pulled at her arm. “Come on.”

Gigi rose to her feet, but she kept babbling. “We need the money. He gave me money every month, and then it stopped.”