“You should call the police,” Senator Halloway said.
“The police? To what end?”
“To stand around looking intimidating, of course. They’ll be less likely to try anything when they’re facing the boys in blue. Besides, the police chief owes me a favor from way back.”
Grace pinched the bridge of her nose to fend off a blooming headache. “Sir, it sounds like overkill.”
Kip Halloway checked his reflection in the mirror, then spoke in stentorian tones. “I’m not going to lose this election to a turncoat like Nancy Jackson, and I’m not going to let Dr. Dark Ages turn this campaign into a joke. I’m a US senator. I’m eighty years old. I deserve some dignity.”
Grace was tempted to point out that his behavior in this campaign had been anything but dignified, but she was stopped short by his expression. Never in her life had she seen that look in the senator’s eyes. It was fear. He was afraid to lose. Everything about him screamed at her for help. To save him. To do anything she had to do to keep him from being turned into a used-up has-been.
He’d stood by her when she was a little girl; he’d stood by her weeks ago when she told him about being blackmailed. Now he was pleading with her to stand by him in what might be the last fight of his career.
“I’ll make the call,” Grace said.
Chapter Seventeen
Ethan didn’t expect to find the outside lobby filled with police officers. And they didn’t look like the kind normally assigned to guard a US senator, either. These were uniforms, and the minute Ethan’s candidate and fellow campaigners started their protest, they were surrounded by cops.
One officer with a square-cut jaw said, “We can’t have any disturbances here tonight. You’re going to have to vacate the premises.”
PolitiGal, Morris, and a few of the other volunteers started to boo, but Professor Kim hushed them with a raised hand. “We’re just handing out pamphlets and protesting our exclusion from the debate, officer. There’s not going to be any violence here.”
The officer shrugged, annoyed or indifferent. “Sorry, but you’ve got to go.”
Temper rising, Ethan pointed at the sign over head. “Listen Chucklehead, this is public property. See what that says? Maryland Public Television.”
Insulting the officer probably wasn’t the smartest thing Ethan had ever done. The burly officer’s chest puffed up and said, “Do you wanna leave, or get arrested?”
Professor Kim cleared his throat. “This is constitutionally protected speech, officer.”
Ethan knew that was true; going to law school wasn’t a complete waste. So he picked up on the professor’s theme. “On what grounds could you make an arrest? What statute forbids a candidate from showing up at a public assembly?”
The police officer, whose face reddened considerably, came up with, “This is, uh, trespass on public property after hours!”
Ethan thought his head might explode. “After hours? There’s a fucking public debate being televised in there!”
It was probably dropping the f-bomb that did it. One officer gave Ethan a shove, while three others reached for Professor Kim’s arms and Chucklehead handcuffed Ethan’s candidate.
“Get your hands off him or I’ll have your badge,” Ethan said, belligerently. “What are you, rent-a-cops? Who even called you?”
Ethan looked accusatorially at the squirrelly security guy—the most unlikely looking guy for that job in the world—who did his best to hide behind his glasses. He didn’t look guilty. No, there were only a few people he could think of who would have the clout to get police officers to do their dirty work for them.
The crowd began shouting, “Let him speak!”
What had been a calm protest was turning into something else entirely. Just as the media arrived, things were getting ugly. And with cameras zooming in, Ethan decided it was time to heft his celebrity weight around. “This is totally ridiculous. A judge is going to throw this trumped-up charge out in a heartbeat. If you’re going to arrest him, you’re going to have to arrest me, too.”
So they did.
…
When the professor’s wife showed up to bail them out, her face was a study in terror. Ethan didn’t even want to think about what she might have seen in her home country that would make her so fearful of a little time in the slammer. The handcuffs had left welts on Professor Kim’s small wrists and all her reservations about her husband’s campaign were now fully realized. She glared at Ethan as if it were all his fault, and he knew it was.
After their release in the morning, Ethan and the professor walked behind her like truant schoolboys. She made some breakfast for them, but they ate in silence. Meanwhile, the professor scribbled notes on a yellow pad of paper, and when he was finished, he handed it to Ethan. A Letter From a Baltimore County Jail, the professor named it, and quoted Martin Luther King.
It was a heartfelt letter protesting the tactics of police officers, brought at the beck and call of entrenched political interests to shut out grassroots candidates. It was written with the kind of passion and wide-eyed surprise that could only be found in people who had fled despotic nations to live in a freer place.
The arrest had pissed off Ethan, but had dealt the professor a deep emotional blow. Before he’d run for office, he was a respected expert who lived a quiet life. Since entering the political arena, he’d begged for money, prostrated himself outside a subway, and been arrested. All Ethan’s fault.
“Should I make this letter public?” the professor asked.
In politics there was a thing as being too honest, and this letter was undoubtedly that. Ethan said, “I wouldn’t do it, but I never thought that we’d get arrested on public property either, so my instincts have been shit. Go with your gut.”
Professor Kim published the letter and the next day, on the news, Ethan saw a clip of Grace Santiago saying, “Professor Kim is no Martin Luther King.”
