Fatherless: A Novel (29 page)

“That’s what I mean. I helped Kevin research options and found an experimental treatment that might improve Leah’s brain capacity.
But they’ve decided against taking that path.”

“Why?”

“It carries pretty serious risks,” he explained. “They spoke to Pastor Mubar. You remember him?”

She did.

“After that they decided God gave them Leah as a gift to cherish and a masterpiece to display rather than a problem to fix.”

Julia sipped her drink as the exquisitely mysterious words settled themselves in her mind.

Troy’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen. “It’s Kevin. I better take this. Excuse me a second.”

Julia used the interruption to absorb all Troy had said.

The decision that created Leah’s problem:
How could they skip the screening process
?

The heartache Angie must be enduring.
Why couldn’t she tell me
?

The motivation behind Kevin’s Bright Spots proposal.
This isn’t mere theory for him. It’s personal
.

She heard the familiar ping of her message box.

Julia tapped the first, dated April twenty-fourth. She remembered flying to DC on the same day for the girl’s-night-out reunion
with Angie. The picture showed Kevin on his own front porch placing a jacket over the shoulders of an attractive young woman
wearing a short dress and heels. His face appeared nervous. Hers triumphant.

She quickly opened the second image. It had been taken on Thursday, less than twenty-four hours earlier. The same attractive
woman wearing a sleeveless top sitting beside Kevin. They appeared to be dining together at a five-star restaurant, her hand
resting affectionately on his forearm as she eyed him wistfully.

She opened a third attachment, a text document presumably providing details of Tolbert’s indiscretions.

“Good news!”

Troy’s voice interrupted Julia’s stunned appraisal. She hastily blackened the screen.

“Kevin said he’s ready and will meet us at his office in a few minutes. Shall we go?”

As they
entered the congressional office building Troy stopped and shook moisture off of the suit jacket he had held over Julia’s
head as they ran from the coffee shop to his car.

“I’m sorry,” Julia said. “It’s soaked!”

“Not a problem,” he replied. “A small price to pay to protect your lovely hair.”

She would have relished the compliment if not for thoughts of Kevin with another woman lingering in her mind.
Poor Angie
.

“Right this way,” he said.

Julia entered Kevin’s empty office while Troy draped his soggy coat across a chair.

“Make yourself at home,” he offered. “I’m sure Kevin will be here any minute. He never could drive in the rain.”

She moved toward the window to look at nothing in particular while gathering her thoughts.

Think, girl. Think!

She needed to assess the situation with detached objectivity, to force whatever concern she felt for Angie and the kids out
of her mind.

Put on your journalist hat!

Kevin Tolbert was a politician vital to her story. A man who had granted preemptive access in exchange for on-the-record quotations
she would get during the next several minutes. The fact that he might be an unfaithful pig was irrelevant to her agenda. Possibly
even advantageous.

She turned away from the window, her eyes meandering through Kevin’s office with no specific target in mind. They landed on
a picture of Angie and the kids sitting behind a large file on top of his desk. Her aversion to snooping caved to curiosity,
drawing her toward the folder filled with what appeared to be a disheveled collection of pages. Their placement on top of
other important-looking documents suggested Kevin had reviewed them recently, possibly while working through details of his
Bright Spots proposal.

She flipped open the file. A pile of papers of various shapes, sizes, and colors. Glancing toward the door to make sure the
coast was clear, Julia reached for a sheet of yellow construction paper sitting on the very top.

Crayola lettering without symmetry spelled out the phrase
WE LOVE YOU DADDY
. On the bottom right appeared a series of names in the unmistakable handwriting of Master Tommy Tolbert:
MOMMY, TOMMY, JOY, AND BABY LEAH
. Each name was accompanied by a stick-figure rendering. The first was tall with long pencil-colored hair, then a short boy
with messy bangs next to an even shorter girl with golden curls. The final figure above Leah’s scrunched name appeared with
a disproportionate pacifier in an enormous hand.

She sorted through several more of the carefully preserved pages, each prompting a larger smile than the last, followed by
an immediate fury at a man who would hurt her friend Angie and her precious kids. His precious kids!

Something doesn’t fit
, she thought. Julia couldn’t imagine Kevin betraying Angie on a whim. Maybe the insecurities she had sensed in Angie reflected
unspoken tension in the marriage. What if the stress of Leah’s situation had pushed Kevin over some edge, made him yearn for
the kind of carefree fling other guys enjoyed without remorse. Regardless, she felt something had to be done.

She heard the outer door open. Quickly replacing Tommy’s treasure and closing the folder, she moved casually toward the sitting
area.

I can’t ignore this.

