were several reasons why I decided to come back when I did,” he began in deep, measured tones. “One, of course, is that I missed everything and everyone.” For a breath of an instant, his gaze focused on Simone’s face, then moved away. “The other, and even more important, is that I think it’s time—past time—that we took measures into our own hands.”
Justin stiffened and Vaughn quickly put a halting hand on his arm.
“What are you saying, Chad?” Samantha asked. “We turn the clock back to the sixties and get out in the street—in force? Because if it is, I’m with you one hundred percent.” She made sure not to catch her father’s eyes, but she knew he was glaring at her.
“I was thinking about something that will provoke national attention, with no physical risk to anyone,” Chad offered.
The room fell silent, quiet enough to hear each chord of the keyboard played by Herbie Hancock on a track from his latest CD. He almost sounded like the Herbie of old, the young wizard on the ivories with Miles, stretching an old standard to its creative limits.
It was Chad who broke the spell of the music as he spoke solemnly to the others. “I want to launch a class action suit against the D.C. police department on behalf of all victims and families of victims who have been killed, beaten and unjustly jailed by police. I want it to set a precedent so that the same lawsuit can be brought in every state across the country. I want to bring all of those families together in one massive action against the Justice Department of the United States. It may not be possible to get everyone on board, but it’s worth a try.”
The silence deepened as the mammoth ramifications of Chad’s daring proposal took root. Carefully, he gauged one expression after the other, measuring their reaction. Justin looked stern and contemplative, Vaughn awed. He could see the wheels spinning in the eyes of Samantha and an awakening in the face of Simone.
“It can be done,” he added. “People engage in class action suits all the time for poor or dangerous products, illness resulting from improper medication. You name it. But no one has yet to take on the entire law enforcement apparatus, the vicious national policy of police brutality as a whole, the entire machine and mentality that oils them—the Justice Department.”
“It would be unprecedented,” Samantha finally said, fully grasping the enormity of it.
“But a massive undertaking,” Simone added, also thinking of the legal and political maneuvering involved.
“That’s why I need your help.” He looked with a plea in his eyes from Simone to Samantha. “Simone, you have a strong foothold in the community. You’re gaining a political edge and it would give your platform for the Assembly seat that much more bite and focus.”
Simone thought about it and knew it was true. This could very well be the key to seal her election run—or destroy it. Any action taken on a federal level was always risky.
“And Sam, you’re the fire. You’re out there every day, in the trenches. The press knows you, the people know you. And not just here in D.C. Your name gets noticed in the media across the country. You could easily represent the national voice of the people.”
Simone glanced briefly at her sister, who looked mesmerized by the possibility, seduced by the beam of notoriety. And in that instant, a twinge of something unnamed lurked and found a dark refuge in the corner of her mind. Her gaze trailed to Chad and the same determined look as Samantha’s lit his face. That thing burrowed a bit deeper.
“Are you really prepared—legally—to pursue something like this?” Justin cut in, breaking the trance, scattering the thing deeper into hiding.
“Yes, I am,” Chad stated emphatically. “I’ve been preparing for months. And I’d like you to work with me on the legal end.”
Justin looked at his wife.
“You realize that once this process begins and the wheels are in motion, the momentum will be too powerful to stop,” Vaughn said, imagining the ripple effect on the Hill, the sides that would be taken on both sides of the aisle—and most of all the toll it would take on her family. She studied the eager and determined expressions of her children, of Chad, who was like a son, and looked across at her husband, whom she trusted beyond measure. She spoke only to him. “Whatever you decide to do, I’m behind you.”
Justin squeezed her hand and nodded, both of them knowing his decision.
Chad sighed audibly, then slowly smiled. “We can do this,” he said in an almost hushed reverence. “And when we do—everything will change.”
Simone helped Vaughn gather up the dishes and load the dishwasher while surreptitiously stealing glances at Samantha and Chad, who were locked in animated conversation, peppered with musical notes of laughter and light touches on a hand or arm.
Her stomach bobbed up and down like a buoy on rough seas, and the tightness in her throat was the only thing that kept her from screaming.
But at what? she wondered, frowning as she turned the dials and the machine churned to life. She had no hold on Chad, no claim on his heart. He was a free man. Free to do as he chose, as was she. So was Samantha. All unclaimed. Then why did it feel as if that weren’t true?
Chad was spending his first night in Justin and Vaughn’s guest room, both of them adamantly refusing to let him spend the night in a hotel.
Samantha and Simone said their good-byes, giving their parents the ritualistic kiss, hug and promise to call.
Simone stood aside as Chad embraced Samantha, lightly kissing her cheek and conveying something she could not hear. She glanced away.
“We’ll talk,” Simone suddenly heard close to her ear as her sister sped away. She turned and Chad was at her side, gazing at her in that familiar way of his.
Simone looked up. “Sure.”
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. His lips stayed pressed against her flesh for a moment too long and the old sensations roared to the surface. Did he feel it, too? Her heart pumped faster. “It was good seeing you again, Simone,” his voice caressed. “You’re more beautiful than I remember.” His finger stroked her cheek and it took all her will power not to tremble.
“Maybe we could get together—for lunch or dinner.”
“I’m really busy, Chad…”
He held up his hand. “Hey, no explanations needed. I understand. Maybe some other time.” He opened the car door and held it until Simone was behind the wheel.
She stuck her key in the ignition and the engine purred to life. She pressed a button and the window lowered halfway.
Chad leaned down. “Get home safely.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled and backed out of the driveway.
Chad watched the car until it turned out of the drive and tore off down the smooth, black-tarred road.
Slowly, he turned back toward the house and quietly shut the door behind him.
That night, lying in bed, Chad stared through the sheer curtains that billowed with the light spring breeze and out onto the seamless blue blanket, sprinkled with star dust. He was home, among those who loved him, and it felt good. Very good.
It all seemed so quiet, so perfect, as if all was right with the world. How deceptive a quiet night could be. Behind closed doors, strategies were devised, lies constructed, papers read, televisions watched and lovers loved. He and Simone were perfect examples of a quiet night, both projecting a picture of cool control, an emotional distance, while still maintaining a tangible warmth. He turned on his side, his thoughts still turbulent.
She’d changed. That was obvious. There was a toughening of her edges, a new aloofness that he didn’t remember being a part of who she was. Perhaps it was the work, the things she’d seen and had to find a way to deal with. There was no way she could successfully coexist in the world of politics without developing a tough exterior.