The Unexpected Everything

“Fine,” I said, looking from Peter to my dad, who was standing across the kitchen from him, trying to figure out what was happening. My dad wasn’t wearing what had become his summer uniform of jeans and a T-shirt (he’d grown particularly fond of the Captain Pizza one we’d gotten on the scavenger hunt). He was wearing a crisp button-down and khakis, and his hair was sharply parted. It was like the father I’d spent the summer with was gone, and the one who was usually there had just come back. “Um . . . how are you?”

“Oh, can’t complain,” Peter said, and I noticed that his BlackBerry was put away, both hands around his mug, like he was giving my father his undivided attention, which worried me more than anything else.

“Peter dropped by so we could talk over some things,” my dad said, and I noticed Peter look from me to my dad, surprised, and a second later I realized why. My dad never would have explained any of this to me before. I wouldn’t have been in the need-to-know loop.

“Come on, Alex,” Peter said. “Way to bury the lede! I came here because the results of the internal investigation are going to be announced after the summer recess, and it came down in our favor. Your father is going to be cleared of all suspicion of wrongdoing.”

“Oh,” I said, my eyes darting to my dad, who gave me a smile. “That’s good.”

“Good?” Peter echoed, shaking his head. “It’s great. It’s what we expected to happen, naturally,” he added after a moment, his tone growing more serious. He looked over at my dad. “Marshall and Stuart are fired, of course. How they ever thought they could get away with something like this . . .”

My dad’s phone rang on the counter, and I looked over at it, almost surprised to hear the sound again. I watched it light up and then fall silent again. A second later the ringing started up again, and my dad picked it up and switched it to silent.

“Not a good idea,” Peter said, shaking his head. “All the donors are going to come back around. Best not to alienate them.”

“Pete,” my dad said, shaking his head. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

“No time for hesitating. You know that better than anyone. This will be officially announced after the recess, and before it is, we’ve got to get back in work mode. I’m sure you’re more than ready to get back to real life,” he said, glancing around the kitchen, clearly unimpressed. “We should talk about this speech.”

I just stared at my dad, who was nodding and taking his mechanical pencil from his shirt pocket. “What speech?”

My dad was already reaching to take the paper that Peter was holding out for him, and I took a step back so I wouldn’t be in the way. “Erickson wants me to headline an event with him in two weeks,” he said, clicking his pencil twice and frowning down at the paper.

“The governor of New York, Erickson?” I asked, and my dad nodded. “But I thought he hated you.”

“Nobody hates anyone for too long in this game,” Peter said, glancing up from his screen for just 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.”