Page 153 of The Americana Playbook

Abby sighs. “It’s just a lot.”

Taking her hand, I give it a squeeze. “I know. But I want you to see something.”

I bring her to the dining table that we only use to store our completed puzzles, which Fitz, thankfully, was alright putting away in their respective boxes.

“I wrote a lot. When I was at Horizons.” I straighten one paper, a copy of Day 91, which I had originally written out but Fitz suggested I type instead. “I sent all this to your lawyer. These in the bags are the original copies. You’re welcome to read all of them. But based on what I wrote, I know when she got sick. And I know how many times the infirmary told her to,” I pause. “To tough it out.”

Abby’s face breaks. “I’m sorry. I…”

I pull out a chair for her to sit.

“I’m amazed you were able to do that,” she says quietly. “And I hate that. This just all feels so personal for you, Parker. These were written to your husband when you guys were kids?”

I slide into a chair beside her. “I never sent them. And I only told him recently. If I had known about Sarah, I…”

Abby shakes her head. “No. None of this is your fault. I had a bad feeling about that place when my parents sent her. And after? I tried. I tried to find others until it became too frustrating. But you found me. It’s never too late.”

After a pot of tea and reviewing what I organized, I talk to Abby about Cam, explaining how he had mentioned he would be interested in moving the bill forward. But to do that, we needed to make it astory. It needed national attention to get priority for consideration sooner rather than later. This is where Abby is wrong. Sooner rather than later matters. Because the longer we sit, the longer this abuse continues without reprimand.

“How do we do that?” Abby asks.

The convention is still an option, but my gut tells me it’s the wrong one. “We’ll talk with Cam today and see what he thinks. He should be here in a half hour.”

Abby nods. “Can I just use your restroom?”

“Of course.” I lead her to the hallway, pointing to the powder room beside the study where Fitz’s game is on. The Rebels are winning.

And today, I have a feeling, they’re going to win off the field too.

My phone chimes from where I’ve left it in the kitchen, and I rush to get it.

Congressman Cam

Hate to cancel last minute but I’ve been summoned to the White House.

A wave of nerves washes over me.

“Son of a bitch,” I mumble. I’m trying to think about what to text Cam back when there’s a knock at the door.

When it opens, I expect Agent Samuels to pop his head in. Maybe there’s a delivery. But it isn’t him. It’s another agent.Twoof them actually. Neither of them I’ve seen before.

I slide around the counter so it’s between me and them. “What are you?—"

The two agents walk forward into the base of the living room area. “Where’s your friend?” one asks.

“What the hell is?—”

“Parker?” My head flings to the right when Abby appears in the doorway.

The agents turn in place, not approaching Abby. They only motion to the door with their hands. “Ma’am, I’m afraid we have to clear the place of nonessential personnel.”

I groan even though inside, I’m sighing. At least, it’s only Mom. “You can tell the First Lady my friend can stay.”

“Parker, it’s okay. I’ll go, you can call me later, okay?” She scoots past me, mouthing,I’ll wait downstairs, but I shake my head. I want her far from this.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Fitz will be home soon.”

He won’t. And something tells me that everyone in this apartment already knows that, but it’s worth a try.

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