“Yup. He was supposed to meet my cousin for coffee, but he never showed up. Turns out he and Chris spent the whole afternoon in the campus bar, playing darts and pounding beers.”
Emma thought of Rem’s face that night when she knocked on his hotel room door. The way his eyes looked, the way his skin looked. He’d lied to her that night about being sick. He’d lied to the entire family. “He told me he had food poisoning that night. He was supposed to make a speech for my dad’s birthday. And instead he got drunk?”
Walker shrugged. “I mean… Yeah. He did.” He touched her shoulder. “You okay?”
She still couldn’t quite absorb it. “Do you think he has a problem or something? With drinking?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I tried bringing it up with him a few times, but he just got mad.”
“But Remington’s always been so good,” she said. “He’s always been the responsible one. The perfect one.”
“But that’s just it, Emma,” Walker said. “Maybe he doesn’t want to be anymore.” His hand was still on her shoulder. “And I think I owe you an apology, too,” he said. His brown eyes bored into her. She felt her heart start to beat faster. “I’m hard on you sometimes,” he said. “But I guess it’s because I like you. I always have.”
“Oh,” she said. Her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he could tell.
“So… I guess what I really want to ask you is…” He furrowed his brow in an adorable way. “Would you ever want to go somewhere and not talk about speech team?”
She smiled. “Sure,” she said. “I’d love to.”
“Cool,” he said, giving her his thousand-watt smile. “That’s really cool.”
When she got back to school she was on such a cloud that she almost walked straight into her brother at one of the vending machines.
“Hey,” he said nonchalantly.
“Oh, hi,” she said. She hoped he couldn’t tell that she’d just been asked out by his ex–best friend.
“Senator Gibbons just announced he’s running,” he said. “Four months ahead of schedule.”
“Oh jeez. Is Dad freaking out?” she asked.
“It’s not like they didn’t expect it, but yeah. Gibbons has already siphoned off a huge number of potential voters.”
Emma wanted to roll her eyes at the word siphon, but she let it slide. At least her brother was speaking to her.
“So Dad’s coming home this weekend,” he said. “He’s gonna try to rest. I’m going up to New Haven tomorrow,” he said. “So you’ll be with them alone.” He offered her a weak smile. “You seem a little out of it. Are you doing all right?”
“Yup. I’m doing great,” she said. “But… are you doing okay?”
“Sure. Everything’s great.”
“Rem,” she started carefully, “can I talk to you? I know what happened in Georgetown. And I know what’s been happening here.”
Her brother stepped away from her and sighed. “Emma, you’re in no position to lecture me, okay? You practically sabotaged Dad’s campaign. If I want to have fun on my own time, then that’s my business. Okay?”
“Fine,” she said. “Have a good time at Yale.”
“Thanks,” he said halfheartedly. “Have fun with Mom and Dad,” he said.
He ambled off down the hall and Emma felt the same internal alarm go off in her stomach. He was in trouble. She could feel it. But Walker was right. There was nothing she could do.
chapter 30
Her dad didn’t have much to say to her when he got home, but she was expecting that. Actually, he didn’t have much to say to anyone. He went straight to their bedroom and went to sleep. “I don’t think either of us knew how much work this was going to be,” her mom said in a half-whisper as she made some tea in the kitchen Friday night.
“In what way?” Emma asked.
“All the travel, the handshaking, the speechmaking… It just takes everything out of you. And now that Senator Gibbons has announced he’s running, well, it just ratchets the whole thing up a notch.” She poured some boiling water into a mug. “You know your father. You know how hard he is on himself.”
Her mom looked like she’d lost weight since the night at the Met, and Emma could see tiny wrinkles around her eyes that she’d never noticed before. “I hope you know that I’m sorry,” she said. “About the thing at the Met.”
Her mom’s face darkened. “Oh, Emma,” she said with an air of disappointment. “I can imagine you are. But I hope—I really sincerely hope—that you know what a mistake that was. And how much that embarrassed your father and me. You do know that, don’t you?”