It was devastatingly effective and Ethan knew that would be the quote of the day. It would make his candidate look pretentious, not to mention cost him dearly with black voters across the state who wouldn’t take kindly to the idea that a well-to-do doctor was comparing himself to a hero of the civil rights movement.
Ethan also knew, with complete clarity, that it had been Grace who called the cops.
…
Molly tucked a strand of Halloway Green hair behind her ears, and propped those hideous boots up on Grace’s desk. “I’ve called every voter on the rolls at least twice. What’s next on your list?”
Grace stared at the blank page in front of her. “I don’t have a list today.”
“What have things come to when Grace Santiago can’t make a list?”
“I don’t know. God, Mol—the debate was such a disaster. And I feel like I’ve…lost myself completely. Didn’t I used to be fun?”
“Don’t worry, you were never fun,” Molly said with a straight face. “But you were funny!”
“I can’t even drag myself out of the doldrums. It’s August. There’s not even a good holiday to celebrate.”
“Well, the campaign is nearly over,” Molly said. “That’s definitely a cause for celebration! In fact, I’m going to head out and you should too. In fact, meet me for a movie later.”
Grace nodded, watched her go, then pulled up the YouTube video of the police arresting Ethan. It had made her sick to do it and it hadn’t really helped anyway. The debate had been a train wreck. Nancy Jackson had skewered Senator Halloway. Not even the arrest eclipsed all the stories about how Halloway had lost the debate. Worse, the only clip anyone was playing about the arrest was the one of Grace saying Professor Kim was no Martin Luther King. She’d had to do it. She’d had to say it. But she didn’t feel good about it.
As Grace played the video again, someone behind her said, “It’s not my best angle.”
Ethan normally wouldn’t be allowed to waltz into headquarters, but the mood after the debate was so somber she’d sent everybody else home. Now it
was just her, and Ethan, and his towering anger. “You got me arrested.”
“You and your big mouth got you arrested,” Grace started to argue, then gave up. There was no way around it. She hadn’t expected the police to act the way they did; she hadn’t counted on the police chief interpreting her phone call as a request to do Kip Halloway a solid in more ways than one. Grace was going to have to apologize, even if she knew words wouldn’t make up for it. “I’m sorry. I knew you’d be there, so…I made the call.”
“I know you did. It’s got your hallmark all over it. Hiding behind authority…”
“There are rules about who can be in a debate—”
“Those rules are arbitrary. They’re different rules than past years, specifically negotiated to exclude my candidate. How perverse is it that the League of Women Voters of Maryland, an organization that started with the idea of enfranchising more people, went along with your plan to deprive voters of a real choice?”
Grace tried again. “But the rules of the debate—”
“That’s your problem, Grace. You have all these rules for your life that keep you from actually living it.”
She didn’t know how to address the personal stuff, so she tried for a reasoned tone. “I was trying to do my job.”
“You were trying to ensure that an old-style pol would be assured of his cushy position.”
He had a right to be mad at her, but he was wrong about her boss. “Kip Halloway isn’t in politics for the cushy lifestyle!”
“Don’t hide behind him, Grace. You’ve accused me of being willing to do anything to win, but last night, you brought ruthlessness to a whole new level. I completely underestimated you. I was sorry for you, thinking you were in over your head and brave to try it anyway. I thought I had you outclassed, but honey, you sure suckered me.”
It hurt to hear him use a term of endearment in such a bitter way, and Grace fought back tears. “Is that why you’re upset? Because you’re losing a campaign?”
He shrugged. “You were always a puzzle, Grace. Hot one minute, cold the next. Was that part of your campaign strategy too? Keep me off guard? Make me love you so much that I couldn’t do my job if it meant losing you? You really are a genius.”
It was the second time he’d called her a genius, but this time was not kind. If Grace had to list all the emotions she had swirling in her head, she wasn’t sure which to put first. Insult or astonishment. “Wait—did you just say that you love me?”
His eyes rounded. Perhaps he didn’t realize he had said it. Then he folded his arms. “Yeah, I guess I did. At least, I thought I loved you, but that was before I realized I was being played.”
Did he really think she was some kind of scheming tart who strung him along to make him lose a campaign? Grace riffled through her mental handbook for a rule, any rule, that would help her convince him of how wrong he was, but she had nothing. And when she didn’t say anything, Ethan Castle turned on his heel and walked out.
This time, she was sure, for good.
…
On a warm September morning, Ethan was about to worship at the Church of Democracy. Grace might revel in every Hallmark-invented holiday on the calendar, but for Ethan, Election Day—even primary day—was the holiest of holies. It was too warm out for the traditional doughnuts and hot cider, so Ethan loaded the passenger seat of his Corvette with a box of cookies and lemonade for the volunteers.
Normally, the first thing he’d do was vote, but since he wasn’t a resident, he’d make sure the fine citizens of Maryland got to their polling stations. With nervous energy to burn, he knocked on doors all morning, then drove by polling stations to ask the election workers about turnout and do a little informal exit polling.
He was pretty sure they were losing.
Ethan could smell victory or defeat, and what he smelled today wasn’t good. He’d told himself all along that Professor Kim couldn’t win, but somewhere along the way he’d put his heart into it. Now it was all slipping away and there was nothing more he could do. The decision was out of his hands, and waiting was the hardest part.
