The Regime: Evil Advances Page 13

  Irene had to look away to hide her tears. How long had it been since she had felt cherished by Rayford? And this business about a spouse being an investment... what if she invested in Rayford, hoping for the dividends she needed? How could he cherish her if she didn't prove she cherished him?

  "Good news, Jeff," Cameron said. He told his brother about the advance from the Globe and how it would allow him to come home over spring break after all. "So let Mom know, okay? And if she's up to talking, let me know and I'll call her. All right? ... Jeff? You there? Hello?"

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  "I'm here."

  "Did you hear me?"

  "I heard you."

  "And?"

  "You know, Cameron, it's at times like these when I don't envy you in the least. Everybody feels sorry for me because I'm the older brother but you're the star."

  "Jeff."

  "You're the hotshot Ivy Leaguer, gone off to find your fame and fortune, and I'm just a blue-collar dolt here, driving truck."

  "Stop it, Jeff. What on earth has set you off now?"

  "That you still don't get it! I don't know how else to say it, Cam. For a smart guy, you ain't too bright, are ya? If you've got the means to get out here, why aren't you on a plane? I'll pick you up at the airport."

  "Jeff, there's no way I can come right now. I missed my holiday window with the car trouble and the blizzard and all. I'm swamped here with classes, projects, the school paper, my job, all kinds of--"

  "Do you want to see your mother before she dies?"

  "Well, of course. I-- "

  "Trust me. She'll be in the ground two months by the time your spring break rolls around."

  "Seriously?"

  "Hello!"

  "It's imminent, then."

  "It's day to day, Cam. Now I don't want to have this conversation again. The only thing keeping Mom alive is her thinking you're going to be here anytime."

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  "All right, listen, I've got an exam tomorrow afternoon and a big deadline late the next morning. I'll get a flight that evening. I won't be able to stay long, but--"

  "You're not even here yet and you're already heading back."

  Cameron caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, running his hand through his hair. And he saw himself in Jeff's comments. He didn't like what he saw in either reflection.

  "Yeah," he said. "Sorry. See you soon."

  The Steele family sat together at dinner for one of the few times that happened each month.

  Chloe had a gleam in her green eyes and used both hands to push her blonde hair behind her ears. "Ready for my surprise?" she said.

  Irene looked up. "You have a surprise?"

  "No, I just said that for my health."

  Chloe was smiling, but Irene was struck anew by the quickness and acerbic wit of the twelve-year-old. Often, when she was sarcastic like that, she wasn't kidding.

  "What is it, Chlo'?" Rayford said.

  Chloe lifted her plate and slid out her report card, handing it first to her dad--which cut Irene.

  "Wow," he said softly. "That's great, but it's hardly a surprise."

  "It will be to Mom. She thinks I'm going to hell."

  "What? I never said that."

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  "But you do. I know you do." Disconcertingly, Chloe was still smiling.

  Rayford passed the report card to Irene. "Straight A's," she said, "and all these teacher comments. 'Great attitude.' 'Impressive participation.' 'A leader.' 'A joy to have in class.' That's wonderful, honey. Congratulations. Great work."

  "Thanks. Now how do we celebrate?"

  "I don't know," Irene said. "Your favorite dessert tomorrow night?"

  Raymie hollered with his mouth full, "Dessert!"

  "C'mon, Mom!" Chloe said. "I'm not five. A whole quarter's worth of hard work and perfect grades ought to be worth more than your chocolate-chip cookies. Though they are the best."

  "Cookies!" Raymie shouted. "The best!"

  "What did you have in mind?" Rayford said.

  Chloe chuckled. "You know what Mom says every year when we ask what she wants for her birthday? 'Nothing but obedience and a little respect.'"

  Even Irene had to laugh. "I do say that, don't I?"

  Chloe nodded. "I want something like that."

  "Obedience?"

  "Ha! No, I wouldn't dream of anything like that. But a little respect would be nice."

  "I respect you, Chloe," Irene said. "I love you. You know that."

  "I know you love me, Mom. Respect is another story."

  When did this baby girl become so grown up? so articulate? so cold? Irene worried about where this conversation

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  was going and the impact it might have on Raymie. For now he seemed to be ignoring it, except when someone mentioned cookies. "Keeping in mind that little pitchers have big ears," Irene said, "what do I need to do to prove that I respect you?"

  "You say that all the time about pitchers and big ears, Mom. What does it even mean?"

  "The handles on a pitcher are also called ears, Chloe. It's just an expression that means to be careful what you say in front of little ones who hear everything."

  "Whatever."

  "So," Irene said, "what is it you're driving at?"

  "I just think I'm old enough to start making some of my own decisions, that's all."

  "Well, your grades prove you can be mature and responsible, though I disagree that you're old enough to make adult decisions. I'm still the mother. You're still the kid."

  "How well I know."

  "Come on, Irene," Rayford said. "You don't even know what she wants yet."

