Sarah
He slowly undid the buttons on my blouse, a small lascivious smile on his face.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, as he trailed kisses down the nape of my neck.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and let him push me against the wall. My mind was buzzing with excitement, as were other parts of me.
I pulled down his pants as he ripped up what was left of my dress and threw it on the ground. He lifted me at the waist, so that my legs were wrapped around him, and as his hands explored my body, his fingers tugging here and there, I breathed, “Oh, Jake.”
He looked up and trailed his fingers across my lips. I grabbed the roots of his hair and pulled him down to kiss me. Furiously, passionately and with all the force of a car slamming into me, I felt the wall pressed harder against my back.
I let out a loud moan that would have woken up the neighbors, if not for one simple reason . . .
The alarm clock went off, and I woke up.
My heart was racing and the hairs on my body were standing; I groaned loudly and stuffed my head into my pillow, dreading the day ahead.
What bigger sign did I need to tell me that this was not going to be a good day?
I pulled on a striped midi skirt and a lace-back blouse, tied my hair into a high bun – desperately in need of a scalp massage – and did my face as best as I could, with the occasional distraction in between a slick of mascara, a puff of powder and a dab of blusher. My concentration on the smallest things was waning, and I felt dread rush through me as I thought of court.
Chloe was already in the middle of breakfast when I walked into the dining room.
“Morning Miss Sarah,” Consuela said, brushing past me in the hurry that she always seemed to be in.
“Morning,” Chloe repeated.
“Hey. Sleep well?”
“Yeah, actually. I did.”
I gave her a half-smile, as I poured myself far too much coffee. I turned on my phone – I’d gotten into the habit of turning it off through the night; it never seemed to stop ringing. Like clockwork, it buzzed – Katie.
“Hi,” I said, skipping the extra pleasantries.
“Morning. I just wanted to confirm that you’ll be at work today,” she said hesitantly. Ever since my behavior last week, she kept calling me everyday to confirm.
“Yeah.”
“James says he’s going to be late to court today, so you have to take first chair. Is there anything you’d like me to do?”
I groaned internally. Just like I suspected – it was all downhill from here.
“No, thanks. See you soon.”
I hung up to find Chloe staring at me curiously.
I gave her a questioning look, but she said nothing, and turned back to her cereal.
“So, I have something for you,” I said, reaching into my bag and pulling out the two prospectuses – Benjamin Fairless High School, my alma mater, and St. Andrews High School – the preppier version of mine.
I handed them to her and she gave me an amused look, “School?”
“Yeah. You mentioned it, and those are the best. If you are serious about it, you can start the day after tomorrow. They’re heading towards the end of their spring/summer semester – it’d be like an entrance test kind of thing, and you can make a few friends before you start properly in September. What do you think?”
“Wednesday?” she asked, her face bathed in worry.
“Or you simply start in September. I just thought you might want to catch up.”
“School,” she repeated.
“Is it such a foreign concept?”
She shrugged, “A little.”
“You don’t have to, Chloe. We talked about it, I said I’d look into it, and now I have. Whatever you want to do is fine by me.”
She nodded slowly, and stared at the St. Andrews Cover, “Lexie’s school,” she murmured under her breath.
“You know somebody who goes there?”
“Yeah. Alexandra Worthington. She’s—”
“You know Alex? How?”
“She’s Ricky’s girlfriend.”
Ah, that was his name. Fitch’s brother.
“Small world,” I breathed and turned back to her, “Well, that could be good. You’d have an automatic friend.”
She smiled wryly, “I’m nervous. I really want to do it, but I’m nervous now, and it’s not like I’ve even said yes, yet. What happens if I say yes?”
“What if, as your legal guardian, I said you have to go to school, or else,” I said slowly.
She let out a breath, “Can I go to this one?” she said, holding up the Fairless High prospectus.
I smiled, “Of course.”
“Did I choose right?”
“Either one’s a winner. So, Wednesday?”
“You keep doing all these things for me. Why?” she blurted.
I stared at her with a frown, wondering if the question wasn’t as it sounded. But she continued to look blankly and utterly confused at me, her earnestly appreciative eyes winning the battle against her firm expression.
