The Phoenix Campaign (Grace Colton Book 2)

by Heidi Joy Tretheway

  The room’s too cold.

  Too quiet.

  “Hello, Ms. Colton. I’m Dr. Beninger.” The smiling doctor is a curly blonde in her late thirties and I relax. “We’ve got some exciting news today.”

  I swallow, terrified my pee test will confirm the little white stick’s announcement. “Is it … am I?”

  “You’re definitely pregnant. Congratulations.” She smiles again as if this is great news. As if I couldn’t possibly not want this.

  I don’t want this. Do I?

  “Was this a planned pregnancy?”

  I look down at my hands, twisting them together, ashamed. “No. I was on the pill.”

  “Consistently?”

  “Pretty consistent.” My tone bears the same half-truth I tell my dental hygienist about how often I floss.

  The full truth of it is that after Jared and I forgot a condom in one frenzied moment, we abandoned them. He never asked again. I didn’t, either. Maybe we both thought the possibility of pregnancy was behind me.

  “Let’s see how far you are along.” She directs me to lie down and she presses on my belly, then puts my feet in stirrups and asks me a barrage of questions peppered with “Just breathe,” and “Let your muscles relax.” I’m beyond uncomfortable getting through this part of the exam. Even though I went through this with Ethan, it feels like a lifetime ago.

  “How are you feeling? Are you having morning sickness?”

  I nod. “Not just in the morning.”

  “Often?”

  “Once a week. Sometimes more.”

  She peels off her gloves and helps me sit back up. “I know you won’t want to hear this, but that’s not too bad. It should settle down once you’re into your second trimester.” She pauses, then her voice drops an octave. “Do you know who the father is?”

  I nod, but I don’t name Jared.

  “Does he know you’re pregnant?”

  I shake my head. “Not yet.”

  “Well, when you’re ready, we’ll want to take some medical history from him as well. Do you know the first day of your last period?”

  I scrunch up my face, trying to remember. She suggests looking at my phone’s calendar for cues. That helps me nail it down amid the election-driven blur of my summer and she taps the date into her tablet.

  “You’re about six weeks along. Everything checks out. In another couple of weeks, you can hear the heartbeat for the first time.”

  The heartbeat. Nothing could make this tiny human more real to me. And suddenly I want that. Like a craving. Like addiction.

  I want to hear my baby’s heartbeat with Jared.

  ***

  I exit the exam room corridor to the lobby and stop short.

  Sasha Heller is there—black suit, finely tooled heels, oxblood leather bag. She flips her tablet cover closed and stands. “Everything all right?”

  My mouth is too slow to catch up with my racing brain. How did she find me here? I interrogated Mac and Eric before I even set up the new appointment to be sure they wouldn’t share my whereabouts with anyone else. Period.

  “Fine,” I grit out.

  I open the lobby door to the hallway and Sasha follows in my wake. I scowl at Mac, but she shakes her head and raises her eyebrows, telegraphing It wasn’t us. “Why are you here?”

  “You had an opening on your calendar. I filled it up. But then you were a no-show.”

  “No, I had an appointment on my calendar for this time.”

  “It was a blank. It didn’t have any info, so I assumed…”

  I whip her a glance without breaking my march toward the building’s main entry. “You assumed what? Why would you track me down here?” I’m seething mad that she invaded my privacy when Jared doesn’t even know about the baby.

  “I assumed that since I forced you to cancel your appointment in this building yesterday, you might have rescheduled. And I was right.” Sasha tips her head toward me, a challenge. “So is there something I need to know that’s relevant to the campaign?”

  “No.” My voice is cold. Flat.

  “Then are you ready to get back to work?” Her voice softens. “Remember I’m in your corner. I can’t help you unless I know things.”

  I bite my lip. “And I can’t tell you things unless other people know them first.”

  She nods, maybe placated a bit. “That’s fair.”

