“Who says that’s all I’ll be? I’ve got options.”
“I know, babe, but having you gone all the time…” He turns to look out the window. “I just wonder if it’s the right thing for us. I don’t want to keep moving in to a bigger and better office if it costs us our life together. If our kids will be splitting time between homes and not having the life we want for them. Always under scrutiny like we are.”
“You get used to it,” I say softly. “I did.”
“Do you ever wish we had a…simpler life? Where we could just go have a drink or dinner without photographers chasing us?”
“Sure,” I admit. “But with great privilege comes great responsibility.”
I follow Jude’s gaze out to the few twinkling lights left. We stay like that, lost in our own thoughts, until the room service knock sounds on the door.
And as we eat, sadness about the night ending sets in. After this, we’ll go back to bed, and I’ll be asleep soon. Then when we wake up, it’ll be back to the campaign trail grind.
I needed this night to remind me what matters most. And I wish we could have more nights like this. But for now, it’s a luxury.
The next afternoon,I’m finishing up lunch with a member of theChicago Tribune’seditorial board when my phone rings.
“Talk soon,” Elaine Hammond says, hugging me quickly and excusing herself so I can take the call.
I slide my finger across the screen to answer. “Hey, Mom. How are you?”
“Oh, I’m okay. How’s campaign life?”
“Oh, you know. Busy.”
There’s an awkward pause, because shedoesknow. My mom spent more than thirty years as the dutiful, smiling wife of a senator before being crushed by news of my father’s affair and secret family.
“You’re doing okay with it, though, right?” she asks.
“Oh, yeah.” I look from side to side, weighing whether it’s safe to speak frankly in a restaurant full of people, and think better of it. “I just finished a lunch, so I’m at a restaurant.”
“Ah. I understand.”
I get up and sling my bag over my shoulder, heading for the restaurant’s entrance. “Mom, are you okay? You sound nasal, like you’ve been crying.”
I furrow my brow with concern. My mom and I are always open with each other, and I can tell she’s not okay.
“What’s going on? Tell me.”
She sighs heavily. “You know, it’s probably nothing.”
“What’s probably nothing?”
“I had my routine mammogram, and I had to go back for a follow-up. They want to do a biopsy of a lump in my breast.”
I reach out for something to stabilize myself as light-headedness sets in. My hand lands on the rim of a huge indoor planter inside the restaurant’s lobby.
“A lump? There’s for sure a lump?”
“Yes. I thought about waiting to tell you until the results are in, but—”
“Mom, no. Why didn’t you tell me when you had to go back for a second scan?”
“It may be nothing, Reagan. The doctor will know more after the biopsy.”
I can’t cry, though it’s all I want to do right now. I’ve never even considered anything bad happening to my mom. The poor woman’s been through so much already thanks to my father.
“I want to be there with you.” I sink down onto the wooden bench next to the plant, swallowing against the knot in my throat.