Right then, I realized she’d forgotten who I was. Not as Sarah, or her ex-boyfriend’s lawyer, but who I really was. For a second, I thought it might be better that way; I’d be the kind friend who helped her out because I had taking a liking to her, instead of the person who’d set her on a path of turmoil. But I wasn’t going to give myself that satisfaction. Not today.
“Because you’re my daughter.”
Maybe the concept of a mother had become so foreign to her that she’d forgotten what it was like, either way, she stared at me as if realization had suddenly dawned on her and nodded, as if she was only just starting to understand.
I grabbed my bag and said, “The car will be back to get you in another hour. I’ll see you at six-thirty, okay?”
“Sarah?”
I turned, and she opened her mouth to say something and then closed it firmly, as we were washed in pure silence.
“Cat got your tongue?” I asked.
She smiled slowly, “Thank you.”
I nodded and made my way towards a day that would change everything. Only, I didn’t know it yet.
*
I slowly walked into the courtroom dreading the next few hours. Why did James have to be late on this day, of all days?
I sat in my chair, as Fitch was brought out, looking worse than he did every time I saw him. His face was covered in stubble and his eyes were tired and had something akin to resolve in them. The bruises on his face were healing, but that wasn’t much of a consolation, because of his forlorn expression. He was thinner than when I’d first met him and his hair, which had grown out, hung loosely. He was certainly still attractive enough – he at least hadn’t lost that – but Fitch himself was fading fast.
He was diminishing.
I was very glad that Chloe wasn’t here to see him right now. In fact, I made a promise to myself right then, to make sure she never stepped through those courtroom doors.
“Hi,” he said. He looked like it hurt to smile, but he tried anyway. It was when he did things like this that I truly felt pain at what was happening to him. He was in immense pain – that much I could see – and yet he still smiled when he said hello.
Which was why, despite my internal turmoil, I beamed at him, “Hi. Hanging in there?”
He nodded and looked down at his feet. Conversation over.
The room filled up fast, with reporters mostly, but also a few of Fitch’s friends – Kayla and Trey, and Benjamin – his boss. There were a few other people I didn’t know sitting with them. I assumed they were also here for support. His brother had school, but I had a feeling he was attempting to sneak out right at that moment.
The reporters however, were like virile creatures, all clawing at the same meatless carcass, hoping to find something. Just clawing and scratching. Even though there were hundreds of others lying around.
The thing is: Fitch’s case, in the grand scheme of things, was completely irrelevant. To them, at least. It was the fact that I was on it that pulled them in. It was like they assumed that whatever I was working on must have had some added specialty. I wished they wouldn’t.
“All rise for the Honorable Judge Winchester,” the bailiffsaid.
We stood. I groaned. All I wanted to do was turn around and walk off before I made a complete fool of myself, but I stood even more frozen as they brought the first witness up to the stand.
Again, I groaned. Internally, of course.
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” he was asked.
“I do.”
The prosecutor, Barbara Farrow,stood and walked to the witness box, looking as obnoxiously content as she always did.
“Please state your name for the court,” he said.
“Jacob Finchley.”
I looked down at the table as I felt his gaze draw to me. I could feel it. And it hurt like hell.
*
Two weeks earlier
“Funny running into you here,” he said, smiling.
It was funny, but I could barely crack a smile. I was standing in the NYPD waiting area, my heart in my mouth. I’d hesitated about five times already, and I knew that just seeing him would freeze me to the spot.
“Hi. Are you busy? Can I talk to you?”
“Sure,” he said, leading me out, into the brightness of the city; of the day. A total contrast to my heart. I was nervous, and all I wanted to do was turn the other way.
“Coffee?” he asked.
I shook my head, as we walked in the direction of Central Park.
“What’s up with you? You seem . . . What’s up?” he asked, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.
It was now or never. I would never get the courage to do it if we settled in at a coffee shop, or made it to the park.
“I can’t see you anymore.”
He frowned, “We weren’t really seeing each other, Sarah. In case you forgot, you broke up with me. Are you trying to crush my heart again?” he was only half-joking.
I opened my mouth to belie his point, but I realized, technically, that was what I was doing.
