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“I lost faith,” I say.
“And now?” he asks quietly.
I extend my hand flat, palm open, and Jase’s hand closes around it. He gives a little tug, and then I am in his arms, holding on. There is no soaring music, but there is the sound of his heart, and my own.
Then my bedroom door snaps open and my mother is standing there, staring at us.
Chapter Forty-nine
“You’re both here,” Mom says. “Perfect.”
Not what I would have imagined her saying when she caught us together in my bedroom. The astonishment on Jase’s face must mirror mine.
“Clay’s on his way,” she continues breathlessly. “He’ll be here in a few minutes. Come down to the kitchen.”
Jase glances at me. I shrug. Mom heads downstairs.
Once we reach the kitchen, she turns and smiles, her social we’re-all-good-friends-here smile. “Why don’t we have something to drink while we’re waiting? You hungry, Jase?” Her voice has that tinge of a Southern drawl that has rubbed off from Clay.
“Uh…not really.” Jase is looking at her warily, like she’s an animal whose temperament he’s unsure of.
She’s wearing a bright lemon-yellow dress, her hair neat, her makeup flawless. A far cry from the stu
“Well, when Clay gets here, we’ll all go in the office. Maybe I should make tea.” She surveys Jase.
“You don’t look like a tea drinker, though. A beer?”
“I’m underage, so no, thanks, Senator Reed.” Jase’s voice is flat.
“You can call me Grace,” Mom says, missing any sarcasm. Ooo-kay. Not even Nan and Tim, who have known her nearly a lifetime, are on a first-name basis with Mom. Publically, anyway.
She walks a little closer to Jase, who’s standing very still, maybe in case she turns out to be one of those animals who strike without warning. “My, what broad shoulders you have.” My, what a creepy Blanche DuBois vibe you have, Mom
“What’s going on here—” I start, but she cuts in.
“It’s mighty hot today. Why don’t I get you two some lemonade? I think we might even have cookies!” Has she lost her mind? What’s she expecting Jase to say: Are they chocolate chip? With nuts?
Because if so, all’s forgiven! What’s a little hit and run compared to this awesome treat?
I take his hand, squeezing mine, stepping closer as we hear the front door bang open.
“Gracie?”
“In the kitchen, honey,” Mom calls warmly. Clay strides in, hands in his pockets, sleeves of his button-down rolled up.
“Hi there, Jason, is it?”
“I go by Jase.” Now Jase is dividing his attention between two creatures of unknown temperament. I edge closer to him and he moves forward, blocking me behind his back. I circle around, stand beside him.
“Jase it is, then,” Clay says easily. “How tall are you, son?” What’s up with this sudden obsession with Jase’s physique? He shoots me a look that asks: Is he measuring me for a coffin? But still responds politely, “Six two…sir.”
“Basketball your game?”
“Football. I’m a cornerback.”
“Ah—a key position. I was quarterback myself,” Clay says. “I remember one time I—”
“That’s great,” Jase interrupts. “Could you please tell us what’s going on here? I know what happened, with my dad. Sam told me.”
Clay’s calm, genial expression doesn’t change. “Yes, so I hear. Why don’t we all go into Grace’s office. Gracie, sugar, you lead the way.”
Mom’s home office is more feminine than her work one, with pale blue walls and white linen upholstery on the couch and the chairs. Instead of an office chair, she has an ivory silk brocade armchair.
She settles into this, behind the desk, while Clay sprawls back in one of the other chairs, slanting it onto its hind legs the way he always does.
Jase and I move close together on the long couch.
“So, Jase, hoping to keep on playing football in college, are you?”
“I’m not clear on why we’re talking about this,” Jase says. “My college career doesn’t have much to do with the senator and what she did to my dad. Sir.”
Clay’s expression is still blandly pleasant. “I admire blunt speaking, Jase.” He chuckles. “When your career’s in politics, you don’t hear nearly enough of it.” He smiles at Jase, who returns his look stonily.
“All right, then,” Clay says. “Let’s be honest with one another. Jase, Samantha, Grace…What we have here is a situation. Something’s happened, and we need to deal with it. Am I right?” Since this generic summation could cover everything from the dog peeing on the new rug to inadvertently launching nuclear warheads, Jase and I nod.
“A wrong’s been done, am I right about that too?”
I glance over at Mom, whose tongue flicks out to lick her upper lip nervously.
“Yes,” I say, since Jase has returned to his wary he-could-strike-at-any-moment watching of Clay.
“Now, how many people know about this? Four, right? Or have you told anyone else, Jase?”
“Not yet.” Jase’s voice is steely.
“But you’re pla
“I’m not your son. Yes.”
Crashing the chair back to its upright position, Clay inclines forward, elbows on his knees, hands outspread as if in supplication. “There’s where, with all due respect, I don’t think you’re thinking clearly.”
“Really?” Jase asks acidly. “Where am I confused?”
“By thinking two wrongs will make a right. When you tell other people what happened, Senator Reed will assuredly suffer. She will lose the career she’s dedicated her life to, the one where she serves the people of Co
Mom flinches at the word felons but Clay continues, “Are you prepared to live with that? Everywhere Samantha goes, people will be speculating about her morals. Thinking she must not have all that many.
That could be a dangerous thing for a young woman. There are men who won’t hesitate to take advantage of that.”
Jase looks down at his hands, which have balled into fists. But on his face there’s pain, and worse—
confusion.
“I don’t care about that,” I say. “You’re being ridiculous. What are you even saying—that the whole world will assume I’m a tramp because Mom hit someone with her car? Give me a break. They must have handouts with better lines than that at Cheesy Villain School.” Jase laughs and puts his arm around me.
Unexpectedly, Clay laughs too. Mom’s impassive.
“In that case, I guess offering you two hush money in unmarked bills isn’t going to fly, huh?” Clay stands up, ambles behind Mom and begins massaging her shoulders. “Fine, then, where do we stand?
What’s your next move, Jase?”
“I’m going to tell my family. I’ll let my parents decide what they want to do, once they have all the information.”
“You don’t need to be so defensive. Hey, I’m from the South. I admire a man who stands up for his family. It’s commendable, really. So you’re going to tell your folks, and, if your folks want to call a press conference and a
“That’s right.” Jase’s arm tightens around my shoulder.
“And if the accusations don’t bear weight because there are no witnesses and people think your parents are just crackpots out to make a buck, that’s all good with you too?” Uncertainty returns to Jase’s face. “But…?”
“There’s a witness, and it’s me,” I point out.
Clay tilts his head, looking at me, nods once. “Right. I forgot that you had no problem betraying your mom.”
“That line’s straight out of Cheesy Villain School too,” I tell him.
Mom buries her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking. “There’s no point,” she says. “The Garretts will hear and they’ll do what they’ll do and there’s nothing to be done about it.” She lifts her face, teary, to Clay. “Thank you for trying, though, honey.”