A Different Light

by Mariah Stewart

  “That’s preposterous. And disgusting.”

  “Don’t bother trying to deny that Rossi handpicked you for the job.” He rubbed his chin, as if in deep thought. “Now, what was the line? Oh, yes. ‘The best man for the job turned out to be a woman.’ Very catchy, Athen. Was that your line, or did he come up with that on his own?”

  “You’ve been in Woodside Heights how long, Quentin? A couple of months? What the hell do you know about Dan Rossi?”

  “I know plenty, Mrs. Soon-To-Be-Mayor. I know he’s as crooked as a poorly hung picture and he’s a political pimp. And if you’re smart enough to be mayor, I guess you’re smart enough to figure out what that makes you.”

  “Acriste,” she sputtered in Greek, questioning his worth as a human being, “How dare you …”

  “Oh, yeah, go into your little righteous and innocent act. Boy, did I buy into that. Poor little lonely Athen. You really had me fooled. Well, you know the expression, ‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice …‘”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I suspect neither do you. Just get out of my way and leave me alone.”

  She attempted to brush past him, but he grabbed her by the arm.

  “Leave you alone? Not a chance.” He laughed and put his glass down on the hall table. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card, which he snapped onto the tabletop.

  Quentin Forbes. The Woodside Herald.

  “I don’t get it,” she said coldly.

  “Then I’ll explain it to you.” His eyes were no longer the warm and gentle blue they’d been on past meetings but chips of ice. “I am, as of last Thursday, the reporter on the City Hall beat. I will be in your face every time you turn around. I will be in the front row at every press conference, and I will be the first person outside your door every time there’s a crisis or even the hint of one. And every time you screw up, the entire city will know about it by the next morning.”

  “Why?” she whispered, shaken by his outburst.

  “Because there’s nothing lower than a man who looks people in the eye and convinces them that he’s killing himself on their behalf at the same time he’s robbing them blind. Unless it’s someone who sells herself to help him to do it.”

  “Quentin, you don’t understand …”

  “Oh, I understand all too well. I also understand that you’re not the woman I thought you were,” he muttered. “Though why that bothers me as much as it does …”

  The ladies’ room door opened, and Brenda Chapman flowed into the hallway.

  “Have you met Brenda?” He gestured to the blond goddess who approached them. “Brenda’s the managing editor at the Herald. Yes, I know she’s young, but her daddy does own the paper. There are worse ways to get a job,” he added pointedly.

  He took the arm of a mildly amused Brenda and led her back to the rally, leaving Athen stunned and confused, alone in the great hall.

  “I’D SAY SHE’S REALLY GOTTEN under your skin.” Brenda set a champagne glass on the breakfast-room table and kicked off her shoes.

  Quentin muttered something under his breath and pulled out a chair.

  “God, my feet are killing me. I thought this night would never be over.” Brenda sat on the cushioned banquette and pulled her legs up under her. “Now, what was that you just said?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it does,” she assured him. In the months since Quentin moved east, he and his stepsister had become close friends.

  “I just thought she was different, that’s all. She just always seemed … I don’t know. Sweet. Decent.”

  “So you’ve said.” Brenda sipped her champagne. “What makes you think she’s not?”

  “Seriously, Brenda?” He made a face. “We both know what a big phony Dan Rossi is.”

  “Ah, I get it.” She nodded. “Guilt by association. He’s a phony, she’s been hand selected to succeed him, therefore she’s a phony, too.”

  “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  “You didn’t. I did.”

  “In that case, I’m sorry you brought it up.”

  “And I’m sorry your dream girl didn’t live up to your expectations.” She patted him on the arm.

  He shot her a dark look, and she shrugged it off.

  “That’s what this is all about, right? You’re pissed off because Athen Moran isn’t living up to your expectations. You’re disappointed because now you think she isn’t the woman you first thought she was. I get it.”

  When Quentin didn’t respond, Brenda said, “I hope this doesn’t influence the way you cover City Hall. I can always assign you to a different beat.”

