“We’re still within the margin of error,” Tyson reminds us, dampening the interns’ celebration of our post-debate bump in polls.
I’m leading by a hair now, but like Tyson said, it’s still anyone’s game.
I want this win so bad I can taste it. Gloria Rush doesn’t support increased funding for veterans’ assistance, which is desperately needed. The vets of Illinois will be measurably better off with me as governor. I don’t want them having to fight for what they’ve earned, and I don’t want them feeling ashamed of asking for what they need.
A story in a Chicago paper this morning about a murder-suicide by a vet with PTSD hit me hard. If he’d gotten treatment, that tragedy could have been prevented.
“We stay on message,” Tyson tells the group. “And we review the message with every new group of volunteers knocking on doors.Every time, guys. Message is everything right now.”
The door to the bus opens, and I look over at Rita, who’s smiling at whoever she opened it for. I furrow my brow in confusion, because my entire core team is on this bus right now.
“Did someone order pizza?” an intern asks hopefully.
As the person steps up onto the bus, my breath catches in my throat. It’s Reagan, her dark hair back in a ponytail. She’s wearing a tank top and sweats, her arms wrapped around herself.
“Babe, I didn’t know you were coming.” I stand up and walk to the front of the bus to greet her, rubbing her chilly upper arms.
She gives me a smile that makes me suddenly feel soft inside.
“I wanted to surprise you. Could you use another volunteer?”
There’s an apology in her tone. I nod and pull her against my chest, hugging her tight.
“You’re freezing, babe. What are you doing wearing a tank top in October?”
She laughs against me. “I know. I planned on going home for clothes first, but…I was too excited to see you, and I came straight here.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers in my ear.
I lean back and kiss her forehead, then turn to Tyson.
“Toss me that hoodie. We’re gonna go grab coffee.”
Several of the interns’ eyes gleam at the mention of coffee. It’s how we’re surviving these days.
“I’ll bring back coffee for anyone who wants it. Somebody text me a group order for Starbucks.”
Tyson tosses me the black hoodie I sometimes wear when the bus is cold, and I help Reagan into it. The sleeves hang past her hands and the bottom comes to her thighs, but it’ll keep her warm.
“I’ll take door-knocking today if you need me,” she says to Tyson.
Tyson looks down at his clipboard. “I need…door-knockers and mailer-stuffers.”
“I’m up for anything,” Reagan says.
I take her hand and lead her off of the bus. As soon as we’re alone, I wrap her up in another hug and then kiss her.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” I ask. “I might’ve actually slept last night if I’d known.”
“I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, her blue eyes glistening. “I’ve been a shitty wife lately.”
“Don’t say that. Never say that. You told me what was on your mind, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Well…I’ve just been thrown off-balance by losing my job.”
“Which wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t running for governor. It’s not your fault.”
