at all. We just got into a heated discussion about something silly really, nothing important.”
Sandra stepped closer toward them, trying to get a good look at the woman. “Hello, I’m Sandra Wallage.”
“Nice to meet you,” the woman muttered. “I better go. I’ll see you later, Maisie.”
And then she scurried away without introducing herself.
“Who was that?” Sandra asked, turning back to Maisie.
“You don’t know her. I better get back inside in case John needs me,” Maisie said, running off, her black curls bobbing.
Sandra considered chasing after her in order to find out exactly why that woman had her hands around Maisie’s throat, but then she caught sight of dozens of parents pouring out of the school and into the parking lot. The PTA meeting had officially been adjourned, and she was about to be surrounded by curious busybodies all eager to hear what she had to say about the latest Dirty Laundry claim.
Sandra dashed back to her car, jumped in, and roared away. When she was safely off school property, she pulled into a vacant lot next to a closed warehouse where she could have some privacy and shifted the gear into park. She grabbed her phone off the passenger seat and scrolled down the Dirty Laundry article about her husband’s alleged sexual harassment scandal. As she suspected, it was short on facts and long on gossipy innuendo and unsubstantiated speculation. Still, the fact that the mere suggestion was out there was not good. She decided it was time to call her husband, who she knew was in Washington, DC, probably in the senate chamber at the moment.
After a few rings, she heard a man answer gruffly. “Yes?”
It wasn’t Stephen.
It was his young aide Preston Lambert.
Sandra couldn’t stand the kid. He was smug, overly ambitious, and as her kids liked to call him, “A real slimeball.” But for some reason, he was indispensable to Stephen, who refused to fire him despite his off-putting and cloying personality. What Sandra hated about him the most, however, was just how irritatingly patronizing he was to her.
“Hi, Preston, it’s Sandra. I need to speak to Stephen right away.”
“Well, hello, Mrs. Wallage. It’s so nice to hear your sweet, friendly voice this evening.”
Liar.
He knew damn well Sandra wasn’t sweet or friendly when it came to him.
She hated him.
“It’s an emergency,” Sandra said coldly.
“What kind of emergency?” Preston gasped, playing along.
“I’d really rather discuss it with Stephen, if that’s all right with you.”
“Of course. I understand,” he said.
She could picture him sneering on the other end of the line.
“The only problem is,” Preston drawled, trying his damnedest to be sympathetic and understanding but failing miserably. “He’s down the hall just a few seconds away from being interviewed by CNN on the floor vote.”
“I don’t care, Preston. I need to speak to him right now. Put him on,” Sandra demanded.
“Oops, there he goes. He’s on live right now with Anderson Cooper. You don’t want me to interrupt him while he’s talking to Anderson Cooper, do you?”
Sandra sighed. “How long is it going to take?”
“Shouldn’t be more than five minutes. They have to cut to a commercial at some point, right? Just hold on. We’ll wait together.”
Preston let a few moments go by before attempting a little small talk. “How are the boys?”
“They’re fine,” Sandra said, refusing to offer any more.
“Stephen showed me pictures. I can’t believe how much they’ve grown! They’re young men now!”
“Yes,” Sandra said through gritted teeth.
Preston finally got the message and stopped trying to engage her in a conversation. After a few more minutes of awkward silence, Preston said cheerily, “He just wrapped up. Sit tight. I’ll put him on.”
Sandra waited just a few seconds before she heard the laconic, soothing voice of her husband, Stephen.
“Hey, honey, what’s up?”
“Have you heard about what Dirty Laundry is saying about you?”
“Wait . . . hold up. Dirty what?”
“Dirty Laundry . . . I told you about it when you were home a couple of weekends ago. It’s that awful site that targets people connected to the high school, putting out clickbait by drumming up scandals and headlines, some true, some fake.”
“Right. I remember. So what are they saying?”
Sandra clicked over to the site and read her husband the headline.
There was a long silence.
“Are you still there?” Sandra asked.
He let loose with a hearty laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me . . .”
“No, I’m not. It says so right here in front of me.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. There is not a shred of truth to it.”
Sandra believed him.
She had to believe him.
Otherwise, then where would she be?
“It came out while I was delivering my welcome speech as the new PTA president. It really threw me. I didn’t know what to say, so I got out of there. I’m sure Principal Hicks is furious with me for bailing, but I just had to talk to you and get your reaction.”
“And you got it. Don’t sweat it, babe. Even if the mainstream media somehow picks it up, once people figure out it’s all lies, they’ll move on to something else. It won’t even last a full news cycle.”
“Well, is there some sort of recourse we can take? Get whomever posted it to take it down?”
“Don’t waste your energy,” Stephen said. “Like you said, most of what pops up on that site is fake news, so I don’t expect too many people to take it seriously, okay?”
“Okay,” Sandra said.
“Now, I have to get back inside. They’re about to take a vote,” Stephen said. “Stop worrying, Sandra.”
“I will,” Sandra promised.
“No, you won’t. I know you. This is nothing, believe me.”
“I love you,” Sandra whispered.
