Dissident (3 page)

Caroline blushed. She really hadn’t planned to apologize to McIntyre while exchanging idle chitchat with the Speaker of the House. Then again, she wasn’t quite sure what the best scenario would have been for her to broach the subject.

McIntyre turned to face the three of them. Caroline remembered watching footage of him during the campaign but he was much more striking in person. Sharp blue eyes, late forties, about six feet tall. He’d gone prematurely gray but his silver hair accentuated his handsome features. His appearance was a tad intimidating but he definitely had the capability to woo female voters and non-voters alike, if the rumors were to be believed. And those captivating eyes looked none too happy to see her.

“No, we’ve never met,” he said coolly. “Although she seems to know me pretty well already.”

Shit. He obviously hadn’t forgotten the campaign. Not that she expected him to, but she underestimated the depth of his anger. Bob was scrutinizing Caroline with concern, as he now realized his error.

She gathered up her courage. “Bob, would you excuse us for a minute? I’d like to chat with Mr. McIntyre.”

“Of course, sunshine.” He picked up a plate from the side table that contained a generous helping of leftover Christmas cookies and party snacks and kissed her on the cheek. “In case we don’t see each other again tonight,” he explained. “I’ll see you in a couple of days. Take care of yourself and give your girls a hug from me. Come on, Addie. Let’s go find Christine so she can pretend to like me.”

Adeline gave Caroline another hug. “It’s always a joy, Caroline. I’m taking you out to lunch while I’m in Washington this week. Clear your calendar. Deep dish pizza, D.C. version?”

Caroline smiled a tiny smile. Adeline knew she was very particular about her Chicago style pizza. “I shall ignore that wretched, heretical, downright disloyal comment because it is the holiday season.”

“Damn right.” Adeline gave Caroline a quick squeeze on the arm before walking away.

Caroline reminded herself to thank them later. Bob and Adeline had no doubt given her that warm goodbye for McIntyre’s benefit. She turned to him.

“Mr. McIntyre,” she began. She had enough intuition to know that he was royally pissed, but probably refined enough to keep himself in check. Sure enough, he schooled his features before he interrupted her.

“I’d tell you to call me by my first name but I’m not sure you deserve the privilege.”

The haughty tone of a man accustomed to either getting his own way or bullying people into it. He stared at her for a moment, his jaw locked as if he assumed she’d not so gracefully excuse herself or clumsily back away. Both of which were not outside the realm of possibility.

This was not starting well. Caroline rubbed the back of her neck apprehensively.

“I wanted to apologize for what I said about you during the campaign,” she said.

“Oh, you said many things, but the highlight was that little remark about how I was…what was it…‘a millionaire playboy trying to buy his way into Congress.’”

Caroline flinched at the precision of his tone. McIntyre had evidently watched her speech more than a few times. He’d undoubtedly had numerous opportunities since his opponent and several liberal PACs had used it in almost every attack ad they’d produced.

“Yeah, um, that.” She suddenly lost all ability to articulate, although she was glad he hadn’t brought up anything else she said during the speech. His eyes were still boring into her and she shifted her gaze away from his, ever so slightly. It was a trick she’d use from time to time to avoid awkward exchanges, but it was much more effective in a crowd than in a face to face confrontation.

“I shouldn’t have called you that,” she said. “It was an awful, terrible, slanderous thing to say and I deeply regret it. I thought about phoning you the next day to apologize but I figured you wouldn’t take my call.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have,” he said.

Caroline brought her eyes to his again, surprised he would be so undiplomatic. He continued to glare at her, and bit off his next words.

“I wouldn’t have taken your call then and I won’t accept your apology now. Washington’s a big town, Ms. Gerard. I think we can do our best to stay away from each other.”

“But-”

“You can do your best to try and charm me as you have everyone else, but I assure you that I will not be fooled. So stop wasting your time.”

She tried not to scowl at him. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

He returned her stare. “Enjoy the rest of the party,” he said coldly, right before he spun around and walked away.

Caroline sank into the couch in the corner of the room. That hadn’t gone well at all. Her plan had backfired in the worst way possible.

“Didn’t want to listen to you, huh?” She heard Bob’s voice at her side.

She looked up. That was the understatement of the century. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had spoken to her that way. “No. No he didn’t.”

Bob sat down and patted her shoulder. “He doesn’t know what you did after that speech, does he?”

“I wasn’t going to mention that part. And neither are you.”

He stood up. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m going to talk to him.”

“No, Mr. Speaker.” She hoped her deference to his formal title would convince him to let it go. “Please don’t. I made this mess myself. He’s not the only person I’ve had to apologize to.”

“You’ve had a rough year, Caroline. You made a couple of mistakes. It’s okay.”

Another understatement. Bob had an exceedingly benevolent interpretation of reality when people he cared about were involved.

“I know.” She looked down at the floor.

Bob reached down to pat her shoulder again. “You’re going to be fine. You know that, right?”

“It sure doesn’t feel that way sometimes.” Caroline looked at her watch. “I’ve got to round up the girls and get them to bed.” She squeezed the hand on her shoulder. “Thanks, Bob.”

“Anytime, sunshine. And if you call me Mr. Speaker again, it ought to damn well be at a press conference or on the House floor. You know better.”

She returned his smile. “Yes, sir.”

*              *              *              *              *

Caroline turned down the covers as Marguerite and Sophie snuggled into bed. She crawled onto the mattress and shifted in between them, kissing their foreheads in turn.

“Have you had a good week?” she asked.

“It’s been okay,” said Marguerite.

“I ate lots of candy,” said Sophie.