Emma nodded. “It’s kind of all I’ve been thinking about,” she said.
“How’s school? Your friends?” her mom asked, stifling a yawn.
Emma shrugged. Talking about school and grades and her friends seemed hopelessly trivial these days. “It’s always the same,” she said. “Nothing that important.”
Just then she heard footsteps in the foyer, and a moment later her dad entered the kitchen. He, too, looked thin and tired, with bluish-black circles under his eyes. “Hi, honey,” he said, his voice scratchy. “How’re you doing?”
Without even thinking about it, she went to hug him. “Dad, I’m sorry about the other night,” she said. “I was just so frustrated. I didn’t like what they were doing. To you, and to me. I know I get carried away sometimes—I just hope it didn’t cause too much damage.”
Her dad cleared his throat. She could hear that he was sick. “I think we all knew it was a temporary thing,” he said. “And you did a great job for most of it. We were all very proud. But I should never have asked you to do any of that,” he said. “You’re fifteen. I should have known better than to try to draft you into the cause. So, I’m sorry, Em.”
She stared at him. In all the many times that she’d imagined this conversation, she’d never expected her dad to be the one to apologize to her.
The cordless phone suddenly rang.
“Emma, can you get that?” her mom asked. “If anyone asks for us, we’re not here.”
She walked over and picked up the phone. “Hello?” she said.
“Is this Mrs. Conway?” asked a male voice. He sounded far away and small, almost as if he were speaking through a tunnel.
“No, it’s her daughter,” she said. “Who’s this?”
“This is Officer John Macaulay,” the voice said. “I’m with the New Haven Police.”
Emma felt a shiver run through her.
“Are your parents home?” he asked.
“Hold on,” she said. She put the phone down.
“Who is it, honey?” her mom asked, peering at her.
“It’s the police,” she said evenly.
Her mother looked confused. “The police?” she repeated. “Are you kidding?”
“The New Haven Police,” Emma said.
She saw this register on her parents’ faces. Her father picked up the phone. “This is Adam Conway,” he said. He listened for a moment. “What?” he asked. “Say that again?”
Her mom sat up on the couch.
“He’s in custody?” he asked.
“What is it?” Carolyn whispered.
Adam shook his head slightly, holding her off. “How much was in his system?”
Carolyn shot to her feet.
Adam met his wife’s gaze. Emma could see the shocked sadness in his eyes. “I see,” he replied.
“Oh, no,” Carolyn muttered, her hand to her mouth. “Oh, no. Is he okay?”
Her father nodded but stayed on the phone for a few more minutes. “Thank you, Officer,” he finally said in a hushed tone. “I’m leaving right now.” He placed the phone back in the cradle and let out a deep sigh.
“What happened?” Carolyn asked. She almost sounded hysterical. “For God’s sake, tell me.”
“Remington was just arrested for disorderly conduct,” Adam said slowly. “He was in some bar tonight in New Haven and got in a fight with ano
ther boy. The police were called. They say he was intoxicated.”
“Oh my God,” Carolyn said.
“I have to go get him,” Adam said, pulling on his jacket. “I guess I should order a car, since Remington has ours.”
“No, call Tom,” she said. “He’ll send a car.” She grabbed the cordless and dialed the number from memory. “Tom? It’s Carolyn. There’s been an emergency. It’s Remington. He’s been arrested.”
Emma leaned against the kitchen table. There was no way she could have prevented this from happening, but it was hard not to feel like she could or should have done something.
“Tom says he’s sending a car right over,” Carolyn said.
“He probably just had a couple beers with some students,” Adam said. “What a lousy piece of luck.”
Carolyn suddenly looked at Emma, as if she’d just remembered that their other child was also in the room. “Who were the kids he was visiting up there?” she asked.
Emma shook her head. “It wasn’t the kids, Mom,” she said. “There are some things you don’t know about him.”
