23

SEATTLE

VANESSA SPENT THE EVENING in the library, surrounded by congressional directories and microfilm reels of newspaper articles. She had to make some sense of this. How did Zed Patterson go from being the deputy sheriff of a little farming community in Pennsylvania to a state senator? And how did he come to have an interest in victims’ rights, of all things?

The network was gleefully courting him. Terri Roos was no longer the only one in regular contact with his office. Everyone seemed to be taking delight in their stimulating chats with the compassionate Mr. Patterson.

“But he really wants to talk to you, Vanessa,” Terri had told her the day before. “Your name keeps popping up in his conversations with other people, so he’s figured out that you’re our guiding force. Do you have time to give him a call?”

Vanessa forced herself to consider it. Patterson wouldn’t know, she thought. He couldn’t possibly figure out that Vanessa Gray was, in reality, Vanessa Harte. And even if he heard her childhood name, she doubted he would make the connection. He probably didn’t remember her at all.

But she begged out of calling him once again, and this time she sensed Terri’s impatience. “Some people are upset that you’re not being a team player on this, Vanessa,” Terri said. “They’re saying we should proceed without you.”

Vanessa bit her lower lip, hurt. She was hungry to join her colleagues, hungry to lead them in this fight. She wanted to see this thing through, but that was impossible. Not as long as Zed Patterson was going to walk with them every step of the way.

“Terri, please don’t leave me out,” she said. “I can’t give you my reasons for not being more fully involved right now, but my heart’s still where it’s always been. I’m committed to the AMC programs, you know that. I just can’t work through Patterson. It’s…it’s political.”

She could almost hear Terri’s brain cells swirling, trying to make sense of Vanessa’s words. “You mean, you’ll get in hot water with the hospital or something?” Terri asked.

“Something like that. You can consult with me. You can use me any way you want. But I can’t deal directly with Patterson’s office. All right?”

Terri had accepted her refusal to participate with reluctance. She was sure to pass Vanessa’s cryptic message on to other members of the network, and they would concoct theories to explain her unwillingness to deal with Patterson. But even the most inventive among them would never come near the truth.

Brian was her balm, her shelter in the midst of the storm surrounding her. In three weeks, they would be married. She had told no one because it seemed unreal to her. Until the justice of the peace pronounced them husband and wife, she wouldn’t believe it. She wanted it, though. She wanted that bond with Brian and felt very certain that he wanted it, too. She would be safe; he wouldn’t leave her.

She’d stopped taking her pills, hesitant about it at first. It was the wrong time for her to get pregnant, she’d said. She was still having nightmares, and her days were filled with anxiety over the AMC program and the dilemma she was in—the person who could best help her and the program was someone whose name she couldn’t utter without an attack of nausea.

Brian shot her arguments down, one by one, and she secretly welcomed the loving words of persuasion coming from his lips. She’d cried after they made love last night, the first time since she’d stopped the pills. She’d cried not out of regret or fear but because he would be leaving again this morning, and for the first time she felt as if she couldn’t bear the separation. That was when he suggested she spend her evenings researching Zed Patterson’s personal and professional life. Make sense of it, Brian had said. Get control over it.

She started with the Congressional Directory. Walter Zedekiah Patterson had been born in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, on June 3, 1935. He’d been president of a social fraternity in college, then served two years as deputy sheriff of Jeremy before being elected to the office of mayor. He had a law degree from the University of Kentucky and was first elected to the Senate in 1977. He married Elizabeth Gregg on April 7, 1963, and was divorced from her in 1965, with no children. He married Penelope Carter in 1985 and had a son, Kevin, born 1987 and a daughter, Kasey, born 1989.

She hadn’t pictured him with children. The thought disturbed her, and she stared at their names for a long time.

She scrolled through a series of newspaper articles about him. The articles covered legislation but gave her little insight into the man. There was one photograph, gritty and in profile, and she scrolled through it quickly. She had no interest in seeing Zed Patterson’s face.

