Governor

by Lesli Richardson

  “Because I’m Benchley Evans’ daughter. There are people who’d pay big bucks to hack into my laptop and see my communications with him. Or see what I might be doing that could be leveraged against him as embarrassing information. Anything they think they can use against me or him.”

  “Is there?”

  She turns and leans against the counter. “My daddy didn’t raise an idiot. This is another reason I broke up with Kendall. He’s a…liability.”

  “That’s an interesting way to phrase it.”

  “He likes to party, likes to have a good time. Drinks too much and talks too much. His family’s carrying some serious financial debt, too, which I didn’t know at first. That all adds up and makes him an additional liability for a number of reasons.”

  “Is that important to you, that people have money?”

  “No. It’s not his income bracket that’s the problem, it’s his debt-to-assets ratio. He’s already in debt for running up a credit card he never should have applied for when he was eighteen. Used it to buy a gaming system and stereo for his car. Idiot. Besides, I don’t like feeling that maybe one of the reasons he’s dating me is because he thinks I’ll pay for stuff. I’m a trust-fund baby, not a trust-fund idiot.”

  “I don’t know about Owen, but I’m debt-free.”

  I realize I’m being brought into the conversation and turn. “I don’t have any debts. No money, but no debts.”

  “That’s fine,” she says. “I appreciate your honesty, both of you.”

  “How old are you, again?” I ask.

  She wears a smirk that would do Carter proud. “Everyone assumes I’m close to thirty. I just turned nineteen. Some kids had expensive private schools and tutors—I had the halls of our state capitol. I learned at the sides of the best political assholes this state ever hatched or imported, and I plan to show them all up. I’m going to get myself elected governor.”

  Her tone bears not a hint of braggadocio. She says it in a quiet, calm way, as if listing items she purchased from the grocery store.

  I needed milk and eggs.

  I bought cereal.

  Apples were on sale.

  I’m going to get myself elected governor.

  I think this is the exact moment I know for certain I’m in love with her.

  Okay, sure, I will admit I spent a moment wondering if I’d be the First Gentleman of the state, or how that title worked, exactly.

  She’s watching Carter, as if she senses he might laugh at her audacity. Instead, he meets her statement with a look of sober appraisal.

  “I think that’s great,” he finally says. “You strike me as the kind of person who will do just that.”

  “Plan is to get my law degree, go into practice for a couple of years, make some connections of my own, then run for state office.”

  “House or Senate?”

  “Haven’t decided yet. Depends on poll numbers at the time, who’s weakest. Whether I’ll need to move somewhere else first to establish residency in the district. The rep and senator in this district were both just elected, and they’re pretty strong contenders. Daddy’s district is further south of here. But they’ll both be term-limited out by the time I’m ready. So will Daddy. Who knows? Depends on their successors.”

  Carter’s standing there, slowly nodding with his arms crossed over his chest. But his gaze is on the floor, like he’s turning something over in his mind as he’s listening.

  “Two terms as governor, then I’m going national,” she continues, holding her elegant hand out flat before zooming it up toward the ceiling. “Straight to a US Senate race.”

  “POTUS?”

  “Probably not. I like having my freedom.” She playfully smiles. “Maybe a cabinet position, at some point. Depending on which one I’m offered. Regardless, I can score gigs as a talking head on some network. Pull in some major dough that way. Write a book, speaker tour, all of that. Become a respected GOP strategist.”

  I speak up, feeling like I’m getting left behind, even though I don’t have anything close to the concrete plans she’s laid out trying to congeal in my brain yet. “I’m going for law, Carter’s majoring in politics, you’re majoring in communications. We’re like our own campaign team.”

  Their gazes sweep my way, meet along the journey, briefly pausing on each other before landing on me.

  I feel like I’ve goofed up or something. Like now they’re humoring me.

  Like in that brief pause they shared, they’ve already nailed down a whole playbook’s worth of plans.

  “What?” I ask, my cheeks heating.

