“Because all their questions are about my personal life, not the environment. Your concerns would get drowned out.”
She shakes her head. “If there’s no one recording what you say, you can promise us anything, and no one will ever know you said it.”
Several people in the crowd nod.
“Look, you guys have known me for more than six years now. I think I’ve proven to be a man of my word. I’m not gonna tell you what you want to hear. Mostly, I came here today to listen. But if you want to record this meeting, I have no problem with that. I just don’t want reporters in here yelling out questions that have nothing to do with what your group is about.”
The woman takes out her cell phone and points it at me, apparently deciding to record.
It’s gonna be a long day on the campaign trail.
I spendmy fifteen-minute afternoon break in a small bunk on the campaign bus, the curtain closed around me as I text with Reagan.
Me: This would be the perfect time for some stress relief. I’m just sayin’…
She sends back a laughing emoji. What the fuck? Am I the only one dying from lack of sex? I type out another message.
Me: Any idea when you’ll be back?
Reagan: Not yet.
My skin tingles with the same awareness I used to feel in combat situations. Something’s not right. But I can’t come out and say that, because if our conversation is being monitored, something could be misconstrued and used against me.
But I have to say something.
Me: You doing okay, babe?
Reagan: I’m great. Getting a tan and learning to cook some of my mom’s favorite recipes. How about you? Busy?
She’s campaigned before, and she has access to my schedule. She has to know I’m working my ass off. And I selfishly wish she wanted to be here with me.
Me: Yeah, very busy.
Reagan: How are the new staffers working out?
Me: Pretty good overall.
Reagan: You seem distant. Is everything okay?
Iseem distant? She’s the one working on her tan in Florida and not seeming to miss me at all while I’m lying in a hot, coffin-sized bunk with a raging boner.
I try to cool my resentment. Reagan deserves a break, and she doesn’t spend enough time with her mom.
Me: I’m okay. Just tired. And missing you.
Reagan: I miss you too. There’s so much I want to talk to you about. I’ve had a lot of time for thinking about things here.
Me: Such as?
Reagan: Nothing I can say right now.
Fuck. I’ve had it with not being able to have a real conversation with my wife. Not to mention my frustration over not being able to touch her or even lay eyes on her.
I’m fighting hard in this race, because I want her sacrifices for me to be worth it. I want her to be proud of me. But I don’t want to do it alone.
Before I proposed to Reagan, I thought long and hard about spending the rest of my life with her. Would I grow restless? Would I miss the freedom of the unmarried life?
I decided she was worth taking the leap for. Since the moment I laid eyes on her, she’s been the only one for me. And surprisingly, marriage suited me well from the beginning. I’ve never felt restless or in need of space.