Inconceivably, he found himself parked in front of Halloway headquarters watching for Grace. If it hadn’t been for her, he’d never have taken this campaign. He’d have been earning a big salary on a winning campaign he didn’t care about. Should he thank her for changing his perspective, for reminding him of his own political passions, or should he blame her for wasting his time?
He finally saw her making her way down the street with a file folder in her hand and the phone to her ear. He got out of his car and crossed the street, approaching just as she slipped her phone back into her pocket.
She jumped, startled to see him, and the breeze blew some of the papers out of her folder. Ethan helped her catch them, and by the time he got them back into her hands, her cheeks were red.
“What are the numbers looking like?” he asked.
“Get your own!”
“It’s over, Grace. There’s no harm in telling me. Neither of us can do anything about it.”
Grace bit her lower lip in surrender. “We’re not meeting our turnout numbers in our best districts.”
“It’s going to be close?”
Grace nodded, white-knuckled. “But I’m confident we’ll be celebrating Senator Halloway’s victory tonight.”
“Ah, so you’re going with the smug inevitability strategy.”
“I learned it from you.”
“Keep fostering that killer instinct of yours. You’ve got a real political future.”
Grace’s big brown eyes softened, then fastened on him. “Ethan—”
“Don’t,” he said, cutting her off. Whatever she was going to say was too little, too late. He shouldn’t have sought her out. He shouldn’t have put either of them through it. “Good luck, Grace. I’ll see you around.”
…
That night, Ethan made sure to raise enough toasts that volunteers were too drunk to feel the pain. On nights like this, some of them would hook up and go home and remember the Kim campaign as the thing that got them together. Ethan envied them.
He’d have to remember this campaign as the one where he lost the woman he loved. He’d been a jackass, he realized. All year long he’d been telling Grace to be a professional, to play the game without sentiment, and not to take things personally. But in the end, he’d been the one to make it personal. After his arrest, he’d thrown some ugly accusations in her face and then, knowing full well how vulnerable she was when it came to men walking out on her, he’d walked away.
Not once, but twice.
For a woman with trust issues, that was going to be the kiss of death. He wouldn’t blame her if she never forgave him, but that didn’t stop him from wanting Grace with him tonight. She’d understand his obsession with election returns. She’d get why he kept his laptop with him, refreshing his window every ten seconds as precincts and counties started reporting. Of course, she’d be just as miserable as he was because Senator Halloway was getting slaughtered.
Districts that had gone for him before by as much as eighty percent were now splitting in favor of Jackson. Maybe with good reason. Jackson might make a hell of a US senator. As the first African-American woman senator from the state, she’d be in a position to leave an enduring mark.
Unlike Ethan, whose transient ways would take him to another campaign somewhere else.
“Mr. Castle, don’t look so glum,” the professor said, interrupting Ethan’s thoughts by putting a hand on his shoulder. “You warned me from the start.”
Ethan didn’t want to admit he’d been brooding about his own life and not the fact that their campaign was going down in flames. “I’m sorry, Professor Kim. I tried.”
“And you succeeded,” Professor Kim assured him. “Before this campaign, I couldn’t get the governor to return my phone calls. Now he’s asked me to lead a commission on public safety, to prepare the state for pandemic diseases.”
Ethan saw the pride in his eyes. He�
��d been heard. He was going to have a chance to make a difference. That’s all he’d really wanted. So in the end, maybe Ethan really had been a crusader for truth, justice, and the American way…or something like it.
…
The election party was more like a funeral, and as the night wore on, Grace didn’t want Senator Halloway to see pity in people’s eyes, so she guided him into a private room of the banquet hall.
“I suppose I ought to call to concede…” Senator Halloway said. He looked so bewildered that it broke her heart. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Defeat in the general election would’ve been bad, but to lose his own primary was especially bitter. It was a rejection by the same people who had sent him up as their standard-bearer for nearly fifty years. “It was Ogle-Gate, wasn’t it?”
Grace nodded. That was probably the incident that pushed things over the edge. He was facing a newer, younger electorate. They didn’t know that he staffed his office with outspoken women and launched their careers back in the days when people thought they should stay home and make dinner. They didn’t know him. And that was Grace’s fault.
She fought the lump swelling in her throat. “Sometimes, people just want change, sir.”
Senator Halloway called Jackson to congratulate her. He kept it short and sweet. After, he made a speech thanking his supporters and sending them home for the night.
That’s when Grace realized she was going to cry. She was going to break down and cry. Mama must have realized it, too. “Why don’t we all go home together? I’ll make us a big waffle breakfast in the morning like we used to have.”
Blain, who had returned from his therapy center in Florida with a tan and a cane, said, “You two go ahead. Grace and I will wrap up here.”
Together they watched as the new Mr. and Mrs. Kip Halloway slipped out the back door. At least they would have each other, Grace thought. She, on the other hand, would have to sleep alone with her failure. Blain seemed to read her mind, and wrapped his arms around her. Tears slid down her cheeks, and Blain wiped them away. “You did your best, Grace.”
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