Sophie was known to shovel food into her face like a champ, a gift she inherited from her mother. And Caroline had indeed done nothing but eat cookies and sweets herself for the past week.

“Maybe we’ll stay here tomorrow too,” Caroline said. “Then Chrissy and Tom and the girls can follow us back home before the swearing-in.”

Her children were quiet. She knew what they were thinking. They’d had a nice respite but they’d soon return to the emptiness of their normal lives. Even having Christine with them most of the time hadn’t managed to fill the gap.

“It’ll be good to have a new year. Right, mom?” Marguerite asked.

Caroline slid down to lay next to her daughters and hold their hands. “Yeah.”

“Maybe we should make a wish,” Sophie said.

“Good idea, Feef,” Caroline said. “What should we wish for?”

“I want a pony!” she exclaimed.

“Darling, we’ve talked about that. The backyard’s not big enough. Plus, you don’t get a pony before I do.”

Sophie looked disappointed but not discouraged. “How about a puppy instead?” she asked.

“That I’ll consider. We’ll see how the rest of the winter goes. What about you, Mo?”

Marguerite rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I think we should all try to be happy.”

Caroline squeezed Marguerite’s hand tighter as she fought back tears. “I think that’s a great idea,” she whispered.

Marguerite propped herself up on one elbow. “Especially you, mom.”

Caroline caressed her daughter’s cheek. “I’ll try, Mo Mo. I promise.”

Her eldest daughter leaned in for a hug. “We should all try to be more positive too.”

Caroline kissed her forehead. “Let’s do that then. No more negativity and maybe a dog. That’ll work. Come here, Feef.”

Sophie cuddled into Caroline’s other side and they all held on to each other for what seemed like a very long time. Soon Sophie was asleep and Marguerite wasn’t far behind. Caroline removed her arms from around their shoulders and crept out of the room as quietly as she could. She rested her head on the doorjamb, watching her daughters sleep peacefully.

“I’ll try, my angels,” she whispered. “I will.”

*              *              *              *              *

Caroline walked down the hall to the study, which was empty. It was one of her favorite rooms in the Sullivan home. Built-in bookshelves, tons of political nonfiction and history, Tom’s memorabilia from his days at Notre Dame…she loved it. Best of all, it had a fireplace (on the second floor no less) which Caroline considered to be the epitome of hoity-toity. Chrissy and Tom definitely knew how to live a sweet upper class life. She poked the embers and added another log to keep the smoldering fire going, then sat down on the couch facing the fireplace.

She scrolled through her phone, responding to a few texts from Kathleen and Jen. She took a moment longer to send a message to Ellen Goldman, the junior Senator from California, who was another close friend. They’d been texting back and forth over the holiday recess and Ellen had worked in a couple of jabs about how warm it had been in L.A. over Christmas. Caroline had to find a way to get even after the new session of Congress started. She was contemplating fiddling with the thermostat in Ellen’s office, maybe building a snowman on her desk, but she wasn’t sure she could count on Ellen’s aides to keep quiet. She’d definitely think of something.

She checked the time. It was almost the end of the year. Caroline had no need to be with the other revelers at midnight. It was her first time alone on New Year’s in a very long time. Nicky always hated New Year’s Eve and found it to be a redundant holiday, but she still dragged him to Bryn Mawr year after year. He never liked politicians, so being surrounded by normal people for the evening made it much more appealing. They’d drive up from Rockville, he’d laugh and chat with the Sullivans’ friends, they’d both drink far too much, and at the end of the night they’d make out as the ball dropped.

Caroline remembered the year before, when he kissed her passionately at midnight then passed out in the guest room after convincing Tom to split over thirty craft beers between the two of them. Christine hadn’t been too happy about that.  Nicky and Tom got pretty obnoxious when they were boozed up. That had been a good night. One of her last really cute memories of him, and less than three weeks later he was gone.

She heard the door creak and turned her head. John McIntyre poked his head in, his hands behind his back. He scanned the room.

“May I come in?” he asked politely.

Caroline pursed her lips. She really didn’t want to deal with him again, especially if all he was going to do was insult her. But a negative attitude was inconsistent with the resolution she’d made with her daughters.

She forced a smile. “Sure.”

He started to enter the room, then stopped. “Close your eyes.”

What an unusual request. But she obliged.  Caroline heard him walk over to the couch and sit down beside her.

“You can open them,” he said, a hint of mischief in his voice.

She blinked as McIntyre turned to face her.

“My behavior earlier this evening was disgraceful,” he said. “I’m deeply sorry for the manner in which I spoke to you before.”

“You are?”

“I am. I think we should start over again.”

The change in his personality was astonishing. This was a completely different person from the man she’d met downstairs.

“Okay,” Caroline said warily.

He stuck out his hand. “I’m John Montgomery McIntyre. My friends call me Jack.”

She decided to be a good sport and shook his hand. Caroline was walking the fine line between comfortable and buzzed and it emboldened her. She probably shouldn’t have let Tom fix her that last drink.

“Does that mean I get to call you Jack?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m Caroline Joan Gerard, since we’re throwing middle names in there.”

“I like to exchange introductions with a touch of formality.” He probably sounded a little more pompous than he’d intended.

She smiled. “Whatever you say, John Montgomery.”

“Are you making fun of my family name?”

“A little. That’s like the whitest white guy name in the history of whiteness.” Caroline laughed at his expression. “I’m sorry, that was rude. Can I call you Monty?”

“You’re the first person who’s ever asked me that.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Of course I am. But you should know I’ve never granted such a request. And most of my family is Black Irish, for your information. Maybe we should get to know each other better first. Nicknames are a big step. Do you have any?”