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After dinner, we were all sitting on the front porch as the sun made its slow descent to the horizon. Jo was singing a Patsy Cline song on the porch swing with her feet in Grant’s lap. Daisy was in Keaton’s lap as they looked dreamily toward the horizon. Mama and Allen sat in rockers side by side, his hand over hers where it rested on the arm. When we’d confronted Mama about coming home in her clothes from last night, she’d just sighed and smiled and told us to get used to it. We were too happy for her to do anything but what we were told.
But I sat alone on the porch, my heart reaching across town for Duke, willing the sunset to speed up and hoping time might stop once the darkness came. Every moment that ticked by brought me closer to the end, and I decided I didn’t want to wait for fate to decide anymore. If he knew I loved him and if he loved me too, there had to be some way out of this.
There had to be.
So as I walked to meet Duke late that night, I thought of all the things I wanted to say, imagined him declaring his feelings, pictured us being together again after so long. And the worst part was that I believed in it so wholly, by the time I stepped into the clearing, I’d hyped myself up to confessing how I felt.
My wild, hopeful smile fell when I saw him sitting on a felled tree, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, head bowed as if in prayer. His strong shoulders were curved, hands cradling his hanging head, and he didn’t rise when I appeared.
“Duke?”
He lifted his gaze as if it weighed a thousand pounds, his eyes pained and smudged beneath with dark shadows.
“What happened?” I asked, rushing to him.
His hands parted to make space for me, and I stepped into it gladly. His arms wound around my waist, his cheek pressed against my chest as he held me in silence for a long, painful moment.
My heart thumped, bumping my ribs.
“What happened?” I asked again, stroking his hair.
He let me go, his head hanging again as I stepped back. “I saw Charlie today, and we had an… enlightening conversation.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rose. “Oh?” I said quietly.
“I don’t know how… I don’t know how to even say this. I’ve been trying to figure it out all day, and I still don’t know.”
“Then just say it.”
Again, he met my eyes. “Drop out of the race, Poppy. Please. I’ll get on my hands and knees. I’ll do anything you want just… just walk away from it.”
Shock gripped me, white knuckled. “What?”
“I have to lock this down or everything I’ve worked for is lost. My future in politics, my job, all of it. So I’m begging you—please, drop out.”
“You… you want me to… you want me to just give it to you?” I stepped back, then again. “To throw away my responsibility to the town, for what? As a favor to you? How could you even ask that of me?”
“You can have it when I leave.”
“How about I have it now and you just leave.” I stared at him, stunned. “I can’t believe you want me to drop out for you.”
“Not for me. For you.”
He reached into his bag behind him and pulled out the Lindenbach newspaper, extending it in my direction. With cold hands, I took it, sinking to a nearby stump as I read.
The headline was generic enough, MAYORAL RACE HEATS UP IN SPRINT TO ELECTION, but the split photo of Duke and I at the debate set the tone—I was mid-sentence and looked like a monster and he was the very picture of dignity and patriotism. My frantic eyes skimmed the article, my heart sinking into my roiling stomach. Duke had been interviewed in an unfair and one-sided take on the election that, in essence, assassinated my character. He’d outlined in great detail the many reasons I was unfit for the position, which was a fair enough shot—God knew I’d taken my own.
What was absolutely unforgivable was that he went after my family.
Jo was a troublemaker, our cousin came in from California and helped block a “much needed” big box chain. Daisy had been an accomplice in the great betrayal of our town (if you asked Doug Windley) by helping the homeless. In not so many words but no uncertain terms, Duke had even gone after Mama for raising such women. It was a diplomatic slap in the face, pushing the line just shy of name calling.
I tore my eyes away from the deplorable article to drill holes into him with my glare. He looked miserable.
My new goal in life was to make him feel worse.
