“How can you work with him, sis? He’s nasty.” Andraya sat on her couch sipping ice water. She’d purposely dressed in a pair of silk pajamas Annalise had given her for Christmas. She noted her sister’s face was drawn and her eyes tired.
“I can work with him because The Justice Project helps my resumé.”
“Do you need it that badly? You had a front-row seat to campaigning and the rigor of being a candidate for office.” Which was something Andraya would never forget. Sure, there had been the glory of witnessing her dad win every office he’d run for and the presidency twice. But he was always in danger because of his position. For the girls, there were endless appearances, the outreach work with her family and tense hours of waiting for election results. All of that affected Andraya’s desire to go teach in Italy.
“I need the experience of picking a candidate to support. There’s the vetting process, the research, the joy of working as a team. I like that.”
Andraya knew when to stop. “All right. No more interference from me.”
“You could never interfere. You’re too nice.” She arched a brow. “The press was always tripping over each other trying to talk to you.”
“That’s because you already had their attention. Which was and is something I don’t want.”
“Anything new in the lovely Casarina?” The country Andraya felt more at home in was off the coast of Italy, peppered with trees and flowers and rolling lawns. The majestic castle was on the sparkling blue water of the Mediterranean Sea.
She shrugged a shoulder. “I met some of the new teachers since we last talked. Mostly in the Ag School, which is a new program, but we got a guy in Humanities. He’s gorgeous, but a bit too pushy.”
“How are the Ag guys?”
“They’re a lot nicer. One especially.” Oops, that last slipped out.
“That’s news. Tell me.”
“He was a farmer.”
“Why is he teaching?”
“I didn’t ask, but the school grapevine has it that he worked the farm with his family, but his parents died. When someone asked him about it, he said he needed to do something else now.”
“What’s his name?”
“Why?”
“Just wondering.”
“Benito Moretti. Ben.”
“Nice name. Is he handsome?”
“In his own way. He’s got great brown eyes. And before you start, I’m not going to let you make something of him.”
“Honey, you need a personal life.”
“I have one. I’ve got friends. I see the Gentileschis.” King Alessio had seven daughters and his wife Renata was a star in the country because of the Marcello School system she developed. “I also go out with teachers.”
“I meant with a man.”
“The right one hasn’t come along yet. Besides, you aren’t with someone.”
“Mitch and I were lovers until recently.”
“Casually. Not that there’s anything wrong with recreational sex.” She giggled. “Remember when we were in the teenage church group?”
“God, Dad would have had a fit if he knew you were fooling around with a senator’s kid and me with a movie star’s son. But we were seventeen then. You’re thirty-four now.”
“So are you. But I suppose you could run for office single.”
Her sister’s brow furrowed. “Not sure I want to wait that long to meet someone I can love. Also, a married opponent would have an edge on me.”
“Hmm, then get goin’, sis.” Andraya checked the time. “It’s late. You need to get to bed.”
“I told Mitch I’d only work a half day tomorrow. Then we have the rest of the weekend.”
“I can’t wait.”
Andraya stood, then Annalise. “Goodnight, Lise.”
“Goodnight, Dray.”
They both smiled at the old nicknames they used.
Then Annalise asked, “You sure you want to sleep in the spare room?” When they were growing up, their mom had insisted they have their own rooms. She said they needed separate spaces. “It’ll be like old times when you used to crawl into my bed.”
“Okay. You’re on.”
* * *
“We’ve got a beauty.” Mitch stared down at the memo, scowling at the new pro bono case they’d picked up at Hastings and Higgins.
“What is it?” Annalise was tired today because she and Andraya had stayed up late last night talking, gossiping, sharing secrets.
“A girl of fourteen alleges that she was sexually abused at a religious camp. Her parents own a small grocery store and scrimped to send her for two weeks. They can’t afford an attorney.”
“A religious camp?”
“Yep. Unbelievable!” He checked the time. “Hell, I’m due in court in a half-hour. Can you research this kind of abuse? How often it happens, its effects. Also, find any cases brought against the leaders in that setting. I remember seeing something about a ranch in upstate New York where this happened. There should be a lot of information available.”
“Sure, no problem.”