  "No, but I'll bet you do." Irene hoped she was wrong, but she could tell by Rayford's look--not to mention Chloe's--that she had scored. These two had been talking behind her back. Rayford had probably coached Chloe on how to manipulate her mother with a good report card.

  "All right," she said. "Spill it. What's this report card going to cost me?"

  "Respect," Chloe said. "I told you."

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  "Quit stalling. What do you mean in practical terms? What decisions do you think should be yours alone?"

  "What I do with my Sundays."

  Irene tried to bite her tongue. She wanted to explode, to accuse Rayford of conspiring, to blurt that Sunday school and church were not up for discussion. Praying silently for wisdom and restraint, she forced herself to take another bite. Why was this being-like-Jesus thing so hard? Impossible, so far, she concluded.

  "So much for respect, huh?" Chloe said.

  "Watch yourself, young lady," Irene said.

  "At least let me out of Sunday school! I'll sit through church with you, but those dumb stories! And those kids are so stupid!"

  The truth was, of course, that Irene found Dr. Bohrer's sermons just as bad. It wasn't the classes or the services; it was the church. Well, as long as Rayford and Chloe were conniving to outsmart her, Irene felt free to bring out her big guns.

  "All right," she said, "I'll make a deal with you. You try a new church with me, one I think we'll both like. Give it a month and attend Sunday school and church without complaining. And then I'll let you decide whether you want to keep going."

  "No, no," Rayford said. "You're not dragging my daughter to that Holy Roller church."

  "Rafe! She's my daughter too. And that's no Holy--"

  "Daddy! This sounds fair. I'll be a good sport about it. I can't imagine it being any different, but I could give it a few weeks if I really get to decide after that."

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  "I don't like it," Rayford said. "That means I'd have to go too."

  Now you're thinking, Irene mused.

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  TWENTY-TWO

  The pressing-the-flesh part of the campaign was upon Nicolae, and he was pleasantly surprised to discover how much he enjoyed it. He had always been a private person, and the idea of camping out at a bus or train station or outside a factory at the end
of the workday--just to introduce himself to the people--at first repulsed him.

  He liked it when people came to him and he could grant--or choose not to grant--audiences. But Leon insisted that a man could not hope to sway the masses without proving he was one of them.

  "But I am not," Nicolae said.

  "Of course you're not. And instinctively the people know that. That's why it's so important for you to--in essence--prove that you don't mind condescending to their level. But you must sell it, Nicolae. No running to the limo as soon as you're free. No sharing a gustare

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  with them at their snack bar and then being seen half an hour later at a nice bistro. Look them in the eye, listen, shake hands warmly. Mean it."

  "Or pretend to."

  "Of course."

  "Are you saying we do not use my cars to get to these places?"

  "We might do better to use mine," Leon said. "It's big and roomy and perhaps more appropriate."

  Fortunato's car proved to be a black SUV, which attracted little attention. Nicolae began by setting up outside the gate of an ironworks factory. As the men and women emerged, sooty and greasy and clearly exhausted, Nicolae stood by a large sign and thrust out his hand to every passerby. "Hi, my name is Nicolae Carpathia, and I am running for Parliament."

  Many ignored him, which was a novel experience that enraged him. But he left his smile plastered on and kept trying. Many, especially women, said, "I know who you are. I see you on TV." More than half wished him luck and told him they were voting for him. Others said they were supporters of Tismaneanu, but oddly, they were always quick to shake his hand.

  "Ever work a day in your life?" a man asked, staring Nicolae in the eye. A few others heard the question and gathered around. That brought more, asking what was up. When the question was whispered to them, they summoned more.

  This was more like it. Nicolae was offended by the question, but he loved an audience, and this was the time

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  to practice his newly manufactured humility. "Thank you for asking," he said. "That is a fair question I am happy to answer.

  "It may surprise you to know that I was raised by a single mother and that I was expected to do my part around the house and the farm. Yes, I was raised in the country, and I have mucked out my share of stalls. I was always a good student with a mind for business, so I took a risk, put up my own money, and built a company on my own.

  "I daresay I do not work as physically hard as you do, and that makes me admire what you do. But I put in long days and provide jobs and salaries and benefits for a lot of people. I want to see change and reform in my homeland, as I am sure you do. I hope I can count on your votes."

  Nicolae walked away to warm applause and a deep, hungry feeling. He liked communicating with groups. He wanted to do it again. Next stop was a rail station, where people seemed in even more of a hurry to keep moving. But the experience was the same. He would meet and greet those who took the time--some acknowledging him, some not; many recognizing him, a few not. And then someone would ask a hard question, people would gather, and Nicolae would hold forth.

  Back in the car and heading home, he told Leon, "We need to make these appearances more efficient. The one-on-one hand shaking is good and will look fine in the paper and on the news. But things really start to happen when I am challenged and can defend myself."

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  "What are you suggesting?"

  "That we plant such questions, get them in the air immediately upon my arrival. That way we can lose the waste of time and awkwardness of meeting and greeting everyone individually and can rather get on with the pitch."

  "Brilliant," Leon said. "You were born for this."

