Breaking the Story

by Ashley Farley

  Scottie sucked in her breath. She wanted the assault on her house to end, but not if it meant calling in the police. Although she’d destroyed the last of the physical evidence, Brad knew enough about her involvement in the Missing Baby Case to rat her out if he got mad enough. And he certainly appeared to be mad enough.

  Scottie heard her husband’s deflated voice. “Don’t call the police, Chuck. I’m sorry, man. I’m leaving. I just need a minute to get my things together.”

  Peeking over the windowsill, she watched Brad gather his belongings and load the boxes in the back of his Tahoe. He removed the two remaining unopened bottles of beer from the twelve-pack and stuffed them in his pockets. After climbing into the driver’s side, he peeled away from the curb and disappeared into the dark night.

  Scottie dove onto the bed and buried her face in her pillow. How had things spiraled so far out of control? When she graduated from the University of Virginia eight years ago, her life had been mapped out in a straight and narrow path in front of her. The plan was for her to support Brad, freelancing as a photojournalist while he attended medical school. Somewhere along that path, Brad’s ambition had gone south and Scottie had gotten lost in her hormonal yearnings to have a baby.

  7

  Scottie tossed and turned for most of the night, imagining noises and dreaming of strange men throwing Molotov cocktails made out of Budweiser bottles at her home. Although common sense told her Brad would not come back that night, it was no match for her overactive imagination and her fragile state of mind. Huddled under the covers, a complete emotional wreck, she thought of her earlier conversation with Will. Again, he had been right. She would seek her parents’ help—and the sooner the better.

  When Scottie arrived at her family’s farm a few minutes after eight the following morning, she found her father on the terrace, off the kitchen, eating breakfast—the usual poached egg on wheat toast he’d eaten every day since she was a little girl.

  “Hello, honey. What a pleasant surprise.” He rose out of his chair to greet her. Kissing her cheek, he asked, “Can I offer you some breakfast?”

  “No, but thanks. I ate a bowl of cereal before I left home, and stopped at Starbucks on the way out.” She held up her paper coffee cup.

  “Then have a seat and tell me about your trip. I want to hear all about the convention.”

  Scottie hung her bag over the back of the wrought iron chair and lowered herself to the seat next to him. “The convention was predictable but inspiring, like a pep rally for the Dallas Cowboys’ season opener. I don’t understand why the political parties spend so much money on an event that serves little purpose.”

  “Nor do I. The process has changed a great deal since I was your age. Back then, the primary focus of the convention was nominating the candidate out of more than one hopeful.” He pointed his fork at her. “But the photographs you sold to the Associated Press were some of your best work.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I’m not sure I agree with you, but I appreciate the vote of confidence. Lucky me, I get to do it all over again in three days.”

  “Ah, but don’t forget about your trip to Rio, the light at the end of your tunnel.”

  The reminder of her upcoming trip brought a smile to her face. “That’s true. I am excited about going to the Olympics.”

  Her father forked off a bite of toast and dragged it through the yolk before popping it in his mouth. “As much as I hate the idea of you traveling to Brazil alone.”

  “I’ll be fine. It’s my job. You’ve got to stop worrying about me.” The words escaped her mouth before she had a chance to think about them. Her father would worry even more once she told him about the breakup of her marriage and Brad’s assault on the house.

  Shielding her eyes from the sun, Scottie peered through the French doors into the kitchen. “Where’s Mom?”

  He motioned toward their second-floor bedroom. “Getting her beauty sleep. Where else on a Saturday morning?”

  “Yes, of course. Mommy’s time.” Scottie chuckled.

  He popped a vitamin into his mouth and swallowed it down with juice. “She got up early during the week, but she made sure we all knew her sleeping-in time on weekends was sacred.”

  “Actually, Dad, Will and I looked forward to it because you always used that time to do something special with us.” She smiled as memories of Saturday mornings flashed through her mind—the three of them taking horseback rides in warmer months on trails surrounding their farm, and in winter months enjoying brunch at the Red Barn Cafe in Centerville.

