When No One Is Watching (14 page)

Danny stood up from his bar stool and walked unsteadily

out the door. The night air felt cool as he stepped outside, but he knew he’d be sweating by the time he completed the two-mile trek. He really didn’t mind the walk; it had become his sole form of exercise, and it provided an opportunity to sober up at least a bit before getting home. Besides, he didn’t have much choice. His driver’s license had been revoked. It would be two years before he could drive again.

Danny’s routine had evolved over the four weeks since he’d been released from prison. At first, his desire to be there for his daughter was enough to keep him sober all day. He was there when she returned home from school at three o’clock in the afternoon and made a point of staying around the house whenever she was home. He was determined to be a good parent, but the role reversal that had started earlier that summer continued. Allie seemed to be watching over him more than the other way around. She was keenly attentive to him, making a point to hurry straight home from school every afternoon to be with him. They would eat dinner together, and then Allie would busy herself doing homework, chatting on the phone, and engaging in all of the other activities that kept a seventeen-year-old girl busy. When she was occupied with such things, Danny would sneak a couple of drinks, but he made a point of never getting loaded around his daughter. When she retired for the evening, he would hustle to one of the Western Avenue bars as fast as his feet would carry him, where he would drink heavily until closing time at 2:00 a.m. After that, he’d stumble home and pass out. He would sleep the morning away and have the early afternoon to get over his hangover before Allie got home from school.

About two weeks after he returned home, the pattern changed. Afternoon tennis practice had begun, so Allie rarely got home before six o’clock. She had also started dating Jason Merrick, the star linebacker on the high school football team. The local football pundits were predicting that Jason would be a consensus All-American, and he was being heavily recruited by Notre Dame, Stanford, Michigan, and countless other big-time college football programs. He seemed to be the all-American kid in every other respect as well, and Danny was pleased to see his daughter so happy. However, between tennis practice, Jason, and her busy social life, Allie’s presence at home seemed to be getting increasingly scarce.

As Allie’s schedule changed, Danny found little reason to stay sober all day. He started drinking in the early afternoon, mostly at home. He’d try to avoid becoming too blitzed during the day, in case Allie showed up for dinner. If she didn’t, he would make his way to the bar early in the evening. When she did make it home for dinner, she didn’t stay long, so neither did he. Once she was gone, he would scurry up to one of the local watering holes with a sense of urgency and pass the evening sitting on a bar stool with the other lost souls who were seeking the comforting numbness of inebriation.

Danny had settled into that pattern, and this night was just like almost every other night over the past two weeks. His walk home down Western Avenue took him right past the Van Howe campaign headquarters. He stopped and stared at the smiling visage of his former partner on the massive campaign poster in the front window. Blair certainly looked the part: handsome and confident, his charisma coming through, even in photographs. Danny felt the same mixture of emotions he always felt now when he thought about Blair. He was genuinely happy for his old friend, knowing that he was on the threshold of what was certain to be a successful and illustrious political career. At the same time, he was deeply hurt by the fact that his best friend had completely abandoned him. Other than the one visit while he was in prison, which almost certainly was a PR ploy, he hadn’t had a single conversation with Blair since his incarceration. Danny understood. He knew politics, and he knew the media. Blair didn’t have much choice. But it still hurt.

The cool autumn mist turned into a gentle drizzle, and Danny picked up his pace. He was wet and shivering by the time he walked through his front door. The house felt quiet and lonely, as it had since he returned from prison. The empty closets and drawers were a constant reminder that Karen was gone. He hadn’t been able to put away the pictures of her that were still scattered around the house. Doing so would have seemed like an admission that she was never coming back—something he knew, but still did not want to accept. Although Karen had always been cool and aloof to everyone, including him, he still adored her and missed her terribly.