“Like what?” her father asked.
Emma paused. She had no idea how to say this. It went against everything she believed in to tattle on Remington, but now she knew that her parents had a right to know. “He’s been getting drunk,” Emma said. “A lot. Like that night in D.C. Or day, rather. He wasn’t sick. He just got too drunk to go with us that night.”
Her father looked shocked. “Are you serious?” he asked.
“Walker confirmed it for me,” she said. “His cousin was supposed to meet up with Rem on campus. Rem never showed. Then he heard that he went to some bar instead. And I’ve seen him drunk a couple times since then.”
Her mother blinked dumbly. “I can’t believe this.”
The squawk of the house phone on the kitchen wall broke the silence. “That’s the car,” her father said. “I better go.” He raced to the coat closet in the hall. “Call Tom back. Ask him what we can do about damage control,” he said. He shrugged on his coat. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
The front door shut, leaving Emma with her mom, who still hadn’t spoken.
“I just can’t believe this,” she muttered, sitting down on the edge of a kitchen chair. A strand of black hair fell in front of her face and she swatted it away. “He’s always been so responsible. So… adult. With such good judgment.”
“But he’s still just a kid, Mom,” Emma said. “I’ve always thought of him as perfect, too. But he’s not.”
The phone in the office rang. Carolyn picked it up. “Oh, hi, Tom,” she muttered. “Yes, Adam just got in the car. What?” She buried her head in her hands. “Oh, great,” she said with a sigh. “Of course it has.”
Emma already knew what this meant. The story had leaked to the press.
“Just in time for the Saturday-morning news shows,” Carolyn said. “Just tell me: How bad do you think this will be?” She listened. “Just please do what you can to keep any photographers away,” she said. “We can’t have any pictures of Adam taking him out of the police station.”
Emma went to the sink and filled a glass of water. This was going to be terrible. Much, much worse for her dad’s campaign than anything she could have said or done. And it was going to be terrible for Remington. He would never live this down. It was always worse for the child who wasn’t supposed to mess up. She remembered what he’d said the night of her parents’ cocktail party, about having so much responsibility.
Her mom hung up the phone and shook her head. “What a mess,” she said. “Tom thinks the press is going to have a field day. And I still can’t believe… Remington. Of all people.”
“Maybe he’s just cracking from the pressure,” Emma said. “I think he’s had to pick up a lot of slack because of me. He’s had to be perfect for way too long.”
“I was worried about what this campaign might do to you kids,” her mom said. “Now I feel like I should have told your father to wait four more years.”
Her mom looked so vulnerable that Emma went to her and put her arms around her. “Everything’s gonna be okay. This isn’t the end of the world. It’s really not. I promise you. It could be a lot worse.” She hugged her mom hard.
“There were times when I would watch you out there with your father and think that you were a lot more suited to all of this than I am,” her mom said. “I admired you for it.” She smiled at her. “I really did. I’d think, That girl has a thick skin. She knows who she is. And if she did end up in the White House, she’d do a helluva lot better job with it all than I would.”
Emma hugged her mom again. “You would do a great job,” she said. “I know you would.”
She and her mom hugged for a long time.
“Okay, here’s what you do,” Emma said. “You go to bed. You don’t watch the news, you don’t go online, you don’t pick up the phone. If anyone calls, I’ll deal with it.”
Her mom chuckled. “I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you, honey.”
“It’s okay to switch once in a while,” Emma said, helping her to her feet.
That night she stayed on her parents’ sofa, drinking Diet Coke to stay awake in case anyone called. Instead of watching CNN, she put on E! and finally fell fast asleep to 100 Worst Celebrity Breakups.
chapter 31
By Monday morning the news of Remington’s arrest had spread all over the country. The pundits were already saying that it was a major stumble for the Adam Conway campaign. CONWAY KID ARRESTED DRUNK, ran the typically blunt headline on the CNN crawl, from Friday night through the weekend.
