Audrey's Promise

by Sheehey, Susan

  Heat flushed her cheeks as her eyes drifted down and rested on his crotch, however briefly, and caught sight of the bulge against his Dockers. To which she was even more mortified when Ethan shoved his hands in his pockets and caught her wandering stare. He leaned forward, their bodies only a few inches apart. His warm breath smelled like peppermint gum, mingled with his musky cologne.

  “I’m looking forward to this weekend, Audrey.” He smirked. “Should be a lot of fun.” He lingered a moment longer, his mouth parted and waiting. When Audrey couldn’t move, he stepped back and opened the door, the wind rushing in and slapping her in the face.

  That’s what I’m afraid of.

  Chapter Four

  Audrey shook her head at the press release in the Dallas Morning Journal about the fundraiser. The Crisis Center’s logo was supposed to be next to the article, but instead the editors published her headshot. Though black and white, she hated that her skin appeared splotchy and her freckles could never be erased, no matter how much makeup they used. But what she hated more was taking attention away from the Crisis Center.

  Miranda had told her not to fuss over it. Either way, it was good publicity for both her election and the Crisis Center. Besides, she had a much bigger article to prepare for. Audrey tossed the paper in the trash and grabbed her brush from the bathroom sink. The hot shower hadn’t released the tension in her shoulders, so chamomile tea was next. Most of her day had been a whirlwind of interviews and glad-handing voters on her platforms. Relaxing in pajamas alone in her apartment felt like a gift. Elections were only the precursor to life as a senator. If only.

  After she brushed out the damp strands of hair along her neck, she strolled into the kitchen and poured the steaming water from the stove into a coffee mug. Papers lay scattered across the dining room table behind her, waiting to be reviewed as her tea brewed.

  Legislative agendas, letters from campaign supporters, and cost estimates for the Crisis Center building all blurred together in a white flood of responsibility. Audrey pulled the edges of her purple bathrobe tighter across her chest. She knew how to handle a room. Her internship provided her the perfect means to study what tactics worked best in negotiations, how a simple hand gesture or body movement signaled resistance or defeat on a bill. Getting people to air their hesitations and secret motivations is why the media coined her notable nickname: The Peacemaker.

  Audrey never saw it that way. It was all about getting people to find common ground and build from there. Though common ground was harder for politicians, Audrey had a knack for making the greater good come to light. Those ten years with her mentor, Congressman Mason Nichols, taught her everything she needed to know about Texas politics.

  Despite her depression.

  In the end, it was only about the people. The battered women, the innocent kids clinging to their mothers’ arms and the helpless looks on their faces as they held Audrey’s hand. She overcame her depression by focusing on the people, depending on her strength to do what was best. If only she could use that strength to let go of her dread about this weekend.

  Ethan Tanner would be nothing but trouble. And she’d be hurt all over again. Only this time, splattered across every newspaper in Texas. Audrey turned away from the table and carried her tea to the sofa. Curling up on the cream suede cushion, she grabbed her sketchbook, which always sat on the windowsill behind the couch. Gliding the pencil over the thick paper, she created soft lines of the familiar hill next to a small pond lined with tall grass while the same thought drifted in her mind. This weekend was a mistake.

  Home for the first time in ten years. The thought sent shivers through her nerves. The pressure between her shoulders grew, along with the weight. Toting a vicious journalist with her would only make it more difficult. Why hadn’t she insisted to Miranda this was a bad idea? She needed to do this alone.

  A sip from her tea filtered warmth down her throat, and her mind lingered on Ethan’s face. Turning a new page in her sketchbook, her pencil went to work. Ethan’s tongue was too sharp to have such clean lines angling his chin and cheekbones. At first glance his face was perfectly symmetrical: eyes, ears, and nothing lopsided about his mouth. But his hairline dipped a sliver lower on the right of his forehead. When he smiled, the dimple on his left was a smidge higher than the right.

