The Phoenix Candidate

by Heidi Joy Tretheway

  “What kind of car does he have?”

  “A Tesla. American company. All electric.” Jared shrugs his shoulders. “This is how the game is played, Grace. Every little bit counts. And every part of you will be scrutinized.”

  I huff and cross my arms. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Think about a dog, too.”

  “What? No. No way. I can hardly keep my cacti alive when I’m gone in D.C.”

  “Then get a house sitter.”

  “No. It’s not fair to the dog. And besides, I’m allergic.”

  “There are hypoallergenic breeds.”

  I slap him with my get-the-hell-out look. “Stop it. I’m not getting a new car or a new dog just to appease some demographic. You’re treating me like a commodity, Jared.”

  “No, I’m packaging you. Voters are going to wonder about you—you’re alone, and you’ve been alone for years. There are no stories to run on your family, or what you do in your off hours.”

  “I kayak.”

  “A loner sport. You should be taking up tennis, something relatable, something that connects you with other people. What’s your favorite sports team?”

  “The Portland Timbers.” Portland has a recent obsession with Major League Soccer.

  “Wrong. Not enough people care about soccer. You should develop a deep and abiding love of the Seattle Mariners.”

  “And join a fantasy football league while I’m at it?” My voice drips with sarcasm. “Maybe buy some season tickets to Oregon Ducks football?”

  “It couldn’t hurt.” Jared’s tone is mild. Light. Like he’s not just asking me to change everything about me.

  “Let’s just stick to the issues, Jared.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll tell you what’s going to be an issue. You can be the smartest person on that podium, but if voters can’t connect with you, they’ll go for the other guy. It comes down to likability.”

  “Are you saying I’m not likable?” My hackles are up, and I fight to keep the edge in my voice from wavering.

  “I’m saying you’re hard to know.”

  I snort. Hello, pot, I’m kettle.

  “Aaron Darrow’s got a million pictures out there: sailing with his family in San Francisco Bay, picking fruit in his grandfather’s orchard in Reedley, even surfing. Each of those things forms a connection. Voters start thinking, ‘I could trust this man with my vote. He’s a lot like me.’”

  Aaron Darrow is nothing like normal people. “And you’re saying I’m not. Like them.”

  Jared cuts his eyes to me, his expression calculating. “They won’t get what makes you tick. Get another hobby, Grace. And a dog and a car while you’re at it.”

  “Knitting,” I throw out.

  “Too old-fashioned.”

  “Gardening.”

  “America’s number-one hobby. That’s a safe bet, but you don’t have a garden.”

  “Golf. Skiing.”

  “Too inaccessible. Most of America can’t afford greens fees or get to a ski resort.”

  “Fine, then. What? Stamp-collecting? Ping pong? Should I raise llamas?”

  Jared throws back his head and laughs, and it echoes through the cabin, turning a few heads. “I think you should put down fighting with me as a favorite hobby. You sure do it enough.”

  “One fucking minute, Grace,” I parrot back to him. “You said you want me to have a spine? Fine. I’ve got one. You’re not going to make me into someone I’m not.”

  He takes my hand and squeezes, his eyes softening. “Fair enough.”

  I let the silence grow between us, and his hand remains on mine. That placates me a little. “Cooking. I loved cooking, and my grandma taught me some great recipes.”

  Jared nods. “Approved. That’s domestic and accessible. I’ll add it to your bio.”

  “And biking. There are tons of bike paths in Portland.”

  “Why not running? It’s better on video. You could do a bunch of charity runs.”

  “I fucking hate running,” I hiss.

  Jared holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Biking it is.” He clicks open a file on his laptop and repeats as he types, “Cooking, old family recipes, biking, and fighting with her consultant.”

  My lips twitch with a smile at that last one. “And coffee.”

  “Coffee is not a hobby.”

  “It’s the nectar of life, Jared.” I laugh. “If coffee’s not relatable, I don’t know what is.”

