“Mama? Are you proud of me?”
Rosetta paused and said, “Of course I am, sweetheart. Win or lose, you don’t have anything to prove to me. You never did. You can rest your mind on that. Do the next right thing.”
Bleary eyed and exhausted, she’d made quick work of Pastor Goodwin and shut down Mitchell before she could get any fancy ideas. But Victoria was uneasy about her mother’s words. She could feel Rosetta’s disappointment. For the first time, despite the cheering masses, she felt her mother’s shame, even if Rosetta refused to say it out loud.
Victoria longed for her bed now.
Run every day like you’re running from behind. Stay ready. Sometimes the fight comes to you.
In a few short hours, she was due back out on the street. For all practical purposes, the city government was thankfully running on autopilot and, save for a few executive orders and perfunctory ribbon-cuttings, she devoted most of her time to the congressional race and increasingly frequent appearances on cable news.
NBC’s Chuck Todd, ever the skeptic on such matters, had already anointed her the clear winner before a single vote had been cast and tallied.
“You are the heir apparent,” Todd said. “What are your priorities?”
“I don’t believe in political inheritances,” Victoria responded. “When all is said and done, my priority is now, has been, and will always be the people of the Fifteenth District. That means fighting for criminal justice reform, equal access to affordable health care, and meaningful jobs at meaningful wages. That also means making sure every child—black, white, and brown—has the right to a quality basic education and that a college education is available to every American who wants one.”
“You sound a lot like Congressman Hawkins,” Todd said. “If he were here now, what advice would he have for you?”
“He would tell me that nothing is promised. He would tell me to work hard to earn every vote and to keep earning them long after, if so honored, I am sworn into office.”
Victoria was in her element under the klieg lights. Her rise to a national platform, her position among the country’s most highly recognized big-city mayors, had long since been foretold, and she had prepared for every moment. Even so, as she stepped into her marvelous home, her precious daughters asleep in their beds, it all felt fleeting, as if it could be snatched away by a thief in the night.
Marsh had not said a word along the drive to the impromptu party nor on the ride home. He was her one true love, the man who would forsake everything to buy her pardon. But now, Victoria could feel the disgust radiating from his bones as he stripped out of his suit and flung it onto a mahogany valet stand. He’d been cordial enough to her campaign team and had, at least, spared her the embarrassment of a public upbraiding. Marsh fought with his silence, and tonight was no different. He went upstairs, dismissed the nanny for the night, then returned to their bedroom.
Victoria didn’t have the heart to ask her husband what he thought about the debate. She already knew. Marsh couldn’t be more different from Rosetta. He wasn’t the kind to hide his candor for very long. He could not simply tuck his disappointments away. If pressed, he would not duck behind pretty words. It wasn’t his way, she knew, and at some point, he would make his displeasure known.
He’d been stoned-faced in the first row that night, clapping politely when she hit a good beat. The Atlanta Times-Register poll would be released the next morning, and Victoria, despite Todd’s pronouncement, already knew she was under 45 percent. She had a narrow lead over her opponents, and the race was within the margin of error. With less than a week of active campaigning left, the real fight had begun, and she knew voter turnout was everything. She tried not to worry about the numbers now. Marsh was standing across the room, but it felt like her husband was oceans away.
She watched him slip on a pair of cotton drawstring lounging pants, gather his pillow, and pull an extra blanket from the linen closet. Marsh was never the kind to preen, but even now he was a beautiful man, built like a modern-day Adonis with sculpted pectoral muscles as if he had been carved from stone. In that moment, she imagined herself running her fingers over his closely trimmed, extended goatee and through the gentle curls.
Right then, right there, she wanted her husband to love her again, to feel his skin pressed against hers. She missed the way he kneaded the small of her back with his knuckles, the way he tugged at her nightgown until it fell to the floor, the way he lifted her chin and sucked at her lower lip until her fingers began to tingle. The words to their wedding song danced in her head.
Can you just feel how much I love you
With one touch of my hand?
Can I just spend my life with you?
“We knew this would be a tough election,” Victoria said finally. “I had to take them down. They came for us first, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said dismissively. “Don’t come for me, unless I send for you. That’s what they said, right?”
“Please don’t do me like that.”
“Like what, Torie? Like you’ve been doing me? You’ve been out there conquering the known world, but what about us? Did you ever once think about us?”
“Every minute of every day.”
“I knew you were still in love with that Dickey character when we met. Just when I thought he was out of our lives for good, here comes a bunch of TV ads to remind me. And that damn painting is still in the basement.”
“He’s under house arrest, sporting an ankle bracelet.”
“And if he wasn’t? I’ve stood by you through everything, Torie, for better or for goddamn worse. But I won’t do this.”
“You are my everything,” she said tearfully. “You and our girls, you are my known world.”
“Then it sounds like you have a decision to make.”
“So, you’re saying you want me to quit?”
“I would never ask that of you, but I want you to get that damn painting out of our house,” he said. “I want you to be the woman who said yes to me, yes to our life. I fell in love with you the moment I laid my eyes on you, and I swear I’ve never stopped. Where was that woman tonight? What happened to her? You wouldn’t even deny that man onstage tonight.”
