Chapter Twenty-Eight
When we pull into their driveway, I’m watching Elliot’s face more than I’m looking at our surroundings. I grew up in an agricultural community. I know what farms look like.
What I don’t know is how this will impact Elliot later.
An agent opens the back door and I gesture to Elliot. “After you, Mister Vice President.”
He rolls his eyes at me but his hand brushes across my thigh, squeezing, as he passes me and climbs out.
So this is where my boy grew up. It looks like any other typical farm. The small, two-story house stands in the middle of a perimeter of what looks like older trees, planted as a windbreak, no doubt. I see the small garden plot off to the side, where it looks like his mom is utilizing square foot gardening techniques for some of her produce, and rows for others.
I follow Elliot as we walk past the Secret Service’s RV and around the side of the house to the back door.
“Why not the front door?” I quietly ask.
Elliot smiles. “Only company who isn’t family, or salespeople, use the front door.”
“Ah.” When I was growing up, our back door led to a fenced-in yard, so no one came in that way. Ditto at Mimi’s house.
He knocks and opens it, motioning for me to follow him inside while the agents wait outside.
“Mom? Dad?” Elliot cocks his head, listening.
His mom’s head appears from a doorway, a wide smile quickly spreading across her face as she hustles down the hallway toward us. “Elliot! You didn’t tell us you were coming!”
I remain by the back door, watching. He obviously loves his mom very much. There’s a little envy there, because once again, I see someone welcomed by their family, where I’m an outcast.
Except in Elliot’s case, he doesn’t know if his parents will still accept him once he comes out. He’s reasonably sure they won’t, hence his reticence.
At least we’ll all have Meredith and Alan Cruz, if we make it that far as a triad.
Hopefully.
I miss them and haven’t yet told them I’m back in DC, because I don’t want them tipping my hand to Leo.
This situation explosively grew all sorts of complicated, and stands to get even more complicated. The Cruzes don’t know Elliot’s the true love of their son’s life and has been for over a decade.
Elliot got his gorgeous blue eyes and drop-dead good looks from his mom. Now sixty-one, Norah Woodley was only eighteen when she had Elliot. While some of the weight of her years is visible in the lines in her brow and around her eyes and lips, she’s still an attractive woman. I know Elliot inherited his height and build from his father, Oliver Woodley. Stella inherited Oliver’s brown eyes, as well as the pinched, judgmental squint she perpetually wears.
I swear if you didn’t know Elliot and Stella were related, you wouldn’t assume they were siblings, unless you saw them standing next to their parents.
Elliot turns with his arm around his mom’s shoulders. “Mom, you’ve met him before, but you might not remember him. This is Jordan Walsh. He’s my best friend, and I just hired him to be my personal assistant.”
A warm thrill runs through me at that descriptor—best friend. Norah offers me a friendly smile and a hug. “I’m pretty sure I remember you. You look familiar.”
“Yes, ma’am. We met during President Samuels’ first inauguration.”
“He decorated my residence and office,” Elliot adds. The way he smiles at me as he says it makes me want to puff with pride.
“Oh, of course. We’ve seen you at some of the holiday dinners at the White House, too, haven’t we?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“He’s living with me now,” Elliot says, nearly shocking me, until I realize why he’s saying this.
“I’m sorry?” She understandably sounds confused.
“He’s living with me in my official residence. He’s in the spare bedroom. He used to work in the East Wing, for Chris Bruunt. I didn’t have a body man, and I really need one. He’d returned to Tallahassee to work on his degree, but I managed to talk him into coming back and working for me. When you guys come visit me now, we’ll put you up at Blair House, because Jordan’s living in the bedroom you were using.”