  ***

  “What’s next for us?”

  It’s a casual question, asked as we enter my apartment. I drop my keys, touch Ethan’s picture, flick on the lights. One, two, three.

  “We’ve got a day to prep before I go to work on your competition again,” Jared says.

  “You won’t tell me who it is?”

  Jared shakes his head. But I can put two and two together: Jared went to Florida. My best competition there is Congressman Juan Rivera, a three-term lawmaker with deep roots in the Latino community.

  “Tell Rivera that I’m still pissed about him skunking my hydroelectric bill at the last minute.”

  “You think it’s Rivera?”

  “It’s not the governor.” I snort. “He botched the Florida state budget so badly there’s no way the party’s going to let him go national.”

  “You have good instincts, Grace,” Jared says. “Rivera also gives good balance to the ticket. Not saying he’s the one.”

  I roll my eyes. “Conover would be stupid not to consider him. At the last convention, Rivera gave such a moving ‘I am the American Dream’ speech that I was tearing up.”

  Jared nodded. “He can pull at heartstrings. So can you.” He nods to Ethan’s picture and I shrink back. I hate that my son’s a political pawn now, more of a story than a boy.

  “I’m not going to exploit Seth and Ethan to get elected.”

  “You used them to get to where you are.”

  “That was different! That was about making something good come out of all that bad.” I turn away from Jared, my eyes pricking with tears, but he grabs my shoulders to hold me in place.

  “You used them then. You can use them now. Think of the alternative, Grace—you could just give up and let them be forgotten.” His harsh words are like a slap in the face.

  “How dare you—”

  “How dare I what? Help you see past what you’re scared to admit? Help you get ready for the most important moment of your life?”

  My heart is cracking as he pushes and pushes, his arms pinning me to the wall, his face bent to look in my eyes, to force me to see him.

  “How dare you push me?”

  “Like this?” Jared releases my shoulders and I slump against the wall.

  I fold my arms across my chest, a protective posture, and drop my head. “That’s not what I meant,” I mutter.

  “How dare I tell you the truth?” His voice is lower, more dangerous. “How dare I force you to get out of this rut you’re in? Force you to change?”

  “I don’t need to change.”

  Jared’s eyes flash with anger. “You’re right, Grace. You don’t have to change. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” Jared’s words mock me, reminding me of my mulish refusals.

  He backs up another couple of feet, leaving a chasm between us. “You don’t have to put in the effort, or challenge your assumptions, or sign on to Conover’s ticket.”

  I look up and Jared’s hand is buried in his hair in frustration. He pulls his rental car keys out of his pocket.

  “If you never change, you can go on living the same life you’ve lived. You’ll be safe. You’ll have your little dead family and your anonymous life and nobody to push you to become something else. Something more.”

  Little dead family. The words echo in my ears and my heart cracks open in a flood of emotions I thought I’d cried out years ago. “Fuck you, Jared.”

  “You already did that, sweetheart. That part was easy.” His eyes are fierce and wild. “The hard part
is doing something you don’t want to do. If you don’t feel ready, if you’re scared, that’s when you know you’re doing it right.”

  I cover my face against the tears, against showing Jared how much he’s getting to the heart of me. “I’m not doing this.”

  “That your final answer? Fine.” I hear my front door open. “But Grace, let me tell you—and I know this from experience—living things change. They grow. And you’re the only one who’s going to decide if you’re going to stay dead to all of it, or take a risk and live.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Aliza comes when I call. Of course she does.

  She comes bearing pizza, wine, and two bowls of frozen yogurt from a self-serve place with all the foofy toppings.

  And of course she doesn’t ask, even though she has every reason to. I answer my apartment door in yoga pants and a tattered, too-large law school shirt, my makeup scrubbed off after crying most of it away.

  Aliza just hands over the fro-yo. Of course we eat that first. Of course.

  “I think I need to hire you to be my lawyer,” I say once I’ve scraped every last bit of yogurt from the bottom of the cup.

