“I’m not selling anything, Nora, but you might be.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“I’ve moved up the ladder in the political world over the past few years.” Nora wondered uncharitably how one climbed a ladder while lying on her back. “I’m the managing director for a conservative website. We have a major internet and social media presence, focusing on issues specific to Georgia.”
“How nice for you,” Nora said. “But I don’t care.”
“I want to give you a chance to be on the right side of the story we’re working on.”
“What story? And what do you mean by the right side?”
Daphne smiled, probably intending to look reassuring, but her tight, predatorial grin was anything but.
“Our organization is working closely with Tom Wilson’s campaign in the primary, since he’s the most conservative candidate in the governor’s race right now.” She paused, as if expecting Nora to react to this news, but Nora was still trying to figure out why Daphne was on her doorstep. What could she possibly be after?
“I’ll get right to the point, Nora.” She put an emphasis on Nora’s name, as if using it suddenly made them friends. “Considering your apparent lack of involvement with Geoff Bradford’s campaign, we were wondering if you might be interested in publicly endorsing Tom Wilson. You know, before any rumors about the Bradford men become public knowledge.”
Bree coughed behind Nora, and she heard the derisive curse cloaked inside that cough. Nora squared her shoulders and looked Daphne right in the eye.
“First, you are not my friend, so please address me as Mrs. Bradford. Second, are you threatening me?” She stepped forward, her fury just slightly ahead of her panic. “Are you actually standing on my doorstep attempting to blackmail me into supporting your candidate over my own brother-in-law?”
Daphne’s eyes widened fractionally. “Are you saying you’re endorsing Geoff Bradford for governor? May I quote you on that? Because, Mrs. Bradford, there’s evidence your late husband, much like his brother, had a serious gambling problem. Isn’t that why you sold your country estate after his death and moved to this much smaller home? And, of course, the women...”
“Women like you, Daphne? You’ll be implicating yourself.”
Daphne shrugged. “It’s a website, Mrs. Bradford. In the Wild West of the new political world, the fact that I was one of many women your late husband took advantage of will just make the story more scintillating. It’s all about the spin.”
Nora gave her a look from head to toe. “Looks like you’ve done pretty well for yourself for someone so terribly victimized.”
Daphne stiffened, her bright red lips thinning. “Careful, Mrs. Bradford. Slut-shaming isn’t as popular as it used to be, so you won’t win a lot of points with that approach.” Nora looked down at her feet, chagrined. Daphne was right. “And, so you know, I’ve worked my ass off to get to where I am. Getting Tom Wilson elected will be a lot easier once the truth is out about Geoff Bradford. But that truth can’t come out without disclosing Paul’s involvement.”
Daphne’s eyes softened fractionally. “I know I shouldn’t have gotten involved with your husband. I’m offering you a chance to tell your story from a sympathetic point of view before the news cycle picks it up.”
“Don’t pretend you’re here on some charity case. That I should be thanking you. If I do what you suggest, it will destroy Geoff’s candidacy, which hands you your goal on a silver platter.”
Daphne nodded. “That’s true. But it doesn’t hurt you, either. It’s not like you knew what they were up to, did you?” Nora ignored the veiled accusation.
“You’re talking about my daughter’s father. I don’t know what you expected to accomplish by coming here, but we’re done. And if you stick your foot out again, you’ll lose some toes when I slam this door on it.”
“Mrs. Bradford, as long as you live here in Atlanta you won’t be able to hide from this. You’ll have to take a stand once the story comes out. Don’t think you can avoid... Ouch...damn it!” The last two words were muffled, coming from the other side of the now-locked front door. After a beat of silence, Daphne called out, “You had your chance, Nora. Remember that.”
Nora turned and leaned against the door, staring at a stunned Bree.
“This is exactly what I was afraid of. What am I going to do?”
Bree was thoughtful for a moment. “She was right about one thing. If the person at the heart of the story isn’t around, the story loses steam. It doesn’t mean the Bradfords won’t get roasted, but this is a state story, not a national one.” Then Bree brightened. “I bet that coffee shop idea is starting to look pretty good now, isn’t it?”
Nora’s head went back and forth in denial, but in her mind she smelled freshly sanded wood and saw blue eyes full of tangled emotions. “Not happening, Bree. I just need to talk to Meredith. If I can make her see that the campaign is hopeless, maybe Geoff will drop out and the story will be dead.”
Bree gave her a pointed look. “And when exactly has Mother Bradford ever believed her precious boys were anything but perfect and invincible?”
Never. The answer was never.
And, sure enough, Meredith refused to take the threat seriously when Nora called her that night and relayed her encounter with Daphne.
“They’re just on a fishing expedition. As long as you didn’t give her anything, they have no story.” Nora looked at her phone in consternation.
“Meredith, I didn’t have to give her anything. Daphne was one of Paul’s...women.” The word mistress was too old-fashioned and, frankly, humiliating. “And probably one of Geoff’s, too. She had a ringside seat to everything they did.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Geoff has a lovely, supportive wife, and he would never cheat on her.” Nora bit her tongue to keep from taking the bait. Meredith’s inference was clear—if Paul cheated, it must have been Nora’s fault. “I’m telling you,” her former mother-in-law continued, “she’s bluffing. And if she’s not, just deny, deny, deny.”
After that phone call, Nora and Bree called Amanda and they talked into the wee hours of the morning, trying to come up with a plan. Nora wrote lists of pros and cons and things she might do. But it always came back to leaving Atlanta.
At the top of one list, she’d sketched a steaming mug of coffee, thinking of a particular coffee shop. She also thought about the complex man who lived next door to that shop. About her angry, pregnant daughter. About the serious, bearded young man who was going to be the father of her grandchild. Did she really think living in the midst of all that drama was a good idea? Surely it would be easier to stay in Atlanta and deal with a little story on some obscure website.
As they finally headed to bed, Nora turned to Bree, holding up both hands, with fingers crossed on each. “Maybe Meredith was right. Maybe Daphne was bluffing. Maybe I’m worrying for nothing. Let’s get some sleep and see what tomorrow brings.”
“UM...NORA?” BREE’S VOICE was muffled through the bedroom door, but Nora could hear the tension in it. “You might want to come down and take a look outside. And make sure you’re dressed.”
Nora tossed her blankets aside. Had there been a storm overnight? Had a tree fallen? She obediently put on a pair of pants and a sweater, pulling her hair back with a headband. She glanced at the alarm clock—good Lord, it was after nine o’clock. Apparently that wine had gone to her head more than she’d thought.
Bree