  “Are you kidding?” He smirked. “I’m looking forward to this.”

  “Don’t go looking for trouble, Quentin. The Herald has a good reputation. I’d like to leave the paper the way I found it.”

  “I’ll be fair. Objective. But I won’t let her get away with a thing.”

  “Does this have anything to do with the fact that Cynthia’s father was indicted three years ago for taking bribes and removed from office?”

  Quentin shrugged. “Have you ever met an honest politician?”

  “Sure. Off the top of my head, I can’t think of one, but I’m sure there are plenty. Just promise me you’ll cover her the same way you would cover anyone else.”

  “Oh, I’ll cover her exactly the same way, don’t you worry about that.” His jaw set. “Like I said, fair and objective. But I’ll be watching every move she makes.”

  “And I’ll be watching you, bro, to keep you honest.” Brenda gathered up her shoes and her glass.

  “I don’t need a keeper, Bren.”

  “Actually, this time, I think you do.” She yawned. “It’s almost four. We can talk about this again tomorrow, or not, but right now, I’m going to bed.”

  She patted his shoulder as she headed for the door.

  “I’ll see you in the morning.” Quentin emptied his glass and debated opening another bottle of champagne. Drinking alone wasn’t really his style. He left the bottle where it was, in the cooler.

  He’d been stunned when he’d first heard that Rossi was going to name Athen as the party’s candidate. He’d been sure it had to be a joke, though why anyone would think that was funny …

  Once it became apparent that she was indeed running for mayor, Quentin felt that the joke was on him. His impression of Dan Rossi was that he was a scoundrel and a crook, though that had yet to be proven. There was no doubt in Quentin’s mind that if Rossi had chosen Athen to succeed him, he’d had a damned good reason for doing so.

  The question Athen had put to him in the park that day kept coming back to him. “If someone you cared about wanted you to do something you weren’t sure you wanted to do, but they really insisted, what would you do?”

  Was this what she’d been referring to? That Rossi had asked her to run for the office?

  His answer had been questions to her: What’s in it for you? What’s in it for them?

  One way or another, Quentin was going to find out just what Rossi had promised her, and what Rossi was getting in return.

  9

  As Dan had predicted, the election went off without a hitch. What little opposition that might have existed became lost in the votes of confidence for Rossi’s protégé. Dan had campaigned vigorously on her behalf, so much so that Athen had rarely had to make one of the dreaded speeches on her own behalf.

  Accustomed to arriving at City Hall at eight, she continued to do so even after her election. At Dan’s suggestion, she moved Edie up the hall to sit at her old desk and serve as her new assistant. Athen had agreed for Dan’s sake, although Edie drove her crazy. She talked too much—to Athen or whoever was closest. Athen was afraid to speak openly in front of her: Edie’s idea of a closely guarded secret was only telling the first fifteen people she ran into.

  Athen’s first call of the day came every morning at nine—from Dan. They discussed whatever was
in the newspaper, then they’d go on to the emails from the website and talk about how she might best respond to them. Following that, they’d discuss her agenda: Dan was ever so helpful in guiding Athen through her meetings. As he suggested, at her first Council meeting she thanked all the members of Council for their support and assured them that nothing would change. Since Dan spoke with both Harlan and Jim each day, most of the discussion seemed to take place between those two Council members.

  As a matter of fact, each day’s meeting seemed to follow the same agenda, except for when Jim or Harlan would occasionally ask her, “Isn’t that what you understood Dan to have said, Athen?” She’d nod in agreement and they’d continue on around her.

  Soon Athen felt about as useless as Angelo Giamboni—who after the first month or so cut his attendance to two or three meetings a week—or George Konstantos, who after greeting Athen affectionately and inquiring after Ari—in Greek—had continued his practice of sleeping through each meeting, apparently unconcerned about who was speaking, what they were saying, or even who was mayor. Fallon seemed to be the only member of the group who recognized her new position.