  “I’m sure you didn’t drive all the way out here to discuss the convention or reminisce. What’s on your mind, Scottie?” Stuart asked.

  Barbara’s absence served Scottie well today. While they argued with one another over the small stuff, like whether to eat Mexican food or Italian, her parents typically agreed on the big picture issues. Breaking the news to her father first would give her a chance to test the waters for their reaction to her separation from Brad. While they’d never approved of her husband, they believed wholeheartedly in the sanctity of marriage. “Marriage is hard work,” she’d heard her mother say more than once. “I’ve seen so many couples call it quits too easily. You must have a fair balance of give and take to succeed.”

  “You know me so well, Daddy.” She paused, gathering her nerve. “There’s really no easy way to say this, except to come out and say it. I need to hire one of your attorneys. One who specializes in divorce, that is.”

  Her father stopped chewing, but his expression remained impassive. Scottie had often wondered if Poker Face 101 was a requisite course in law school—How to keep a blank face when your client confesses his crimes.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. My feelings for Brad aside, I hate to see you hurt.”

  “I appreciate that, Dad. It’s not easy, but I know it’s for the best.”

  Stuart pushed his plate away, abandoning his egg, and sat back in his chair. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  “I caught him in bed with another woman.” She removed her iPad from her bag and set it on the table. “I took some photographs, if you want to see them.”

  Stuart glanced down at the iPad, then back up at her. “I’d rather you save them for the attorney. That’s too much information for me, as you youngsters like to say. When did this happen?”

  “On Thursday night, when I got home from Cleveland.”

  Scottie recounted the events of the past thirty-six hours. She told him about spending the night at the Jefferson and changing the locks on the doors, including Brad’s subsequent assault with beer bottles on her house.

  “What a mess. Was there a lot of glass?”

  “You have no idea, but I cleaned most of it up this morning. At least the pieces I could see. I hope some neighborhood kid doesn’t cut his foot running through our yard.”

  “Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve been there right away.”

  Scottie had a mental image of her father arriving on the scene with an arsenal of weapons in the back of his ancient Jeep Wagoneer. “I didn’t want to drag you into my problems again, after what happened at Christmas.”

  “That’s what your mother and I are here for, honey. You can come to us with your problems anytime, day or night. I thought you knew that.”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  “You deserve so much more than he’s capable of offering you.”

  Whether or not her husband had ever been capable of providing the life he’d promised her, lately he’d been unwilling to even try. “Brad is not the same man I met in college. I know you and Mom never saw his true potential. Believe me, he’s plenty smart. Unfortunately he lacks the work ethic to put that intelligence to use.”

  “People change, sweetheart, and not always for the better.”

  Scottie gnawed on her lower lip. “Our marriage hasn’t worked for some time. I’ve just been too stubborn to admit it, even to myself.”

  Stuart winked at her. �
�You inherited that trait from your mother.”

  Scottie smiled. “That’s not true and you know it.” She was every bit her father’s daughter, especially when it came to his fiery disposition.

  “After the way Brad lost his temper last night, I’m scared to be alone in my house,” she said. “Can I stay here for a few days?”

  “Stay as long as you’d like. I’ll call Gloria Simpson this afternoon and put her on alert. She’s one of the best, as far as divorce attorneys go.”

  “Thank you. I’ll feel more comfortable confiding in a female.”

  “We’ll get a restraining order if we have to,” Stuart said. “Your name is the only one on the deed, so technically he has no claim to the property.”

  “What if he sues for alimony?” Scottie asked.

  “Let’s take it one step at a time. Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

  *

  Scottie was stretched out on her bed, reading through her notes from the convention, when her mother sought her out a little while later.

  “There you are, sweetheart. I’ve been looking all over for you.” She sat down on the side of the bed. “Your father thought you’d gone down to the stables.”