  She hands me a glass of wine. “You buying some investment property?”

  “No, but I’d like a little attorney-client privilege, if you don’t mind.”

  “Go get your dollar.”

  I go to my purse and then hand over the bill. She makes a big show of kissing it and tucking it in her bra, then takes an enormous gulp of wine. “OK, privilege established. Tell me everything.”

  And I spill. Through a whole bottle of wine and into the next, I tell her everything about Jared, possibly running on Senator Conover’s ticket, and all the changes Jared wants me to make.

  “You left something out,” Aliza accuses.

  “What?”

  “The insanely hot sex? Because that man is mm-mm good. I can only imagine how his stubble would feel in a variety of locations.”

  She waggles her eyebrows and I flush scarlet.

  “I knew it! Why are you holding out on me?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Nuh-uh.” Aliza holds up her hand to ensure she has my complete attention. “There is nothing at all complicated about Grace Colton finally getting some. Your vagina has been on ice for a decade!”

  I hang my head. “Not quite that long.”

  “Grace, I know you. I know you. Seth was a good father, but you told me a long time ago that it wasn’t happening in the intimacy department.”

  I take a long drink of wine, not denying it. We began a long, slow drift apart soon after Ethan’s birth. And after their death, I boxed up too much sadness about losing them to really put myself out there.

  Not much. Not for long. Nothing more important than a few one- or two-night stands.

  But Jared feels important. And that scares the hell out of me.

  “I don’t know what to do with him,” I confess.

  Aliza’s brows shoot up. “Honey, if we have to go back to sex ed to get your dirty mind working again the way it did in college, we’re going to need more wine.”

  “Not that.” I shake my head with a smile as she tops up my glass. “I mean, I don’t know what to do with all the pieces of Jared. The pushy consultant, the demanding lover, the guy who freezes me out and won’t kiss me.”

  “Won’t kiss you?”

  I’ve finally said something that shocks her. “Not even once.”

  “Huh. I’d say ‘fuck him’ but I gather you’re doing that pretty well already.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Aliza and I sip more wine in silence, and she’s got her “resting bitchface” on, a furrowed brow that shows she’s thinking. I hope it will kick me in the ass or get me over this weird inertia that’s settled on me.

  “Grace, tell me one thing you really want.”

  I open my mouth to reply, a dozen answers on my tongue. I want Ethan back. I want Jared. And I want this opportunity: this chance to vault to the next level in my political career.

  Hell, it’s not just the next level. It’s a new universe.

  “I want to be vice president.”

  “Then go get it, girl. Give that everything you’ve got. Play nice with Jared and make the senator love you. Play hardball if they steer you off course. Focus on that one thing you want and do it harder and better than any of the boys.”

  I blink. “I could fail, you know. I could be another punchline in history, like I-can-see-Russia-from-my-house Sarah Palin.”

  Aliza waves her hand dismissively. “You know what they say? Well-behaved women rarely make history. You might end up being another Saturday Night Live skit, but at least you’ll have lived it.”

  She’s right. It’s about living.

  ***

  I pause before I knock on his door, nerves and pizza and wine and fro-yo mixing an unsettled combination in my stomach. It’s late, edging toward midnight.

  And it might be too late entirely.

  But I’m living.

  The door opens soon after I rap on the door. Jared’s sleep-smeared eyes squint against the bright light of the hotel room hallway. He grabs my hand and pulls.

  “Get in here before you change your mind.”

  I’m spun into the dark room and the door closes with a click of the lock. Strong arms go around my body, under my T-shirt, kneading the skin on my back. His stubble stings my cheek as he pulls me tightly against him.

  “Jared, I’ve de—”

  “Wait. Just wait a minute, Grace.” I stiffen, hearing the echo of one fucking minute, but then he adds, “Please.”

  And I stop. Just feel the moment. I smell spicy soap on his skin and touch the softness of his T-shirt as the press of his erection grows between us.

