A Straw Man (The Clay Lion Series Book 3)

by Amalie Jahn

  The worst realization to come out of our brief conversation was Nate’s impression that my ambitions were more important to me than he was. I never thought of him as an obstacle but perhaps it was how he viewed himself. It broke my heart and I wondered how he would react if I approached him about it.

  Alienating my friends was an unexpected side effect of my ambition and although my chosen path had obviously driven a wedge between us, I had come too far not to see the process through to the end. I just hoped when all was said and done there was still something left of our relationships to repair.

  Before Lesley reemerged, Luciana appeared on her third news show of the morning. Poised and charismatic, she recounted her story to the audience, imploring viewers to let their respective congressmen know it was time to put an end to government sanctioned time travel.

  “No mother should be forced to live without her baby,” she wept into the camera.

  Watching her raw emotion, I knew regardless of the outcome, I would be forever indebted to her. She brought a face to our cause with a humanity I could have never achieved. By serving as our willing ambassador, she protected me from revealing that I’d taken my trip and allowed Brooke and Charlie to live free from any grief the truth may have caused them. Putting an end to time travel was the only repayment I considered worthy of her tremendous effort.

  I avoided news coverage for the rest of the day and instead wandered around school, alone with my thoughts. The day had grown warm and I shed my hoodie, wrapping it around my waist as I sat beneath the branches of a newly blossoming oak. The tree grew just outside the sports medicine hall where I assumed Nate was attending his weekly biomechanics class, and although I hadn’t intentionally planned on ending up there, I wasn’t averse to the possibility of seeing him.

  While I waited for him to appear, birds chirped in the limbs above my head, ambivalent to my inner turmoil. How carefree to sing and soar above the clouds, unfettered by the emotions of a human heart.

  Before the sun descended below the tree line, Nate emerged from the building, his backpack slung casually across his shoulder. Beside him was Erin Waters, a classmate, but also someone who I always viewed as a potential threat. Where I was serious, she was rambunctious. Where I was cautious, she was brazen. Erin was everything I wasn’t and seeing the two of them together made me remember how different Nate and I truly were. I had known from the minute I met him that we were an unlikely pair. Perhaps it was better for him to end up with someone less driven and more open to his relaxed take on life.

  They turned, heading away from me toward the parking lot and I stood up to leave, brushing the mulch from the back of my legs. My movement must have caught his attention because he turned to face me and our eyes locked. There was something in his reaction, the way his face softened, that caught me by surprise, and although I was expecting some show of anger, there was no indication that he still harbored any sort of resentment. I wanted desperately to go to him, but the moment I took a step forward, Erin grabbed his elbow, pulling him away. He turned from me and I wasted no time heading back across Grounds in the opposite direction.

  I spent the evening by myself, holed up in my room watching the nation’s reaction to Luciana’s story. If I hadn’t already been flustered by my encounter with Nate, watching the pro-travel zealots viciously attacking Luciana would have merely upset me. Unfortunately, confronting both blows in one day was more than enough to push me over the edge into full-blown ‘eat a pint of ice cream by yourself’ despondency.

  As I sat listening to one commentator after another label her as a “progress Nazi” and a “scientific-rights opponent,” I chalked up the day as just another low point in the tumultuous sea of my life. I’d lived through death, loss, and regret. What was one more day of sadness?

  After listening to at least a dozen straw man attacks on Luciana and our message, I turned off the television and tried to sleep, but my brain kept replaying the vicious attacks on our cause.

  “The proposed bill’s goal is to take away your right to travel,” one particularly outspoken congressman commented. “But if we start taking away every right that potentially affects other people, we won’t have any rights left. People like Senator Turner and Mrs. McArthur would be happy if all of your rights were taken away.”

  I hoped Turner was correct in her assumption that the straw man attacks signaled a shift in the momentum – an indication that we were about to leave the opposition in our wake. If that was indeed the case, then I didn’t understand why it seemed as though Luciana’s story had set us back even further than it carried us forward.

  It took several more hours to quiet my mind, and after effectively blocking the memory of Erin Waters walking with Nate, enjoying the benefits of a life I worked to restore, I finally fell asleep. I placated myself with the knowledge that I was working for the greater good, on Vicki’s behalf, and that in the end, everything would work out as it should.

  C HAPTER THIRTY THREE

  By morning, things were looking up. A handful of people with cases similar to Luciana’s crawled out of the woodwork, proclaiming their support for the bill – among them, a couple from Arkansas who lost a daughter and an elderly man from Oregon who lost his grandson. Closer to home, I overheard a conversation at breakfast from a group of first-years at the table beside me defending the bill’s position. Their enthusiasm shone as a glimmer of hope that not all was lost.

  My phone vibrated just before lunch in the middle of my political theories class and when I saw who was calling, I slipped out the back door to answer.

  “Melody, it’s JoAnne. Any chance you could make it here to DC by tomorrow night?”

  I tried to remember what day it was.

  “Tomorrow’s Thursday?” I said aloud, reviewing my schedule in my head. “I need to talk to a couple professors, but I should be able to make it,” I told her. “Why? What’s going on?”

