“I would never put Harry’s campaign above Lindsay’s best interests!” she retorts in a haughty voice, clutching the gold necklace she’s wearing.
I start laughing. I can’t stop. One look at Silas tells me he’s trying not to laugh. Drew is red-faced and puffed up, livid on my behalf, and can’t calm down enough to giggle at the absurdity that just came out of my mother’s mouth.
“When have you ever – even once! -- put Lindsay ahead of your political ambitions?” Drew yells at her, getting in Mom’s face. She actually leans way back, afraid.
And then her cunning nature kicks in.
“My political ambitions?” She wags a finger at him. It’s perfectly manicured, the French tip flawlessly drawn. “My political ambitions? Oh, no. You do not get to lecture me about political ambition – this is all for Harry.”
Daddy snorts.
Mom turns on him, murderous.
“Don’t even go there.”
His face goes slack.
“Could we get back to the topic at hand...” Marshall implores, clearing his throat again. “We have a great deal of ground to cover.”
“And Lindsay has her psych eval for the Island in ninety minutes,” Mom adds in a matter-of-fact tone.
I clasp Drew’s elbow, mostly to get his attention, but partly to make sure he doesn’t haul off and punch my mother.
“The Island?” I challenge. “I’m not being evaluated to go to the Island. I’m just being checked out to make sure I’m okay.”
Marshall and Mom share a look.
I know that look.
No. Fucking. Way.
“I am not going to the Island,” I announce, mustering as much authority as I can. “They did an eval before they let me go yesterday. This is just a follow-up. I have to get my wounds re-bandaged, too. It’s all a formality.”
Daddy shoves a stack of newspapers across the conference table. The top one, a color tabloid, has full-body shots of me in Tiffany’s living room, naked and shoving a knife in Stellan’s crotch. My breasts and mons are blurred out.
“These are everywhere, sweetie,” Daddy explains, not looking at me. “This isn’t going away. We’re just replacing one scandal with another. And you...well, you killed someone. The psych evaluations are necessary. And Stacia says -- ”
“The police cleared me of all charges. I’m free to do whatever I need as long as I give them my contact information for interviews and investigations. No one is questioning that what I did to Stellan was self-defense,” I say, anger burning through my body.
“And well deserved,” Drew chimes in.
“But Stacia thinks that the trauma -- ”
“I don’t care what Stacia says,” I respond, smooth as silk as I cut off Mom’s words. “I am almost twenty-three years old and I am a legal adult. You can’t make me go back to the Island against my will.”
“We’re your next of kin, Lindsay. And if the psychiatrist says you’re not quite stable, a few weeks at the Island – just until the story and the video loops die down – might be good for you,” Mom says with urgency. “I would love two or three weeks on an island recuperating,” she adds, with a titter that makes me want to punch her in the throat.
Now Drew is holding my elbow nice and tight.
“I’ll fight you,” I say through gritted teeth. “You want that all over the newspapers? ‘Presidential candidate’s daughter unfairly institutionalized by overbearing parents – news at eleven!’”
Marshall cuts me a cold look. “Won’t work. Our spin machine can paint you to look like a hysterical loon in under six hours, Lindsay.”
“HEY!” Drew snaps, moving so Marshall has no line of sight on me. “That’s enough!”
“Indeed,” Daddy says in a slow, tired voice.
“Lindsay isn’t going anywhere she doesn’t want to go,” Drew adds.
“The doctor will be the judge of that,” Mom says primly.
“You can’t do this,” I whisper. The fight is draining out of me. I’m tired. So tired. “Why are you doing this to me?” I ask Mom, the words eerily familiar. I’m triggered, remembering John and Stellan, tasting the hot garlic in their mouths, fighting to breathe.
I’m naked Lindsay on that tabloid cover, wearing another man’s blood and holding all the sins in the world in my hand.
Drew senses it, standing, slowly guiding me up. “We’re done,” he announces. Silas stands, loyal to Drew. Mark Paulson stays seated. His eyes are on Daddy.
Mom pretends nothing negative has been said, as if their plan to send me to the Island is a gift. “Tired? Oh, sweetie, go rest. Maybe your discharge came a bit too early.” She gives me a long look.
She’s not talking about yesterday’s discharge from the hospital.
She’s talking about my discharge from the Island, weeks ago.
As Drew guides me out the door, he and Mark share a look.
“We’ll talk later,” Drew says to him. Mark just nods and gives me a sympathetic smile.
“Thank you,” I say to him, the words inadequate.
“Any time,” he says. I know he means it. Mark stays in the room as Marshall resumes his debriefing.
I heard what I needed to hear.
Chapter 17
Drew
Rule number one when dealing with a determined, empowered enemy: run.
It’s the same first response we recommend to civilians in active shooter settings, too.
“So Mom and Daddy still want to ship me off to the Island until the media storm is over, Jane and Anya turned on me but for good reasons, Jane actually didn’t turn on me because she’s my darknet informant and used hacking skills to get the secret videotape that proves my innocence...and I forgot to grab one of those apple fritters back there on the table!” Lindsay’s stomach growls like an exclamation point at the end of her rant. “Another way to get back at Mom – eat carbs in front of her!”
I chuckle in spite of my fury. “Let’s fix one of those. Getting you a pastry is the easy part,” I say, carefully wrapping my arm around her shoulders as we walk slowly to the parking garage.
“You are bright red, hot as hell, and your heart is zooming,” she tells me as we walk, holding tight.
“Hot as hell? Love the compliment, baby.”
“I mean from screaming at my mom,” she says with a soft laugh. “But yeah. You’re hot no matter what.”