18. The Letter

18

THE LETTER

DARREN

I enter Johnny’s Half Shell, an oyster bar near the Capitol Building. It’s an industrial looking restaurant with an open ceiling and exposed ventilation. A long bench seat lines the wall, but I find my dinner date sitting at the bar. Rory Colton is a short man, with wide-set brown eyes, and a receding hairline. He doesn’t look like the sort of man who could fill my father’s shoes. I take the seat next to him and order a whiskey.

“I ordered a dozen oysters,” he says by way of greeting. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“To say I was surprised that you called is an understatement.” I take the glass in hand and twist it between my fingers before bringing it to my lips.

“I should have reached out a long time ago.” He tucks a linen napkin into the collar of his shirt as soon as the waiter sets the oysters in front of him. They look plump and springy in their shells and when he offers me one, I decline.

He doesn’t listen, placing one on my plate. “You should eat.”

There’s something about his tone that makes me pick up the shell and inspect it. I’m not opposed to oysters, but I close my eyes anyway while letting it slide down my throat, tasting the saltiness on my tongue.

I’ve been in the same room as Rory but never this close. I don’t really know him, only of him.

“How are you liking my father’s seat?” I inquire with a prickly tone while I use the napkin to pat my mouth.

Rory laughs, taking a drink of his gin. “I can understand your resentment. I imagine this isn’t easy for you.”

“You’re part of the reason I’m running,” I explain.

“Oh?” he questions, turning to look at me.

“I’m not going to fuck seniors out of their homes in order to build McMansions,” I explain.

He reaches for the hot sauce unfazed and raises an eyebrow as if he’s not sure what I’m talking about.

“The bill you voted against to freeze senior property taxes,” I remind him. “One of those seniors is a volunteer on my campaign.”

“Sometimes you have to sacrifice one thing in order to gain another. Your father understood that,” he explains. “And perhaps you will too.”

“Well, I’m not willing to sacrifice a bunch of seniors.”

“I didn’t invite you to dinner to squabble about things that can’t be changed.”

“Then let’s get to the point, because my wife is waiting for me at home.”

“Ok,” he says with a bit of trepidation, and then leans in as not to allow anyone else to hear. “Am I correct to assume that you know about your wife’s previous profession?”

“You’d better watch yourself, Rory,” I warn.

We move away from each other as the waiter takes the billfold.

“I will assume that means you know.”

“What do you want?” I fume.

“This is a professional courtesy, Darren, because despite how you feel about me, I admired your father,” he insists.

I make a disbelieving noise.

“I’ve come to learn that the Post knows about your wife as well, and they’re planning to run a story.”

“Rausch would know if that were the case,” I comment, more to myself than to Rory, because Rausch hasn’t said anything to me about this. It dawns on me that he missed the taping of the ad for unexpected business in Georgetown. I wonder if that business was trying to suppress the article. Either way, he kept it from me and he didn’t exactly accomplish anything.

“I don’t doubt that, but there are some things out of even his control and the press can’t turn a blind eye to this.” He shakes his head.

“That’s not something the press would stumble upon,” I scoff.

“You’d be right about that,” Rory confirms with a nod.

I don’t need him to tell me who leaked it to the press because I already know.

The waiter approaches. “I hope you enjoyed everything,” he smiles broadly.

Rory takes the billfold from the waiter with a smile and then scribbles his name on the receipt, slapping it closed.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to make sure I don’t miss a message from Evangeline, but it’s from an unknown number.

Darren, it’s your grandfather. Hoping we can talk.

I shove the phone back in my pocket. Jesus, what else can happen today?

“Always wonderful,” Rory beams at the waiter as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on my plate.

He slides off his chair and grips my shoulder. “If I were you kid, I’d get ahead of this.”

I follow Rory onto the street. “That’s what I have Rausch for.”

Rory shakes his head. “Every strategist will tell you to deny until you can’t deny anymore.”

Which is exactly what Rausch has been doing.

“There’s no proof,” I tell him.

“We’re not talking about a tabloid here. If the Post runs a story, it’s because they have something solid,” Rory confirms.

