I’d closed the door before she could say something smart, earning myself a frown. For some strange reason, I’m still carrying that frown with me like a good luck charm as I open the door of City Hall. But something—maybe the fact that I know Addison is watching—compels me to stop and face the cameras. A move I definitely didn’t plan. Based on the way the reporters go silent, they don’t expect it, either. I might be a politician, but I’m not the kind that uses every opportunity in front of the camera to manufacture sound bites.
“I just wanted to say that I have no hard feelings toward Miss Clemons. She had to make a very tough decision and I hope she can be happy. Lord knows marriage to me probably would have exhausted a saint.” I wait for the scribbling, chuckling and camera flashes to die down. “The woman who picked me up outside the church yesterday is a good Samaritan and friend. But just a friend. Yesterday was the first time I met her and I’m…well, I’m very glad I did. Thank you. You all have a fine day.”
Questions go off behind me like bomb blasts as I climb the curved, white stone steps and push through the double doors of City Hall. I intend to cut through the lobby and go straight upstairs, but that notion bounces like a bad check when I’m greeted by everyone. Every damn person who works in the building is standing in a big semi-circle, some of them holding flowers and stuffed animals.
“Bless your heart, Captain Du Pont. How are you feeling today?”
“You’re going to be just fine, you hear me?”
“You’ve got no use for a wishy-washy woman. I say you dodged a bullet!”
“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” When mouths snap shut around me, I realize I’m using my captain’s tone, but maybe it’s for the best. If I don’t handle this correctly right now, I’m going to be living with the fallout of yesterday forever. “I appreciate everyone’s concern. Truly, I do. But where do you think I’m going to get enough vases to hold all these flowers?”
“My wedding gift was a vase. A nice, crystal one,” someone offers, before promptly turning pink and ducking behind a co-worker. “Never mind. Sorry.”
“I’m sure it was very nice.” I clear my throat. “Now, please. Take those stuffed animals home to your children and grandchildren. I wouldn’t know what to do with one.”
“They’re meant to comfort.”
“Yes. I understand. But I’m doing just fine, everyone. Just fine.” I put myself back in Addison’s kitchen last night when she asked me what I want. How I thought returning to work, muscling down and pretending the last twenty-four hours never happened would be impossible. Somehow it feels possible right now.
Last night was the first time I’ve ever shut off the noise around me and let myself think. Be. Maybe I can do it again right now, though. I can focus on what I need to do to move forward, instead of dwelling on the fact that I’ve essentially been abandoned in front of my entire address book. Weirdly, though, I don’t…feel abandoned. Standing there in the middle of my campaign staff and employees, I realize half of me stayed behind in the glow of Christmas lights. In the quiet buzz of silence when they shut off. “The election is in two months. We have a lot of work to do between now and then. Can’t afford any distractions, can we?”
“No, Captain.”
“That’s right. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet with the current mayor. He gets cranky when kept waiting.” I move through the sea of bodies, smiling at some of the older women who look utterly heartbroken on my behalf. “There’s a lot of unopened liquor that didn’t get used yesterday. If we win the election, we’ll break it out at the afterparty. How does that sound?”
A cheer goes up and I use that opportunity to leave the main lobby, taking the stairs up two flights and rounding the corner into my father’s corner office.
After returning from overseas, I ran for city council and I’ve been holding a position ever since. But I’ve been performing mayoral duties in an unofficial capacity for over a year now. More or less, my father just comes to the office to fundraise and reminisce about days gone by with the older councilmembers. His corner office has been offered to me on more than one occasion, but I refuse to take it until I win the seat.
The faint smell of cinnamon and coffee greets me first, letting me know my father has just finished his usual breakfast of steel-cut oatmeal. On his office television, the footage rolls of me walking into the building, just minutes ago, my voice mingling with laughter. My father is turned to the side with both feet propped on his desk, hand poised on his glasses as he views the screen. Ten years ago, the optometrist informed him he needed assistance to see, but he still keeps those fingers locked around one side, as if he’ll rip them off at any minute and transform into Superman. As the longest-sitting mayor in Charleston history, a lot of this town believes him to be a caped hero. I do, too, some of the time. But it takes a shrewd man to hold any political office for so long—and my father is no exception.