  If she used colored pencils, she might be able to fill in the exact color of his light pewter eyes, with a touch of cobalt by his pupils. But the pencil would capture the shadows between the layers in his irises. If anyone dared look through her sketchbook, she’d be embarrassed that she thought enough of a newsman to render his face. But it was one of several things Audrey kept hidden, along with a few things in her heart.

  Not that there was anything malicious. Privacy was important to her. Everyone had the right to reflect on mistakes in peace. Granted, politics eroded that privacy a bit, but it wasn’t just her life she needed to live. It was the lives of all the people who voted for her.

  One in particular.

  Her fingers caught the cynicism in Ethan’s face, almost as if he whispered liar from the paper. She closed her sketchbook and placed it back on the sill. Tea. More tea.

  The mug was empty in less than a minute. Sleep would make things seem better in the morning. Fresh perspective, fresh start. Her mother’s words echoed in her mind. The bedroom was small, but homey with a few splashes of bold colors in the furniture. Other than the full bed with its lavender comforter, the bookcase against the far wall was the largest item in the room. She ran her fingers across the volumes and chose her favorite, Emma by Jane Austen.

  Her suitcase had sat at the foot of her bed for the last week, packed and ready for a rough trip. Much like Audrey’s emotions. She fought sleep for as long as she could, hoping the light and romantic reading would dissipate the repetitive tortured dreams of the last month. It didn’t take long for Audrey to slip off to sleep, the book still open on her lap.

  Twisted metal collapsed around her legs and the cold seeped into her bones. Wind scraped along her backside, sending a chill to her toes. The metal vibrated against her skin—am I shivering?—as a siren rang in her ears. Audrey fought to open her eyes and shrieked in pain from the shards of glass covering her lashes. Red glass. Blood. Hers? Everything hurt, so it could be.

  Turning her head sent scorching spears into her brain. And an incessant pounding. She forced her eyes open again and focused on the image next to her. A chair. Something mangled and twisted lay in the seat. Circular, or it used to be. A steering wheel?

  Muffled sounds came up from all around her as the chill blew stronger at her back. The ringing billowed until she recognized they were voices.

  “Help,” she whispered.

  “There’s one over here,” a distant voice called.

  Audrey waited, expecting someone to come into view or to feel a hand on her arm. Seconds, or hours passed. Nothing.

  “Help,” she called again. Or maybe it was just her mind.

  More minutes passed.

  “They’re gone. Check that pile.”

  Freezing streaks trailed down her cheeks. But she couldn’t move. The urge to scream could only manifest through more freezing streaks.

  Help.

  “I got one!” a voice yelled.

  More streaks seeped into her skin, numbing her face.

  “Hang on, Audrey,” the dark voice called over her trembling body. Pain soared through every muscle as her form was lifted from the mangled scraps, her legs twisted as they were pulled from the wreckage.

  Her neck dangled over the voice’s arm, whose face was covered in shadows, leaving only one image. The remnants of the driver’s seat. Besides the steering wheel, it was empty. Who’d been driving?

  Red surged into her eyes and the screams drowned out all other noise. Her screams. Hot red flooded her vision as the ice chill seeped through, drifting into darkness.

  Chapter Five

  “He’s late.” Audrey vented into the phone, tapping her thumb agains
t the steering wheel.

  “Did you call him?” Miranda asked. The yawn on the other side of the phone was contagious.

  “I shouldn’t have to. He’s the one who wants the story.” Audrey glanced at the dashboard. Time: 7:12 a.m. Temp: 48 degrees. The first chill of the year infiltrated North Texas with perfect timing. Great football weather for Thanksgiving. Though the color change in the trees of Dallas sucked in comparison to East Texas, a few reds and purples scattered across the yellows and browns in the shrubs by her condo. Audrey adjusted the heater and changed the radio station.

  “Give him five more minutes, Aud.” A coffee grinder spun in the background.

  “When do you leave for Houston?”

  “Flight’s at noon. I’ll be back Friday night to finish the final touches on the fundraiser.” Miranda yawned again.

  “Tell your family I’m sorry I’m taking up some of your vacation time.”

  “Oh, you know them. Just send ’em a fruit basket or a ham and they’re good. They said to tell you if they lived in your district, you’d have their vote.”