He gave her a sympathetic look. “It will be, Annalise. It’ll be hard to read the details.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
Mitch left the office she worked from. She sat down at her laptop. An hour later she was sick to her stomach. She could barely type up her notes.
Christian psychologists defined spiritual abuse as using that which is sacred, including God’s word in the Bible to control, misuse, deceive or damage a person.
Men are in charge—ministers, priests and camp leaders are heavy-handed in those settings. Their authority can’t be questioned.
Women and girls are policed for physical modesty and mental purity. When abuse happens, subtle messages are given by quoting from the Bible and telling religious stories, where the women had done something wrong. As a consequence, the girls blame themselves because they must have been at fault. They must have dirty thoughts.
The effects on the victims are deep emotional anguish, eating disorders and difficulty in future relationships. They don’t consider themselves as religious people and have no connection to God.
By the time Annalise finished her notes, she was crying. Glad no one was around, she let the tears come—and was still sniffling when she called her mother.
“Hello, dear. How nice to hear from you.”
“Mom, I just got this awful case.”
“It must be terrible if you’re crying.”
“It’s about spiritual abuse by ministers, camp leaders and other church personnel against girls in their charge. Can you believe it?”
“I’m afraid I can, given our work.” On human slavery. “But Annalise, know that you’re going to help the girl come to terms with what she’s been through and have a better life because of you. Now tell me more.”
As she talked, she began to calm. Even though she was thirty-four, her mother always made her feel better.
* * *
After they played racquetball on Saturday morning, Clarke and Luke headed to their cars. The May morning was warm and the sun’s rays beat down on them. “Want to get some breakfast?” Clarke asked.
“No, thanks. I didn’t sleep well. I need to crash again.”
“Next time.” After he reached his vehicle, Clarke turned around. “You know, you haven’t come over for dinner in a while. How about tomorrow night?”
He liked Clarke. And the man had done a lot for him. Luke had taken some marketing and advertising classes from then Professor Ellis at Georgetown. After Luke finished his Master’s Degree, he went to work at Clarke Associates. Then Clarke founded The Justice Project with four other members. After a couple of years, he’d drafted Luke to work with them. Clarke was one of the good ones in this business of politics. Since Luke had no plans for the weekend, he said, “Yes to tomorrow night. I’m free. What time?”
As he drove home, Luke stared through the window. Something had been bothering him since the party. Its name was Annalise. Fuck, he didn’t want to think about her!
At his apartment in a small neighborhood of D.C., he parked, let himself in and took the elevator to the fourth floor. He could afford the place, after he’d worked at the advertising firm.
Once inside, he checked his email. Nothing that needed attention now.
Go to bed.
Yeah, he thought, I should. But at the welcome party, seeing those twins together had kept him up two nights. And now, he was driven to the computer. For the very first time, he typed in a name he hadn’t uttered for years. Seth Branzini.
Listings came up. Luke’s breath hitched. He’d never changed his name.
With shaky hands, he clicked in the first entry. A website from a small town in Pittsburg.
From there he found Seth’s name at a farmer’s fair article. Organized by Marion Branzini, his wife. A picture of them came up. She was pretty in a wholesome way. And, oh, wow! He had three boys of different heights.
Luke enlarged the shot of Seth. His hair had some gray, but he had the height, build and stance similar to Luke’s.
Emotion swamped Luke. Because he hated it, he thrust himself back from the computer. More drained than when he got home, he went to the bedroom, flopped down onto his king-size bed and zonked into oblivion.
* * *
“What’s wrong with you today?” Luke asked as she came into his office. He was seated at his desk and once again sounded annoyed. “You’re like a lost puppy.”
She frowned at him. “And you’re like an angry pit bull.”
“I feel like one.” Now that she studied him, she saw his blue eyes were tired and his shoulders slumped. “I’ll try to be better. But tell me why you’re sad.”
She sighed. “Andraya left this morning.”
“Did you, um, have a good visit?” She’d picked up how terrible he was at small talk.
“We did.” Annalise hitched a hip on the front of her desk, adjacent to his. She’d chosen a light-yellow suit to cheer herself up. “But I’m also depressed because of the new pro bono case I took Friday.”
He leaned back in the chair, his expression interested. “Why?”
“It’s about child abuse.”
“A horrible thing.” He shuddered a bit. “It’s rampant in foster care situations.”
