I slip my arm around Darcy, and he looks down at me. I smile, mouth the words, “I love you,” and bump my hip into him.
He leans down and gives me the sweetest forehead kiss before saying, “I love you, Hayden.”
Nothing else. I will never need anything else than this right here.
Chapter Thirty
Darcy
With a gritted smile, I force myself through the gathered crowd to the front of the banquet room within Ophelia Estate, step onto the stage behind the podium, and adjust the microphone. At any moment, I could tumble over. My knees are spaghetti noodles and my arms are fifty pound dumbbells. My heart can’t decide if it wants to panic or stop.
While applause erupts, I peruse the room, exquisitely decorated in a variety of red, white, and blue flowers, American flags, and dimmed lights. Mother had a team come in and decorate the room for election night. Hayden has spent the day managing the campaign team, checking polls, and doing wifely things such as stolen kisses in private and short squeezes of my hand for reassurance.
Marcus, my new brother (which I’m still trying to wrap my head around as it’s only been a few weeks since we both found out), and Priscilla, opted to announce their support for my candidacy and are in attendance here at my election night watch party.
Richard did not drop out of the race like so many people were calling out for him to do, but the polls show he is the biggest loser of tonight. I just have to beat out the Democratic candidate at this point.
Taking in a deep breath—and trying not to salivate over hints of Italian spices wafting into the room from the kitchen—I lock eyes with my wife, who is wearing a dazzling smile and a long-sleeved, ribbed, button-up white dress that hits right below her knees. At the nod of her head and bounce of her curls, I begin my election night opening speech.
“Thank you all for coming out to my election watch party tonight. As you may know, early voting results are not necessarily in my favor, but those votes are just the tip of the iceberg. As the eastern states begin rolling in their voting day numbers, my team and I expect to see a dramatic increase in our favor. Thank you for your unwavering support throughout this campaign, and no matter what happens tonight, you all have been the best team and support group a person could ask for. Enjoy the night.”
Hands clap together in a thunderous sound while I make my way down the few short steps and off the elevated platform, right into the loving arms of my wife.
“You did good,” she whispers in my ear. I squeeze her tight, inhaling the scent of daisies and vanilla and sunlight. We break apart and make our way to the viewing room that the team set up. I take a seat while Paul and Hayden pull up the live electoral map on the big screen at the front of the room. Other computers are lined up alongside the walls with current voting trends, statisticsbroken down at local and state levels, and different news stations on mute with the captions on.
“The eastern polls close in thirty minutes,” Paul says with a smile and two claps of his hands. “This is going to be a long night, as you already know, but it’s going to be worth it when Mr. Marshall gets to stand in front of the nation and give his first presidential address.” The team nods and shouts their agreements, and I’m swept up in the vitality of the night. It’s going to be one of the longest nights I’ve ever encountered—second only to my sister’s death—but I won’t need coffee to stay awake; my nerves are wired enough for the job of ten espresso shots.
As the minutes tick by, I try not to look at the clock and instead focus on silent prayers asking God for His will to be done, and also selfishly asking that His will is for me to win the election. Bargaining thoughts begin to form, but I quickly shove them aside; it’s not smart to try and bargain with God. I sit there, twiddling my thumbs, because at this point, there is nothing left I can do but pray and wait.
“Son, I’m so proud of you.” Hands fold around my shoulders, and I look up to see my mom standing behind me, gazing lovingly down at me. I smile and place one of my hands over hers. Her admiration fills me with warmth and goodness—traits that could have only come from her.
The way she has handled the news about my father’s affair, talking with Martha Loveless and allowing her into our space as she divorces Richard, has thoroughly winded me. I don’t think I could have done it if I were her, but then again, I actively talk to Priscilla again. Mostly because of my brother, though.
“Thanks, Mom. But I should say that without you, I wouldn’t be the man I am today. I owe every ounce of success I’ve had to you and your pure, kind heart.”
“Oh,” she cries and wraps her arms around my neck. I stand up and twist in her arms, wrapping my arms around her waist.
“Seriously, Mom, how did you put up with him for so long?”
She cries again and stutters out, “You called me ‘Mom’. I haven’t heard that word since you were nineteen and Ophelia passed away.”
My body still stiffens at the mention of my sister’s name, but I choose to overcome it and breathe, mandating each muscle in my body to relax. “It was hard to deal with her death, and then finding out about what Father did. Calling you ‘Mother’ instead of ‘Mom’ was a way to dissociate from reality, I think. It placed you at arm's length, though you never respected that subconscious decision of mine.” I try to laugh, but instead, a dry cough releases.
She lets go of me and pinches my cheeks. “No son of mine is going to push me away,” she says in a cooing voice before laughing.
“Goodness, Mom. Stop it.” I laugh, stepping away from her. “It’s election night for crying out loud. Do you know how many cameras are outside these doors?”
“It will only help your case if the nation sees how much you love and adore your mother.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” I roll my eyes. “But seriously, Mom. How did you overcome what he did? I heard you all those nights, sobbing in your room alone. I’d walk in and you’d wipe away the tears and smile like you had been smiling the entire night.”
Mom smiles a sad smile, then she grabs my hands. “I had to be strong for us, Darcy. You were all I had left. Ophelia left us, and your father couldn’t handle the pain. He found his way to escape it. At the time, it hurt, knowing he was with other women, but I felt I couldn’t blame him because I was a shell of a human at the time. I had to find a way to escape the pain, too, and in all honesty, looking after you was my escape.”
I squeeze her hands, and she looks away from my eyes. “I know I am not to blame for his infidelity—nor for his decision to be unfaithful. It was his decision. But I was not the wife, the partner, he needed to lean on through his own grief. Grief is deceptive like that, you know. People think trauma will bind souls together, but sometimes, it rips and snaps the bonds so intricately sewn together until there’s nothing left but a gaping wound.”
“I’m so sorry, Mom.” I hear her. I see what she’s saying, but I can’t bring myself to make the same excuses for Father that she makes for him. He should have helped her through, as the man, no matter what.
He should have helped me instead of verbally beating me into emotionless submission.