  “I’ve been getting acquainted with my new room,” she said, looking around at her mother’s recent renovations to her childhood bedroom. “I feel like I’m floating on a cloud in the midst of all this white.” Aside from the four-poster mahogany bed and antique chest of drawers, all the accoutrements were white—fabrics, carpet, and wall color.

  “I’m glad you like it, although I’m sorry your visit is under such difficult circumstances.”

  “So Dad told you.” Scottie wasn’t sure he would, but she was glad he had.

  “He didn’t want you to have to repeat the story again.” Barbara placed her hand on the bed, absentmindedly smoothing out the coverlet. “I want you to know you have my full support. We’ll have you back on your feet in no time. You’ll meet someone new, and have all the babies you’ve ever wanted.”

  “If only I could divorce my fertility problems.”

  “Things usually work out the way they were meant to be. Once you meet the right man, everything else will fall into place. I believe it in my heart.”

  Scottie admired her mother’s eternal optimism. “I hope you’re right, Mom.” In Barbara’s mind, dreams came true, simply because she believed in them.

  “Your father is planning a family cookout in honor of your visit. Will is on his way out. We thought we’d spend the afternoon by the pool, then shoot skeet later if it’s not too hot.”

  “Can we please do it another time?” Scottie sank deeper into the pillows. “I’d rather stay nestled up in all these fluffy linens. Besides, I’m not in the mood to listen to Will tell me I told you so about what happened last night.”

  “He won’t say a word. Your father has already talked to him about it.” Barbara slid off the bed and pulled Scottie to her feet. “Change into your bathing suit and meet me at the pool. Your father has gone to the store for supplies and Will should be here any minute.”

  As it turned out, a relaxing afternoon by the pool with her family was exactly what Scottie needed. Stretched out in the shade on a lounge chair, Barbara read the latest Elin Hildebrand novel while Scottie played Marco Polo and underwater tag with her father and Will. Despite his quadruple bypass eighteen months earlier, or perhaps because of it, her father appeared to be in excellent shape. He’d always been full of energy, but in the years prior to his heart attack, he had slowed down and put on weight. It tickled Scottie to see him acting like a forty-year-old man again.

  When the heat of the afternoon became too much to bear, instead of shooting skeet, Will and Stuart barbecued ribs in the Big Green Egg while Barbara and Scottie sipped mojitos in the rocking chairs on the back porch. It was nearly eight o’clock before they got around to eating.

  Once they were seated at the table on the terrace, Stuart said, “Before we dig into this delicious dinner, I’d like to propose a toast.” He popped the cork on a bottle of Vueve Clicquot champagne, and poured four glasses.

  “What’s the occasion?” Will asked, as Stuart handed each of them a glass.

  “We are toasting my beautiful bride.” His face full of love, he held his glass up to Barbara.

  “I totally forgot! Your anniversary,” Scottie said as she clicked glasses with her parents and brother. “It’s not today, is it?”

  “No, it’s Monday, the twenty-fifth.” Barbara said, her cheeks rosy with happiness. “This is a big one for us, you know.”

  “Thirty-five years,” Stuart said, his face beaming with pride. “I’m taking your mother on an Alaskan cruise to celebrate.”

  “Wow. Thirty-five years certainly calls for a celebration.” Scottie admired her parents. Surviving the ups and downs of marriage for more than three decades was definitely something to brag about. She questioned whether she could last in a relationship with anyone for that long, even a man who combined the looks of Channing Tatum with the personality of Prince Charming.

  “When do you leave for your cruise?” Will asked.

  “A week from Tuesday,” Barbara answered.

  “I’m feeling a little left out that you didn’t invite Scottie and me,” Will said, thrusting his lower lip forward.

  “That would have made it a family vacation, not a second honeymoon.” Stuart winked at his son. “Time for you to find your own bride.”

  Will rolled his eyes. “Here we go again.”

  “You’re not getting any younger, you know,” Barbara said.

  Will puffed out his chest. “I can’t help that I’m selective about who I go out with.”

