“Seems like we add letters every day for being gay,” Bryce says with a caustic laugh.
“Try to keep up,” Kimba says. “It’s the least we can do.”
“Yes, well, you’re running a candidate now who hits on several categories,” he says. “Susan Bowden, a gay woman, married with three children. How’s the Denver race going?”
If he’s sniffing around a story, we can’t afford to give anything away, not with Kristin barely contained.
“Susan is an exceptional leader.” My smile comes naturally. “We expect big things from her—things that will benefit people who need better representation, especially women seeking equal pay.”
“I keep hearing about women not making as much,” Bryce says with a shrug. “But you ladies seem to be doing really well, and a lot of other women, too.”
“We command the same rates as our peers,” Kimba replies. “Every woman is not in a position to demand. Those are the ones we fight for.”
“Yes, well,” Bryce continues. “You mentioned your book, Louder. In it, you’re very critical of some of this nation’s forefathers, Ms. Hunter. Men widely recognized as heroes.”
“Recognizing their contributions without exposing their shortcomings, the discrepancies between rhetoric of freedom and systemic mistreatment and exclusion of marginalized groups, is a disservice,” I say, trying to check my irritation. “As for them being heroes, how could I consider Andrew Jackson, a president who ratified the death of my ancestors, a hero? A man who sent them on the Trail of Tears? Is he my hero? The men who stripped us of our heritage, stole our language, forbade our customs—they aren’t my heroes. My ancestors, the people who resisted them, those are heroes to me.”
“Forgive me.” Bryce leans forward, his eyes gleaming, obviously relishing the rise he gets out of me. “But your sentiments don’t sound very patriotic.”
“Dissent is the highest form of patriotism,” I quote. “I love this country too much to settle for the lies written in our history books. I love the constitution too much not to hold the men who wrote it accountable for the truth of its principles.”
“Some would call your perspective radical.”
“Some would be right,” I say with my sweetest smile. “I’ll continue loving this country on one hand and exposing the government’s kleptocratic practices on the other.”
“What are we supposed to do with that information, Ms. Hunter?” Bryce asks. “Feel guilty for something our ancestors did? Doesn’t this line of discussion simply perpetuate the divisiveness that’s tearing our country apart? How is this productive?”
“Not only is it productive, it’s essential. Most Americans don’t really know the full truth of what happened to Native people because our history books don’t tell it. We have to know what happened if we are to ensure it never happens again. And it’s not just what occurred in the past, but what’s still happening. We’re still living with it, and there are things that can be done now. This is not about blaming for the past. It’s about us all being responsible for the future.”
Bryce blinks at me, apparently at the end of his combative line of questioning, and turns his attention to Kimba. The light of battle in her eyes tells him he doesn’t want any of that, and he offers a softer version of the thrust and parry for the next few minutes, until we break and add Owen Cade to the set.
“You’re doing great, girls,” Bryce says, patting Kimba’s hand.
“We’re not your girls,” I say mildly. “We’re your guests, and thanks for having us.”
He watches me for an extra few seconds, picking through what is admittedly backhanded appreciation. “Thanks for coming at the last minute,” he finally replies.
I want to ask why the last minute. He doesn’t seem particularly interested in our book, our causes or us in general, but I’m distracted by Owen Cade taking the seat next to me. They’re checking his mic, which gives me a chance to check him.
I’ve seen him before, of course. He’s a California senator, but our paths have crossed very little. Maybe that was intentional on my part. I’ve never allowed myself to think too much about it. About him. Or about his brother.
He couldn’t be more unlike Maxim. Where Maxim is dark-haired and green-eyed like his father, Owen looks very much like his mother, fair with blue eyes. Truly and literally the golden boy of politics. He reaches across the aisle, manages to remain civil in the most vitriolic political climate, and at least, as far as I’ve heard, never cheats on his wife.
“Ladies,” he says to Kimba and me once he’s settled. “Glad to be on with you today. I don’t think we’ve ever actually met, but I know of your father and grandfather, of course, Ms. Allen. Their contribution to the civil rights movement is invaluable. So sorry for your family’s loss.”
Kimba’s grandfather died years before, but her father passed away from a heart attack just a few months ago. Pain tweaks her expression for a second, but she clears it and pulls the professional mask in place before most would notice. “Thank you, Senator Cade,” she replies.
“Please,” he says. “Call me Owen.”
She won’t. Neither will I.
“And you, Ms. Hunter.” He turns that piercing blue stare on me. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time.”
“Really?” I keep my voice neutral and am relieved when Bryce asks for our attention to review the next segment. It’s mainly questions for Owen, but Bryce wants us all to be prepared.
“We’re back,” Bryce says into the camera, “and joined by Senator Owen Cade. Thank you for being with us, Senator.”
“Thank you for having me,” Owen replies. I wonder if his humility is an act. Has to be. His father and brother certainly aren’t humble. Maybe he’s just the best actor of the family.
Bryce is much more solicitous with the fine senator than he was with us. Even if Owen wasn’t one of the most powerful members of the Senate, he’d still have the famous Cade pedigree on his side. That always garners attention and respect. Bryce’s opening salvos are pretty standard, inquiring about Owen’s recent votes and positions he’s known to hold on safe topics. But Beltway wouldn’t be as popular as it is if Bryce didn’t go for the jugular, and ask the questions everyone wants to know.
“And can we soon officially add presidential hopeful to your titles, Senator?” he asks cagily.
Owen laughs, his posture relaxed, and sits back in his chair. He crosses an ankle over one long leg with the same physical ease and strength as his brother.
“I’m not ruling it out,” he says. “I’m not prepared to make any announcements quite yet, though.”
“Your family has a history in politics,” Bryce continues, “but is even better known for business. Cade Energy, led by your father, and CadeCo, led by your brother, who are famously estranged from one another. Where do you fall in the spectrum of their beliefs?”
“I’m not my father or my brother.” The affable smile dissolves from Owen’s face, and I see traces of the ruthlessness his family is known for. “I represent the people of California, and have for the last ten years. My brother is, as most know, a strong proponent of clean energy and my father is in oil and gas. I believe climate change is one of the most pressing issues we face now and assuredly in the foreseeable future. However, I’m a pragmatist, and understand change doesn’t happen overnight. We are an oil-producing and dependent country. Millions of jobs are tied to fossil fuel production. I believe in responsibly transitioning this nation to less fossil fuel dependence as we cultivate green-energy solutions like wind and solar.”