African tulips, bougainvillea,
calabash, coconut trees, lilies, and white cedars—always a list running through
her mind.
Meg’s talents at research, organization, and
persuasion, along with her heavy familial connections, had helped her secure a
sought after position at the governor’s office in Annapolis. She was in charge of fundraising, event planning, and general public
relations on behalf of Governor Harold Nelson.
Unfortunately, after young staffer Mindy Newcomb
went public with pictures and video clips from a year-long affair with Nelson
(father of 4, husband of 18 years), Meg’s job had become nearly
impossible. But Meg—fiercely loyal and
always determined—assisted the governor and his staff in uncovering enough
skeletons in Mindy’s closet to destroy her character, humiliate her, and
undermine her allegations. A child born
out of wedlock, an arrest in high school for marijuana possession, and a father
in jail for tax fraud contributed to the case Nelson’s office presented: Mindy Newcomb was a street-smart, loose, drug
addict who used her pitiful situation to gain the sympathy of and seduce the
governor—a compassionate but weak man.
His ratings had dipped in the thick of the
controversy, but had recently surpassed earlier highs after Mrs. Nelson and the
governor were interviewed on a local television station discussing the renewal
of their marriage vows, and commitment to the future of their family and the
state of Maryland.
It wasn’t until her uncomfortable embrace in the
governor’s office that she had felt remorse for her role in pardoning him. She thought of the day she’d seen Mindy Newcomb
at Quiet Waters Park playing with her
daughter, Lucy—a sturdy five-year-old, buoyant with energy. Lucy was chattering away as Mindy pushed her
on the swings. Mindy looked frail and tired, but attempted a feeble smile for
her daughter. This struck Meg as
pitiful, and caused a knot to form in her stomach that still hadn’t worked
itself out.
“Shit!”
Meg’s ankle twisted into a mud-baked groove in the
ground, and it took her several yards of limping to walk off the pain.
And suddenly, there it was.
Set at the end of a long, overgrown drive, laden
with vines and plants, half-shadowed in the mid-morning sun stood Eden. Meg felt the weight of that great, skeletal,
abandoned, plantation home settle over her as she stepped into its shadow.
Meg recalled a passage she had read the night
before from Poe’s Fall of the House of
Usher . Looking upon the house gave
the narrator “a sense of insufferable gloom…the vacant eye-like windows.”
Meg searched through her bag until
she came across her photograph of Eden. Though the photograph was old, not much had
changed since it was taken. Slightly
more plant growth pervaded the ancient place, but it was mostly preserved. This, in itself, was astounding considering
the history of hurricanes and earthquakes on the island.
After snapping several photographs
of the front of the house, Meg approached the stairs leading to the front door.
She checked each of the stairs before putting her full weight on them, but
found them to be sturdy. Naturally, the
front door was stuck, but a hard push opened it, releasing the stink of mildew,
rotting wood, animal droppings, and that familiar musty smell that emanates
from anything old. Meg waited for the
creatures and birds who had taken residence in the abandoned house to scurry
away before crossing into the foyer.
Even through years of neglect and
filth, it was easy to see that Eden
had once been a spectacular house. The two-story foyer opened to a massive
staircase straight ahead, which led up to the second floor. High-ceilinged rooms—a parlor, library,
dining room, billiard room, and sitting room encircled the foyer. A dark passage off the dining room led to a
kitchen
calabash, coconut trees, lilies, and white cedars—always a list running through
her mind.
Meg’s talents at research, organization, and
persuasion, along with her heavy familial connections, had helped her secure a
sought after position at the governor’s office in Annapolis. She was in charge of fundraising, event planning, and general public
relations on behalf of Governor Harold Nelson.
Unfortunately, after young staffer Mindy Newcomb
went public with pictures and video clips from a year-long affair with Nelson
(father of 4, husband of 18 years), Meg’s job had become nearly
impossible. But Meg—fiercely loyal and
always determined—assisted the governor and his staff in uncovering enough
skeletons in Mindy’s closet to destroy her character, humiliate her, and
undermine her allegations. A child born
out of wedlock, an arrest in high school for marijuana possession, and a father
in jail for tax fraud contributed to the case Nelson’s office presented: Mindy Newcomb was a street-smart, loose, drug
addict who used her pitiful situation to gain the sympathy of and seduce the
governor—a compassionate but weak man.
His ratings had dipped in the thick of the
controversy, but had recently surpassed earlier highs after Mrs. Nelson and the
governor were interviewed on a local television station discussing the renewal
of their marriage vows, and commitment to the future of their family and the
state of Maryland.
It wasn’t until her uncomfortable embrace in the
governor’s office that she had felt remorse for her role in pardoning him. She thought of the day she’d seen Mindy Newcomb
at Quiet Waters Park playing with her
daughter, Lucy—a sturdy five-year-old, buoyant with energy. Lucy was chattering away as Mindy pushed her
on the swings. Mindy looked frail and tired, but attempted a feeble smile for
her daughter. This struck Meg as
pitiful, and caused a knot to form in her stomach that still hadn’t worked
itself out.
“Shit!”
Meg’s ankle twisted into a mud-baked groove in the
ground, and it took her several yards of limping to walk off the pain.
And suddenly, there it was.
Set at the end of a long, overgrown drive, laden
with vines and plants, half-shadowed in the mid-morning sun stood Eden. Meg felt the weight of that great, skeletal,
abandoned, plantation home settle over her as she stepped into its shadow.
Meg recalled a passage she had read the night
before from Poe’s Fall of the House of
Usher . Looking upon the house gave
the narrator “a sense of insufferable gloom…the vacant eye-like windows.”
Meg searched through her bag until
she came across her photograph of Eden. Though the photograph was old, not much had
changed since it was taken. Slightly
more plant growth pervaded the ancient place, but it was mostly preserved. This, in itself, was astounding considering
the history of hurricanes and earthquakes on the island.
After snapping several photographs
of the front of the house, Meg approached the stairs leading to the front door.
She checked each of the stairs before putting her full weight on them, but
found them to be sturdy. Naturally, the
front door was stuck, but a hard push opened it, releasing the stink of mildew,
rotting wood, animal droppings, and that familiar musty smell that emanates
from anything old. Meg waited for the
creatures and birds who had taken residence in the abandoned house to scurry
away before crossing into the foyer.
Even through years of neglect and
filth, it was easy to see that Eden
had once been a spectacular house. The two-story foyer opened to a massive
staircase straight ahead, which led up to the second floor. High-ceilinged rooms—a parlor, library,
dining room, billiard room, and sitting room encircled the foyer. A dark passage off the dining room led to a
kitchen
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