She considered telling Kevin about the photos. She would ask for, no,
demand
an explanation. She might even promise to keep the evidence confidential if he agreed to make things right by restoring the
fidelity Angie took for granted and Troy admired. Julia hated the idea of including the scandal in her feature. She’d bury
it if he just came clean.

Then she remembered how much she needed Kevin’s cooperation to finish her story. She couldn’t risk driving him to self-protective
silence.

Troy’s voice interrupted Julia’s debate. “Here we are. I believe everyone has met.”

She looked toward the door. Kevin entered the room. He wasn’t alone.

“Oh,” Julia said. “I didn’t realize you would be attending the interview, Dr. Richert.”

“Good to see you again, Ms. Davidson,” he responded coldly.

“I thought it would be a good idea for Bryce to join us in light of your earlier conversation,” Kevin explained. “As you know,
he’s been a key member of the austerity team. I hope you don’t mind if he sits in.”

Kevin was better at the game than Julia had assumed.

“Of course not,” she lied. “The more the merrier.”

“I’ll leave you to it then.” Troy excused himself from the room.

All three took a seat.

Julia reached into her bag, then paused to look toward her host. “May I record our conversation?”

“By all means,” Kevin replied. “You’ll need that to capture my comments word-for-word.”

Julia restrained a reaction. “We rarely include comments word-for-word, but I definitely plan to summarize you accurately.”

“Our agreement, Julia, was that I would grant you preemptive access in exchange for the opportunity to make my case in my
own words.”

“Yes. But—”

“Word-for-word,” he insisted.

A long game of silent chicken ensued. Julia spoke first, handing victory to Kevin. “All right. Word-for-word.”

“Good.” He smiled. “I gave Troy my official statement to send. It should arrive in your in-box shortly, along with my instructions.”

“Instructions?”

“In short, you can publish information obtained during the austerity coalition meeting if you include my comments in your
story. Otherwise RAP Syndicate will hear from my lawyers. Maybe Franklin’s too.”

Julia considered the threat. The last thing she needed was for a lawsuit notice to create first impressions of her in the
minds of the new owners at RAP. She was tempted to counter-threaten by referencing the photos but decided she might need that
ace up her sleeve.

“I understand. I’ll include your statement as given.”

“Good,” he said smugly.

“Well. Since we have the time, would you mind if I go ahead and ask a few supplemental questions?”

No objection.

“Is it true that you’ve been asked to draft and present the full Franklin plan?”

His eyes darted toward Dr. Richert, who appeared pleasantly surprised by the possibility.

“Yes it is,” he confirmed. “I don’t suppose you can tell me how you knew that.”

She ignored the question. “Do you think that assignment will position you well for his cabinet?”

“He’s a senator, not the president.”

“Yet,” she added.

They sat without speaking for several seconds.

“I have no idea what Senator Franklin intends,” he said, breaking the silence. “I assume he wants someone to clearly articulate
the urgency of our fiscal crisis and the need for bold solutions.”

“So you said yes?”

“I said I’d help craft the plan.”

“Does the plan include all of your suggestions?”

“Most,” he confirmed.

“What about transitions? Will your opposition to the Youth Initiative be included in the plan?”

He exhaled deeply like a tutor annoyed by a child’s wandering attentiveness. “I thought this story was about the Bright Spots
proposal.”

“It is,” she agreed. “But it seems relevant that the man who advocates parenthood incentives also wants to end transitions.”

“How would you connect the two?” Dr. Richert asked Julia, no longer able to conceal his annoyance.

She stared blankly. Were they connected? She had always assumed religious dogma motivated breeder antagonism. But she had
never traced their pet issues to anything resembling a cohesive philosophy.

“Do you have any idea why and how the drop in fertility and the spread of transitions are linked?” Dr. Richert’s question
carried the tenor of a lecture.

“Bryce, I’m not sure this is the time or place to—” Kevin began.

“It’s the perfect time and place!” Dr. Richert interrupted. “I’m sick and tired of the mindless drivel these reporters parrot
with no idea of the meaning or importance of what’s at stake.”

Kevin made a motion as if to dissuade the doctor from his passionate speech.

“Please, Dr. Richert, continue,” Julia suggested in hopes of capturing a useful misstep.

“Human life isn’t a commodity to manage, Ms. Davidson,” he continued. “It’s a treasure to preserve.”

“If you don’t mind,” Kevin intercepted, “I’d like to keep this conversation limited to the reasons for and benefits of my
Bright Spots proposal.”

Dr. Richert slid back from the edge of his chair in apologetic deference. “Of course. Forgive me.”

Julia stifled any reaction, knowing she would put the doctor in his place very soon. He might speak his mind in Kevin’s office,
but she would have the last word in print.