  Champagne bubbles flew up Scottie’s nose as she burst into laughter. “I’ve met some of the girls you go out with. I wouldn’t exactly call them the marrying type.”

  “You know,” Barbara said, clasping her hands together. “I think my friend Clara’s daughter is moving back to Richmond from somewhere up north. If I remember correctly, she’s unmarried. I know she’s a doctor. A cardiologist, I believe.” She picked her phone up off the table. “I’ll text her and find out.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Will tried to grab the phone, but Barbara held it out of her son’s reach.

  Scottie slapped her brother on the shoulder. “I hate to say it, bro, but I agree with Mom and Dad. It’s time for you to settle down. I’m so far ahead of you, it isn’t funny. I’ve already been through one husband, and you can’t even find a steady girlfriend.”

  Barbara finished her text and set her phone down on the table. “Having a cardiologist in the family might come in handy one day, especially when your father has another heart attack from eating all those ribs.”

  Three sets of eyes zeroed in on Stuart’s plate, which was piled high with barbecue ribs. He grinned and licked the sauce off his lips.

  “Seriously, Dad, should you be eating ribs?” Will asked.

  “I’ll have you know I’ve lost twenty pounds.” Stuart sat up straighter in his chair and sucked in his gut. “I’m gluten free, fat free, and sugar free. Eating a rack of spare ribs once in a blue moon isn’t going to kill me.” He bit into another rib. “And if it does, I’ll die a happy man.”

  They were all sharing a laugh when, out of the corner of her eye, Scottie glimpsed movement in the hydrangea bushes beside the pool. She grew still, the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention.

  Recognizing her daughter’s concern, Barbara said, “Honey, is something wrong?”

  Scottie kept her eye on the bushes for another minute or so. When the bushes remained still, she shook off the unnerving feeling that someone was watching them. “I guess I’m still a little unglued by everything that happened last night. For a moment there, I thought I saw someone hiding in the bushes.”

  8

  After polishing off another bottle of champagne and several after dinner drinks on the porch, Will opted to spend the night at the farm instead of paying Uber to drive h
im back to town. Scottie woke her brother early on Sunday, and together they cooked up an elaborate breakfast to celebrate their parents’ anniversary, complete with french toast, sausage, and fresh roses cut from the garden.

  Around noon, when Will left, Scottie grabbed her electronic devices and headed for the shade of the massive white oak at the edge of the lawn. The property sloped downhill from there and gave a view of the horse pastures. As a child, she’d spent many afternoons in the rope swing dreaming of becoming the first female president of the United States. And now, this week, when the Democratic Party nominated Senator Catherine Caine as the first female candidate for president, Scottie would be there to cover the event.

  She spread an old quilt beneath the tree, and stretched out on her belly with her iPad. She was close enough to the house to connect to the Wifi, but far enough away from her parents’ constant hovering. She appreciated their concern, but their lavish attention was grating on her nerves.

  She scrolled through the articles she’d recently added to her reading list. In order to attract the attention of the decision-makers at Reuters, she would need to take her work to a new level. And the only way she knew to do that at a political convention was to offer a unique perspective on the candidate—a real challenge in this instance, considering the fifty-eight-year-old Massachusetts senator’s pristine reputation and accomplished résumé. Catherine Caine’s academic pursuits as an undergrad at Exeter and a law school student at Harvard were exemplary, as was her reputation in the Senate.

  Every news agency and journalist in the country had scrutinized her background time and again. She’d never smoked pot in college, or sent classified emails from her personal server while holding a government office. There were no ghosts living in Caine’s closet, only her immaculately tailored suits and Italian leather pumps. She and her husband presented a happy and united front, no evidence of any scandals afoot. Her three sons likewise enjoyed successful careers and had married role-model women.

  As predicted, none of the articles on her reading list revealed anything Scottie didn’t already know about the senator, or raise questions as to her integrity. The best she could hope for from the convention was a rare slip-up made by the candidate, an unflattering smirk or an offhanded comment.