“Uh-huh. But this is the worst kind because it happened at a religious camp.”
He said gently, “The world’s full of monsters, I guess.”
For a minute, she stared out the window at the busy street in D.C. where cars drove past and horns honked. “Let’s change the subject. Why are you grumpy?”
“Not enough sleep.”
“You sure that’s all?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s discuss our candidates.” They’d narrowed down their choices to Mark Dawson and Meredith Long.
She didn’t need to pull them up on the computer, as she knew their backgrounds pretty well by now. “The people in the district are split on income—blue collar and white collar.”
“Dawson was a state councilman for ten years.”
“Meredith’s volunteered for numerous charities, and received several awards for leadership in her community. She’s integral in many activities.”
They ticked off more comparisons.
Luke watched her. “It’s clear what their differences are.”
“Yeah. I didn’t find any video of them.” And Annalise thought that was odd.
“No, me either.” He sat forward. “We have to meet face-to-face. We’ll get a sense of their personality and charisma then.”
“They shouldn’t know we’ll be backing one of them when we first meet. They could put up a front.”
“I agree. Let me check something.” He moved closer to the computer and clicked some keys. “They have a debate next Thursday. Are you up for driving to Pittsburg and evaluating them live?”
“Let me check my schedule.” Going behind the desk, she called up her calendar. “Hmm. I have a yoga class that night but can skip it. Do you have anything on the books?” He seemed like a person who’d keep himself busy.
He took out his own phone. “I have racquetball which I’ll postpone.”
“Then we’re on.” She grinned. “Now see, that wasn’t so hard.”
He gave her a sham frown. “Don’t press your luck.”
Hmm, he could be cute when he teased.
* * *
On Monday morning, Annalise was deep into research for the election when someone walked in the office. “Well, hello, Ms. Manwaring.”
She glanced up into the handsome face of Nate Newsom. “Nate!” She bolted up, circled the desk and hugged him. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m The Justice Project’s new hire.”
Joy filled her as she drew back. “I’m so happy you joined us. What are you working on?”
“The Missouri House race.”
“I heard they needed more people.” She was still holding both his hands when Luke came to the doorway.
“Am I interrupting?” he asked, an odd note in his voice.
“No, no. Nate came onto TJP!”
A quirk of his mouth. “I helped hire him.”
“Ah.”
“How do you know him?”
Nate answered. “We both clerked for Judge Anderson before I came on board.”
“Huh.”
Sensing something was wrong, Nate turned away from him. “I should be going. Lunch today, Annalise?”
“I’d love to. Text me the details.”
When he left, she faced Luke. “Would you like to join us?”
“No.”
“That’s right. I’ve been here two Mondays, and you’re never available from 12 to 2. Where do you go?”
He circled his desk and sat. “Not your business.”
“Hmm. A woman?”
“No, now please stop asking me.”
“Whatever you say.” But as she tried to get back to work, she couldn’t lose the unappealing thought of him having an assignation.
* * *
At noon, Luke drove to an underprivileged neighborhood in southeast D.C. He wasn’t thinking about his upcoming lunch. Instead, he pictured Annalise at a cozy restaurant with Newsom. Men seemed to flock to her.
Finally, his focus shifted when he reached the little well-kept house with a bicycle in front. So, they got his gift. He parked, whipped off his suitcoat and tie, then bounded up the steps.
The door flew open even before he knocked.
Ten-year-old Andy Mason stood on the other side of the screen. His shaggy brown hair fell into his wary eyes. “Hey, kid, you ready?”
The boy was ten. The same age as when Luke went to a foster home, but Luke’s placement wasn’t as happy as Andy’s.
Before he could answer, Mrs. Banks came up behind the boy. Older, with a limp from hip issues, she had a kind face. “Hi, Luke. And yes, he’s ready. Been looking forward to it.”
“Hello, Ida. Nice to see you again. We’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“How you doing, kid?” he asked when they headed to a diner where they frequented.
“’kay. Thanks for the bike.”
“I thought it would be fun.”
“Yep, it is.” Andy seemed to be in a good mood, but that could change. He never knew what Andy would be like when he picked him up. He had a quick flash of himself, getting angry at a counselor in the group home, whereas minutes earlier he’d been joking with her.