“We can’t do this anymore. Talk, have coffee, see each other . . . be . . . friends. We need a clean break. You move on with your life, I . . . I don’t know. It’s hard, but we can’t . . . I can’t do this anymore.”
He stared at me for a second, and then without a single word, he turned and walked off – in the direction of the precinct. With every step he took, my chest tightened.
He didn’t look back. I couldn’t look away.
*
I didn’t hear a word of the prosecution’s interrogation. I should have been listening though, but this was the one part of the entire case I’d been sure I’d avoid. Thanks again, James.
“Your witness,” Farrow said, walking back to her table.
Slowly, and with all the grace I could muster, I stood. Even slower, I walked up to the witness box, wondering if the entire room could see my legs shaking.
“Detective Finchley, did you examine the Jackson home? Or look at the photos?” I looked at him. His gaze was trained on me. Expressionless.
“Yes.”
“You mentioned in your report that there were signs of a struggle and you pointed out that the directionality of the bullet was consistent with being shot in the gut by a man about the defendant’s height?”
“Objection! Is the defense testifying?” the prosecutor said.
“Sustained. Miss Barron, get to the point.”
I nodded.
This is not Jake.
It’s just a witness.
Any witness.
“Describe the photos of the crime scene.”
“Objection! We have the photos in evidence. Why doesn’t she just pull it up on the screen?” Farrow said.
“Your honor, I’m trying to get a sense of the most significant things that stuck out to the witness.”
“I’ll allow it. But make your point quickly,” the judge said sternly, as the prosecutor sat.
“Well, there were a couple of books lying on the ground, there was blood on the carpet and a spilled can of beer, a couple other empty cans on the ground. Another wooden chair was broken and there was a smashed glass cabinet.”
“What else?”
He frowned curiously, “Not much else. Broken photo frames. Your basic signs of a struggle.”
I smiled to myself, “That’s it?”
“Your honor!” Farrow objected, standing up.
“Miss Barron, make your point right now.”
“Well, Mr. Finchley, was there no broken glass?”
He stared at me blankly, “I said broken glass cabinet and photo frames. It was implied.”
“Was it? I don’t think so. You mentioned that there was a smashed cabinet, and broken photo frames, so what about the glass?”
“Fine, there was glass, all over the ground.”
“From the photo frames and the cabinet. Anything else?”
He shrugged and shook his head. Oh, Jake.
I pulled up one of the crime scene photos on the projector for the jury to see.
“Mr. Finchley, tell me what you see at the foot of the armchair in the image?”
He squinted and replied, “Looks like four bottle caps.”
“Bottle caps to what?”
“I don’t know. Vodka.”
“So, is it then implied, from the empty beer cans, broken shards of vodka bottles and what seems to be barely any wet patches in the carpet, that Mr. Jackson was a drunk?”
Jake frowned.
The prosecution objected.
The judge sustained.
“I’ll rephrase. You mentioned that these are the basic signs of a struggle. Someone ended up dead. Are you telling me that there is no likely implication that the defendant walked into his home, found his brother getting beaten by his drunken father, and instantly did the only thing he could. Since we’re implying and all.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but said nothing.
“No further questions.”
I turned around and walked back to my seat. If it was possible, my legs were even shakier.
*
When I walked into my father’s campaign headquarters that day, the ruckus matched my inner turmoil. They were in a frenzy, and I was trying to find the head of it all. I’d already had to dodge the press outside my office with Hal; thank goodness for underground parking lots. I could not possibly handle any more drama.
I looked around the room. Jerry was like a flashing disco light. Whizzing by, here and there. I scanned the room for Chloe, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“Hey Santos,” I said to one of the few volunteers whose names I actually knew.
“Miss Barron? I’m so sorry about this. Jerry’s taking care of everything.”
I frowned, “What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t seen the news?”
I’d been with James the past couple of hours, rearranging our witness list. We’d turned our phones off when they wouldn’t stop buzzing, and I hadn’t turned mine back on. I loved that disconnection from the world sometimes – it was just my kind of bliss.
“No. What’s up?” I asked warily, my heart dropping. This day couldn’t get any worse; I didn’t think I could take it.
He sighed, and turned his laptop to me – the New York Times headline sitting boldly on a screen, with a picture of me beneath.
