He waves it off. “Benchley, when we’re alone.”
“Go home, Daddy. Your meter’s running.”
“Okay, okay. But we’ll be over in the morning.”
“No earlier than nine.”
For sure, I think he’s going to argue with me, then he laughs again. “Nine, sweetheart.” He kisses my cheek, then Momma gives me another hug and kiss, and they leave.
Owen leaves with them, goes to his townhouse, and is back in the living room in under forty-five seconds.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard him run up those stairs so damn fast in my life.
Now that we’re alone and locked in, Carter lets Owen carry me upstairs to our bedroom. Instead of bed, though, I want a damn fucking shower, inmyshower.
We take one together, and they tenderly scrub me, help me shave everything…
And then the three of us curl up together inourbed, naked, with me in the center and my hands clasped around theirs and pressed against my tummy.
This is absolutelythemost perfect moment in my life.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Now — Election night.
Tonight, we’re watching general election returns in our usual suite in the downtown Tampa hotel.
Hey, why screw with what works?
Yes, I know that’s superstitious, but after what I survived, I think I can be cut a little slack in that department.
Owen won his primary, but based on the number of votes he received, he likely would have won even if it was the general. There’s been a huge influx of voters registering as Independent ever since my ordeal, both new voters and people changing their party affiliation.
It’s left the Dems and the GOP scrambling to plug their sinking ships, Daddy chuckling over his sneaky daughter’s shameless politicizing of her “ordeal,” and Carter confident we’ll win tonight’s general election.
This has been acrazyfour years. Especially the last several months. Okay, it’s been a crazy twenty years, if you count from when I first met Carter and Owen in college.
Admittedly, surviving a plane crash and being shipwrecked adds to the crazy factor, just a smidge.
I don’t know how Carter’s kept my pregnancy a secret for as long as he has, but he’s done it.
Somehow, I suspect Daddy had a hand in helping with that. I wonder how many favors he’s had to call in. Not much longer before I’ll be really showing. The loose, flowing blouses and dresses I’ve been wearing will only help so far after a certain point.
At least one thing’s for certain—my plucky story of survival has likely guaranteed Owen’s re-election.
The fact that I only took an additional two weeks off after my return—and even then was working from home despite Carter trying to overrule me—shamed our opponents, who could easily be silenced by simply referring to the time I already “took off” due to almost dying in a plane crash and then having to fight for survival for several weeks…just to literally put myself back on the campaign trail.
And bringing Connie home with me. Even she’s publicly said in interviews that if it wasn’t for me, she would have died. No, I didn’t ask her to say that.
Can damn sure bet I’m using it to our benefit. Yeah, I’m shameless when it comes to exploiting even the tiniest advantage. I won’t deny it. I get it honestly, from Benchley, and from Carter.
The ruthless politician in me revels in the leverage my ordeal gave us, and in the state-wide fifty-point exit poll lead we’re currently enjoying over our closest rival.
Doesn’t mean it’s a slam-dunk tonight. Never assume that until all the ballots are counted.
But even Daddy’s relaxed and not stressing. If he’s not stressing over election results, then it’s as close to a guaranteed result as you can get without the actual votes being counted.
Owen, bless his heart, wishes we could scream from the rooftops that we’re going to be parents. Maybe in a different timeline we could do that. But this is the path we’ve chosen, and that means there are concessions to make. Instead of a public celebration, he has to pretend not only that I’m not pregnant, but that it’s not his baby.