I pinch my forehead. Of course, I knew this was a possibility and we tried to be prepared as much as we could. “I’m not about to let them ruin my wife’s reputation.”

Rory looks at me with admiration. “You’re a lot like your father. He was less worried about what they thought of him politically and more about who he was as a man.” He offers me a small smile. “It’s something lacking in Washington.”

He didn’t have to invite me to dinner, and he didn’t have to warn me. Maybe I was too quick to judge him, and my dislike was more about my father’s seat being empty in the first place, not who was taking it. If it wasn’t Rory, it would have been someone else, and they still wouldn’t have been deserving in my eyes.

I shake hands with Rory, and as we part ways I notice Langley crossing the street with his wife, Rebecca.

“Darren,” Rebecca says excitedly. “Is Evangeline with you? I was just telling her earlier that we should have dinner sometime.”

“Unfortunately, no.” I try to sound polite but it’s difficult when in the presence of the very man that threatens my wife’s reputation. As Rory has said, I’m a lot like my father.

“I didn’t know you were such good friends with Darren’s wife.” Jonathan looks a bit shaken, but he’s hiding it well.

“Oh yes, we’re on the planning committee together,” she explains. “She’s really taken on the role quite nicely and this year’s gala will be quite something.”

“When my wife puts her mind to something, there’s no stopping her.” I smile at Jonathan.

“Will you get us a table before the dinner rush?” Jonathan says to her.

She pats his arm. “If you wanted to be alone, all you have to do is ask,” she laughs.

“Please tell Evangeline I missed her, and hopefully we can get together soon—the four of us. Wouldn’t that be fun, Jonathan?” she smiles up at him and he pulls at his collar.

“Yes, of course.”

Rebecca enters the, leaving Jonathan and myself in front of the restaurant. A cool evening breeze runs down the street.

“What kind of game do you think you’re playing?” Jonathan accuses.

I laugh. “That’s funny coming from you—planting stories about me and my wife!”

“Your platform is integrity and social justice, is it not?”

“The campaign is about me, not my wife,” I remind him. “And if you think you’re going to ruin my chances for election by exposing her past, which I might remind you involves you, then think again.”

“Is that why your so-called wife is latching onto Rebecca?” he speculates. “She thinks I won’t ruin you both just because they’re friends?”

“Unlike you, my wife doesn’t have any ulterior motives other than doing what’s good for the foundation.”

I push past him and walk down the street because if I had to look at him for even one more second, I might not have been able to control myself.

When I get home, Evangeline is in the office. Her hair is up in a messy bun, tendrils framing her face. She’s in sweatpants and a tank top, bent over organizing one of the boxes of my father’s law books. When she hears me enter the room she looks up and blows a piece of hair from her face.

Her expression is grave and for a moment I think she already knows what I’m going to say.

“You asked me to take over for Lottie,” she says nervously, and motions to the boxes of law books I wanted to donate to the free clinic. “I was reorganizing the shelves, and the letter fell out of this book.” She points to a book in front of her, The Collected Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson .

It’s the first time I notice something in her hand.

“I think it’s something you need to read,” she explains, handing the handwritten note to me.

While spending time apart I’ve been able to put our marriage into perspective.

I think back to my ten-year-old self and try to remember if there was ever a time when my parents were separated, but I have only a vague recollection of the summer I spent with my mother at her family’s estate in New Hampshire. I hadn’t thought of that in such a long time, the memory hardly seems real.

I’ve come to terms with the fact that we are not the only two people in this marriage. If I’m being honest, I’ve known this for a while.

“My father was having an affair?” I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until Evangeline reaches over the boxes and touches my arm. She looks at me as if I’m someone to be handled carefully. Maybe I am.

Maybe I’m writing this letter so you can’t talk me out of it but I’ve made a decision. I don’t want a divorce. I believed in you the day I met you, and I knew you were going to do great things, just like I know it now.

It won’t be a marriage in name only because we’re partners in this. The three of us.

The most important thing is to protect our family.

Protect our family from what?

I set the letter on the desk.

“Evan,” I must say her name in a way that causes her expression to turn into a different kind of worry. “I have something to tell you.”