The Hopefuls (27 page)

“Was it bad?”

“It wasn't great,” Matt said. But then he seemed to snap out of it and changed his tone. “It wasn't a big deal, really.”

“It sounds weird,” I said, hoping he'd say more.

Matt climbed into bed, leaned back and rubbed his eyes. “It was just a long night. I'm so tired.”

It was funny, for all of the things that Matt would say behind Jimmy's back, he never discussed the way Jimmy acted around attractive women, how it sometimes seemed just shy of inappropriate. Matt had always dismissed all the rumors about Jimmy as just that—rumors. But lately, I wondered if he knew something more, if he was just protecting Jimmy the way you protect your candidate.

“What was the woman's name?” I asked, but next to me, Matt was already asleep.

When I think back to our time in Texas, it doesn't seem possible that we actually lived in the Dillons' basement for nearly a year, that we ate almost every meal with them like we were part of some strange commune. There were days that seemed so long, so open—I didn't have a job or a baby, we were staying in someone else's home, and while I was helping with the campaign, it didn't even come close to taking all of my free time. Some afternoons, I did nothing but read, finishing whole books in a day. But somehow, it didn't feel like the time passed slowly, just the opposite really—it seemed like we were moving into the basement one day and out the next.

During those months, it felt like I was floating, in suspended time. When my birthday came that year, I felt truly shocked to have turned a year older. Everyone around me had a real purpose—sometimes more than one—and while I could mock Ash's jewelry business (when I was feeling hateful), there was no denying that she was successful, that she enjoyed it. And so most of the time when I watched her pack up her samples and get ready to go to a party, it was jealousy that I felt.

There was a lot of fighting that happened in that house, a lot of anxious and tense moments, and days when it felt like we were just marking time until the next argument. But still, when I think about that year, what I remember most is one night that the four of us sat outside on the back patio, first eating dinner and then staying there to split a bottle of wine. Our plates were still on the table, but none of us were in any hurry to clean up. Viv was asleep upstairs and I remember being nervous that our laughter was going to wake her up.

Things hadn't yet turned sour between Matt and Jimmy, and we were all talking about an event we'd been to that day, where an older man had cornered Jimmy to talk about railroads for almost an hour, while Jimmy tried to explain (unsuccessfully) that the Railroad Commission didn't have anything to do with actual railroads. Matt kept impersonating Jimmy during this conversation, and we couldn't stop laughing.

“I think he was a retired Amtrak driver,” Jimmy said. “No joke. He was very concerned about our rail system.”

“Let's have one more,” Matt said, picking up the empty bottle of wine. “You know, in honor of the railroad.”

“We should clean this up,” Ash said, but she didn't move.

“Nope, Jimmy and I will get it,” Matt said, standing up and piling plates on top of each other. “And we'll be back with more wine.”

We watched as the two of them filled their arms with dishes to carry into the kitchen. As Jimmy held the door open for Matt, the two of them laughed at something he'd said. We couldn't hear what it was.

“Look at those husbands of ours,” Ash said to me. “How did we ever get so lucky?”

Jimmy was invited to speak at the Texas Democratic State Convention at the end of June, which was a big deal—a much bigger deal than I realized when we first heard about it. “This is huge,” Matt said. And then again with more emphasis, just in case we missed it, “Huge.”

Before the convention, I'd never seen Jimmy get nervous. He could be jumpy before events, but that was mostly just adrenaline and he always calmed down as soon as he started talking. But this was different—from the moment he first found out about the convention, he was terrified. Anytime someone mentioned it, he got a look on his face like he might be sick. He'd be speaking to over seven thousand people—by far the largest crowd he'd ever been in front of—and he'd be alongside much bigger, more well-known Texas Democrats.

He and Matt worked on the speech every night. It contained a lot of the same talking points that he'd used while campaigning, but they'd made it more personal, a little more theatrical. Leading up to the convention, Matt and Jimmy read the speech out loud over and over, tweaking each word, rehearsing it a thousand different ways. On the car ride to Dallas, Jimmy practiced while Matt drove, jumping in every once in a while with a suggestion, and by the time we arrived, I was pretty sure I could've recited the whole thing from memory.

Matt and Jimmy left the hotel early in the day to go to the convention center for a walk-through, and when they returned Ash and I were just sitting down to have lunch at the hotel restaurant. Viv had stayed behind with Ash's mom, and Ash was clearly excited about having a free day, and was on her phone trying to find a place we could get manicures when we were done eating.

