“I’m starvin’,” Carlos said.
“It’s all cooked and in the fridge.” Derek looked to Rebecca. “Maybe Becca can get plates for everyone and heat it up? I need to talk to Lindsey for a minute.”
“We can’t stay—” Jacob started.
“Let’s go, everybody,” Rebecca said, interrupting her husband. “Derek makes a mean spaghetti.”
Derek approached Lindsey. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Jacob, Rebecca, and the boys headed back to the farmhouse. Rebecca navigated the kitchen like it was her own, because it had been. She heated the spaghetti and served the food. The four of them sat at the kitchen table, eating.
Jacob said, “This sauce is …”
“Pretty good, huh?” Rebecca replied.
“We should buy this stuff.” Jacob took a bite.
“Can’t. It’s homemade. The ingredients are from Hannah’s garden.”
Lindsey entered the kitchen, followed by Derek. Her face was flushed.
“Your plates are on the counter,” Rebecca said.
“Jacob, can I talk to you outside?” Derek asked.
Jacob wiped his mouth and glanced at Rebecca. She nodded almost imperceptibly. Jacob stood from the table and followed Derek outside.
Derek leaned on his crutches, the sun making him squint. “I have just one thing to ask you, and I want you to answer me honestly.”
Jacob nodded.
“Do you love Lindsey just as much as your sons?”
Without missing a beat, Jacob said, “Yes.”
Derek swallowed hard. “I’ll sign whatever you need me to sign for the adoption.”
35
Summer and Things Left Unsaid
Summer walked through the parking garage, cameras covering her every move. On one of the concrete pillars, a spray-painted message read Where’s Roger? She thought about Roger Kroenig, the congressman who disappeared five years ago. The guys talked about him in their Resistance meetings.
Her car unlocked as she moved close enough for the locks to detect her key FOB. She climbed into the back seat of her autonomous Hyundai, her feet throbbing. The car came to life, gauges and lights illuminated.
“Hyundai, take me home,” Summer said to the empty car. “Hyundai” was the computer’s default name from the factory. She could’ve changed it but never did.
“Destination, home,” the car replied.
The battery-powered Hyundai silently exited the parking garage of McLean Hospital, heading for her apartment. Summer took off her sneakers and rubbed her feet. Her cell phone chimed. She removed her phone from the front pocket of her scrubs.
She swiped right and said, “Hey, Dad.”
“I need you to come over,” Patrick said.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but it’s important. I need to talk to you.”
“Well, I’m headed home from work. I’m exhausted. Can it wait till tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so.”
Summer sighed and said, “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She disconnected the call and said, “Hyundai, detour, Dad’s apartment.”
Patrick opened his door before she knocked. He ushered her inside. “You want something to drink?” he asked.
“No thanks,” Summer replied.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the sofa.
She sat with a groan, the pressure off her aching feet.
Patrick moved a chair in front of the sofa and sat down, so he could face his daughter.
“What’s going on?” Summer asked, unblinking.
Patrick took a deep breath and said, “I know I haven’t always been the best father, but I want you to know that I love you and that I’m proud of you.”
Summer arched her eyebrows. “Are you sick?”
“No. I’m fine. I just wanted to make sure that you knew how I felt.”
She narrowed her eyes at her father. “You sound like a person with a cancer diagnosis. I would know. I’ve been around plenty of them. If you’re sick—”
“I’m not. I promise.”
“Well, I love you too, Dad, but you could’ve told me this over the phone.”
“There’s more, and I’m not sure you’ll like this part.” Patrick hesitated.
Summer frowned. “Just tell me.”
“How are you and Connor doing?”
“We’re fine. Why are you asking?”
“I don’t think he’s right for you.”
She stood from the couch, glaring. “What are you talking about?”
Patrick also stood. “Do you wanna have children?”
“What? Where is this coming from?”
“Answer the question.”
“Of course I want children! You know that.”
“Last week at Thanksgiving, I got the impression that Connor wasn’t interested in having children with you, and, based on your reaction to some of the things he said, I think deep down you know that too.”
Summer shook her head, incredulous. “Even if that were true, it’s none of your damn business.”
Patrick showed his palms in surrender. “I know. I’m sorry for overstepping my bounds. I didn’t wanna leave anything unsaid—”
“You should’ve left that unsaid.” Summer turned on her sneakers and left the apartment, slamming the door behind her.
36
Naomi and Cruella
Naomi yawned and stretched her arms over her head. She was ready to go home after another long day of begging for campaign donations. She powered off her laptop and closed the screen. Her desktop phone chimed. Naomi glanced at the OLED screen on the phone. It was Nina, her receptionist.
Naomi tapped the screen. “Yes, Nina.”
“Corrinne Powers is here to see you,” Nina said.
Naomi didn’t respond right away, thinking through her options.
“Mrs. Sutton?”
“Send her in.” Naomi tapped the screen, disconnecting the call. She stood from her desk and approached her door.
Nina knocked; Naomi opened the door with a saccharine smile. “Hello, Corrinne.”
Corrine returned her saccharine smile with one of her own and said, “Naomi.”
“Come in.” Naomi waved her inside.
They were almost identical in height and build, five four, petite, but Corrinne stood a few inches taller courtesy of her heels. Corrinne was every bit as stunning in person as she was on television. She wore a black dress that tied and buttoned in the front, looking almost like a fitted jacket. With her almost-white-blond hair and her sharp jawline, she reminded Naomi of Cruella de Vil, the antagonist from her favorite childhood movie, 101 Dalmatians.
Nina shut the door behind them. Naomi sat at her desk, and Corrinne sat opposite her.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Naomi asked, as Corrinne settled into her seat.
“I’m sorry to drop in unannounced,” Corrinne said, without a trace of remorse.
“You caught me at a good time.”
“I wanted to congratulate you on your entrance into the presidential race.”
“Oh, … thank you.”
“We’re both Democrats, technically opponents, but ultimately on the same side.”
Naomi nodded.
Corrinne sat ramrod straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her head was perfectly level, as if she were balancing a book on top of it. “It’s important that we conduct ourselves with dignity. If the Republicans detect any infighting, they’ll use it to their advantage. How we conduct our campaigns is just as important as whether or not we win. We fight hard, but we don’t take cheap shots at each other, and, when the dust settles, the winner lends a helping hand to their Democratic opponents.”