As the tension dissipated, Kevin sat back in his chair like a Southern gentleman rocking on his porch while recollecting a
story. “Did I ever tell you about Eric Shepherd?”

Julia looked away from Dr. Richert’s fuming toward an oddly relaxed Kevin. “I don’t think so.”

“Eric Shepherd was the school bully at Kinyon Elementary. While he wasn’t the biggest kid in the sixth grade, he was definitely
the meanest.”

Both Dr. Richert and Julia settled in for the tale.

“Eric ruled the Kinyon playground. He organized the daily touch football game at lunch. Boys only, of course. Actually, big
boys only. Eric even chose the other team’s captain before giving himself the first pick of players.”

Dr. Richert smiled, recognizing an all-too-familiar reality of junior Guyland.

“One day a new kid came to the school who didn’t seem to appreciate or acknowledge Eric’s undisputed turf. Rather than ask
if he could play on one of the football teams, this kid ignored the football clique and started recruiting boys and girls
for a daily soccer tournament.

“Suddenly Eric had competition for playground dominance. And he didn’t like it. Especially once some of the bigger kids left
his fiefdom to join the scrawny kids playing an inferior sport. When that happened, he decided the time had come to remake
his image.”

“He stopped bullying?” Julia wondered aloud.

“Oh no. One day after school he waited behind some trees hoping to catch the new kid alone. He proceeded to beat him to a
pulp. And it worked. Eric reestablished himself as someone to fear, drawing all of the bigger kids back to football.”

“Was the boy hurt badly?” Dr. Richert asked.

“Enough for the other kids to fall in line.”

“Did Eric get in trouble?” Julia asked.

“The kid explained what happened to the teacher, which led her to pull both Eric and the bruised soccer player into the school
counselor’s office for a joint seminar on getting along, complete with a lecture about the school’s zero-tolerance fighting
policy.”

“Things got better for a week or so. But Eric wasn’t satisfied with just intimidating the big kids back to his game. He also
wanted the girls and small kids cheering on the sidelines rather than playing soccer.”

“Did they?” asked Dr. Richert.

“Not until Eric beat up the new kid a second time.”

“Please tell me the school counselor stepped in at that point.”

“Sure did. She suspended the new kid for fighting.”

“What?” Julia reacted. “Why?”

“To avoid conflict with Eric’s mom.”

“Eric’s mom?”

“Yes. You see, the bully’s mom was the teacher.”

“You’re kidding!” Julia snarled.

“I’m serious. Anyway, the cycle continued for the rest of the school year. It even followed them into junior high the following
year.”

Julia seethed. “I hate bullies!”

“But things got better in seventh grade,” Kevin continued. “That’s when I met Troy.”

“I figured you were the new kid,” Dr. Richert said proudly.

“Troy was much bigger than Eric. He also preferred soccer to football.”

“Was Eric’s mom or the school counselor ever exposed?” Julia asked.

“They weren’t, which is the reason I shared the story.” He paused, glaring directly at Julia. “Julia, there have always been
people who use their size or position to abuse the little people just because they dislike the way a person looks, or talks,
or thinks. Or maybe because they are debits. Or worse, breeders.”

She felt the blow. “Now wait a second, Kevin—”

“Let me finish, Julia,” he interrupted. “I’m not as naïve as you or RAP would like to believe. I know what you’re doing here.”

She said nothing.

“I accept your bias. That’s fine. All I ask is that you accurately represent mine.”

“I’m a respected journalist, Kevin!” She couldn’t hold back.

“Yes, you are. And I’m sure you’re a good one. But none of us is unbiased. Not you. Not me.”

“Certainly not me!” Dr. Richert interjected with a laugh.

“Part of my bias is the belief government exists to make it harder for bullies to win. Our current policies, by contrast,
give bullies free rein.”

“What bullies are you talking about?”

“Those who have an irrational fear of children would be a good example. They advance tax policies that make it nearly impossible
to afford the extra cost of raising kids.”

Julia started to speak, but something in Kevin’s face said not to.

“And then there are bullies who want to grow an industry that victimizes the poorest and most vulnerable members of society.
Eighty percent of transition volunteers are poor, disabled, or both.”

She thought momentarily of the Santoses’ journals, but quickly pushed them out of her mind.

“We live in a world where the weak and scrawny have little choice but to play by rules set by the big and powerful. By those
who rig the game against the dignity of human life.”

“No one forces people to transition.”

“And no one forced kids to quit playing soccer or cheer for Eric. They did it voluntarily, or else!”

Kevin took a deep breath to reclaim his formerly calm demeanor. It didn’t work.

“I don’t blame Eric or the kids who did what he wanted. But I do blame the adults who knew what was happening and did nothing
to intervene. I get upset with leaders and policies that make it easy to bully the weak!”