That evening, Simon Talbot knocked on the door to his father’s office in their family home in Georgetown. He’d been summoned by Robert, his father’s campaign manager, and ordered to return home immediately.
He didn’t know what was so urgent. That morning, he’d said good-bye to April at the airport after enjoying a quiet but sexually charged weekend. He intended to surprise her the following weekend by flying down to Durham. Soon her semester would be over and he’d help her pack her things and move her life to his apartment in Washington, where she belonged.
“Come in,” the senator called.
Simon opened the door and walked toward the chair that was placed in front of the senator’s desk.
“Don’t bother sitting. This won’t take long.” As usual, the senator was gruff and to the point.
“Have you seen these?” He tossed a stack of photographs onto the desk. They fanned out into a random pattern.
Simon looked at the picture nearest him. Snatching it up, he stared at it. His face grew pale.
“Well? Have you seen them?” The senator raised his voice, angrily thumping on the desk with his fist.
“No.” Simon slowly placed the photograph back on the desk, as the feeling of fear pricked the back of his neck.
“It’s you, isn’t it?”
“Uh—”
“Don’t lie to me! Is that you?”
“Yes.” Simon felt his chest tighten. He was having difficulty breathing.
“Did you take these pictures?”
“No, Dad. I swear. I have no idea who took them.”
His father cursed.
“These are just copies. Do you know how I got them?”
Simon shook his head.
“Senator Hudson. Someone sent the originals to your fiancée. She told her father about them and he had copies made, which he delivered to me.”
Simon’s chest grew even tighter.
“April saw them?”
“Yes. She was hysterical. Her mother flew down to Durham to be with her. She had to take her to the hospital.”
“Is she all right? What hospital?”
“Focus on the problem, boy, for God’s sake! Do you have any idea what this means for my campaign?”
Simon clenched his fists. “Forget about your campaign for a minute. Did April try to hurt herself? What hospital is she in?”
“We’re lucky the Hudsons have no interest in blackmail. They simply want you to leave their daughter alone. The wedding is off, obviously. They’re going to make the announcement tomorrow.”
Simon pulled out his cell phone and hit a button. He held the phone to his ear, but within seconds, he received a recorded message indicating that April’s cell phone number was no longer in service.
“Dad, I can explain. Let me talk to April. It isn’t what she thinks.”
“Don’t,” his father barked. “Robert recognized the girl in the pictures. She was a high school student who interned in my office. Do you understand the damage you’ve done? How could you be so stupid!”
“It happened over a year ago. The date is wrong. I swear I wasn’t fucking around on April. I love her.”
“You love her,” his father scoffed. “You had that red-headed whore on the side all the time.”
Simon took a step forward. “I didn’t. I broke things off with her. I’m telling you, April is different.”
The senator waved his hand as if he were swatting a fly.
“It’s too late. She doesn’t want anything to do with you. And who could blame her? The girl in the photos was seventeen, she was working for me, you slept with her, and you encouraged her to drink and use drugs. And it’s all in God damned black and white!” The senator swiped across his desk, sending the photos, pens, and papers flying into the air.
“Dad, I swear I can fix this. Just let me talk to April.”
“No.” The senator rose to his feet, glaring at his son. “The Hudsons want you to leave her alone, and that’s what you’re going to do.”
“But Dad, I—”
“Do what you’re told for once!” he bellowed.
Simon stood, but only for a moment before picking up a bronze statue of a horseman that his father kept on his desk and hurling it against the wall.
“You never listen!” he shouted. “My whole life, you give orders, you talk, but you never fucking listen. So fuck you. Fuck your campaign and fuck the family. The only thing I’ve ever cared about is her. And I’m not going to lose her.”
And with that, he strode out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
It was, Simon thought, the bitterest irony, as he sat in a police station in Durham.
(Unlike Gabriel, Simon did not know the actual meaning of the term irony.)
He’d tried repeatedly to see April, but with no success. He sent flowers and letters, but they were refused. He tried emailing her, but she’d blocked his email address.