  “We’re going to have a rally on the lawn in front of the Capitol at 5pm. I don’t think it’s going to be too large of a gathering, but we got approval from the police department and I’ve invited the press, so hopefully it will drum up enough support to carry the bill through to legislation.”

  I knew at once the rally was something I needed to attend.

  “I’ll be there,” I said.

  “Great. I’ll leave a press pass for you with one of my staff so you can come backstage if you want. Just stop by my office beforehand and I’ll see you there.” She paused, and I sensed there was something more she wanted to say. “I think the bill is going to pass, Melody. It’s going to be my legacy to end time travel.”

  I considered her legacy and wondered about my own. What legacy was I to leave behind? No mention of my name would ever be linked in the history books to the defunding of time travel. Students would read about Senator JoAnne Turner and perhaps Luciana and Eduardo McArthur, but nowhere in the annals of history would there be a mention of Melody Johnson and her niece Victoria. We would be lost to time forever.

  And I was surprisingly okay with that. I had no desire for fame and was content to sit back and let Turner take the credit for the law. It was enough to know I’d done what I could to prevent time travel from destroying other people’s families.

  I had no trouble getting permission to skip classes that day. When I told my professors I was planning to attend the Rally to End Time Travel in DC, they were happy to excuse my absence. One even offered extra credit if I wrote a short report about the event, which of course seemed ridiculous knowing the time and effort I’d already spent bringing the bill to fruition.

  I arrived in DC on Thursday afternoon and spent over an hour walking the length of the mall by myself, absorbed by the beauty of the cherry blossoms blooming throughout the city. By the time I made it from Turner’s office to the Air and Space Museum, I’d made peace with the reality of my situation.

  Nate was happy. Brooke and Charlie were happy. Mikey was happy.

  And regardless of whether or not my b
ill passed, things were going to be okay.

  A stage was assembled in front of the Capitol at the far end of the mall and a crowd was beginning to form. Supporters from both sides of the debate appeared in droves with banners and signs declaring the legitimacy of one position over the other. A growing section of protesters stood beyond the police barricades, calling for an end to the diplomatic tyranny the bill represented to all Americans. I steered clear of the demonstrators and wove my way through the crowd to the staging area behind the platform.

  “Melody!” Turner called to me from where she stood with Luciana. They were surrounded by her staff and several other supporters I recognized from TV, including the grandfather from Oregon.

  I hurried to them, hugging Luciana tightly, grateful for the opportunity to share my appreciation for her dedication to our cause.

  “I’m so sorry about the negative press,” I told her after all the introductions were made. “I feel awful about what people are saying.”

  She brushed my comment aside. “Let them say what they want. I’m a lot tougher than I look. I was an army wife, remember?” Her smile masked the sadness that remained. “And besides, at the end of the day, even if the bill passes, it won’t bring my Eduardo back. But if it doesn’t, maybe hearing my story will keep other people from taking their trips unnecessarily, you know? Now that they realize this sort of thing can happen.”

  I nodded. I did know. It was less about winning and more about knowing you did everything you could to make a change.

  “Ladies?” a staff member beckoned. “It’s time.”

  Turner finished touching up her lipstick and took my hand. “Come on,” she said. “You’re going on stage with us.”

  Before I could object she dragged me up the steps to the stage’s main level. Her name was already being announced and as supporters cheered from below, she glided behind the podium into position.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming today to show your support for bill S.485-182, now known as ‘Eduardo’s Bill.’ I know many of you have supported the defunding of time travel over the years and a few of you have been fighting against government sanctioned time travel since just after its inception. To you I say, our day has arrived. Based on a long-standing law banning federal funding for any program endangering an embryo, Eduardo’s Bill was created by a team of dedicated men and women, some of whom share the stage with me today. In the coming days, it is up to you, the voters, to let your congressmen know you oppose time travel, you oppose government funding, and you support this bill. I hope by next week we will be living in a country which no longer finances unlawful practices and where families will live without fear of the past. Thank you all again for your support and let’s pass this bill!”

  Applause erupted from the crowd, and Luciana moved to take her place beside Turner as the face of ‘Eduardo’s Bill.’ There was a touch of sadness, knowing the bill could have been named after Vicki instead, but I didn’t regret my decision to keep her life a secret. As Luciana began, people called to her, pledging their support, and as I gazed out into the assembly something caught my eye. In the far left corner was a man, standing taller than those around him, wearing a blue and orange ball cap. I squinted into the sun, trying to see his face more clearly, and that was the moment he began to wave. He leaned down to say something to the person beside him and I saw another hand waving frantically from behind the throng of constituents. Next a third hand began to wave. And then a fourth. Finally, the man looked up again and saluted.

  They were all there – Lesley, Tyree, Josh, Kara… and Nate.

  Overwhelmed by their presence, I bit my lower lip to hold back tears. I hadn’t wanted to admit how much I missed them. How much I needed them. But seeing them out there in the crowd felt like Christmas and New Year’s and my birthday all rolled up into one celebration.

