answer a few questions. Runs off with that man without a word to us? Tell me, how am I wrong?”
“That man’s name is Brody,” Harrison said.
After Harrison and Brody got Ashley back into New York City, Brody had then whisked her away somewhere to recuperate after Mother bullied Ashley with press conferences. Ashley, concussed with bruised ribs and recovering from severe dehydration, exhaustion, and probably PTSD, had not been up for press conferences.
“I knew going to him was a mistake.”
“He was the only choice we had. She’ll call us when she wants to.”
“Does this mean we can actually talk about business?” Wallace asked.
“Ah yes,” Mom said, putting on the Steel Magnolia routine, something she did only when she was truly angry or there was a journalist in the room. “The spectacular approval ratings among people who just don’t vote?”
“In the political stone age, that might have been true. But the world is changing, Patty.” Wallace was young and black, a political street fighter with very little respect for the old guard. Mother would never say it, but Wallace was her worst nightmare.
“Well, one thing doesn’t change,” Patty said. “Money. And Arthur Glendale is getting some big money from contributors. His media budget is three times ours.”
“And so far it hasn’t mattered,” Wallace said.
“You’re foolish if you think it won’t.” Patty got to her feet. “A million will barely keep us on the air.”
“I’m working on the money,” Harrison said, lifting the call sheets.
“There’s not a million on that list,” Patty said. “Not even close. So we need a miracle.”
“By miracle,” Harrison said, “you mean I need to getAshley to show up to some campaign events. And I’ve already said I’m not doing it. She’s been through hell.”
“Your sister is a Montgomery,” Patty said. “She knows her responsibility, and I’m not sure why expecting her to be grateful for your part in getting her out of Somalia makes me the bad guy in this.”
Of course she didn’t.
“The press release about her kidnapping and rescue gave us a bump,” Harrison said. “Let’s just give her some time to heal.”
“You know,” Wallace said, sheepishly running a hand over his dark hair. “While I appreciate you wanting to protect your sister and I dislike agreeing with the Queen Mum, Arthur Glendale has pockets deeper than anyone has imagined, and without something to break up the media message that you are too young, too inexperienced, too rich, too goddamned Montgomery, and somehow too handsome to be a trusted public servant, you might lose what started as a shoo-in run for the House.”
“I thought you came in here with good news,” Harrison said.
“Your mom killed it.”
“Am I required to say it again?” Mother asked, holding out her arms. “All those problems would be solved if you were married.”
“Mother—”
“It’s true,” she insisted. “If you were married, you would immediately be considered more substantial.”
Marriage was Mother’s Band-Aid. Respectability the solid wall she hid all the family sins behind.
“I can’t just pluck a woman out of thin air.”
“You’re not even looking,” she cried. “You’ve spent all your time in school or with VetAid and not enough starting a family. Waiting to fall in love is not helpingyour career.” Her tone conveyed quite clearly her derision toward love.
Harrison had no feelings about love, derisive or otherwise. He had no time and no energy to waste on chasing something he felt quite convincingly was not meant for him. Not meant for anyone in politics. Or his family.
Marriage and family were tools.
Love was a yeti.
He was thirty-one years old and this was his entire experience. His entire life. Since he’d turned twenty-two, every minute of every day was spent becoming who he was right now. Every turn in the road led him here. Not to a family, not to a wife, but to correcting his
“That man’s name is Brody,” Harrison said.
After Harrison and Brody got Ashley back into New York City, Brody had then whisked her away somewhere to recuperate after Mother bullied Ashley with press conferences. Ashley, concussed with bruised ribs and recovering from severe dehydration, exhaustion, and probably PTSD, had not been up for press conferences.
“I knew going to him was a mistake.”
“He was the only choice we had. She’ll call us when she wants to.”
“Does this mean we can actually talk about business?” Wallace asked.
“Ah yes,” Mom said, putting on the Steel Magnolia routine, something she did only when she was truly angry or there was a journalist in the room. “The spectacular approval ratings among people who just don’t vote?”
“In the political stone age, that might have been true. But the world is changing, Patty.” Wallace was young and black, a political street fighter with very little respect for the old guard. Mother would never say it, but Wallace was her worst nightmare.
“Well, one thing doesn’t change,” Patty said. “Money. And Arthur Glendale is getting some big money from contributors. His media budget is three times ours.”
“And so far it hasn’t mattered,” Wallace said.
“You’re foolish if you think it won’t.” Patty got to her feet. “A million will barely keep us on the air.”
“I’m working on the money,” Harrison said, lifting the call sheets.
“There’s not a million on that list,” Patty said. “Not even close. So we need a miracle.”
“By miracle,” Harrison said, “you mean I need to getAshley to show up to some campaign events. And I’ve already said I’m not doing it. She’s been through hell.”
“Your sister is a Montgomery,” Patty said. “She knows her responsibility, and I’m not sure why expecting her to be grateful for your part in getting her out of Somalia makes me the bad guy in this.”
Of course she didn’t.
“The press release about her kidnapping and rescue gave us a bump,” Harrison said. “Let’s just give her some time to heal.”
“You know,” Wallace said, sheepishly running a hand over his dark hair. “While I appreciate you wanting to protect your sister and I dislike agreeing with the Queen Mum, Arthur Glendale has pockets deeper than anyone has imagined, and without something to break up the media message that you are too young, too inexperienced, too rich, too goddamned Montgomery, and somehow too handsome to be a trusted public servant, you might lose what started as a shoo-in run for the House.”
“I thought you came in here with good news,” Harrison said.
“Your mom killed it.”
“Am I required to say it again?” Mother asked, holding out her arms. “All those problems would be solved if you were married.”
“Mother—”
“It’s true,” she insisted. “If you were married, you would immediately be considered more substantial.”
Marriage was Mother’s Band-Aid. Respectability the solid wall she hid all the family sins behind.
“I can’t just pluck a woman out of thin air.”
“You’re not even looking,” she cried. “You’ve spent all your time in school or with VetAid and not enough starting a family. Waiting to fall in love is not helpingyour career.” Her tone conveyed quite clearly her derision toward love.
Harrison had no feelings about love, derisive or otherwise. He had no time and no energy to waste on chasing something he felt quite convincingly was not meant for him. Not meant for anyone in politics. Or his family.
Marriage and family were tools.
Love was a yeti.
He was thirty-one years old and this was his entire experience. His entire life. Since he’d turned twenty-two, every minute of every day was spent becoming who he was right now. Every turn in the road led him here. Not to a family, not to a wife, but to correcting his
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