As he stared at a picture of the two of them on the beach in San Diego, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the long white envelope with a feeling of dread. The messenger had delivered it to him just as he was leaving the house late that afternoon. He knew what it was. The messenger was obviously a process server. He had purposely avoided opening it when it was thrust into his hands because it would have spoiled his evening at the bar, which was the highlight of his dreary day. But now he had to face it. He had been fearing that it was only a matter of time before Karen filed for divorce.

Danny braced himself as he opened the envelope with shaking hands. He felt a jolt like an electric shock as he read the caption on the complaint:
In the Matter of Nancy McGrath v. Daniel J. Moran.
He was being sued in state court for the wrongful death of Terry McGrath.

He stared at the harsh words, feeling as if the air had been sucked from his lungs. He began to feel light-headed and dizzy. His stomach turned. He raced into the bathroom and vomited.

CHAPTER 22
B
lair and Kimberly Van Howe mingled with the crowd of supporters packed into the tiny campaign headquarters. Champagne was on ice, reporters milled about, and television cameras were at the ready. The large-screen television at the front of the room provided updates on the election results, local and national. Although the polls had closed only an hour ago, the projections had Van Howe leading by a seemingly insurmountable margin.

 

“Blair, phone call!” Sam McIntire’s voice boomed over the crowd. A buzz of anticipation rippled through the crowd as Blair elbowed his way toward the small office in the back. He picked up the phone, a wave of excitement washing over him.

“Hello?”

“Blair, this is Scott Carlson. I’d like to be the first to congratulate you. You’ve run a fine campaign, and I wish you the very best. I concede.”

Blair gave Sam the thumbs-up sign as he listened. Sam disappeared momentarily, then returned with Kimberly, who looked like a kid on Christmas morning. Blair motioned to Sam to shut the door and stared at his wife and father-in-law for a long moment. Then he broke into a broad grin. “It’s over,” he announced, trying his best to remain poised and calm, but his voice quavered with excitement. “That was Scott Carlson. He just conceded.”

Kimberly shrieked, threw both arms up in the air, then rushed to embrace her husband. “Washington, here we come!” she shouted.

Sam wrapped his gigantic arms around both of them at once. “You two are on your way! I couldn’t be happier for you.” The tough old veteran of many a political war wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Now go tell the troops,” he instructed, opening the door for them and lingering behind to compose himself.

Blair and Kimberly walked hand-in-hand toward the front of the room. Their beaming smiles left no doubt as to what had just occurred. There was a feeling of electricity in the air as they made their way through the crowd, shaking hands, giving high fives, and receiving slaps on the back. The buzz escalated as word of the phone call spread faster than the Van Howes could make their way across the room.

Blair took the podium and raised his hands in a gesture for silence. The exuberant crowd was slow to comply, and he waited patiently, bathed in the bright lights of the television cameras. Presently, the room reached some semblance of quiet, and Blair leaned forward toward the microphone. “Let’s pop the champagne!” he shouted. The room burst into wild and delirious applause. Blair raised his hands again and waited for the noise to die down enough to be heard. “Scott Carlson was kind enough to call me and offer his congratulations—and his concession.”

The room erupted again. The shouts and whistles, hugging, and high-fiving went on for quite a while, and Blair made no effort to cut it short. Champagne corks began popping. The crowd took up a chant: “Van Howe, Van Howe, Van Howe!” came the loud, rhythmic shouts.

Someone handed Blair and Kimberly champagne glasses. “I’d like to propose a toast,” Blair shouted over the crowd, raising his glass. “To all of you, without whom this would not be happening. We’re making history here. We’re looking at the greatest margin of victory over a sitting congressman in the past hundred years!” The crowd exploded into raucous applause once again. “But this isn’t my victory. It’s
our
victory! It’s
your
victory!
You
made it happen, and
you
deserve the credit. When I go to Washington, I’ll be representing
you
and the things this team believes in. You can be sure I will never forget that. Aside from the day I married my beautiful bride, this is without a doubt the happiest and most exciting day of my life. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!”