  Then Carter smiles that smile, the one that says everything’s okay. He pats me on the shoulder. “Let’s get cooking, buddy.”

  * * * *

  Despite her youth, Susa obviously knows her way around a kitchen. I’m torn between trying to pay attention to what Carter’s showing me, and what Susa’s doing.

  “Where’d you learn to cook?” Carter asks her

  “Nana taught me. She wasn’t really my grandmother, but she felt like one. She’d worked as a cook for Daddy’s family when he was growing up. She got married, raised her kids, then her husband died. She nearly lost her house because he didn’t have life insurance and she’d stayed at home to raise their kids. Daddy paid off her house and debts, moved her in with us—as family, not as an employee—and helped her sell her house so she’d have money to live off of. He always introduced her to people as his other mom. She adopted me as another grandchild. We had a cook on weekdays, but Nana took over for Sunday dinners and special occasions. Daddy used to fuss at her to relax and rest, but she loved to teach me about cooking.”

  Her brow furrows, and she sniffles a little as her voice drops. “I loved her so much. She really was another grandmother to me. She died two years ago, and I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

  Intellectually, I know people have close relationships with their family.

  I am not one of those people. I was raised feeling inferior, and I feel inferior to both Susa and Carter now for myriad reasons, but not of their doing. They’re not trying to make me feel like that.

  Over the past year, I’ve read a lot of books and have started working on myself, on my outlook. I know the relationship I have with my mother isn’t healthy. Except self-improvement is also one of those “easier said than done” kinds of things, you know?

  Carter has lived a lifetime already. Susa acts like she has. As we prepare dinner, I sort of fade to the background and listen to them talk, especially as Carter asks her political questions about his adopted home state. Susa is an amazing font of information.

  I feel…useless. In more ways than one.

  I mean, if someone wanted to ask me about Mumford & Sons, or Imagine Dragons, I could tell you all sorts of minutiae about them and other bands. I could wax melodic about the works of Neil Gaiman and Hugh Howey.

  While I’d been hyper-focused in high school on passing my AP classes to jack up my GPA and make sure I aced my SATs to secure my scholarships, I’m a literal empty vessel when it comes to practical information of nearly any kind.

  Hell, I can’t even change a damn car tire. I’m lucky I can put gas in the fucking thing.

  Yet here stand these two people, discussing legislative issues that I couldn’t tell you anything about, even though I was raised in this fucking state.

  I literally cannot tell you who our lieutenant governor is right now.

  The only reason I remember our governor’s name is because I didn’t vote for the asshole, and it was my first ever election. His administration was embroiled in scandals even before he was sworn in, and it’s ground our state legislature to a halt in terms of getting anything passed. Everyone’s too busy covering their asses or caught up in committee investigations.

  Even a bi-partisan gun safety bill to revise how concealed carry applications and background checks are handled got hijacked by NRA lobbyists and ended up dying before it ever left committee.

  These two p
eople before me sound…passionate in terms of politics.

  I kind of wish I was, too. I want to help people. I want to do good things.

  These are the kinds of things I wish I knew.

  “Can you teach me all of this?” I ask during a break in the conversation.

  She smiles, revealing a cute dimple in her left cheek. “Sure. A lot of it’s history. Some of it’s insider knowledge. Right place, right time. Like Daddy says, time is never on your side.”

  “Doesn’t feel like it, does it?” I note.

  She shrugs, and it’s such a Carter-like gesture I think maybe they’re perfect for each other despite the ache that settles inside my soul over that thought.

  She tips her head at us. “But Nana used to say that you should always take time to make time, or else you’ll regret it.”

  “Which one’s right?” I ask.

  “Both,” Carter quietly says, his gaze resting heavy and sad on me. “I can tell you from experience that it’s both.”

  Chapter Eight

  I have no idea what we’re cooking. As the preparations continue, it’s obvious Susa and Carter know what the hell they’re doing. She’s not referring to a cookbook, or to a recipe on her phone, as far as I can tell, and neither is he. They teach me how to brown meat, how to make sauce, how to stuff the…whatever it is we’re stuffing.

