By 8:05 the next morning, they were all back downstairs.
Mary-Beth leaned against the doorway of John Senior’s office, watching her husband and father-in-law get fussed over by young NBC News producers.
The study had been arranged like a live television stage, with two armchairs side by side in front of a bookcase filled with legal volumes. John Senior and JJ, both in navy sport coats and oxford shirts, talked excitedly to each other as a woman with purple hair applied pressed powder to their foreheads. Big white umbrellas were open above them, and a fuzzy boom microphone kept bumping into John’s head. They maintained sober expressions, but it was clear that they were enjoying themselves.
Mary-Beth was supposed to be with them in the study. That’s what NBC had requested. A producer had said that “the audience always wants to see the mothers,” but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t keep from bursting into tears and looking like a fool in front of the whole world, not after another sleepless night without her children.
They’re just fine, JJ had assured her. And they were. Lucas and Cameron had called earlier that morning, and they were indeed fine, if grumpy. But everything else around her suggested that this was still a dire situation. The tone of the press calls and the volume of incoming thoughts and prayers were alarming. The fact that NBC sent a camera crew up to Massachusetts just for them suggested that things were definitely not fine. The fact that networks wanted to put her on TV to talk about her absent sons was precisely what made her incapable of doing it.
And, amid it all, Farah was filming. She was still there, peeking out from behind her big cameras in the corners of every room, following them with smaller ones when things got interesting. Somehow, though, the ubiquity of her presence had become a comfort to Mary-Beth. Something about having Farah there made Mary-Beth feel less likely to be drowned out by all that Bright noise. The fact of her existence was irrefutable with a camera there to prove it.
“Almost ready?” a man with a protruding belly asked from behind his own big camera.
The lady with the makeup nodded and readjusted an umbrella. “Hang on. There’s still some glare.”
They installed small earpieces in JJ’s and John Senior’s ears, testing audio levels and chatting with the NBC News personality at the other end of the line.
The Senator had done scores of TV interviews in the years he’d been in office, and he looked almost relieved to be back at it. But JJ had been on TV only twice. Both times were just brief appearances for unflattering news features about Washington lobbyists—“how the sausage gets made” stories, as JJ had put it. Mary-Beth could see that he was nervous.
Spencer padded down the stairs in his pajamas, looking briefly into the study with a scowl. He was disappointed to be left out. Mary-Beth had heard him arguing in his bedroom with Ian the night before. He was insulted that no one in the family or the news media had asked for his expert opinion on the Madrid attack. From what Mary-Beth gleaned through the walls, Spencer wanted to pitch himself more aggressively as a talking head to the shows, and Ian wasn’t so keen on the idea. It sounded like they’d gone to bed mad, not that it was any of her business.
“We’ll go live on one,” the camera guy said. He held up his palm and counted down with thick fingers.
JJ breathed in and out audibly.
Five, four, three, two...he made a shotgun signal with his hand, and then they were on.
Someone at the other end of their earpieces spoke to JJ and John Senior. They nodded and smiled in response.
“Thank you for having us,” JJ said.
“It’s good to be back, though I wish it was under different circumstances,” John Senior added.
Mary-Beth couldn’t hear the questions coming from NBC. All she got was the stilted one-sided conversation, the Bright responses.
JJ: “Yes, our hearts go out to the people of Spain and all the victims of this attack.”
Heads nodded. They listened intently.
John: “I’ll defer to the FBI on that one, but I think it’s an important question for the weeks ahead.”
More listening. A little smile.
JJ: “My wife, Mary-Beth, is here with me, and we’re just so grateful to know that our sons are safe.”
After that, John seemed to take over: “Well, Peter, we’ve been here before, and one thing is for sure—Americans come together in times of crisis.”
Listening.
“It’s true, we don’t have all the details yet, and I’ll defer to the administration on that one.”
Nodding.
“Peter, an attack like this is an attack on Western values. It’s an attack on the liberties that our servicemen and women give their lives to protect. Freedom of speech and religion, among them.”
Emphatic nodding.
“Yes, well, we don’t know yet if the Our Lady of Mercy soccer team was specifically targeted, but it may prove to be the case that faith played a role in this. We just don’t know yet.”
Listening.
“I’m not saying that, necessarily. And I don’t believe Our Lady of Mercy High School has weighed in. I’m simply saying...to these radical terrorists, the Footy Fifteen represent Western, Judeo-Christian values. And any attack on people of faith in this country should be taken seriously.”
People of faith? What was going on? Mary-Beth looked back into the kitchen where Spencer and Patty were drinking coffee at the table, listening. Patty shrugged at her, unconcerned.
This made Mary-Beth nervous. All this “faith” and “Western values” and the possibility that their sons were targets despite the FBI’s assertion that they were likely not. It was all too much. It was too much, and Mary-Beth should have seen it coming. This interview had been a bad idea.
Charlie bounded down the stairs at that moment in swim shorts, and Patty put her finger to her lips to preempt his noisy arrival. He nodded and went to the coffeepot. Chelsea came down after him in a bikini that insufficiently contained her top half. They filled two mugs with coffee and escaped through the back door, bound for the water. Through the window, Mary-Beth saw Charlie take a quick squeeze of her exposed left butt cheek.
Mary-Beth looked back at JJ and John Senior as they offered pleasantries for the conclusion of the interview. JJ was smiling now. God bless America and all that. He was enjoying himself. They both were.
Mary-Beth felt a little sick. She’d had this feeling many times since marrying into the Bright family: the feeling that she was watching something strange, but everyone around her was so obviously sure of its normalcy that she could only assume she was mistaken. But she didn’t think she was mistaken; they were laying this on thick for the cameras, exploiting a tragedy for their own ends. But what were the ends if not getting her children home safely?
It wasn’t only that John Senior and her husband were at that moment preening patriotically before the cameras. It was Patty, too. She had been floating around all morning in tennis whites and lip gloss, serving iced coffee to the NBC News team. Spencer was sulking about not getting his time on TV. And Charlie was probably at that very moment feeling up his girlfriend in plain view of the whole crowd. They were shameless, all of them.
None of this had anything to do with her boys. And, until their fate was resolved, she hated them all for their selfishness. She hated how they made her feel like a hysterical stranger, forced to bear all the weight of this frightening episode. Her legitimate anxiety would be validated if anyone else really felt this fear with her. Instead, they were merely performing fear. And maybe this TV appearance would work. Maybe the rest of the stupid world would believe the Brights, and it would pressure the federal government to get her boys home sooner. But Mary-Beth knew better. She knew what they were. And at that moment, she hated them all for it.
She hated her husband most of all, but not because she actually hated him; it was because she loved him, and she knew that he really was frightened for his children. But he was playing along with the rest of his monstrous family. He was doing this brave-faced-patriot nonsense because his father told him it was the right thing to do. God, she loved JJ. She only wished, in her weaker moments, that she didn’t have to share so much of him with these people.
These people. His people, not hers. She didn’t like thinking this way, but this is what they did to her.
“And that’s a wrap! Thanks, guys.”
The cameraman unplugged electrical cords and looped them around his arm. The lady with the purple hair retrieved the earpieces.
John Senior took his jacket off and laced his fingers behind his head.
JJ rubbed his face several times and then looked at his wife expectantly. “How was that?”
Mary-Beth blinked. “If it brings the boys back, then it was great.”