Blair and Kimberly clinked glasses, took a sip of the cheap champagne, and raised their clasped hands into the air. Once again, the room exploded into joyous pandemonium.

Less than two miles away, Danny Moran sat in his living room watching the election results on television, a bottle of Crown Royal at his side.

“Way to go, Blair!” he yelled at the television screen, slurring badly as he watched his former partner giving his victory speech. There were plenty of other races in the State of Illinois being decided that day, including governor and one of the United States Senate seats, as well as the races for the other nineteen national congressional seats. However, none of those races had attracted nearly the media attention of the Van Howe campaign. One reason for that was that a once-popular six-term congressman was being unseated. Another reason was the stunning margin of victory, with the new-comer racking up nearly 75 percent of the votes. The primary reason for all the attention, however, was the undeniable fact that this candidate had captivated the media and the electorate with a mixture of charm, charisma, and excitement, the likes of which few voters had experienced in their lifetime. He was dynamic and inspiring, eloquent and sincere. He was someone people wanted to believe in and get behind. The fact that his photogenic wife had become a media darling in her own right was an added bonus. She was lively, quick-witted, and funny most of the time, yet tender and compassionate when the situation called for it.

Danny Moran wasn’t taken in by that part of the story. He knew Kimberly Van Howe and suspected, quite accurately, that when she was behind the scenes, she was ruthless, demanding, and impatient with everyone on the campaign team.

As he settled down in front of the TV again, Danny heard the back door slam loudly, followed by the sound of determined footsteps heading in his direction. He glanced sideways in his daughter’s direction as she entered the room. “Look, Allie, Blair won in a landslide! You just missed his speech.”

Danny stumbled into the study and picked up the telephone, intending to place a congratulatory phone call to the new congressman, but his memory was foggy, and he couldn’t remember Blair’s cell phone number. He recalled that Blair’s number was programmed into his own cell phone, so he staggered back through the living room, the kitchen, and dining room, searching in vain for his cell phone. There was no telling where he’d left it, and the chances of finding it in his present state were not good.

He’d been on a bender for some time now. He couldn’t remember exactly when he started, but it was Tuesday evening now, and he remembered being smashed at the high school football game Saturday night. He had caused something of a commotion when he had stumbled badly into a crowd of teenagers while climbing the bleachers. No one had gotten hurt; they just had a good laugh at his expense. Allie had been mortified when she saw him there and insisted that she drive him home at halftime. He remembered her ranting in the car on the way home about how he had humiliated her, but he didn’t remember much else about that conversation or the rest of the evening. He couldn’t remember whether he’d even spoken with his daughter since that time, and was actually hoping that he hadn’t, since he’d been drunk ever since.

Allie had been increasingly hostile toward him over the past few weeks. Danny could see the disappointment in her face whenever she looked at him. The look had been one of concern at first, but it had evolved into something different. It had become a look of contempt, and that was precisely the look on her face at the present moment, although Danny was too oblivious to notice.

“He looks great, doesn’t he?” Danny asked, flopping into the sofa and returning his attention to the TV.

Allie stormed across the room and slammed the power switch on the television. She turned and faced her father, hands on her hips, feet spread wide, tears of rage streaming down her face. “I don’t give a shit about Blair Van Howe!” she yelled, her voice breaking. “Look at you! You’ve been drunk for days! You’re drunk all the time! How can you live like this?”

Even in his inebriated state, Danny was stunned by the viciousness of the assault. Allie had never screamed at him like that before, and he had never witnessed the hostility he was now seeing in his daughter. “I’m sorry, Allie,” he said, shamefully hanging his head and avoiding her glare. “You don’t deserve this.”

“No one deserves this, Daddy!” she screamed. “How many lives can you destroy? You drove Mom away, you’re driving me away, Mr. McGrath is dead, and now Jason!”

Danny looked bewildered. “Jason?”

“Yes, Jason! He’s been suspended from school and thrown off the football team—because of you!”

“Because of me?”