  We ride back to my office and I scroll through new messages on my phone to avoid more questions. My office is a hubbub of activity, with Trey at the helm. I give him a short nod and Sasha follows me into my inner office, closing the door behind us.

  “We’ve got a long list to get through today and the debate in Charlotte you need to prep for,” Sasha begins. “I have the latest copy of your talking points from our writers and I’d like us to go over some of the Q&A.”

  She digs into a lengthy list and I listen as closely as I can, but my thoughts are a jumble of what-ifs and could-bes. In a matter of weeks, I could hear my baby’s heartbeat. By Election Day, I could be showing.

  “Did you get all of that?”

  I snap out of my trance. “What? Yes. Of course.”

  “Then should I brief Jared and Shep, or do you want to tell them?”

  “Tell them what?” She’s caught me again. Not listening. And I think if she had her way, she might get a shock collar for me just to keep me focused.

  “That you’re good to take over his speaking slot in LA next Tuesday?”

  Wait—what? “Next Tuesday’s Trey’s school speech. I can’t miss it.”

  “You just said you’d do the Southern California swing so Shep could go back to Chicago.”

  I backpedal. “I did? I mean, I know. But I can’t fly out until after Tuesday afternoon. I have to do that speech.”

  Sasha purses her lips. “I know Trey means a lot to you, and it’s very nice that you want to honor this commitment, but he’ll understand that there are more strategic ways you could be spending your time. This fundraising dinner has been planned for months. If Shep pulls out, we have to send a suitable replacement.”

  “I don’t know what’s on fire in Chicago that Shep has to go there, but if it means missing the speech for Trey, you have to tell them no,” I counter. “I’m not going to eat rubber chicken in a hotel ballroom so donors can feel good about parting with their money. Either they support us and they’re willing to give to the campaign, or they don’t.”

  Sasha lowers her voice. “We need this cash infusion. Badly. The Republicans are kicking our ass in fundraising right now because you’re pissing everyone off. The gun thing and the family values. Conservative voters are throwing money at your competition. If you weren’t at the center of both of those shitstorms, I don’t think Shep would be asking you to make this change.”

  “So Shep’s the one asking? Not you or Jared?”

  “He is.”

  “And is there any way to let me be in both places at once? Reschedule the fundraising dinner?”

  “Can’t. And before you ask, I already tested the waters to shift Trey’s event.”

  “I need to talk to Shep.”

  Sasha’s jaw tics, but she switches gears. “I know you don’t want to, but we need to talk about what’s really going on here.”

  “With the speech at Trey’s school? I’m not doing it because I feel obligated. I’m doing it because he and Mama Bea are my family and they lost a brother and son to a shooting. They are important and this issue is important. More important than feeding some rich donors.”

  “Donors who gave a lot of money with a certain expectation.”

  “Donors who gave us that money because of what we stand for.” My voice rises, more confident, more clear. “They could have given that money to the Darrow primary months ago, or the Republicans now. But ultimately, they picked us because we represent their interests best. How would it look if I abandoned our platform to scoop up more campaign money? That would look like I’m abandoning my principles.”

  Sash
a stands and walks to the window, looking out the Cannon building’s windows across Independence Avenue toward the Library of Congress. Her voice drops to a whisper. “Grace, it’s not about the speech.”

  I hunch forward in my chair, elbows on my desk, and massage my temples. “Then what is it?”

  “Your appointment today. Are you sick?”

  “No. It was just routine. Annual exam.”

  She turns from the window and stares me down. “Routine, so I shouldn’t worry? I shouldn’t need to be prepared? Because I’ll tell you I found every excuse in the book to avoid going in for my annual exam. You were far too eager—and far too covert—about getting a pap smear for me to believe that’s all it was.”

  I turn away from her, searching my desk for water, coffee, anything to dump down my throat right now. I feel like I’ve eaten a bucket of sand.

  “Level with me.”

  “No.”