  Athen chose to take her own notes, having little else to do.

  True to his word, Quentin Forbes faced off with her at every press conference. He always sat right in the middle of the front row where Athen could not avoid seeing him. Even if she refused to meet his eyes, she would have to address his questions. She began to dread these open confrontations, when she would step up to the microphone, primed by Dan to discuss the progress of the new budget or the progress of the negotiations with the trash collectors, and he’d throw her a curve.

  Quentin would rise to address her. “Mayor Moran, what is your position on the new shelter for the homeless that’s been proposed by the Council of Churches?”

  “I … ah … I haven’t had time to study that proposal,” she’d stumble, unprepared to discuss anything other than what Dan had placed in her agenda for that day. Whenever she suggested that she discuss something other than what he’d given her, Dan would say, “Wait till you get your feet wet,” or “Let’s just deal with one thing at a time. Right now, this is the priority. There’s time enough to get into these other things, after you learn to handle the reins.”

  “Surely Mr. Rossi has had time to study it.” Quentin would look down at his notes, as if unaware that he’d struck a nerve.

  “Mr. Rossi no longer holds public office, Mr. Forbes,” she would reply as calmly as her clenched jaws would permit.

  “Then may I assume that you will in fact read the proposal yourself?” he would ask, his eyes challenging her.

  “You may, Mr. Forbes.” She would abruptly break eye contact and look about the room for other questions.

  And so it went, week after week, sparring back and forth, she alternately cursing the day she met him and the day she was sworn in as mayor.

  He had not exaggerated. He was making her every move news of the worst sort, and it seemed to her that he was deliberately slanting his stories to put her in the worst possible light.

  “Mayor ignores pleas from city churches for homeless refuge,” the headlines would shout, followed by a story that portrayed her as a modern-day Marie Antoinette. “Mayor signs new pact with FOP on first day of negotiations” preceded the article that went into detail on her late husband’s police service and made a point of highlighting the clause that increased the pension for retired officers by 6 percent when the firemen only got 4—failing to note, of course, that during the last session of bargaining the firemen had gotten 3 percent and the police had gotten 1 percent. She could not attend a meeting without him being exactly where he’d promised he’d be: in her face.

  Athen looked forward to Christmas in a way she never had before. For one thing, Meg would be home for the first time since last spring, her plans for a visit in the fall having been aborted due to her work schedule. For another, Athen would have an entire week off, one whole week to be herself again, to enjoy Meg’s company, and to not have to look into Quentin Forbes’s mocking eyes.

  At the same time, she dreaded the holiday, their first without John. It would be hard for Callie this year, Athen knew, and she wanted to be there when her daughter needed her.

  “Anyone here got a tree they need help decorating?” Meg had blown in through the front door. Her plane had been delayed due to bad weather in Chicago, and she’d phoned earlier in the day to tell Athen she’d take a cab from the airport whenever she finally had the good fortune to arrive.

  “Aunt Meg!” Callie whooped and flew down the steps, tripping over Meg’s luggage and all but knocking the small woman over.

  “Whoa, would you look at this girl! You’re nearly as tall as I am, Callie.” Meg stepped back to take a good look at her niece.

  “That’s not so tall.” Callie grinned.

  “Oh, a jokester, eh? Where’s the mama-san? There she is …”

  Athen embraced her sister-in-law, feeling as she always did around Meg, like an Amazon hugging a pygmy. Meg, barely five two, made up for her size with her boundless energy.

  “Your Honor.” Meg feigned a curtsy and Athen laughed.

  “God, it’s good to see you. You look great. I love the new hair.” Athen held Meg at arm’s length, inspecting the short permed curls that fell around Meg’s face, replacing the miles of honey blond hair she’d sported all her life. “It’s wonderful, Meg, you look ten years younger.”

  “Music to my ears. Oh, honey, where’d you get that tree?” Meg stood, hands on her hips, surveying the scrawny little number Athen had dragged home over the weekend.

