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He’s already helped so much with the campaign. He’s been a favorite at rallies and press interviews. If Stuart Ballerini gets elected, he’ll owe an enormous debt to his younger brother.
“I hate asking you to do more. You’ve got your own career.”
He leans in. “We’re family, kid. I’m here for you. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t. Dad’s got a heavy schedule all next week. He could use some support at his events in Em City.”
“You got it.”
“I’ll send you a list so you can figure out what works with your schedule.”
“Like I said, you got it.”
“Thank you, Uncle Josh. Don’t know what Dad and I would do without you.”
He grins but I could swear his tired eyes get misty. “You’ll never have to find out.”
He sends me on my way with my chocolate scones. I’m hungry enough to eat them on the road. Last night I forgot all about dinner because I was busy.
Busy stewing infeelingsbecause I’d begun to convince myself that I was falling for a raging asshole.
Ordinarily, I would have called Dani and cried on my best friend’s shoulder while eating junk food in front of a large screen that was broadcasting something iconic and emotional likeThe Notebook.
But Dani’s brother is the ‘asshole’ in the equation so I can’t go venting too hard to her. She and Micah have a close relationship. I’d never want to get in the middle of that.
When she asks about Micah, which she inevitably will, I’ll just make it sound as if I have no time for anything serious.
Really, Idon’thave time.
The looming election date feels like a doomsday countdown. Or a liberation countdown. I can’t decide which.
Thanks to a comic book convention, my usual parking garage is full. The fact that I have a paid pass is meaningless when there are no empty spaces available. I end up traveling three blocks away and paying thirty bucks to squat in an underground lot beneath a modern Catholic church.
It’s kind of a pain in the ass, considering the route I need to walk is paved with dark yellow cobblestone bricks that some genius convinced city leaders to install decades ago. Perhaps they looked nice at one time but now they are just fractured, uneven heel traps.
At least the weather is perfect. This is the time of year when Emerald City shines.
Growing up in rich West Emerald, the city often felt like something distant, something menacing. A place where bad news happened. As an adult I’ve grown more fond of this city, enjoying the time I spent living downtown with Dani.
Then my family life imploded and I wound up back in my yellow bedroom, trying to snuff out stone angel nightmares.
Many months have passed since I last visited the cemetery where my mother is buried. After closing myself in the tiny office I use when I’m working at headquarters, I pull up my favorite local florist. Going back and forth between sunflowers and yellow roses, I settle on a mixed bouquet to be sent to the grave of Diana LaSalle Ballerini. The other flower arrangements on various sad, lonely graves all over the cemetery are usually shades of red and pink. But my preference has always been for the more cheerful yellow. Even if I never see the flowers for myself, someone else might see them and maybe feel a little bit better about the day.
The social media team has sent me a summary of all the activity for the last twenty-four hours. Skimming through it and finding nothing that requires an immediate response, I shift gears and open my laptop to sort through real estate listings. I’ve started a spreadsheet of all the things Conner is looking for in a home.
There are other things I ought to be doing right now but looking at real estate listings keeps my mind from going other places. Unpleasant places.
“You want your pussy eaten out on the regular? I’m on the job. But if you need couch time and companionship, go borrow Charlotte’s puppy.”
There’s no one else in the room. Yet I feel the urge to hide my face in mortification. I’m sure I’m not alone. Somewhere out there, perhaps in this very building, sits a girl licking her own wounds because the boy she likes doesn’t like her nearly as much.
I feel sorry for her, this unknown girl. I feel sorry for me.
My phone jingles and I jump. It’s the old fashioned bell tone I’ve assigned to my father. For a split second I think about letting the call go to voicemail.
“Hi, Dad. How did the morning rally go?”
He starts talking over me before I finish asking the question. His words are angrily clipped. “You said it would be in an auditorium.”