  “Do you think you can’t trust me to keep your secrets?”

  I hesitate. There is no right answer to this question. “I trust you to do your best for our campaign.” There. That’s true.

  “Don’t you think part of doing my best is following up on every angle? Sticking to you like white on rice so I can cover you? I’m here to protect you and to help you win. You won’t tell me who this mystery man is and now you’re making a secret doctor visit. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to guess.”

  I look up at her and meet her authoritative gaze. She’s got me trapped and my eyes rim with tears. I turn away from her to hide them, but it’s too late.

  Sasha pulls a chair around the side of my desk and sits so we’re at eye level. “You’re pregnant.”

  “I can’t tell you anything,” I mumble.

  “Fine. Then don’t. I understand when you say you want to tell other people first. But the minute you open this can of worms, things are going to speed up. If we don’t handle it right, it could torpedo us. I’d like to be here for you, to help you get through it.” Sasha’s tone is gentle, even warm, and I start to see past her shark-like façade.

  I take a halting breath, at a loss for how to respond.

  “Let’s start with the father. Is he in the picture? In your life?”

  I nod, still unsure of the terms.

  “Then that’s a good start. It’s one thing for you to go on a date or whatever is in those photos. It’s an entirely different thing to have a child out of wedlock. Are you going to have this baby? Or are you thinking of … terminating?”

  My eyes snap open. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m just looking at all of your options. I don’t know what’s going through your head, which is why I’m asking. The main question is when and whether your news goes public. If you have an abortion, we might as well just close up the campaign now. If that leaked, it would be fatal to any candidate, even one who is pro-choice.”

  I stand and shake my hands like I’ve just touched something too hot, willing away her frank discussion of this new life inside me. “My God. My child is not a political chip. How can you even think this way?”

  I remember a similar conversation with Jared, when I told him Ethan’s death couldn’t be a political chip, either. But I am a woman, and so more than my male colleagues, my family defines me.

  Sasha holds up her hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to push you down any path. This is up to you. I’m just trying to lay out what happens if you keep it or not.”

  “I’m keeping it. The baby. Don’t even call it an it.”

  “You know the sex already?”

  “No. They can’t tell for another couple of months. But don’t talk like my baby is just another item on the agenda, OK? I’m keeping him. Or her.” My throat tightens as I declare these words aloud, but I know they are true as certainly as I know my own name. Whatever ambivalence I had about becoming pregnant is banished in this moment of startling clarity.

  I want this child.

  Election or not.

  With or without Jared.

  No matter if I’m vice president in 2017, or just a single mom, former congresswoman, and footnote on Wikipedia. I want this child. More than I want my next breath.

  Sasha flips open her tablet. “What do you want to do next?”

  “I think I’d better get that meeting with Shep as soon as possible.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The double tap on my office door signals Trey and I look up through red-rimmed eyes. His expression tells me he’s not bearing good news.

  “Can I interrupt?”

  “Not a good time right now, Trey,” Sasha says with a slight shake of her head.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  His jaw is set and his shoulders are tense. “Sasha, I need you out here for a bit, and Grace … you have a visitor.”

  My eyes flit to my calendar, but I don’t have anyone on my schedule for a couple of hours. I’m supposed to be deep in debate prep with Sasha right now.

  “Trey, we need to prioritize,” Sasha says, her tone warning. She doesn’t trust his judgment yet, but I do.

  “Let’s take a break,” I say, and Trey nods a silent thanks to me for overriding her.

  He swings the door open wider but I’m unprepared for the visitor on the other side—a care-worn face, dark roots showing beneath greasy blond hair, and a pilling sweater over a dark skirt that went out of fashion a decade ago.

  “Don’t make me wait with your staff like I’m some stupid lobbyist.” My mother pushes past Trey and doesn’t give Sasha more than a glance; she just parks her butt on my loveseat and slings her cheap vinyl handbag on the floor.