  “I told you it was too small.” Callie turned to her mother with an accusatory air. “I told you it was a poor excuse for a tree. Daddy always brought home perfect trees.”

  Athen exchanged a chagrined look with Meg, then attempted to put her arms around Callie. “It was as perfect as I could find five days before Christmas. And it was the biggest one I could fit on top of my little car. I’m sorry if it falls short of your expectations, Callie.”

  “Daddy would never have brought home a tree like that,” Callie insisted, tears welling up as she shook her mother off.

  “It’ll be grand when we get the lights and all the decorations on,” Meg assured her as she draped her coat over the back of the sofa. “You’ll see. It’ll be beautiful. We’ll make it beautiful.”

  “Fat chance,” grumbled Callie. “And besides, Daddy always puts the lights on.”

  “And who do you think taught your father to do so masterful a job, hmmm? None other than his little sister, that’s who. We can take care of this sucker in no time flat. Athen, lights, please.”

  Athen produced the lights and ornaments as Meg sorted through the boxes, checking each strand to make sure all the bulbs worked. Soon the little tree had been transformed and they stood back to admire their handiwork.

  “Oh, the angel!” Athen poked around to find the box and drew out the angel she’d bought for their first tree. “Callie, it’s your job.”

  “I can’t do it this year.” Her bottom lip trembled. “There’s no one to lift me to the top.”

  “Oh, but the tree’s not so tall. I’ll bet a chair would do the trick.” Athen dragged in a chair from the dining room. It elevated Callie just enough to reach the top of the tree and gently place the angel on the uppermost branch.

  “Wonderful!” Meg clapped her hands.

  “See, it’s not so bad.” Athen nodded at the tree.

  “It’s not the same, though.” Callie fought bravely to blink back tears.

  “No, sweetheart, it’s not the same,” agreed Athen, her heart breaking along with her child’s.

  “I think I’ll go to bed, now,” Callie told them quietly. “Good night, Aunt Meg. I’m glad you’re here. Good night, Mom.”

  She kissed them both and headed up the steps stiffly.

  “Oh, Athen …” Meg shook her head sadly.

  “It’s very hard for her, Meg. She and John
were so close, they did so much together. I knew she’d have an especially hard time with the holiday.”

  “And you?” Meg asked.

  “It’s a little easier for me, I guess. I’m an adult. But still . . .” She glanced at the tree. “I can tell you a story about every item on that tree. Those pinecones—John and Callie gathered them in the park and brought them home and sprayed them gold. Callie was five that year. The plaster angels—we made them three years ago in little plastic molds John found in a toy store. The papier-mâché bells—John made them for Callie her first Christmas.”

  “Stop,” begged Meg, and before either of them knew what was happening, they were seated on the floor, leaning against each other, crying their eyes out.

  “Oh, God, I hope Callie didn’t hear us,” Meg sniffed when the storm of tears had begun to subside.

  “I should go check on her.” Athen stood up.

  “Get a tissue and dry your face before you go upstairs,” Meg cautioned. “You look ghastly.”

  “I look ghastly!” Athen laughed shakily. “You should see your face. You’ve got mascara down to your lower lip.”

  “I must look like a raccoon.” Meg helped herself to a tissue and rubbed the skin below her eyes. “Better?”

  “Much,” Athen replied as she went up the steps to her daughter’s room. “I’ll be back down as soon as I check in with Callie.”

  MEG HAD MADE TEA AND it had cooled by the time Athen joined her in the living room.

  “Is she okay?” Meg asked.

  “She’s better, but she’s hurting,” Athen told her. “I think she feels guilty about celebrating Christmas without her dad. I think she feels like she’s betrayed him by having a good time decorating the tree without him.”

  “I think that’s normal,” noted Meg. “It’s hard for a child to grasp a concept like “Life goes on.” The last thing in the world John would have wanted for any of us would have been for our lives to stop when his did. You both have a lot of miles to go, you know, and he would have wanted you to enjoy every mile of the journey.”