  More than the cooking, they’re discussing Florida politics. I’m doing my desperate best to listen and follow along and not get lost. Carter is picking Susa’s brain about everything from lawmakers to laws to lobbyists.

  She’s a virtual encyclopedia of information. I mean, literally, she’s a political savant, and not only regarding Florida politics. She’s quite knowledgeable about national-level issues, too. Beyond the actual facts, she also knows invaluable context and backstory.

  Once everything’s in the oven and I volunteer to scrub pots while they talk—because, in all honesty, I’m enjoying listening to their discussion and how intense they are about it—it allows me a few minutes to actually focus all my attention on the subject matter.

  During a brief lull in the conversation I find my voice. “Did you mean what you said in class earlier?” I ask her.

  She turns to me. I see the flecks of sapphire in her light blue eyes and know I’m in love with her, even if I can’t say anything. Getting shot down by her would not only be expected, it would likely draw pity from her, and Carter, that might be too much for me to emotionally deal with right now.

  “Which part?” she asks.

  “About making your own name?”

  “Absolutely.” She leans against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest before she tips her chin up and firmly meets my gaze. “I’m not just Daddy’s DNA. I think he wanted a boy, but he got me. He wants me to take over his position in the state party one day. I have no desire to spend the rest of my life introduced to everyone as Benchley Evans’ daughter, Susannah.”

  It flashes through my mind that I’m seeing the real her, the strong, no-bullshit Susannah Evans, a woman the whole world is going to know one day.

  This is where it starts. Right here, tonight, in her kitchen. It’s big—huge. I’m sure of it.

  I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.

  She’s a force of nature, and we’re witnessing the emergence of the butterfly whose wings create the hurricane.

  I want to be swept away by the force of her winds, sucked into her vortex and held captive in the eye of her storm.

  When I shift position, my gaze meets Carter’s and…for a moment, there’s something there, but it’s like he’s dropped into inscrutable mode again. Before I can even ask him about it, he’s back to smiling Carter.

  “What about tutoring me?” I ask. “I’m going to need it.”

  She nods. “I’d be happy to.” A playful smile quirks her lips. “I’ll take it in trade.”

  “Trade?”

  She glances at Carter. “Cooking for me. Or, at least, doing the dishes. I love to cook, hate to clean up. And cooking for one sucks. I’d rather cook for three.” She focuses on me again. “How’s that sound?”

  A chance to spend more time with her? “Sold.”

  Carter snickers. “Slick negotiator. I’ve already got him agreeing to do my laundry, and I thought that was a victory.” They bump fists and share another smile.

  My face heats at that, but he didn’t say it in a mean way, more playfully.

  Still, her smile widens and the dimple makes a reappearance. “I have a washer and dryer. Bring your laundry here. It’ll save you time and money. That’s one of the sucky things about living here—I’m alone all the time. I was looking forward to being able to make friends in the dorm. Get to have a normal life and normal friends, for a change.”

  Her smile fades. “Except Daddy’s right that it’d be hard for me to trust people. I’d never be able to let my guard down there. Not once they know who I am.”

  “You trusted us,” I note.

  She cocks her head and smiles at me. “There’s just something about you I…trust.”

  “Ha!” Carter says to me. “See?” Then, to Susa, “I told him the same thing.”

  “Daddy says I’m an excellent judge of people. I mean, I trusted you, too,” she says to Carter. “Sorry, didn’t mean that to sound wrong.”

  “No worries,” he says. “I didn’t take it that way.”

  She glances up for a moment, apparently composing her thoughts. “I am Daddy’s daughter. I’m driven, I can be cut-throat. But I’m also going to show him I can do this without needing him to plow the way for me.” She motions at the house. “I have a trust fund he set up when I was little. It’s paying for college and living expenses, and I’m in control of it. He said to consider this house a gift. He bought me a car for graduation.