It was nearly closing time in the library, and she was so tired that she almost missed the headline in the Seattle paper: Molestation Charge Filed Against Senator. Sitting up straight in her chair, suddenly wide-awake, she hunted for a date on the paper. The article was from this past December, just two months ago.

She scanned it quickly the first time through.

The Patterson family had taken a baby-sitter along with them on their vacation to a Delaware beach the previous summer. The babysitter was a thirty-year-old woman who was accompanied by her eleven-year-old daughter. The girl was claiming that, on two occasions when she was not feeling well and had stayed home from the beach, Senator Patterson had come into her bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and fondled her. On a third occasion, he kissed her on the mouth when she was going to bed and no one else was around. The girl apparently told her mother about the incidents only the week before, after the mother had complained about the senator not paying her on time.

There was a direct quote from Patterson as he swept aside the girl’s allegations: “This is a disturbed young girl who, already at the age of eleven, has been in trouble with the police for shoplifting as well as with the school system for truancy My wife and I knew she had problems when we allowed our sitter to bring her with us to the beach, but her mother is an excellent child-care provider—beloved by, and very responsible with, our children—and we felt that perhaps by allowing this young girl to spend time with our family, we could help her. We all had an excellent week together at the beach. I’m perplexed and saddened by her allegations.”

Acid rose in the back of Vanessa’s throat. She read the article three more times, then hunted through other papers for more information on the girl and her accusations but found nothing. She made a copy of the article, ignoring the librarian who was telling her the library was closed and she would have to leave.

The instant she got home, she called Terri Roos, not even bothering to sit down or unbutton her coat.

“Are you aware that molestation charges were filed against Zed Patterson?” she asked Terri, pacing back and forth across the kitchen floor.

Terri yawned. “Yeah. By a very screwed-up-sounding kid.”

“Terri.” She was appalled that Terri would use those words to describe a child. Terri’s devotion to Zed Patterson was blinding her. “You knew this and didn’t mention it to me?” she asked.

“He didn’t do it, for Christ’s sake.”

“You mean, they cleared him?”

“Not yet. They had a preliminary hearing, and the trial’s next month. But it’s cut-and-dried, Vanessa. The kid is a very disturbed little girl he was trying to help.”

Vanessa was squeezing the receiver in her hand. “Listen to yourself,” she said. “You run a program for kids who were abused. You know, better than ninety-nine percent of the population, how kids can be discounted when they report this stuff. And you’re willing to say he’s innocent without even—”

“The man is a champion of victims’ rights, Vanessa. He breaks his back for kids who have suffered real abuse. There’s no way he could ever—”

“You don’t know anything about him. You’ve seen ministers and teachers and lawyers and doctors who’ve done it.” She waved her arm through the air. “For heaven’s sake, Terri, wake up.”

Terri was quiet for a long time. “Vanessa,” she said finally, “listen to me. First, I don’t appreciate being screamed at over the phone. Second, while you’ve been an incredibly hard worker and a driving force behind the network for a long time, the truth is that you’ve done jack-shit to help us out with the lobbying and other critical work that needs to be done now.”

Vanessa leaned against the wall, eyes closed, while Terri continued.

“Now, I don’t believe for half an instant that this man who breaks his back every day to protect the rights of women and kids could be guilty of hurting a child. But Vanessa—forgive me for this—even if he is guilty, he’s a powerful force in the Senate, and we need him. Got that? I mean, what do you expect us to do? Let go of the one true advocate we have because some fucked-up kid said something negative about him?”

“Actually, yes,” Vanessa said. “At least, I would hope you’d care enough to uncover the truth.”

She hung up without waiting for Terri’s reply and stood staring down at the phone. How many bridges had she burned with that call?

She glanced at the clock on the microwave. Ten-thirty. It was time for bed, but she made herself a cup of tea instead and carried it into the living room, where she settled down on the sofa with a stack of journals. She wouldn’t go to bed. Sleep would only bring her the carousel, and she knew she would fare better tonight if she didn’t sleep at all.