“How’s school?” He was in the fifth grade at a city school.
“Gotta new friend.”
“What’s his name?”
They chatted until they reached the diner. Once inside, they took their usual spot. A waitress came over. “How are my two favorite men?”
Andy blushed. The woman was very pretty.
“We’re doing great,” Luke replied. “Shall we have our usual, Andy?”
“No vegetables.”
“No way. Hamburgers, French fries and mixed veggies.”
“Okay. Cokes?”
“Sure.” All of this was junk food, except for the vegetables. But Andy needed some fun in his life. Like Luke had needed some in his. “So, tell me about your friend.”
Sometimes, the boy didn’t want to talk, but this was a safe subject. He gave Luke some details until the food arrived. They ate with gusto. The meat was juicy and the bun crisp. The soda went down smooth.
For dessert, they had ice cold vanilla ice cream with gooey hot fudge.
When Andy’s spoon clattered to his dish, he asked, “I wanna another sundae.”
“You know you can only have one.”
The joy drained out of Andy’s face and was replaced with an anger that had nothing to do with ice cream. “I want another one!”
Uh-oh.
“No.”
Luke called for the check. They sat simmering until it came. Luke left bills.
“Ready to go? We have another half-hour. You can show me how you ride your bike.”
Andy bolted up.
And swept his arm over the table.
Dishes crashed to the floor. Glasses shattered.
Luke stood and circled to him. He picked Andy up—the boy was small for ten—and held on tight. Andy started to flail. Luke said, “It’s okay, buddy. I’ve got you.” He strode to the door, repeating the phrase, hugging Andy close. The waitress opened it for them. Before he left his said, “I’ll be back to pay for the damages.”
Andy was crying by the time they reached the road. Luke sat him down in the car and got in the other side. The whimpering sounds cut to Luke’s heart. When the child finally quieted, Luke asked, “Something happen you didn’t tell me about?”
Andy nodded. “Mom.”
“Did you see her?”
“She was supposed to come visit me but she didn’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why can’t she be like you? You always come when you say.”
“I don’t know.”
“Did…did your mama come to see you?” He’d told the boy about his time in foster care.
“No. She was too strung out to do that. I felt like she’d forgotten about me.”
Head to his chin, the boy mumbled, “Me, too.”
“It’s not right, Andy. But it is what it is.”
A long silence. Then, “Sorry about the dessert.”
He ruffled Andy’s hair. “Just so we’re square.”
“You still comin’ back to see me after I did this?”
“Hey, we got a date for the baseball game next week. And we’ll keep doing lunches.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, Andy, I promise. And I keep mine.”
* * *
Luke and Annalise left early Thursday morning, so they could spend the day in District 204 in Pittsburg. The drive took about four hours, but flying and renting a car could take even longer. They planned to leave after the debate and get home around midnight.
Inside the car, a gentle perfume filled his head. And she looked hot in jeans and a fitted navy blazer, similar to his own outfit. They’d decided to go casual.
“Do we have a plan?” she asked nestling into the butter-cushy leather of his sporty Lexus.
He stared out the windshield. “We’ll get there at lunchtime. A local diner is the place to start.”
“The district has a diverse population so that’ll be frequented by both sides.” She paused. “Meanwhile, Luke Branson,” she said with that sassy tone in her voice, “tell me more about yourself.” She reached over and squeezed his arm. It felt good.
“I-was a hellion, so I bounced around foster homes after they took me away from my mother. When I aged out of the system at sixteen, I got parttime jobs to support myself. But I worked hard in high school those last two years and a teacher helped me get a scholarship to Georgetown.”
He surreptitiously peered over to see her reaction. Her pretty brows arched. “That’s where I went to college.”
“I know. But we ran in different circles. I was on a school work program and had another job outside of that. I had my hands too full to run in any circle.”
“I admire that, Luke.”
Trying to keep any bitterness out of his voice, he added, “Not much choice in the matter. I had to apply myself if I wanted to go anywhere.”
She was thoughtful for a minute. “I saw on your bio you had a Master’s Degree in marketing.”
“I worked for two years after graduation to get enough money to go back to school.”
“Wow.”
“You live in a different world, Annalise. I’m more the normal case.”