  A red truck, dented with faded paint, pulled into the space next to her Acura. The windows were fogged, obscuring the driver’s face. If it was Ethan, there was another unexpected trait for a journalist. They were supposed to drive eco-friendly two-doors, even though this was Texas.

  The door squealed open and Ethan stepped out. Audrey held her breath and watched him. From her angle in the car, Audrey could only see his backside as he reached into the back bed. Dark jeans covered his slim waist and two cheeks worth a slap. Or squeeze.

  Audrey whirled in her seat. Where the hell did that come from? Focus on the radio.

  “He’s here, finally.” The journalist’s round ass made her forget she was even holding a phone.

  “Play nice,” Miranda warned.

  “Shouldn’t you be saying that to him? Besides, I bought him coffee. That’s as nice as I get at seven a.m.”

  “Relax. He’s probably just as anxious as you are. Call me when you get there.”

  A knock on the trunk made her jump. Audrey flipped her phone shut and pulled the lever for the trunk. When her car sank with the weight of his luggage—what did he pack, a box of books?—she unlocked the doors.

  Ethan sank into the passenger seat, put a bag by his feet, and shut the door. He was all grins with perfectly white teeth and an even more perfectly shaven face. “Mornin’, sunshine.”

  Oh crap. He’s a morning person. Amazing how sleek and toned he looked in baggy jeans and leather jacket. How could a journalist afford a custom fit coat? And he had way too much energy for Audrey’s taste. The coffee was a bad idea.

  “I didn’t know how you took your coffee, so I bought you a black.” Audrey used her cup to block her frown. The pumpkin spice latte scent wasn’t nearly as strong as Ethan’s fresh cologne, now overtaking her senses in ways she didn’t dare admit. But a quick glare at Ethan’s Converse sneakers pulled her attention back to the purpose at hand.

  “Aw, honey,” Ethan started with a coo. “We’re gonna get along great, I can tell.” With a wink, he stripped off his black leather coat and tossed it in the back. He pulled out a small notepad from his bag and set it on the dash before he grabbed the coffee. “For future reference, I like my coffee like my women.”

  Audrey gave him a wary stare, her coffee cup poised in mid-air.

  “Hot and sweet.” His smile turned playful as he took his first sip.

  Great. One of those guys. Bad pickup lines and infantile shoes. Audrey turned her head to lock the doors and rolled her eyes. The notorious Ethan Tanner was a wolf in awkward-adolescent-wannabe-player skin. This was going to be a long trip.

  “But it’s gonna take a lot more than coffee to soften me up just to write a puff piece about your campaign.” Ethan clicked on his seatbelt and settled into his seat, absorbing the very air that surrounded her. Audrey plastered on her Peacemaker face and gave him an intent look.

  “I’m not interested in glorified advertising.”

  “Then what are you interested in?” Those gray eyes bored straight back into hers with more sincerity than the words themselves. Her breath caught for a second before she spoke.

  “The truth. A piece that shows the potential from my platforms and the good they can do. Something that makes people’s lives—”

  A snore broke her concentration, and Ethan’s head lay against the foggy window, mouth open. Audrey scowled. This guy took nothing seriously. Half of her mind told her to push him out of the car. Instead she threw the gear into Reverse and pulled out.

  His snore broke into a chuckle. “Sorry, but you politicians need to lighten up. I asked what you were interested in. Not my article. What do you like to do when you’re not kissing babies, posing for pictures, and negotiating between a bunch of good ol’ boys?”

  By the time he finished chuckling at her, Audrey had pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road. The heat from her cheeks could have warmed the entire car to tropical levels. Despite the patience she had cultivated as The Peacemaker, this guy certainly tested her levels in just sixty seconds.

  “Wyatt Williams may have an entire portfolio of glad-handing head shots, but while he’s busy saying ‘cheese’ to anyone with a camera, I’ve been working in Austin to negotiate settlements on the budget, education, and setting up the Crisis Center. Turning a room full of stubborn politicians may not be as glamorous to your newspaper, but it accomplishes a lot.”

