William was looking at them quizzically and Anton sighed. “I know, Mom. I know.”
After he got home, he and Katherine stayed up to watch The Daily Show and then went to bed with their personal iPads. Both insomniacs, they would listen to music or watch a movie until they dozed off. He was almost asleep when he heard the ping announcing the arrival of a new email, and his stomach lurched when he saw it was from Carine. He glanced over at Katherine, lying inches away from him, and with a spasm of guilt, he realized that he wished he was alone. He rolled out of bed, ignoring Katherine’s half-asleep “Where’re you going?,” and went into the kitchen, taking his iPad with him. He pulled a carton of milk out of the fridge, slamming the refrigerator door loud enough for Katherine to hear it, and opened the email. He was gratified to see that it was several paragraphs long.
She had received his email earlier today but wanted to wait until she’d put the kids to bed. Yes, she had kids, twins, five-year-old boys. Could he believe it, that she was a mom? Some days she could hardly believe it herself. And boy, did they keep her busy. There was no mention of a husband, a fact that Anton noticed immediately. It didn’t surprise him, the possibility that she was a single parent. She was brave enough to do something like that.
She had kept tabs on his career, of course. She confessed that she had a Google alert that informed her of his accomplishments. The night he’d won his AG election, she’d toasted him with some friends. She was so proud of him, she wrote, but not the least bit surprised that the boy that she had known and loved in college had made his way in the world. Anton’s gaze lingered over that word—loved—and suddenly, something opened up within him, a large, hollow spot, and he was crying. He knew he was being ridiculous, knew that Katherine could walk in on him at any moment and that he’d have a hard time explaining away his tears, but he couldn’t stop. Carine had been his first real love, and he was grateful that he had chosen someone as decent and kind and substantial as she. He had not always been so lucky or discriminating, had dated some real doozies. He had seldom argued with those women the way he had with Carine, but, it occurred to him now, it was only because he had cared less.
But Katherine’s not one of those women, he now reminded himself. Katherine is smart and funny and compassionate and sensitive. You love her. And she would be mortified if she knew that you were coming undone because of an email from a woman you loved when you were a boy. Katherine is the present and possibly the future. Carine is the past. A woman whose life, by her own admission, is deadly dull and boring. Whereas Katherine had dinner with Bill and Melinda Gates a week ago. In Rio. And that’s not even it. The point is, it is Katherine, not Carine, who is in the bedroom, waiting for you to crawl under the covers with her.
He poured the glass of milk into the sink, rinsed it, and turned off his iPad. Then he switched off the kitchen light and slipped back into the bedroom.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Uncle Connor was glowering at the man who sat across from him when Anton walked into the conference room. The only other person present was Annie Bunter, John Newman’s press secretary. “Hey, guys,” Anton said as he pulled up a chair next to Connor. “What’s so urgent that it couldn’t wait till after the ceremony?”
Before either one of Newman’s staff members could speak, Connor pushed a sheaf of papers toward Anton. “Get a load of this,” he growled. “This is what Newman plans to say in his acceptance speech. In less than half an hour.” Connor bared his teeth at Bill Schroder, Newman’s speechwriter, who scowled back. “Over my dead body,” Connor added.
Anton glanced at the highlighted section:
Our previous governor came into office nearly two decades ago promising to clean up corruption. Instead, we have seen one scandal after another during his time in power. After our last attorney general resigned in disgrace there was a real chance to clean house, to bring fresh blood into that office. But what did Governor Coleman do instead? He threw his support behind his own son, despite the thinness of his résumé. The people of this state are sick of nepotism. While we are grateful to Governor Coleman for his years of service, the time has come to turn the page. From this day forth . . .
The paragraph rolled on, but Anton looked up, sickened by Newman’s treachery. “You bastards,” he swore, looking straight at Bill. “This is how you repay my father for putting Johnny on the ticket? By kicking him while he’s down?”
“For chrissake, Anton,” Bill said. “We’ve been more than patient, I’d say. Any other politician would’ve demanded that your dad resign months ago, given his prognosis. The state’s been left in limbo for five months now.”
“That’s what this is about? Johnny’s pissed because he didn’t permanently get his grubby hands on the levers of power fast enough?”
“Aw, come on, man,” Bill protested, shifting in his seat. “You guys are taking this far too seriously. It’s one lousy paragraph. He praises David elsewhere in the speech. Look, it’s politics. We have the freakin’ Tea Party breathing down our necks. It’s nothing personal.”
Anton’s hand, which was resting on the pile of paper, curled into a fist. “You’re calling my father corrupt, you jerk,” he said. “So you bet your ass it’s personal.”
Bill shook his head. “Anton. Be reasonable.” He turned to look at Annie for support, but she stared straight ahead. “I don’t believe this,” he said. “I’ve never seen such thin-skinned people.”
Anton stood up and pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket. He picked up the paper and drew a large X over the offending passage. “You take this back to your boss, you New York flack,” he said, his eyes flashing. “You tell him to delete any insults to my dad. Or else he’s going to have a primary challenge for 2016.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Anton saw Connor’s head jerk up. Annie, too, was staring hard at Anton, her eyes searching his face. But he focused his attention on Bill, who seemed unsure what to do next. “You’re full of shit,” Bill said finally, but his voice lacked conviction. “You’d just be throwing the election to the Republicans. You know that.”