  I blew a kiss into the air, discreetly, and attempted to refocus on Luciana’s speech, but I couldn’t stop myself from glancing back in their direction.

  They had no idea what I’d been through, but they came anyway.

  They didn’t agree with my political agenda, but they came anyway.

  They were angry about being snubbed, but they came anyway.

  I couldn’t wait to apologize to them for my behavior and thank them for showing up. And even though I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t mess up again, I would try to be a better friend. I owed them that much.

  The rally ended and Turner declared it an overwhelming success. There were hugs and tears and for the first time since returning from my trip, I felt as though I was finally going to be able to move forward.

  I had finally forgiven myself.

  As both supporters and protesters dissipated into the streets, I saw them lingering at the edge of the staging area.

  The crew. My crew.

  I said my goodbyes to Turner, her staff, and my team of fellow travelers, excusing myself for the evening. I approached my friends with the reverence and humility they deserved, and Nate was the first to break the awkward silence between us, scooping me into his arms.

  “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered in my ear.

  My heart swelled.

  “I can’t believe you all showed up here,” I stammered. “You have no idea how much it means to me.”

  “This bill of yours is turning out to be one of the biggest political controversies of the decade. We didn’t come here for you,” Josh said winking.

  “Yeah,” Tyree added, “we were all just like ‘what should we do tonight? Let’s head to DC for a rally!’ Cuz we’re huge activists you know.”

  Kara shook her head and wrapped me in her arms. “Don’t listen to them. We’re here because we’re your friends. We don’t get it, but we’re here to support it.”

  “That’s right,” Lesley added. “If it’s important to you, it’s important to us.”

  “Plus, you’re kind of famous and we’re getting extra credit for being here,” Josh said.

  Nate punched him in the arm and took me by the hand. “You need a ride home?”

  I shook my head. “I drove myself.”

  His eyes glistened, reminding me of the first time I saw them. It seemed like a million years had passed since college orientation.

  “Any chance you want some company?” he asked.

  We said goodbye to the others and headed in the opposite direction to where my car was parked near Turner’s building. The street lights were just flickering on and headlights flashed across our path as we fell into step beside each other. I was afraid to spoil the moment by opening my mouth and so we walked without speaking until he was brave enough to break the silence.

  “So you just might be responsible for ending time travel,” he said.

  I shrugged off his attempt at a compliment. “We’ll see next week,” I said.

  “What does the senator say? Does she think it’s gonna pass?”

  I didn’t want to talk about the bill or time travel or Senator Turner. I wanted to talk about us.

  “Maybe,” I told him. “I did the best I could. Now it’s up to Congress to decide.”

  I hesitated, considering the most delicate way to broach the subject of our estrangement. It wasn’t a conversation I had ever planned on having, especially after seeing him with Erin Waters.

  “I’m sorry, Nate,” I said finally. “I handled this whole thing… poorly.”

  He chuckled, nudging me with his elbow. “You really did. But put in the same position, I probably wouldn’t have handled it much better. Especially given my supposed track record.”

  He was referring to my story of his addiction. I wanted desperately to explain myself but was hesitant to reopen wounds that were clearly on the mend.

  “I guess the reality is, we just are who we are. Regardless of what life throws our way, I deal with things my way and you deal with things your way. I’m super focused and you’re completely mellow. I’m just sorry I tried to force you into being more like me. It was obnoxious to l
ay all that stuff on you the way I did. You didn’t need to know, and I probably shouldn’t have told you.”

  “So you were just gonna hold all that stuff in forever?”

  I wondered if I could have.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  I showed my pass and was allowed through the gate into the parking garage. We were in the car before I worked up the courage to continue.

  “I didn’t tell you about my trip and Vicki because I wanted you to feel guilty. I told you because I was trying to help you understand my motivation for the bill. The choices I made were my own and none of them were your fault. I need you to know that,” I told him as we merged into traffic.

  He rested his hand on my knee. “I know,” he said. “And I don’t.”

  I glanced over to see if his expression mirrored the sincerity of his words.

  It did.

  “You were so angry though.”

  “No kidding,” he laughed. “You’re impossible sometimes.”

  “I’m not the only one,” I said, recalling Nate in the throes of his addiction. “But you said you were done. That you couldn’t deal with me anymore.”

  “I did, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah.” I remembered how hard it was watching him walk away. “So why are you here?”

  The lights of the city were behind us and the passing trees scattered moonlight across his face.

  “I’m here because I love you,” he said at last. “I’ve always loved you. In fact, it’s the reason I stayed away all these months.”

  He wasn’t making any sense.

  “Why would you stay away if you still loved me? Why wouldn’t you want to be together?”

  His fingertips brushed my cheek and I rested my face into the palm of his hand.

  “I did want to be together, but I would have only been in the way. You wanted to do this. You needed to do this, and I wasn’t going to be the one to stop you. You obviously couldn’t find a way to reconcile your heart with your head, so I decided just to take myself out of the equation.”