“Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll call Shawn,” Lark told her. “I’ll take care of it. Go be with your boys.”
Leslie nodded once and then released her. Like a hurricane, she left as quickly as she’d arrived, sweeping everyone else out with her.
Slightly delirious, Lark and I hustled out in the wake of the crowd, avoiding the reporters who were camped out front. Without a word, we started together down the sidewalk. Away from the media circus that Leslie had already predicted.
This whole thing wasn’t really in my job description. I primarily did campaign finance law. I didn’t even know if I would have been able to get Court released. The mayor had so much clout. I should have considered that. But instead, at the sound of Lark’s shaky voice and the knowledge that my friend had been arrested, I’d bolted.
Even though…it was clear that I hadn’t ended up being needed, I didn’t feel like this was a waste.
I walked side by side with Lark as she clutched her phone, trying not to lose it. I’d seen her exhausted and sleep-deprived and sobbing from anger at the election. But I’d never seen her like this. She was so strong. This was…unnerving.
“Are you okay?” I finally asked.
She nodded. “Yeah,” she lied. “I mean…I have to call Shawn.” She stopped and turned to face me. Her hands were visibly trembling now. She looked down at her phone and tried to get it to work. “I have to…tell him what happened.”
“Hey. Hey,” I said. I put my hand over hers. She flinched, but I didn’t let go. I pried the phone from her hand. “How about I call Shawn?”
“No, I need to do it. Leslie told me.”
“Yeah. And you’re delegating.” We passed a bench, and I veered her toward it. “Have a seat. You’re shaking.”
“Am I?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“It’s just that…I’ve never seen Leslie upset before. Not really,” she admitted. “I don’t know why I’m so freaked out.”
“It’s okay. It’s normal. Just sit.”
So, she sat. She sat the entire time I was on the phone with Shawn, explaining the situation and why I was talking on Lark’s phone. It didn’t take long, but now, Shawn was in charge. By the time I handed the phone back, she was a little more composed.
“Shawn is on top of it now,” I told her.
“Why are you taking care of me?”
I sank into the seat next to her. “Because…we’re friends.”
Her impossibly green eyes found mine. They were wide and watery and disbelieving.
“Friends,” she repeated. “Can we be that?”
No.
I didn’t think that we could. But I had to be around her for the next six months, and I didn’t know how I’d survive it any other way. The last week of cold shoulders and anger hadn’t helped. And we couldn’t be more. We just…couldn’t. Not with our history. Not with the pain between us. Not with…Claire.
“Yeah. Friends,” I lied to her.
It was a simple lie. One that was hardly even there. Meant to comfort someone. It shouldn’t have made me feel like an asshole for saying it. But it did. Because I was a total jackass. Lark and I would never just be friends.
She was trying to read my expression. To see the lie I’d told. But I hid it the best that I could. Let her see that this was possible. Because she needed it tonight.
“Okay,” she finally said.
And even I wanted to punch myself for the break in her voice on that word. The lie she had just accepted as truth.
12
Lark
The mayor’s prediction came true. As I had known it would.
The press latched on to Court’s arrest like leeches trying to suck us all dry. They were camped out in front of the campaign office, City Hall, the Kensington residence. Court was under unofficial house arrest. Which I’d gathered meant his mother had threatened him within an inch of his life if he left his penthouse.
It wasn’t ideal.
A week ago, we’d joked about the opposition using the word feminism against us for a sound bite. Now, we had this mess.
I could already see the television ads screaming how the mayor claimed to be tough on crime while she had a delinquent son. Whether Court had done anything or not was irrelevant. It was the headline, the flashy story, the sensationalized side of it that sold newspapers. And so that was what would be reported.
We’d all had to show our campaign clearance to get into the building, passing the reporters. What a nightmare.
“We just have to make it clear to everyone that if they talk to the press, they’re fired,” Christine said. She swiped her blue hair out of her eyes. “It’s already in their contracts, and we coached everyone, especially field workers, on it when we brought them in. But this is different. And we need to be vigilant.”
I nodded absentmindedly, writing notes onto my legal pad. We’d been in this meeting for an hour. Leslie had only slipped in a half hour ago, after she got away from City Hall. She’d scheduled a press conference that afternoon to address what had happened.
The party line was, Court had done nothing wrong. The arresting officer had made a mistake. Justice would be had.
Not that the media gave two fucks what she said. I’d seen the press conference and still cringed. How she’d kept her composure before letting her press secretary take over was beyond me. I knew she was furious. I was furious. We’d worked so hard to get to where we were. No scandals in almost four years. And now…this.
Christine continued speaking about what we could and couldn’t say while Matthew kept chiming in with messaging information from the political department.
But my eyes drifted out the glass door to the offices beyond this conference room. I still couldn’t believe I’d called Sam last night. I didn’t know what had possessed me to do it. One minute, Penn and I had been waiting for the mayor to show up, and the next, I’d felt like I just couldn’t sit there and do nothing. So…I’d called.
Or at least…that was what I’d told myself and Penn when he asked. Though he hadn’t been any more convinced than I was.
I’d confessed to Penn that Sam was in New York. That we were just friends, just working together. But he remembered the mess I’d been after I came back from Madison. He remembered the shell of a person I’d been as I forced myself to work for my parents. Before something had shaken loose and I’d realized it was all a mistake and come back to the campaign.
Penn didn’t want to see me become that person again. I didn’t either.
And still, when push had come to shove, I’d called Sam.
Sam wasn’t needed, but in some way…he was necessary. He didn’t look put out when he realized that he’d driven all the way down from Brooklyn for nothing. He’d just silently taken care of me and handled the campaign while I shook like a leaf on a park bench.
It was the first time in my career I hadn’t been able to handle my job. It wasn’t because of Court’s arrest. I’d seen many a friend get arrested and immediately leave the police station because we all had wealthy parents who could make things disappear. It was the worry that Leslie had. The worry that said…this one would stick.