  “But I don’t go running to him every time I have a problem and asking him to fix it for me. I’m still mad at him for making me get a house, but on the other hand, I understand why he did it. He’s trying to make sure I don’t end up with a scandal attached to my name before I even have a political career. It’d take one stupid decision by a roommate to put me in a newspaper article. I hate that he’s right about this, but it was an argument I decided wasn’t worth having with him.”

  She’s not merely an old soul, she’s ancient, in this way. Seriously, if I couldn’t see her face, I would assume she’s at least thirty or older. This is a grown woman wearing a hot teenager’s body, and I’m totally…gone.

  Lost.

  It’s nearly six thirty when the doorbell rings. Susa and I freeze, she in mid-sentence while discussing an environmental bill that is in danger in the state House, a bill that she actually helped work on during high school.

  Carter doesn’t skip a beat. He heads out of the kitchen, toward the front door.

  Susa and I realize where he’s going and we both scurry after him. My throat goes dry because I have no idea what we’re getting into.

  I do notice as I follow Carter into the front hall that his limp has virtually disappeared, and he’s holding himself tall, spine straight.

  I don’t know how long he can maintain that, but I plan on backing him up however I can. I might not be much use, but I’ll try.

  I won’t leave him alone, that’s for sure. Even if he probably doesn’t need me.

  Carter motions for Susa to step up to the front door and peek out the viewfinder. She does then nods, confirming it’s Kendall.

  “Here we go,” Carter softly says. He points for Susa to move back and stand behind me. With me looming right behind him, he opens the front door.

  The guy standing there is somewhere between me and Carter in height, so maybe six feet tall. But he’s downright skinny. Compared to him, I’m a damn bodybuilder. I’m feeling pretty cocky about our chances now.

  As long as he doesn’t, you know, pull a gun and murder us right where we stand.

  Carter keeps his left hand on the edge of the door, his right on the doorframe,
his body blocking the doorway. “Can I help you?”

  The guy frowns at him, then sees Susa standing behind me where she’s peeking around me. “Who the hell are these guys?” he asks, obviously directed at her.

  Carter snaps his fingers and points at his face with his right hand. “Eyes on me, kid. Answer my question.” Even Carter’s voice has changed, deeper than normal, an easy force behind his words that I realize was probably pretty damn helpful during his time in the military.

  I pull myself to my full height, put on what I hope is a dark, threatening scowl as I cross my arms over my chest, and stare down at the guy. I can’t guess his age, definitely younger than Carter, maybe my age.

  The guy apparently needs a moment to process our presence. Finally, he says, “I want to talk to Susa. Alone.”

  As if.

  “She doesn’t want to talk to you, Kendall,” Carter says, already starting to shut the door. “Good-bye.”

  “Wait!” The guy actually puts his hand out to prevent Carter from closing the door, and even I know that’s a mistake.

  Carter’s voice drops into a threatening growl. “Back. Off. She broke up with you. She’s done.”

  “Susa, please! At least talk to me!”

  “What part of ‘she broke up with you’ aren’t you grokking, kid?”

  “But I love you!” He’s still trying to talk over Carter’s shoulder and to her.

  At that declaration, it takes everything inside me not to climb over Carter and go after the guy myself. I’m reasonably sure I can take him, through sheer body mass and indignant, jealous outrage, if nothing else.

  “You’re in love with Daddy’s money, Kendall,” she shoots back with a stinging venom in her tone that makes my heart sing. “If you show up here again, you’re going to get hauled off by deputies. Go away. We’re done.”

  “That’s it, kid,” Carter says, closing the door.

  The kid sticks his arm inside, and Carter heaves the door shut, trapping the guy’s arm and making Kendall yelp in pain.

  Carter throws his weight against the door, pinning him there. “Want me to break it, Kendall? All I need to do is yank your hand back. Think I can’t do it? I will. Leave, now, and you won’t need an ER trip.” He yanks the door open just long and far enough the guy can jerk his arm free. Then Carter slams it shut so hard I hear the sliders in the living room rattle from the change in air pressure.