“You married a public servant. I was born to this. I made a specific choice to live out that promise. And, yes, it comes with a fight. That’s the deal I made when I put my name on that first ballot, and that’s the commitment I reaffirmed when I filed the qualifying papers to enter this race. That’s the woman you saw on that stage tonight. That’s the woman you married, and I am that woman every day.”
“Are you? Because this one only seems to be worried about winning, no matter the price or who has to pay it. You had no right to talk about that man’s family like that. You don’t know their marriage, just like they don’t know ours.”
“Ours was in the damn newspaper!”
“And you helped to keep it there!”
The fire in his eyes was unmistakable, but Victoria was unmoved. She folded her arms across her breasts and said, “When were you going to leave me? Tell me. Before or after that trip you and Samantha booked for Anguilla? Oh, you didn’t think I knew about that? It was never going to be a boys’ trip. You can tell her that I’m sorry I spoiled her weekend plans with my husband!”
“I don’t have to take this shit from you. You don’t need me. You can keep playing with your own pussy, if that makes you happy.”
The blow took him by surprise. His head swung sideways as she planted her open palm across his cheek. His eyes watered. Whether out of anger, sadness, or disappointment, Victoria could not tell, and in that moment, she did not want to care.
“Never do that again,” Marsh said.
“Or what? You’ll leave me?” she shouted. “You left here years ago. You leave me every time you walk out of here to go fuck one of your bitches. Every moment you spend with a dime-store whore is another moment you miss with our daughters.”
“You just couldn’t leave Maya and Mahalia out o
f this, could you? I would set myself on fire for those girls and you know it, but it’s all about scoring cheap points for you, right? Anything for the win.”
“You want a divorce? Then file the goddamn papers! Take your shit and get the fuck out of here!”
“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it, Torie. But between your parents and mine, they were married a hundred years. Real marriages, strong marriages take work. And I cannot hold this one up by myself.”
“Ain’t nobody asking you to! You ain’t in this by yourself,” Victoria shot back. “My mother is as strong as they make them. She sat in my daddy’s church for years, knowing there were three, four, and five women in that congregation on any given Sunday who would suck my daddy’s dick on demand. Your daddy wasn’t no saint. I’m sure your mother put up with more shit than a little bit. My mama told me to stay with you, like she stayed with my father, but I’m not my mother or yours. You won’t make a fool out of me!”
She was in his face now, standing breast to chest. “You want out? Then, motherfucker, get out! Ain’t nothing holding you back but your silly fucking pride.”
“Stop it, Torie!”
“Oh, gosh, Marsh, what would good people think? What will this do to the Overstreet name?” she said, sarcastically. “Keep blaming a stupid painting, if you want to. But I will be damned if I let you put that on me while you’re screwing some trick on a call-room cot in the emergency room!”
“Fuck you!”
Victoria reared back, balled up her fist, and lunged forward. Marsh caught her by the wrist before she could take another swing at him. She felt the intensity of his grip. Still holding her arm, he darted his eyes back and forth, searching her face with a smoldering rage she had not seen before. They locked eyes. And then, he let go.
“Hit me,” she said, sneering. “Goddammit, I said, hit me!”
Marsh shook it off, released her from his grasp, snatched up the blanket, and said, “I’ve never laid my hands on you, and so help me God, I never will.”
“Let me find out you’re still fucking with that bitch. Let me find out that your punk ass is still in these streets, and so help me God, I will bury you next to your own whoring-ass daddy. Now, twirl on that.”
“You’ve lost your mind. I’ll sleep upstairs.”
Victoria was immediately sorry. She tried desperately to quiet the storms in her head. In the days after the congressman was murdered, she’d struggled to maintain her balance. Marsh’s infidelities, long known to her, were suddenly staring her in the face. Then, after her brother was killed, she felt herself falling apart. Victoria responded the way she always had, by lurching forward, by throwing herself into her work. That had been her way, and Marsh, knowing her proclivities better than anyone, had to understand that. There were both political and personal costs, much more than she had anticipated, much more than her decidedly fragile marriage might be able to withstand.
Sometimes the fight comes to you.
There was a time when she thought she could not live a day without him. His quiet confidence had been an anchor in rough seas. But in the years since, there had been brutal fights, times when the distance between them spanned the seven seas. She wondered now how long they would be able to hang on.
She’d wanted to tell him how much she missed his touch, but thought better of that now. Instead, she let him walk out and drew herself a warm shower. When the race was over, she thought, maybe they could patch things up. But for how long, she did not know. The blood was seeping through the bandages again, and they had been unable to stanch the flow. She could surely raise their daughters on her own, but in her heart of hearts, Victoria still believed there was something worth saving. She wanted him to believe that too.
They had once known love in its fullness. But the playful text messages and surprise floral bouquets were a distant memory now. So too were the stolen glances, weekend getaways, and Sundays in Chastain Park watching their daughters frolic on the swing set. Marsh spent more late nights at the hospital, and there were many more when he didn’t come home at all. She’d stopped asking where he was going or where he’d been, and Marsh didn’t even bother making excuses anymore. Pelosi had offered to put a tail on him and report back.
