Authors: Ellen Hart
“And Keen?” asked Melanie.
“He’s still in custody, but if Christopher is charged with Charity’s death, they’ll have to release him.”
“What a shame,” said Cordelia.
“It is,” said Jane. “But I think that, deep inside where Keen really lives, he must have a hellish existence. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that, one day not too far from now, he simply downs one too many drinks to wash down one too many pills.”
They all stopped talking when the national election results on TV were replaced with the local races.
Jane took another sustaining swallow of brandy, seeing that her father’s outstate numbers had gone down a few points. A collective groan rumbled through the room.
Julia came through the door a few seconds later.
“What’s
she
doing here?” hissed Cordelia, nearly choking on her black cherry soda.
Jane smiled and waved. “Over here,” she called.
“Move over.” Jane pushed against Cordelia’s shiplike form. “Make some room for her.”
“I will
not.”
Jane stood. “I’m glad you could make it.”
Julia’s gaze skirted the room. “This is the first large gathering I’ve been to since …” Her voice trailed off.
“Do crowds bother you?” asked Jane.
“It’s my nerves. Sometimes I think my emotions are still a little close to the surface.”
“Would you like something to eat? Or drink?”
“A glass of wine would be nice.” She glanced down at Cordelia. “Your hair is pink.”
“How insightful of you.”
“You mean you admit it?”
“You know, Julia,” said Cordelia, “people would like you a lot better if you had some reconstructive facial surgery.”
“For what?”
“Plastic surgeons can do wonders these days removing fangs.”
Jane’s eyes rose to the ceiling. “Can you two get along while I go get Julia a glass of wine?”
“Not a problem,” said Julia, snuggling down next to Cordelia. “We’ll catch up.”
Cordelia’s eyes pleaded with Jane to make it fast.
By two in the morning, the loud buzz in the room had been replaced by a low but steady murmur. Julia excused herself and walked to the bathroom. Inside, she looked to see if there was a lock on the door and was happy to find that there was.
She studied herself in the mirror. She’d had too much wine, so this wasn’t the best time to assess damages, but she shrugged and did it anyway. She’d grown older, but then so had Jane. In the last few weeks, her skin had lost some of its deathly pallor and she was beginning to feel less physically fragile. For the longest time, her body had been stiff, brittle, full of aches and pains. But she was finally regaining her strength and, with it, losing the sense of being old beyond her years.
She couldn’t quite believe how well things hand gone, and how quickly. But that was because, for the first time since she’d come home, she had a focus, a problem to work on, a goal to achieve. Goals had always driven her.
Running her fingers over the bottles of shampoo, aftershave, gels, toothpaste, and other necessities of modern life that Ray and Elizabeth had brought with them, she noticed a tube of lipstick next to a small bottle of liquid makeup. She examined it, removing the cover, wondering what it would look like if she applied it to her lips.
But then, on a whim, she pulled up her sweater and carefully wrote the word
justice
on her stomach. She stood, her head tilted to the side, regarding her midsection, the word reversed in the mirror but still readable. She traced it a second time, recalling just what it had felt like when she’d pressed a similar tube to the soft skin of Kenzie’s stomach—the thrill, the rush, the embracing of risk, the pure shiver of power.
When she smiled at herself, the eyes of a predator were reflected back at her.
And when someone finally knocked on the door a few minutes later, she called, “I’m almost done.”
By three, one of the local stations announced it was ready to call the race for governor.
Jane sat rigidly on the same couch she’d commandeered all evening, with Julia and Cordelia as bookends. Melanie was on the floor, her back pressed to Cordelia’s legs. Jane’s father and Elizabeth were standing in the doorway to the bedroom. Everyone else was gathered around the television screen. Kenzie should be here, thought Jane. It just felt so wrong without her. She wondered if Kenzie was home in Nebraska, watching the returns in the comfort of her old farmhouse.
By now, they were all pretty sure what the decision would be, but her father said he’d wait until one of the stations called it, and then he’d go downstairs to the waiting crowd of supporters.
Jane’s entire body tensed as the news anchor on the local NBC affiliate said, “We’re getting down to the wire in the Minnesota state governor’s race. We understand that Don Pettyjohn is already on his way to talk to his party loyalists.”
Jane grabbed for Cordelia’s hand. Julia grabbed Jane’s other hand.
“It’s been a very close race. At this time, we’re calling the race for governor of the state of Minnesota. With only seven precincts left to count, the winner is …”
Jane looked up at her dad.
“Don Pettyjohn.”
The air went out of the room.
Ray kissed Elizabeth, held her close, then lifted his hands for quiet. “We ran a good race. You all did a spectacular job for which I’ll always be grateful. We’re lucky enough to live in a democracy, something I believe in with all my heart. We fought the good fight and we lost. No shame in that.”
Everyone began to cheer, some with tears in their eyes.
Jane had tears in her eyes too, but for different reasons. Hers were tears of joy. Several hours ago she’d come to the startling conclusion
that she hoped her dad would lose. Not because he wouldn’t make a great governor, perhaps one of the best the state would ever know, but because, selfishly, she didn’t want to lose him for the next four years. And even more than that, she was deeply worried about his health. He would push himself too hard if he won, he would put his health and everything else on the back burner, it was just the way he was. Jane was afraid he might not survive his first year in office. She knew her dad well enough to trust that he would always remain engaged, involved, actively speaking out for the causes he believed in. This loss would simply mean he would have to do it without a bully pulpit. In Jane’s mind, that bully pulpit came at too great a cost. Not becoming the next governor meant he would get the medical care he needed and thus live to fight another day.
Before he left the room, she walked over and gave him a hug. “You okay?” she whispered in his ear.
“Fine,” he whispered back. “Bent but not broken.”
“I’m proud of you.”
He pressed his lips together, holding back the emotion flooding his face. “That means more to me than you’ll ever know.” And then, giving everyone one last encouraging smile, he left the room to the sound of cheers and applause.