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She laughed. “I’m on it.”
Before she could go, I wrapped my arms around her. “I love you, Mom. I’m here for you.”
She held on to me fiercely. “That’s good news. I’m going to need you. Maybe you can show me where to get that five-dollar shampoo.”
I leaned back. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Was she planning on leaving John?
She patted my cheek with a sorrow so deep washing over her features. “Dear daughter, a woman needs to know when it’s time to stay and fight and when she needs to step out of the ring to fight another day. You belong in the ring, and I,” her voice quavered, “I am stepping out.”Chapter Thirty-OneOver the past several months I’d had many surreal moments. Watching Brant from the side of the Holland Industries auditorium stage during his press conference was another one of them. I clasped Brock’s hand so tight I was probably cutting off the blood supply, though he didn’t complain. We were both fixed on Brant, standing so regal in his navy suit and red power tie at the microphone, ready to change the course of his life at the same spot he had announced his candidacy only months ago. The American and Colorado flags provided a backdrop, while the glaring lights shone down on him. He stood there with no teleprompter or note cards. He was speaking from the heart today.
There were already rumors going around about why he’d called the press conference. Some speculated he was announcing that he and Jill had split up. It had been noted that they hadn’t been seen together, and his absence at the Copeland’s Thanksgiving soiree hadn’t gone unnoticed. Brant wasn’t going to address his relationship status today; he would let the rumors speak for themselves.
I stole a glance at Sheridan and John, who stood directly across from us near the stairs leading up to the stage. They were each dressed smartly in black business suits, like they were going to a funeral. In a way they were. They stood close to each other, yet they were a million miles apart. John had been forewarned not to touch Sheridan. While Sheridan was all for showing a united front for the cameras and her son, she refused to be comforted by John or to offer him any. John looked like a man without a compass, lost and afraid. Sheridan kept her gaze fixed on her son, her eyes shimmering with determination and admiration. Her son had done what her husband had not. Brant was giving up life as he knew it to save his family. If only John had been willing to do the same when he’d found out the truth. Who knows—he could have possibly taken Edward Copeland down. He could have stood up to the bully instead of becoming one himself.
Not to say I didn’t understand some of his choices and the reasoning behind them, but not only watching his son take the fall but pushing him off the cliff into the grasp of Edward Copeland in the first place—that I couldn’t fathom. Neither could Sheridan. That, more than anything, was why she was leaving him. Whether that was forever or not, no one knew. Not even Sheridan. I believed she still held out hope that her husband would do the right thing. The problem was, John believed he had and was. He felt like he’d done his part and threatened Edward. But, what had it cost him? It was Brant who had to pay the price.
Brant gripped the sides of the podium. “Thank you all for coming today,” he began, a slight tremble in his voice.
Sheridan stepped toward me and took my other hand, trying to hold it together.
“If you don’t mind, I would like to start off with a quote from Thucydides. ‘The secret to happiness is freedom. And the secret to freedom is courage.’”
Was is it me, or was that aimed at his dad?
“For most of my life I have dreamed and planned to follow in the footsteps of my father and become a senator for the great state of Colorado. A place I love and am proud to call home. To serve the wonderful people of Colorado would have been the greatest honor I’ve had thus far in my life. However . . . ,” he paused, trying to maintain his composure.
The press in the audience seemed to wait on bated breath. Even the camera flashes came to a halt.
Brant stood a little taller. “However, I have realized I was not meant to follow in my father’s steps. I must forge my own path.”
The press went nuts, lobbing questions at him, while John hung his head. His son no longer wanted to be like him. His son was courageous enough to seek freedom from the Copelands. Something John had been too afraid to do.
