“So far, the media has been characterizing you in a vacuum. To one side, you’re champions of free speech. To the other, you’re pawns in a manipulative scheme.”
“And privacy advocates don’t know what to make of us,” Savannah added. “On the one hand, we’re accused of invading a man’s privacy. On the other hand, they get stuck when they come up against the first amendment and our right to information as a form of free speech.”
Saj nodded. “And?”
The curtness of her response made the words stop in Savannah’s throat. “Well, I mean—” Was Saj agreeing? Or telling Savannah she was wrong?
“Was there something I missed?” Saj prompted.
Savannah dropped her gaze, pretending to study a spot on her pants even though she really hoped her hair would fall in front of her face and hide the blush. “Um, I think maybe the privacy crowd? Should we address them?”
“Yes,” Saj answered. “By looking beautiful and innocent.”
Thomas and Maggie laughed just as a man of small stature wearing a pinched smile and curiously tight pants walked through the door.
“Sam Tamblin is in the hiz-ouse!”
Thomas had been right—Sam Tamblin did have a beard. A sparse, tangly one, but it qualified.
“Sam, great,” Saj said. “I just started to explain the strategy.”
“Listen to this lady, folks. She’s the prez of press.” He took a seat and scanned the room, the intensity of his radiant blue eyes matched only by the manic twiddling of his fingers.
Saj grabbed a marker and walked to the whiteboard at the front of the room. “Name the things people love to watch on YouTube. Seriously, just shout ’em at me.”
“Cat videos, obviously,” said Savannah, unable to resist her earlier urge to never speak again.
“Talking babies,” said Thomas.
“Don’t forget them puppies,” added Sam Tamblin.
Saj started a list on the board. It took less than a minute to arrive at her destination.
“Puppies and babies.” Saj wrote the words in enormous letters and circled them wildly. “People can’t resist them. They’re cute and innocent and unexpected.”
She dropped the marker into its tray and came back to the table. “You two need to become as lovable to America as puppies and babies.”
“Word,” Sam Tamblin confirmed.
Judging from the way Maggie began to squirm, though, she wasn’t convinced. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Not in the least,” answered Saj. “Because here’s the bottom line—these two aren’t advocating anything. They’re not the Parkland students standing up to demand a change in gun laws. They’re not—” She snapped her fingers. “Who was that woman who accused that senator of stalking her?”
Too many to count, Savannah wanted to say.
“Anyway. You’re not trying to change anything. You’re simply looking for your biological father. Problem is, you’ve caught the attention of the media, which not coincidentally, is controlled by very rich and equally powerful men. And you, my friends, have become a threat—to people who turn their cameras on others because they very much do not want them turned on themselves.”
Saj paused to take a hummingbird-size sip of water from a crystalline mug, and Sam Tamblin took it as an excuse to jump in. “I told you this one was a smarty.” He hooked a thumb toward Saj.
“This isn’t a privacy issue, or a free speech issue, or a women’s rights issue,” she went on. “It’s a fear issue.”
Saj paused for effect, and amazingly, it worked. Savannah knew she was way less naive about the media industry than the average seventeen-year-old, but it hadn’t hit her until just that second that men’s power and money brought so much more than the ability to green-light projects.
“As long as the media can keep people afraid of you, that plays to their advantage. That keeps them in control of the issue. But—and this is a big one—we live in a world that heaps billions of dollars a year on a little company called Disney. That’s consumer power. Our money is our vote. And we Americans throw heaps of cash at Disney for one very simple reason—we love a good Beauty and the Beast story.”
She raised an eyebrow and looked at them. “We adore it when love overcomes fear. And you—” She pointed at Savannah and Thomas. “The media has made you out to seem scary, like Beast. But we’re going to make America fall in love with you anyway, just like Beauty does.”
Savannah recognized from Saj’s tone that she’d expected this to translate into an Aha! moment for all three McClairs. Instead, Thomas said, “I thought you said we were puppies.”
Saj gave him the same aren’t you precious laugh she’d given Savannah in the lobby. “Exactly. Innocent. Nothing to fear. Worthy of our fascination and love.”
Neither Savannah nor Thomas said anything, but sat, staring at each other.
“It’s like the beetle costume all over again,” Savannah said finally.
Thomas laughed. “Let’s hope not.”
The reference went all the way back to second grade when their class performed a play called Farmer Friendly’s Garden, which was basically an excuse for parents to watch their children sing songs about vegetables while dressed as pea pods and tomatoes. To maximize fairness, their teacher, Mrs. Lace, drew each student’s role from a hat. Thomas was cast as a carrot, Savannah as a beetle.
“I don’t want to be a dirty old beetle!” She wailed all through dinner and all through baths. She wailed through homework time. And she was still at it when it came time for bedtime books.
Finally, her mother set whatever favorite Judy Blume book they were reading aside and rubbed her back. “Savannah. I know beetles aren’t pretty, but they are powerful. They drive away other pests and keep their garden fertilized. Wouldn’t you rather be powerful than pretty?”
