Page 56 of This Means War

Lydia

I’m still basking inthe glow of Cole’s kisses later that afternoon. He’s across the hall, back at work, and I’m attempting to read the book he snatched from me earlier, but every time I try to force myself to focus on the words on the page my brain instead chooses to relive that moment when he tossed my book aside and scooped me into his arms. The memory makes me feel warm and tingly all over again.

I’m just thinking about the part where his hands slid up my back and settled in my hair, when my phone dings. Distractedly I pull it towards me. As the words from the incoming text register, my happy glow fades out.

It’s from an unfamiliar number and the words chill me.

Guess your sordid secret is out. Tsk. Tsk.

Below the text is a link to a blog post on some site called Deb’s Deets. The tagline reads, “A BlogDedicated to Exposing Political Scandals Across the Nation.”

My eyes move down the page, and as I read the headline of the most recent blog post, humiliation burns my cheeks.

CHILDHOOD SWEETHEARTS OR A ONE NIGHT STAND GONE WRONG?

Meet Cole Jacobson, a mayoral candidate in Holland, Michigan. Meet Lydia Hamlin, his new wife and the mother of their twin babies due in November. On paper they appear to be an idyllic couple, and that’s certainly the image Jacobson’s campaign has been putting forth to the public. Two young lovers who knew each other as children reconnect and find insta-love. It’s like something out of a country song. But is that the whole truth?

An anonymous source came forward today to share the real story.

While the two certainly were friends as children, theirs was no whirlwind romance. Instead, they ran into each other on a weekend of bachelor and bachelorette parties, where, our source claims, they shared one night of passion that turned into an unwelcome pregnancy.

Jacobson, whose campaign is built largely around his family values platform, had no choice but to marry Hamlin despite the fact that he had another lover waiting in the wings.

“He was dating his coworker Ashley Allen,” the source confirmed, “then all of the sudden he wasannouncing his marriage to someone else. I knew something fishy was going on. I wasn’t at all surprised when his new wife turned out to be pregnant.”

The source went on to highlight how his campaign spin team has been hard at work trying to keep the public’s attention off the pair’s unseemly beginning, but unfortunately for them, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that five months of marriage and six months of pregnancy adds up to a baby conceived out of wedlock. Bye-bye family values, hello scandal.

As for Lydia, her inauspicious career as a running coach at a small Christian middle school leaves our source wondering if she didn’t in fact plan the couple's supposedly unplanned pregnancy. “It just looks suspicious to me,” the source says, “that this woman who had virtually nothing going for her, ends up pregnant with a rich guy’s baby. I can’t help but think she knew exactly what she was doing when she slept with him. After all, she couldn’t even get into her own parents’ alma mater for law school. Her future was looking grim.”

The article goes on, but the tears stinging my eyes blur the words, making them unreadable. Shame roars in my ears, and I have to gasp for air as panic settles in my chest. How many people have seen this article? Do they believe the ugly words about me? What if someone from my school sees this? Who is the anonymous source that somehow knew intimate details of our story?

Question after question circles through my mind, but the only answer I come up with is thatthis is what I deserve.

My phone chirps in my hands, and I look down to see my mom’s name on the screen. Panic clutches my chest even more tightly. Surely she hasn’t seen this; it’s just a coincidence that she’s calling. But as I let her call go to voicemail, my phone beeps again, this time with a text message from one of my favorite track team parents. She’s sent a link to the Facebook group for parents at Faith. When I click into it, I see the blog post has been posted there, and the comments are flooding in. Another text from her arrives, and I glance at it apprehensively.

Just thought I’d give you a heads up about what’s being said. I didn’t want you to be blindsided. We’re on your side of course. The whole team is fighting for you.

Her words don’t buoy my spirits at all though, not when there are more than a dozen other parents in the group calling for my dismissal.

I look back at the blog post. It’s only been published for an hour and already it’s this widespread. How is that possible? Is this Arnold’s campaign’s doing? It’s the only thing that makes sense, and yet it feels so cold and personal. We’ve never even met, and yet here he is dragging my name through the mud just for the sake of his political aspirations.

My phone rings again. This time it’s Jamie. I can’t bring myself to answer even her call, so her voicemail joins my mom’s in my inbox. More texts start beeping in, but I don’t read them, not wantingto know who else has something to say about my humiliation.

The doorbell rings insistently from the front of the house, not once but three times in quick succession. Across the hall I hear Cole come out of his office.

“I’ll get that, Lydia,” he calls. I can tell by his voice he hasn’t seen the article. What will he say when he does? Cold fear grips me. Cole only married me to protect his campaign. Now that our secret is out, will he abandon me and the twins? Maybe all the kisses we’ve shared haven’t meant as much to him as they have to me. After all, he’s got Ashley waiting in the wings with her law degree and, and her, her…empty uterus.

My phone beeps again, and my eyes automatically flit to the screen. It’s an email this time. It’s from Faith’s principal, and the subject line says, “We need to talk.”

Oh good. Something to look forward to then. I was really hoping to be 24-years-old, abandoned by my husband, two babies on the way, and jobless. Not to be dramatic or anything.

“Calm down, Dad. What article are you talking about?” Cole’s voice carries down the hall, and I’m instantly alert. Mr. Jacobson is here. I feel a weird mixture of apprehension and relief. Maybe he can fix this, you know, after he finishes yelling at us.

I strain to hear what’s being said next, but there’s an ominous silence. Cole must be reading the article.

“This is pathetic,” Cole finally speaks, his voicehard and disgusted. Another rush of shame sweeps over me as I imagine him reading those awful words about me. “You really think people are going to place stock in some random blogger’s gossip rag?”

“She’s not just some random blogger, Cole. This woman has exposed politicians at the federal level on her, as you called it, gossip rag. She’s got over a million subscribers.”

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