“I guess. But I appreciated what I had. Have.”
He couldn’t help the quirk that turned up the corners of his mouth. “That’s good to hear.”
“Still not going to tell me about the mysterious lunches you took on the Mondays I’ve been here?”
“I…” Man, he didn’t want anybody to know about Andy. “Not now.”
“I understand if you don’t want to confide in me. We don’t know each other very well yet.”
Yet. Hmm. They drove in an easy silence for a few miles, with only the sounds of the motor running and the occasional honking of horns.
Finally, he started to talk again. “The whole country watched you grow up because your dad was in politics so long. What was the hardest thing about being POTUS’s daughter?”
She paused a bit. “I guess it would be when Dad was criticized by the opposition party and some of the press. The kids at school knew about it and gossiped or snickered. Then there was the incident with his sister, Aunt Isabelle, and the threats on her life.”
“I heard about the Blue Shield.” An organization of dirty cops who took revenge on those who hurt them. They went after Manwaring’s sister to get even with him for his policies. “Hell of a thing.”
“I know. We were terrified for her, her boys and for Dad. For us five, too, I guess.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Everything worked out. They caught the dirty cops and Isabelle married her Secret Service Agent. They live happily ever after in Maryland.”
“Tell me more about being a president’s daughter.”
She talked about being in the limelight when she was in her twenties. About how one of her sisters absolutely hated it, as she was still living at the White House when she was in high school. “And it was tricky to screw around with a boyfriend in college.”
“So, you screwed around with your boyfriends?”
“Well, I had sex. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
He chuckled. “Can’t argue with that.”
But at the mention of sex, something shifted in the car. Some…tension invaded. He wondered briefly if she had any flashes of them in bed together like he did.
* * *
Annalise sniffed. The scents of dough and cooking beef filled the City Diner. “I love the way these places smell.”
“Like homecooked food.”
They’d been here for fifteen minutes when a waitress approached them. “I’m sorry for the delay. We’re swamped because of the debate and I came in to help out.”
“Yes, we’re here for that.” Annalise said. “Who do you support?”
“Are you kidding? Meredith Long. She’s for the little guy, like me.”
Smiling, Annalise glanced at the menu. “I’ll have a turkey club and a sparkling water.”
After Luke ordered corn beef on rye, he asked, “I see a wedding ring. Who does your husband favor?”
“Mark Dawson. My guy’s a steelworker.”
After she left, Annalise frowned. “That doesn’t tell us much.”
“I know.” He lowered his voice and leaned over. She got a whiff of that woodsy scent. “I overheard the couples at the booth behind us. They’re not split at all.”
“Long?”
“Nope. They said they’d never vote for a woman.”
That made Annalise’s blood boil. “Sexism is going to run rampant in this race.”
“For what it’s worth, I think gender discrimination is unfair. Maybe others will, too.”
Huh, she thought he’d tease her about feminism.
They didn’t talk much during the meal, but after they finished, he said, “Unfortunately, we can’t stay at the diner and eavesdrop because it’s too busy.”
Luke paid the bill, as they were on company business. Outside, the mid-day weather was warm and she took off her blazer. He’d already removed his. The blue polo shirt made his navy eyes deepen.
“What now?” she asked.
“The neighborhood stores.”
“Terrific. I get to shop.”
He rolled his eyes. “Meet me back here at five.”
“Yes, sir.”
She strolled down the street and came upon a Chicos. Inside she browsed the tops, listening for gossip. She heard a woman in line, say, “Business is booming.”
The clerk behind the desk sighed. “We get busy around election events.”
“I hope Meredith Long wins.”
An older woman behind her groused, “Why? She doesn’t have enough experience.”
Another shopper nearby added, “I’m waiting to decide after the debate tonight.”
By the time the line dwindled, Annalise had found a pretty outfit of blue capris, a tank top and a filmy tunic to go over it. At the checkout, the clerk gave her a generous smile. “This is lovely for the warm weather.”
“I haven’t seen it in my local Chicos.”
“Where are you from?”
“Um, D.C. I came up for the debate.”
“Everybody’s talking about it.” And until another customer came to the desk, the woman gladly filled her in on the general feeling of the community.
“Thanks,” Annalise said. “I learned a lot from you.”