  Cameron Williams was waiting at the gate for his flight to Tucson when he took a call from his brother, Jeff.

  "When's your return flight again?" Jeff said.

  "Day after tomorrow."

  "Got time to get that changed before you board?"

  "If I had to. Why?"

  "Funeral's the day after tomorrow. You'll need at least another day out here."

  "Jeff! Are you saying ...?"

  "About an hour ago. I don't mean to lay this all on you, Cameron, but she was asking for you right up to the end."

  Cameron swore. "I didn't need to hear that."

  "Yeah, you did. You should have been here."

  "Okay, all right, I know! I'm on my way."

  "A day late and--"

  "Don't say it, Jeff, all right?"

  The flight was uneventful but seemed longer than ever. Cameron had no appetite, and though weary from having rushed to clear the decks before leaving, he found he

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  was unable to doze. Of course his mother was on his mind the whole way.

  They'd long had a strange relationship. As a teenager he had discovered that she would believe anything he said and so began a pattern of telling her whatever she needed or wanted to hear. She trusted him, admired him, believed in him, and he had shamelessly taken advantage of that.

  Cameron had not been a bad kid. Typical. Did his partying and carousing, but mostly he had been a conscientious student and insatiably curious young journalist. Having decided early what he wanted to be when he grew up, he seemed more mature than his friends, especially to teachers, authorities, adults of all stripes.

  He had worked for his father too, enough to know he didn't want to stay in gas and oil the rest of his life. And of course that--and many other differences--caused a rift between him and his brother.

  Cameron didn't look forward to that confrontation. He had been wrong; that was all. He had found it hard to believe his mother was at death's door, especially since he had never seen her that way. She had long been overweight and was showing her age, but she was otherwise robust and energetic, a doer. She had always loved the next new thing. Even imagining her in the hospital was hard for Cameron.

  And now she was gone. Guilty? Of course he was. But he was also pragmatic. Cameron had not contributed to her death, and he was not going to beat himself up over it. He might appear to, so his relatives wouldn't feel the

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  need to punish him, but beyond feeling bad that he had not given his mother the pleasure of his company during her darkest hours, he didn't know what else he could or should have done.

  Jeff didn't so much as shake Cameron's hand, let alone embrace him when he picked him up at the airport.

  "How's Dad doing?" Cameron said as they carried his bags to the car.

  "He knew it was coming, but it's still hard. It'll be good to have friends and family here." That, Cameron decided, was as close as Jeff was going to get to saying that it was good to have him there.

  Cameron was relieved to discover that Sharon and the kids were waiting in the car. His sister-in-law greeted him warmly and expressed her sympathy. Jeff was stonier than ever as he drove. Cameron tried small talk but was rebuffed with one-word answers at every turn.

  Finally Cameron turned to face him. "Why don't you just say what you have to say and get it over with?"

  Jeff continued to study the road, but he said, "Maybe I just will. I thought you'd never ask. I'm mad, Cameron, as mad at you as I've ever been. You've always been your own person, not caring about anyone else. But this is the epitome. Dad and I tried a million different ways to impress on you how important it was that you get out here before it was too late, and what happens? You get here too late."

  "I'm sorry, Jeff. I don't know what else to say."

  "You're sorry. That's easy to say now. And Mom can't hear you."

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  "All right. You going to let me up now?"

  Jeff just shook his head.

  "Don't hold back if there's more," Cameron said. "I don't need this the whole time I'm here."

  "Yeah, whatever's most convenient for you, Cam. You just let me know."

  Cameron wanted to slug his brother, knowing full well Jeff probably wanted to smack him too. Maybe that would get it out o
f their systems. Maybe they ought to come to blows at the funeral and let the whole family see it.

  From behind him Sharon put a hand on his shoulder, and Cameron was stunned at the effect it had on him. She didn't say a word, but he felt she was communicating sympathy, forgiveness, a caution to keep his temper, all that. He looked forward to getting a moment with her sometime over the next few days.

  To Irene's abject disappointment, Rayford traded assignments with someone and had to fly Sunday. She was convinced that he worked hard to do that on purpose, but it didn't deter her from taking Chloe and Raymie to New Hope.

  She hadn't even told Jackie she was coming, and the look on her friend's face alone was worth the trip. Jackie immediately introduced her to Pastor Vernon Billings, a dapper, genial man in his mid- to late fifties. Irene was

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  struck by how accessible he was to everybody. New Hope was, of course, much smaller than her church, but still she wasn't used to a senior pastor who mingled with the congregation like this.

  Irene felt bad that Raymie appeared petrified of the new place and people, but he was brave and didn't cry. She assured him he would have a good time and that if he behaved she and Chloe and he would go out for chicken after church.

  Chloe was in full slouch-and-scowl mode, though she did make the effort to be cordial to Jackie. Irene asked if she wanted help finding her Sunday school class. Chloe said, "Boy, I don't know, Mom. You think I'll ever be able to find it in this huge complex? You want to hold my hand too and introduce me to my teacher?"