As Tom predicted, the arrest created a public-relations disaster that didn’t appear solvable. A few people were already saying that Adam should pull out, at least before Senator Gibbons crushed him with fund-raising anyway. Emma tried not to read any of the newspapers before school that morning. It all just made her sad.
Remington and her dad had come home in the middle of the night, and the next day her father canceled his flight to Milwaukee. Her parents and brother spent most of Sunday holed up in the apartment, talking about what Remington had done. Emma didn’t dare go near her parents’ office the entire day, but she pieced together the story eventually. Chris Flagg had been at Yale for the weekend, too, but it had been Remington’s idea to start doing shots at the campus bar. Apparently he’d had a fake ID made the previous summer in England. Her parents and her brother stayed in that room for hours. Whatever he was going through, she figured he didn’t need one more judgmental face in front of him.
By Monday morning she was ready to go to school, and relieved to get out of her oppressive apartment. She’d already texted her friends about what was going on. Lizzie met her at the lockers. “You okay?” she asked. “How’s your brother?”
“Fine, I guess,” she said. “I don’t think he’s coming to school today.”
“It wasn’t really a banner weekend for me, either,” she said. “They found Todd’s dad guilty on Friday.”
“Are you serious?”
Lizzie’s hazel eyes were somber. “Todd’s not taking it well. Or at least not from what I hear.”
Hudson and Carina joined them. “Hey, Em,” Carina said. “We’re so sorry to hear about your brother. That’s got to really suck for all of you.”
“Actually, I think I’m weirdly glad that it happened,” Emma said. “At least now it’s, you know, a thing. He can’t hide it anymore. It was starting to be kind of a problem.”
“Maybe he was just way too stressed out,” Hudson put in. “He is, like, the smartest kid in the school. And he seemed to push himself pretty hard.”
“Will this mess up his college applications?” asked Carina. “I mean, every admissions officer is going to know that this happened.”
“I hope not,” Emma said. They began to walk toward homeroom. It was weird to walk down the halls knowing that she wouldn’t be running into her brother. After all of her personal drama over the past two months,
it felt strange to be the one that people weren’t worried about.
Emma sat through American Political Structures tracing her name over and over on her notebook. Being the good kid or the bad kid in the family was almost like running for president, she thought. Eventually someone was going to step out of their role and betray everyone else’s expectations. But it wasn’t fair, because they had never promised to play those roles in the first place. It had just always been that way between her and Remington.
“Emma? Can I speak to you a moment?” Mrs. Bateman asked as soon as class was over.
Emma gathered up her books and walked over to Mrs. Bateman’s desk. “Yes?”
“I’m well aware of the fact that you have an ambivalent attitude toward speech and debate,” she said, slinging her canvas PBS bag from the seventies over her shoulder. “But as we head into serious debate prep, I would like for you to consider coming back.”
Emma looked Mrs. Bateman in the eye. “Why?”
“Because you’re good,” Mrs. Bateman conceded. “And because without you we’re pretty much just a lackluster team.” She took a deep breath, as if this had all been very difficult for her to say.
Emma smiled despite herself. “So I’m good,” she said. “That’s interesting. I really never thought you’d admit it.”
Mrs. Bateman scratched at an indeterminate place underneath her steel-wool hair. “Nobody ever gets better if they don’t think they need to,” she said.
“I’ll think about it,” Emma said.
“And may I remind you that debate is much more about ad-libbing than speech was,” Mrs. Bateman said. “But something tells me that you’d be quite good at it. And personally, I’m getting tired of giving you all of these invitations.” She walked away, leaving Emma to digest her words.
When Emma left the room and walked into the hallway, she knew that she’d made the right decision. And almost like a sign from the universe, she spotted Walker coming out of a classroom.
“Hi,” she said, walking right up to him. “Can I walk with you for a second?”
He gave just the smallest nod of his head. “Fine,” he said.