  I stand, my hand on my desk for balance. “What are you doing here?”

  That’s Sasha’s cue to make a hasty exit, but she snaps a glance at me and sees the meltdown in my expression, threatening to bubble to the surface. “We’ll be right outside if you need us.”

  I nod, thanking her for this small I’ve got your back gesture. Beneath her sharp calculations, Sasha doesn’t miss a thing. They close the door and I swallow, prickles of heat racing up my neck, threatening to choke me.

  “That’s hardly the reception I’d expect,” my mother says, her mouth set in a hard line. “What about ‘It’s nice to see you?’”

  “I try to keep my lying to a minimum,” I grit out, feeling the familiar rush of anger and alienation. She’s done this drop-in at my Oregon congressional office before, so I know what’s coming. “What do you want?”

  “Look at you, high and mighty. So convinced that I always want from you. You don’t take into account everything you wanted from me growing up. How much you sucked me dry.”

  I roll my eyes, trying to force sarcasm or disdain up in a wall between us. It’s flimsy, though. She always knows how to find the chinks in my armor, where to pry at the cracks. “What will it be today, then? What do you want?”

  “It’s not what I want. It’s what I deserve.”

  I pull open my lower desk drawer and fish around in my purse for a checkbook. “Are you late on rent again? How much?”

  “It wasn’t cheap flying out here. But you never returned my calls. Or my messages. Is Trey even giving them to you?”

  Oh, he’s definitely giving them to me. My computer monitor bears a dozen new notes, some flagged personal, and I imagine most of them are her. Or Jared. I wish they were Jared. But he’s been swept up in Shep’s campaign and he’s in New York right now. I think. I can barely keep track of where I am supposed to be.

  “I’m sure you can imagine things are very busy right now.”

  “I do more than imagine when I see you all over the news. Especially in that photo.” She narrows her eyes at me, making sure I know exactly the photo she means. Me and Jared, locked in a clinch, his hand snaking up my skirt. God, I’ve regretted that scene a thousand times, been made to feel wanton and ashamed by every conservative pundit, but no one makes me feel as dirty, as classless, as my mother.

  My mother, who’s hardly the definition of c
lass as she sits with her knees open, her Virginia Slims peeking out of her purse, her index finger pick-pick-picking away at the ragged cuticle of her thumb.

  I uncap a pen and poise my hand over my checkbook. Money will buy me peace at least. “How much do you need? A thousand again? Fifteen hundred?”

  I hope it’s not much more, considering the sorry state of my checking account after I paid for Han Lee’s exquisite garments to cut financial ties with the Darrow campaign, plus some new furniture for the condo into which the Secret Service demanded I move.

  My mother stares me down, her eyes squinting, revealing every one of her sixty-four years of hard living. “Add a zero, Gracie.”

  “You can’t be serious.” I drop the pen on my desk, straightening. “What in the hell do you need ten thousand dollars for?”

  “I have expenses. I have needs.”

  “Needs? Ten thousand dollars is a down payment on a condo. It’s a pretty damn nice used car.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere.” My mother’s cheeks tighten with something that could be a smile if it weren’t so calculated.

  This is why I left home the minute I graduated. Why I spent most weekends with my friends in high school, and why I never went home from college for Christmas. I was happy being a resident assistant charged with keeping the peace over the holidays in the dorms. Happy to pick up a job cleaning up after summer conferences in exchange for room and board and a tiny stipend.

  I never went back to the last horrible apartment I shared with my mother and stepfather. Except once—a different apartment, shabbier, with water stains making the ceiling paint bubble and brown. That was when my stepfather left her, or she left him. Some rift that was never explained to me except for a haunting phone call with my mother in tears, saying again and again, “I need you, Gracie.”

  It was my senior year in college. February, because I was looking forward to my first real vacation ever: spring break with my girlfriends on South Padre Island in Texas. Party central. Booze everywhere. Hot guys everywhere.