Savannah stopped crying, sat up and looked directly at her mom. “Why should I have to choose?”
Now here they were again. Given the choice between being beautiful or being strong.
Savannah was still in her head when Thomas asked, “What about Maggie? Shouldn’t she be with us in the interviews?”
For the first time all morning, Saj took a seat. “We feel it’s best you do the interviews on your own.” She turned to Maggie. “We will craft a statement of support from you, Maggie, but we want the optics to be two kids, without a mother, looking for their father. That’s the sympathize part of the strategy.”
Savannah realized she’d never even considered that Maggie wouldn’t be a part of the interviews. They’d done everything else on their own, but this was another creature entirely. It was TV. Prime time. And people seemed to hate them for real.
“Maggs,” Sam asked. “Whatcha wanna do?”
“You’re both capable of this,” Maggie said, meeting their eyes. “But I obviously want you to trust your instincts. If you want me there, I’ll be there.” She did not break her gaze until they answered.
Thomas said, “You’ll be backstage, right?”
Maggie nodded.
Savannah took a beat longer, then said, “No one ought to expect you to prove that you love us.” She’d intended that as more opening statement than final answer, but Saj took it as a decision and handed them each a spiral-bound packet with a clear plastic cover. The title page read, “Savannah and Thomas McClair. July 17th. Messaging.”
She had no choice but to get to work.
[email protected]
To: [email protected]
Re: Further info
Jack,
What about school? Were you a good student? Did you go to college? What did you study?
Thomas McClair
* * *
[email protected]
To: [email protected]
Re: Further info
Thomas,
<
br /> When I was a kid, school was easy. Mainly because I grew up in a small town and my graduating class had 43 kids. I did go to college for a few years, though. I think I may have mentioned that. I studied engineering at the University of Northern Colorado. That ended pretty quick.
Are you thinking about college?
Jack
* * *
[email protected]
To: [email protected]
Re: Further info
Jack,
Definitely. Hoping to, at least. I think my chances are pretty good. My grades are decent, mostly As. Savannah’s are better. She wants to be a Hollywood producer, but you probably already know that from listening to the podcast.
I’ve thought about engineering, since I’m pretty into electronics. Sound engineer, maybe? The guidance counselor at school is supposed to help us figure out what schools would be a good match for our interests but my counselor didn’t even know what I meant when I mentioned sound engineering. But we’ve got a whole studio in our basement and I designed most of it. Maggie calls it our cave. What kind of engineering did you study?
Thomas McClair
* * *
[email protected]
To: [email protected]
Re: Further info
Thomas,
I guess if I’d made it further I would have ended up in mechanical engineering. I’m pretty good at taking things apart and getting them back together again. I have to do that a lot in my work. I’d tell you not to listen to your counselor, but I don’t want to sound like I’m giving you any advice. So instead I’ll just say, in my experience, it’s best not to let people who are stuck in the past determine your future.
You can ignore that last part if you want to.
Jack
Twenty-Two
Jack
Jack was bringing in a group of four clients on his boat when he spotted Carter standing on the landing, waiting for him. The clients had hired Jack because they’d heard he was especially good at catching redfish, and he’d proven his reputation by helping them take in their daily limit within just a few hours.
That was good luck for Carter, too, since Jack was about to put him to work filleting every last fish.
“How’d you get yourself out here?” Jack called. He grabbed the bowline closest to him and tossed it to Carter on the landing. He nodded toward the cleat he wanted him to tie up on. “You can’t bike all the way to the landing from your house.”
“Can, so.” Carter wrapped the line into a perfect hitch, then waited for Jack to toss the spring line. “But I caught a ride with Ford. He was here lookin’ for you, but he’s gone an’ left. I said I’d stay ’til you came back.”
Ford being at the landing made sense. But Ford looking for Jack while knowing he’d be out with clients? And Ford picking up Carter along the way? That didn’t.
“Say what he wanted me for?” Once they were docked, Jack handed off the first of the ice-packed coolers.
Carter took it. “I asked if it was on account o’ something you done, but he said it wasn’t none of my business. And anyhow, he said you’d know, yerself.”
Carter grabbed the next cooler and hollered over his shoulder at the disembarking foursome. “C’mon. I’ll show yeh where we clean these.”
Jack noted his use of “we.” Couldn’t accuse the kid of being a pushover.
He grabbed the last cooler and hauled it onto the dock and went back to tie the stern line. He tested his hitch, then the ones Carter had tied. He already owed Ford enough. Last thing he needed to do was lose one of his fleet.
When the boat was emptied and rinsed, he checked on Carter, who was up to his elbows in redfish guts. “These’r easy. It’s the sheepshead I hate.”
Jack glanced into the cooler. Half of the catch was already cleaned.