  He breathes in deeply, smelling my hair, his hands working in slow, methodical circles up and down my spine. I push my hands under his T-shirt and feel his smooth column of spine, the hardness of the muscles in his back. I’m melting deeper into his embrace, and I could be floating here, untethered from the earth.

  We inhale the other’s scent, minutes flowing together. Finally, he takes a step back. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness of his room and now I take in the rumpled sheets on his bed, a mess of papers on his desk, his clothes strewn across the floor, and a couple of empty beer bottles on the bedside table.

  It’s very unlike Jared.

  I think?

  I don’t even know this man. I don’t know his habits. His likes. His dislikes. I don’t know what his apartment’s like, if it’s as sterile as mine, or even which state issued him a driver’s license.

  I don’t know his birthday, his shoe size, whether he has pets or kids or—oh, my God, a wife?

  I know nothing, except I want this man. Right now.

  If.

  “Can we just … can we just be together for a little bit?” I’m too afraid to name what I want, to take up the conversation that ripped us apart this morning.

  Jared’s head dips with affirmation. “Yes, Grace.”

  My hands skim across his shoulders and upper arms, and I tentatively stretch my fingers around the sides of his neck. My thumbs trace his jaw, relishing my fingertips’ path through his stubble.

  I bring my cheek to his, turning my lips to his cheek, brushing across his jaw. I feel him stiffen, but my hands trap his face. “I just really want this.” My lips touch the corner of his mouth.

  Jared’s chin dips, his mouth pulling from my reach. “Don’t push me on that, Grace.”

  “Like you pushed me?” I whisper, but it’s a challenge.

  “It’s not the same.”

  “Like hell it isn’t. What kind of person can get naked, can have insane, up-all-night sex, but can’t kiss their lover?”

  Jared drops his hold on me as if I’m poison and stalks to the bed. “It’s too much. Too close.”

  “I don’t understand. A kiss is nothing.”

  “Then why is it so goddamned important to you?” he
explodes. “Go home, Grace. You were right. I am a bastard, and I had no business picking you up in that bar when I knew who you were. And now that I know you … I hate what I’ve done.”

  The ferocity with which he condemns himself nearly knocks the wind out of me. And so I go to him—I kneel to get to his eye level as he sits on the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

  “Jared.”

  No answer. No acknowledgement.

  “Jared.”

  I touch his shoulder but he shrugs me away.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “You should.”

  “Still trying to tell me what to do? I’m over that, Jared.”

  “Get out.” His demand is weaker, pleading.

  “No.” I sit back on my heels. “I came over here to finish our talk, and I’m going to do that. But first we’ve got to deal with this … this thing between us.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Bullshit. It’s something.” I take his hand and pull it from his forehead. I thread my fingers through his, squeezing: life and hope and feeling. “You had no right to pick me up when you knew who I was and I didn’t know you. But I’m a big girl. I chose to go to your hotel, no stories and no strings. I don’t regret it.”

  “You need—we need—to quit before this becomes an even bigger mess.”

  “Why?” I want to grab his shoulders and shake it out of him.

  He rubs his temples as if the question causes him physical pain. “Because this is not how it works for me.”

  I summon a wry smile. “It’s not exactly working for me right now either, Jared.”

  His head drops again. “I’m sorry, Grace. I can’t.”

  “Can’t what? Do I need to pull out one of your pep talks? That’s why I’m here. To fix it. And I came to tell you that I’m not quitting. Not us or the race. This fight might be over before it starts if Conover picks Rivera, but there’s a hell of a lot of fight still left in me.”

  Jared drops his other hand without my prompting and finally looks at me. His red-rimmed eyes are hollow, searching. “Yes,” he answers slowly, “I believe there is.”

  I stand. “Then we’re doing this.” I grab the edges of my T-shirt and whip it over my head before I have a chance to chicken out. My bra, my yoga pants, my panties. They drop to the floor, and I’m bare before him.