“You’re running for governor!” One of his friends points at me from across the table. “Against that lady who wants to spend us into the poorhouse.”
There’s a series of groans and muttered comments around the table. I can’t help smiling. Someday, I’ll be just like these guys, drinking coffee with my old-timer friends and ruminating on how good things used to be.
“Sit down, Governor,” one of the men says, gesturing to an open chair.
“I haven’t won yet,” I remind them as I sit down on the black vinyl-covered seat.
The veteran waves a hand. “Act like you have. Arrogance is half the battle these days.”
“Did you really grab that lady’s behind?” one of the guys asks, pronouncing itbee-hind. His brows are arched with curiosity.
“Absolutely not.”
“Bah.” The vet waves his hand again. “Can’t believe anything you read in the papers anymore.”
The group at the table schools me on the issues they’re most concerned about, which I’m not too surprised are Medicare, Social Security, and support for veterans.
Their issues are mostly federal ones, nothing I can have a direct role helping with if elected governor, but it’s nice to spend an hour with them anyway. It reminds me why I ran for office in the first place, which was to give people a representative who stayed true to what he ran on and who listened more than he talked.
I leave a nice tip for the waitress, who all the men assured me is a “great gal.”
On the walkback to my campaign bus, I take out my phone and see that Reagan texted me two photos. As soon as I click on the first one, my blood starts pumping harder.
It’s her at the beach, wearing a purple bikini. She’s just ankle-deep in the water, a gorgeous sunset behind her. The second picture is a selfie of her and her mom, both of them smiling radiantly.
Damn, is she gorgeous. It’s not just her physical beauty that gets me every single time, but the tenacity, intelligence, and loyalty I see in her deep blue eyes. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted and more.
My only regret is how much she’s had to give up to be with me. She’s so loyal that I think she sometimes puts me above herself, and I don’t feel right about that. If I win the election, I plan to support her fully in whatever comes next for her.
If there’s travel, we’ll make it work. I love her too much to let her dreams take a back seat to my own.
I feel a renewed sense of purpose. Five years into my marriage with Reagan, I love her and want her more than I ever have. I wake up every day to make life better for my constituents, but Reagan is the only one I serve. I’d walk through fire for that woman.
As I approach the door to walk onto the bus, though, my good mood is sucked away in an instant as I see who’s standing next to the door waiting for me.
My father-in-law.
“Stan.” I meet his eyes, but I don’t smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
He studies me for a full three seconds, seeming to size up whether I’m being sarcastic or not. I am.
“I think you know damn well why I’m here, Jude.” He glares at the closed bus door. “And your driver won’t even let me on the bus.”
“That’s because you’re not on the list.”
“I’mfamily,” he reminds me. This lying bastard is definitely not my favorite relative, but I put up with him for Reagan’s sake. “And I offered to show ID since the driver didn’t recognize me.”
Still arrogant. Even his long fall from grace didn’t change that. He hasn’t been a senator for several years now, so I’m not surprised my driver Rita didn’t recognize him.
“It’s not her fault,” I point out. “She was following rules, and you’re not on the list. Why didn’t you call first anyway? What are you doing here?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Can we talk on the bus?”
I narrow my eyes back. “Yeah, but if it’s about something that’s gonna upset Reagan, don’t expect to stay on there very long.”
“Oh, it’s something that’salreadyupset my daughter.”
Rita opens the doors and smiles at me. “Welcome back, Senator.”