“Enjoy the debate tonight.”
* * *
Luke met her back at the car and they went to dinner at a little Italian place around the corner to discuss their findings. After they shared notes, the community still appeared to be evenly split of Long and Dawson.
They both ordered cheesy manicotti and one glass of red wine, talking in companionable disagreement.
They drove out to the high school where the debate would be held, and once inside the auditorium, they settled into chairs halfway back. The high-ceilinged room, with cloth wallpaper, filled up to capacity.
Luke leaned over and said, “Audience is evenly split by men and women.”
“Ah, important information to have.” She hadn’t thought to scan the group for gender.
The moderator stepped on stage and all talk was suspended. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen for attending the first debate between the Democratic Party candidates.” She gave a laundry list of rules, then introduced Meredith.
The woman wasn’t beautiful by common standards, but on stage, her inner vibrancy made her eyes shine and her expression genuine. She wore a casual beige suit, with a silky pink T-shirt, not at all hiding her femininity. Dawson, on the other hand, wore the standard dark suit, white shirt and striped tie. Whereas she was casual, he was…proper.
No opening statements were given. The moderator began. “The question is to you first, Ms. Long. The economy is a significant issue in this election. What do you say to critics who contend that you have little experience with financial issues?”
“I’d hardly qualify my experience as little. I was an assistant to the dean of the local college and handled the scholarships given out, organized loans for our students, and filled out tax returns for the entire department.”
“Small potatoes,” Dawson interrupted. “As a state senator, I was on the city’s Economics Committee.”
“I’ll let that go, Mr. Dawson,” the moderator said dryly. “With a reminder that your campaign committee agreed to the rules of this debate, which I read aloud. There will be no interruptions of the three minutes a candidate has to answer.”
He scoffed, but didn’t respond. Or apologize, something male candidates were advised never to do. Her dad had thought that was ridiculous.
After he took his minute rebuttal time, his question was next. “What do you say, Mr. Dawson, about the criticism leveled by your opponents that on paper your resume seems impressive, but in reality, you don’t have consistent, long-term contact with your constituents.”
“That’s BS. I’m very involved in the community.” He ticked off peripherally relevant contact.
“Ms. Long?”
“It’s impressive that Mark was on the Little League Board, but he was never a coach or even a team dad. The fact that he held dinners for constituents doesn’t mean he listened to them talk about their daily lives. All his events turned into fundraisers.”
For every point Dawson made she had a counter point.
Luke and Annalise exchanged looks. Long, at this point, was doing better than her opponent.
In his concluding statement, Dawson made the mistake of referring to Meredith as a soccer-mom, a pejorative term to women. Luke guessed he’d be skewered for the name calling.
Which was what Meredith picked up on. “My campaign will not resort to sexist name-calling. We won’t be running negative ads. We’ll concentrate on the issues.” Here she leaned forward and scanned the audience. “I know all of you want that kind of campaign. From talking to you at things like, well, soccer games.” She gave a sham innocent grin on which the event ended.
Rumbles accompanied Luke and Annalise as they left the school auditorium. When they got outside, Luke said, “He had a bad debate.”
“He did.”
“She starred.”
“She did. Where do we go from here?” Annalise asked.
“Let’s head back to the car. If we can get an interview with each of them tomorrow, could you stay overnight? You bought clothes. And I have some duds in a go bag I keep packed in the trunk.”
“I’m sorry Luke.” She squeezed his arm. “If it was just me, I’d cancel my commitment, but I’m taking another trip tomorrow with Mitch.”
“Business or pleasure?” She couldn’t decipher his tone.
“Business. I wouldn’t go if it was personal.”
His brows arched. “What kind of business?”
“We’re heading to upstate New York to interview someone who was abused in a religious camp similar to the one in my pro bono D.C. case. The upstate woman was awarded a monetary settlement. We need to talk to her before we meet with our client because she might have some advice.”
“Man,” he said, “It doesn’t sound like much fun.”
“Not that part. But I get to see Hannah and Sasha, who live in Rockford, too.”
“Two more president’s daughters.”
“And my very close sisters. It’ll make up for what will be a horrific interview.”
Again, the spark of jealousy reared. Again, his lack of sibling contact slapped him in the face, more so because he knew it was his own damn fault.