  Ethan raised his eyebrows and stared at her with a silly half smile.

  “What?” she blurted.

  “You have pumpkin latte on your upper lip.”

  Audrey licked her upper lip. Shit. All of that to prove my seriousness as a politician, and I pull a milk ad. She grabbed a napkin from the tray and wiped her mouth. “You were going to let me keep pontificating with coffee on my lip, weren’t you?”

  “Of course. It looked delicious.”

  Audrey crumpled up the napkin and threw it at him.

  “Just tryin’ to loosen you up. You’ve been around donors and voters too much, and I want to get to know the real Audrey Allen.”

  Her smile faltered and she fought to focus on the road signs as she merged onto the highway. The real Audrey Allen. If only he knew. It sounded almost haunting coming from a man who was just looking for scandals.

  “This is the real me. No schmoozing or BS-ing.”

  “Sure,” he tossed back, grabbing his notepad from the dash. “Bullshit is the official language of politics. But your dialect is sweeter.”

  “Why, because I’m a woman?”

  “You said it, not me.”

  “Figures.”

  “What figures?”

  “Throughout history, the media has been more brutal to female candidates than men. You narrow in on them like heat-seeking missiles, and then criticize her cleavage and hair.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  Audrey counted off the names on her fingers as she steered the wheel. “Hillary Clinton, Sarah Palin, Michelle Bachman…”

  “Oh, come on…they asked for it! Everything they said deserved to be ripped.”

  “The only politicians that deserved that kind of brutality were dictators: Hitler, Stalin, Chavez, Castro. And they all disbanded the free press.”

  “Yeah, because none of them had thick skin. Couldn’t take the heat.”

  “And you can?”

  “I’m not running for office.”

  “Or perhaps you fear exposing the skeletons in your closet.”

  “I welcome the exposure,” he laughed. “Every day, if the law would let me.”

  The sparkle in his eyes unsettled her stomach. Everything about him crawled under her skin, lighting a fire to argue with him. To prove him wrong. To prove he was a rake. Prove she wasn’t like every stereotypical candidate and meant what she said. And his gorgeous teeth kept smiling through it. Prick.

  “What skeletons are in your closet, I wonder—or should I say under
your mattress—that makes you so good at uncovering the bones others try to hide?”

  “I’m as clean as a virgin’s underwear.”

  Audrey nearly gagged at the imagery.

  “You’re welcome to check under my mattress yourself,” Ethan elaborated. “In fact, while you’re at it—”

  “Not a chance, Tanner.”

  “Well, the offer stands, if you’re interested.”

  “I’m interested in what you plan to write.”

  “Don’t know yet. Need to get to know you first.”

  The thought of a journalist “getting to know her” made her nauseous. Or was that anticipation roiling around in her gut? Something she hadn’t felt since…

  Miranda was going to get the biggest kick in the butt when she got back. If her campaign wasn’t ruined by then.

  Bantering with Ethan for the next hour grew exhausting. For every topic he had an opinion, and every one was the opposite of hers. One of the only things she liked about him was that he never got angry. He let any tiny jab roll off his shoulder and threw it back in her face like a water balloon.

  Twenty minutes out from Mackineer, the trees grew taller as the colors in the leaves deepened to plum, crimson, and gold. The narrow farm road curved around forest bends and the shoulder disappeared, replaced by a thicker forest and muddy grass. A light mist began to fall on the windshield and Audrey flipped on the defroster.

  “Couple things before we get there.” Audrey lifted her coffee for another sip, but it was empty.

  “Ground rules?”

  “Something like that. First, you’re staying in the hotel. My parents don’t have a spare room or wi-fi, so you’ll probably prefer it anyway.”

  “It’s the twenty-first century; who doesn’t have wi-fi?”

  “Second,” Audrey ignored him and continued. “And this is not negotiable. Whatever you plan on writing, it stays on me. I’m the one running for the senate seat, not my parents or siblings. They’re small town folks and don’t have as thick a skin for the media to stab. You can come at me all you want, but not them.”