The Unexpected Everything - Morgan Matson Page 0,143
a second before looking back again. “Nobody can afford it. And Erickson can’t look like he’s alienating powerful congressmen before an election.”
“But . . . ,” I said, still trying to figure out what was happening. “I thought . . . Are you going to run again?”
My dad looked at me just as Peter said, “Of course he is. We have to do some polling, test the waters, but after the official announcement, there’s no reason to delay.” He looked up at my dad. “Alex, I think we might actually be able to come out of this stronger. You took responsibility even though you weren’t at fault and stepped aside for the greater good . . . and now you’re coming back vindicated.” He smiled wide, which I only ever saw him do on election night. “This is the kind of stuff that’s going to set us up nicely on the national stage.” He paused, then started typing into his phone rapidly, like he had been away from it for as long as he was able.
“But . . . ,” I said, remembering the conversation we’d had in his study. Was that just over? Totally forgotten about, knocked down like our old house?
“So we should get to work,” Peter said, heading out of the kitchen. “Alex, I’ll just get us set up in your office. We have the speechwriters on a conference call in ten.”
“Speechwriters?” I echoed, feeling like things were happening too quickly.
“You have to get in front of these stories,” Peter said, probably to me, even though he was speaking to his BlackBerry screen. “Otherwise, you lose your ability to shape the narrative. I’ll meet you in there.” He headed down the hall to the study, eyes still on his screen.
“So,” I started. I wanted to ask my dad about the movie day we’d had planned for tomorrow, my revenge for when he’d turned last Sunday into a Dean Martin fest, including the original Ocean’s 11. Since it was my pick, I’d gone with the newer one, mostly just to see his reaction when it started playing. But I knew it wasn’t just about movie night. I wanted to know what this actually meant.
“You know how Peter can get,” my dad said, looking up at me for a second before frowning down at the paper again. “He showed up here today and is already going full steam.”
“Right,” I said. I tried to tell myself that nothing had really changed yet, that things were still okay. “I, um, need to go pick up Toby. So I should probably get going.”
“Great,” he said, eyes still on the paper. “I’ll see you around later. I assume you’re out with your friends tonight?” He didn’t wait for my response before heading into the other room. “Not too late, okay?”
A moment later I could hear him talking to Peter, and the sound of CNN’s theme music. The TV in his office, which we’d mostly used to watch John Wayne fight bad guys, was now back to what it usually was doing, keeping him plugged into everything that was happening in Washington.
I stood alone in the kitchen for a moment, trying to get my bearings, telling myself I shouldn’t be surprised, not really. But even as I tried to believe this, it didn’t change that I felt like someone had just pulled the rug out from under me, and then, for good measure, the floor.
My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out of my pocket.
TOBY
I looked down at this, shaking my head. The end of this emoji bet could not come fast enough as far as I was concerned.
ME
We can’t have pizza—because you forgot you had to work?
TOBY
It wasn’t a big deal—it was the kind of thing that happened all the time. But I could have used the drive up to Mystic to clear my head and talk through what was happening.
ME
It’s okay—we’ll do it another time.
I closed out of Toby’s text and pressed the button to call Clark. If I couldn’t talk to Toby, maybe I could talk to him. Not that he would be able to do anything, but talking it through might help. I wanted to hear his voice, but my call went right to voice mail, and I realized he probably had it turned off—because he was working.
Because he had a job, one that he would also be going back to once the summer ended. Just like my dad was going to do.