“That won’t be necessary,” Victoria told him. “Wherever my husband is, that’s where he wants to be.”
For Victoria, it felt like the last cup of sugar had been spilled out onto the floor. That sweetness was gone now. She had been unable, if not unwilling, to catch it in the fall. She lay in bed that night, uncomfortable, for the first time, in her own skin.
Do the next right thing.
Sometime around 3 A.M., she felt her husband crawl into bed beside her and pull her in close. She was startled, but allowed herself to fold into his steely arms.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, lifting her hair at the nape.
Can I just see you every morning when
I open my eyes?
Can I just feel your heart beating beside me
Every night?
“I’m sorry,” she said. “God, I’m sorry.”
Victoria felt his soft lips on her neck. She let out a gentle sigh, turned and allowed her lips to touch his, and whispered, “I don’t want to let go.”
THIRTY-FOUR
It took two hours to get him on the phone, but by the time Virgil reached the preacher, the decision was already made. Goodwin and his wife prayed into the wee hours of the morning, he explained, and concluded that he would end his bid for Congress. The media avail was set for 1 P.M. in the main sanctuary at City of Hope. A revival service would immediately follow.
“This is what’s best for our family,” Goodwin said. “It’s in the Lord’s hands now.”
No matter what the numbers said, the way he saw it, Goodwin had a better chance of beating Usain Bolt in a footrace down Spring Street than toppling Victoria Dobbs. That didn’t quell his sore belly. He listened to millions burn up like a skillet of corn bread.
“Why didn’t you tell me about all of this when I asked? I gave you the chance to come clean before we got into this thing. You could’ve saved us some trouble.”
“I figured you knew when you asked me about Miss Ingram. You seemed to know everything else about me.”
“Oh, I knew about the affair and a lot of other things,” Virgil said. “But a baby? Now, that’s another matter altogether. If you’d have said something, maybe we could’ve worked something out. I’ve dealt with worse, believe me. We could’ve gotten her out of town for a while.”
“We didn’t want that. My wife and I made that decision long before you came knocking,” Goodwin said. “This is something we worked out two years ago when Rania was born. Esther, bless her, stepped in and made sure Miss Ingram was provided for and that my daughter got everything she needed.”
“Your wife knew?”
“The relationship was brief. My wife and I were separated at the time, and I didn’t know about the pregnancy until Miss Ingram asked to meet with us one Sunday after church. We said we would do the right thing. We gave her a job and bought her a house.”
“You could’ve said all that at the debate.”
“I’m a man, Mr. Loudermilk, but I’ve never cheated on my wife and I’m not the crook they tried to make me out to be. We were separated at the time and had already agreed to get a divorce. When we decided to reconcile, I broke things off with Miss Ingram, and that was that—or so I believed. She was something special, but I wanted the wife God prepared for me.”
“And you thought Dobbs wouldn’t find out and use it against you?”
“Again, we thought we were doing the right thing. Besides, the mayor has her own bones rattling around in the closet.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“She really gets your goat, doesn’t she?”
“I suppose you could say that,” Virgil replied. “But that’s neither here nor there right now. We spent a lot of money trying to get you elected, but I’ll let that go out wi
th the wash.”
“Do you ever pray, Mr. Loudermilk?”
“Not in a very long time, Pastor. I don’t reckon God likes me much.”
“You should get to know Him.”
“You’re a true believer, ain’t you?”
“I cannot count the miracles that have unfolded in my life,” Goodwin answered. “Even now, in the midst of these things, I know He has a plan for me.”
Virgil wanted to be angry with Goodwin, but he couldn’t find it in himself to get worked up about that now. With the preacher out of the race, Dobbs would almost certainly sew up his support and win the special election outright without a runoff. That wouldn’t be the end of it, Virgil knew.
They’d been close, once upon a time, plotting various political schemes and cutting backroom deals, before Dobbs got full of herself and turned on him. They were chest deep in the sauce now, and he knew it was a real possibility that they’d both get drowned at some point.
“I am heading to a meeting with the campaign team now,” Goodwin said. “They need to hear it from me before I make a public announcement. I appreciated your support, but we’re on our own now.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Mr. Loudermilk?”
“Yes?”
“Will you let me pray for you?”
Virgil fell silent as Goodwin spent the next few minutes beseeching the heavens in his behalf. He ended it with a solemn amen.
Lucky wandered in as Virgil wished the pastor well and hung up. He went to the wet bar to fetch another drink, his third of the day.
“Don’t you think you oughta slow down? It ain’t even noon yet.”
“We’ve got a problem,” Virgil said, chucking down a bourbon cocktail laced with orange bitters. “Want one?”
“How long are you going to stay up here? Libby Gail keeps asking after you. Says you won’t pick up her calls.”
“Until the winds quit blowing.”
“That might be a while, Virgil. You kicked up quite a storm.”
“Goodwin prayed for me just now. Imagine that.”
“He should’ve poured a bucket of holy oil on your head. You could use a little healing,” Lucky said with a stuttered laugh.
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