‘THE BARRON FAMILY TREE: GOVERNOR’S SECRET GRANDDAUGHTER.’
I stood frozen, my blood running cold. Worse, worse, worse! It didn’t help that it was page six – hidden beneath war talk and financial turmoil. It didn’t help at all.
“Oh, God. Where is she?” I asked, wide-eyed.
He shrugged, “Jerry was talking to her a little while back. I think she’s in his office.”
I grit my teeth. Jerry.
Walking through the damage controlling crowd – no one was standing still, or even sitting; how could they all be doing something? – I made my way to the back of the headquarters and through to the door at the end of the hall. I didn’t bother to knock.
Chloe was sitting in the chair at the meeting table, Jerry standing over her, throwing questions at her.
“No one. You are completely sure you told no one?” He was in his crisis management mode, if his hostile tone was any indication.
“Jerry,” I said sternly, with a clenched jaw.
He turned, “Good. You’re here. I’ve been calling you all day. We have to do something about this.”
“Can you leave?”
“You want me to leave my own office? Sarah, in case you didn’t realize, this is major.”
“Jerry, I need you to go, so I can talk to my daughter alone. Think you can do that?” I said, harsher than was necessary.
He was taken aback.
“Sorry,” I murmured, as he waved me off and headed out.
“Five minutes. Then we fix this. Your father’s on his way,” he said, leaving the room.
Chloe started, “I didn’t say anything, I promise. The only people who knew were Fitch, Trey, Kayla and Ricky, and I’d stake my life on the fact that they’d never leak it to the press. I swear—”
“I don’t care. How are you?” I said, sitting across from her.
“Me? I don’t know. I’m confused, I guess.”
I let out a sigh, “I know. I don’t know who would have done this. But we’ll fix it.”
She nodded, “Okay.”
“I need to think,” I dropped my head into my hands.
“I could go. You could just say it was a lie, and everyone would believe, because I’d be gone,” she said slowly.
I looked up, as my heart beat a little faster. What can I say? I was attached.
“You want to leave?”
“Well, I don’t want to cause any problems. If this is going to affect your image or your dad’s campaign, that’s the smartest choice. Isn’t it?”
“That’s not what I asked. Do you want to leave? You have an image too; I can’t just assume I fit into that.”
She cocked her head, with a half-smile, “No. No, I don’t want to leave.”
“Would you like me to deny it?”
“What do you want to do?”
“Whatever will make you happy. So tell me what you want. Exactly. You want me to go out there and make a formal announcement, I’ll do it. You want me to say it’s a rumor, I’ll do it. Want me to ignore it, I can do that too. But I’m only going to do whatever you tell me to. So, tell me what you want.”
She bit her lip and shrugged, “You know, every time you’ve said the daughter thing, I’ve got goose bumps. I feel like I’m not . . . unwanted. I like that. But I like Jay, and I don’t want to do anything to affect his life negatively, and this could. So, I don’t know. You can do whatever you want; I’m good with anything. I’m glad that I’ve had these past few months, so whatever happens, I’m okay.”
“I hid it . . . you, for so many years, and when I finally got to tell someone, I couldn’t imagine feeling any lighter. But then I saw it on the news and I felt for a second, that relief, cause it was out in the open. Then I thought you’d hate this so much, but look at you; you’re acting like it’s just another day. I want to tell the world, and leave it to my dad and Jerry to fix, but this is going to change everything. You will never be able to walk out of the apartment without being scrutinized; you will never be able to wear a sweatshirt and pajama bottoms to the store; you won’t be able to do the things you want, without being seen and picked on and analyzed. I don’t want to put you through that.”
The door swung open before she could say something and Jerry and my dad walked in.
“We’re fixing it,” I said to my dad, who looked unfazed by the whole thing.
“It’s alright,” he said, giving Chloe a hug and then turning to me, “We’ll make a statement then, we’ll find a distraction.”
“I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” Jerry said slowly, “They’re going to want to know how and who—”
I cut in, knowing where this was headed, as I eyed Chloe nervously, “Yeah. Jerry’s right. We can’t do that.”
“You want to deny it?” my dad asked, alarmed.
I let out a breath, “No, dad, I don’t. But I have to.”