“Impressive.” He grabbed a fish for himself. No client of Ford’s ever went home without every bit of their catch ready to cook and eat, no matter how hard it was raining or how many fish you’d already cleaned or how tired you were at the end of the day. Filleting the catch was nonnegotiable.
He nudged Carter over a few inches to make room for himself.
“I thought maybe Ford was lookin’ fer you ’cuz that guy who’s been askin’ around.”
“Asking around about what?”
“’Bout you. Where you live an’ such. He ain’t asked me yet, but I heard Sandra Beals talkin’ ’bout it down at the daiquiri stand. Said the guy was real curious.”
A curious stranger asking around town about Jack. That didn’t sound like anything the bank would be up to. He tore into his fish with his knife, almost slashing his palm open along with it. “Heard anything else about him?”
“Nah.” Carter tossed a fresh fillet onto the ice and grabbed another fish. “Sandra Beals thought maybe you had a friend or family come to stay. But I told her no way. I ain’t seen Jack with no one lately.”
Carter ripped his blade down the fish’s belly, swift and precise, then looked at Jack. “How come I never see you with no one these days? And why don’ you date none?”
“I date.” That’s just what Jack needed—a kid who wasn’t even old enough to drive giving relationship advice.
“No you don’t.”
“How do you know what I do or don’t do?”
“I know on account o’ I ain’t seen you with no woman since you was with Lizzie Drummond. An’ she’s been gone from Tybee least two years.”
Jack hushed him. He tossed a ragged fillet on ice and saw that the cooler was nearly full. The kid was outcleaning him two-to-one.
“May not seem like it now, but two years is only a long time when you’re thirteen.”
“I turned fourteen last month.”
Jack didn’t respond, hoping instead to let the conversation die. Point was, there wasn’t anyone on Tybee he wanted to date, and he liked it that way. No questions. No demands. Until just a few days ago, he’d hoped to buy out Ford and then mind his own business. Figuratively and literally.
They were on the last of the fish when Carter said, “You know Sandra Beals said she’d marry you.”
Jack resisted the urge to roll his eyes, forcing himself to focus so he didn’t cut his finger off. “Sandra Beals is hardly old enough to own that daiquiri stand, let alone get married.”
“Well yer practically ancient. An’ you ain’ got no family or kids or nothin’.”
Jack dropped his knife and looked at the kid. He had a family. A messy, drunk, unhappy one, but a family. And now he likely did have kids.
All these people thinking they were entitled to an opinion. Same on Tybee as it had been in Hartwell and Breckenridge. No town different from any other when it came to nosing in other people’s business. A hot flash of anger raced through him, making him sweat.
“Finish up.” He reined in the urge to bark at the kid and took a deep breath. Wasn’t Carter’s fault he didn’t know any different. Wasn’t his fault Jack had a stranger on his tail. “Get these fillets over to the guys’ trucks and I’ll give you a ride home.”
He had to get out of the sun.
[email protected]
To: [email protected]
Re: Further info
Jack,
I don’t know if you work all day or whatever, but I thought I’d let you know that we’re going to do a bunch of TV interviews on Friday. Morning shows, mostly. I don’t exactly know, sorry. Just thought I’d tell you in case you’re interested in watching.
Thomas
* * *
[email protected]
To: [email protected]
Re: Further info
Thomas and Savannah,
Wow, that’s amazing. You’re going to be on TV. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll try to find a way to watch. Go
od luck.
Jack
* * *
[email protected]
To: [email protected]
Re: Further info
Jack,
Thanks. I don’t know what you’ve seen or heard, but we’ve sort of been all over the news lately. Anyway, don’t worry. We’re not going to out you or, whatever. The attention is just getting kinda out of hand.
Thomas
* * *
[email protected]
To: [email protected]
Re: Further info
Thomas,
Are you and Savannah ok?
Twenty-Three
Savannah
Her mother was sitting there again, on the corner of Savannah’s bed.
“Did I make you come visit?” Savannah asked.
Her mother smiled.
“I wish you’d visit more often. Every night, even.”
Her mother’s hair was perfect. Wavy but not wild. Brown without the gray.
“I guess I know why you’re here now.”
No wrinkles. Or maybe a few. The ones around her eyes when she smiled. The ones Savannah wanted to trace with her finger.
“At least I hope I do.”
Her smile was all she said, and it warmed Savannah as it always did. Filled her chest with knowing.
“Thank you, Mommy. I miss you so much.”
She was there until Savannah woke.
* * *
It was the morning of their big day of interviews, and Savannah was calm. Her mother had ensured that for her.
Thomas, Savannah, Maggie, Saj and even Sam Tamblin made it to the studio by their 6:00 a.m. call time and the day began in earnest. Hair. Makeup. Talking points review.
“This is the worst part, the sitting and waiting backstage,” Saj said. “Once you get onto the set, it’s much easier. For starters, you’ll see how small the set is. That will help with your nerves.”
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