“Why? Like I said, I don’t mind. We’ll find something to distract them with – some other scandal or something.”
I shook my head. “No.”
My dad gave me that look – that ‘how did I end up with such a stubborn daughter?’ look.
“Guys, can you give Sarah and I the room for a second?”
“My office. I don’t think you guys are grasping the urgency of this situation,” Jerry said, his voice mounting with irritation.
“Jerry, please,” my dad said.
Chloe stood up and followed as he left the room.
“I’m not going to admit it, dad. There’s nothing you can say that will change my mind.”
With a sigh and a rather long period of silence, he said, “I leaked it.”
*
“You?” I managed to croak.
“I was talking to Cynthia Davis of the Associated Press, and my phone rang – Chloe, with a picture and everything. She gave me that look, like ‘a little young for you, isn’t she?’ It slipped out.”
I stared at him in shock.
“No it didn’t. Dad, you are the most composed, careful and reserved person in the world; you would never let something like that slip out. You wanted her to know.”
He said nothing.
“Oh my God. How could you?”
“Is it really such a bad thing that I don’t want to hide my family?”
“You’re missing the point. This is not about you or me; it’s about Chloe. Do you know what would happen if people found out it was her? Dad, she would never have any sense of normalcy again. Considering that most of her life has been just that – abnormal – that is the only thing I’ve been trying to do. How could you try to take that away?”
“Calm down, Sarah. You make it sound like it’s a burden.”
“Cause it is!” I exclaimed.
He was taken aback, “Being related to me?”
“Being the daughter of the high-brow lawyer, then the state senator, then the governor, and now, presidential candidate. It’s not just your life that changes, dad. I hate that I can barely go anywhere in peace. I don’t want to put that on Chloe. It’s not fair.”
“I just wanted her to be a part of all of this.”
“She is. She spends her days in your campaign office, doing grunt work, and listening to you and Jerry talk strategy over lunch, over dinner, and then she comes back again the next day. She looks forward to it even. How is that not a part of it? Just because she’s not in the spotlight?”
Jerry poked his head in, “Guys, you’re rather loud, and your five minutes are up. We need to fix this.”
“There’s nothing to fix. Tomorrow morning, I will go on live on Channel 5 and tell them it’s a rumor concocted by the opponent.”
I grabbed my bag and walked out, heading towards the front, and then thinking against it – there was no way that I could freely walk out into the daylight without getting hounded.
“Are you okay?” Chloe asked.
“I should be asking you that.”
She gave me a good-natured smile and shrugged. She was fine. Better than fine, even. She seemed . . . okay. Did I do that?
“I was in a beauty pageant once you know,” she said, as we walked towards the back exit, “I know scrutiny, and I know pain. In case that helps.”
I smiled, “Let me worry about that. You start school in thirty-six hours. Something to think about,” I said, holding the door open with a smug smile.
She bit her lip worriedly and slid in through the open car door. Hal gave me a nod, and shut the door behind me.
“Sarah?”
I turned, letting my mind slip out of its roaming thoughts. “Yeah?”
“Your dad just wanted to do something nice for me, for you, for himself. Don’t be mad at him for that,” she said, trailing off into a new thought as she stared out of the window.
How could I?
*
I sat across from Virginia Jorgensen, as the camera guy counted down from five. She plastered a smile on her face, and turned to the camera.
Three.
Two.
One.
“It’s a beautiful morning here at Wake Up, America; even more so as I am sitting across from the stunning Sarah Barron, daughter of the presidential candidate, Governor Jack Barron.” She took a breath, “We’ve seen the tabloids for the past two days, and today, she’s here with us, to speak about these allegations. Sarah, there’s only one question on everyone’s mind. Is it true?”
I didn’t need to rehearse it. I’d known what I was going to say from the moment I decided to say it was a rumor.
“No, Virginia, absolutely not. This is just some tale created by my father’s opposition to hit his campaign in the knees, and frankly, I am appalled that anyone would use such a thing to try to hurt us. Of course, I’ve always dreamed of having children of my own, but it has not happened yet, and any accusations to that fact are incorrect.”
That’s what I should have said.
Instead, I replied, “Yes. It’s true. I have a seventeen-year old daughter.”