I could tell something was wrong as soon as Matt and Jimmy walked into the restaurant. They sat down with us, and immediately Matt said, “There was a little miscommunication,” as if he were a PR person trying to smooth over a mishap.

“I couldn't practice my speech,” Jimmy said. “That was the miscommunication.”

It turned out that all of the walk-through time was allotted to the more important speakers. Jimmy had been counting on practicing with the teleprompter while reading his speech, getting a feel for the microphone, but all he got to do was walk on the stage and walk right off again.

“I don't know how this happened,” Matt said. He sounded apologetic.

“It doesn't really matter now, does it?” And then Jimmy looked pale as he said, “I've never used a teleprompter before.”

“I'm sure you'll be fine,” Matt said, and Jimmy just shook his head and said, “God, I hope so.”

Jimmy's speech was (by all accounts) great. He was completely natural and engaging, timed all of his jokes just right, and didn't rush through any of it. There was no sign that he was uncomfortable with the teleprompter. It was as though he'd done this a million times before. As Jimmy finished up, I heard Matt let out a long breath that he may have been holding the whole time. “That was good,” he said to me, sounding relieved. “Really good, right?”

Everyone congratulated Jimmy that night, compliments coming from all around. I heard one man say to him, “You're going places, kid,” like he was an old-timey politician. On the car ride home, Jimmy repeated all the things people had said to him, even though we'd already heard most of them. He was driving, staring at the road as he talked about all the amazing praise he'd gotten. “Someone said it reminded them of Obama's red state, blue state speech,” he said. “Do you believe that?” He laughed like it was a crazy thing to say, but you could tell that he was thrilled by it, that part of him thought it was true.

Just a few days after the convention, we all headed to Luling, Texas, to attend the Watermelon Thump—a festival dedicated to all things watermelon. Anytime this event was mentioned, I couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous it sounded. I was strangely excited for it, because when else would we ever go to such a thing?

Matt was in a horrible mood after the convention and showed no signs that he'd snap out of it anytime soon. As we packed for Luling, I said in a voice of forced cheer, “Come on, don't tell me you're not excited for the Thump?” I could hear how fake I sounded, like I was talking to a grumpy child. Matt just grunted in response, not looking up from folding his clothes. He couldn't even pretend to smile, and I had a horrible thought—if he wasn't even a little amused by the idea of the Thump, then things were even worse than I'd realized.

The quality of our hotel rooms varied, but they were never what you'd consider nice. The most we could hope for was that they were clean. But the hotel in Luling was by far the worst one we'd stayed in. It was dark and creepy, and there was a musty smell in the room. Everything seemed damp—the sheets, the rug, the towels—and I found myself not wanting to touch anything.

We'd left Sugar Land superearly in the morning and driven right to the Thump, had spent the day doing watermelon-related activities—melon judging, melon eating, and seed spitting contests. We'd been on our feet for hours, standing in the sun, and I'd been looking forward to a long shower. But as soon as I saw the bathroom, I didn't even want to take my shoes off. I washed up at the sink as much as I could, using a washcloth to wipe under my armpits and all around, thinking that this was a low point. As dirty as I felt, I couldn't bring myself to get in the tub.

I met Ash in the hallway before we headed to dinner, and she muttered to me, “We're going to end up with bedbugs.”

“Don't even think it,” I said. She was holding Viv on her hip, a diaper bag over her shoulder. “Here, let me take the bag.”

“Thanks,” she said, wiggling her arm to let it loose. “Jimmy jumped right in the shower, didn't even offer to let me get in there first. Not that I wanted to step foot in there.”

“I felt the same way,” I told her. “Matt's in there now. How can they not be bothered by this?”

“I honestly don't know. I just wiped down the baby with wipes, which she didn't appreciate, and then used them on myself. I feel downright disgusting.”

“I know,” I said. “Come on, let's wait for them outside. It has to be cleaner than in here.”

We walked down the stairs and out front where there was a bench in the shade for us to sit on. The highway was just past a sidewalk and another grassy patch. “At least we have a lovely view,” I said, but Ash didn't smile, just set Viv down and handed her a pink car from the diaper bag. Viv smiled and said, “Mama, car!” in a happy voice and then threw the pink, plastic car so that it landed on the dirty grass behind us. Ash and I just sat there and looked at it, neither of us making a move to retrieve it.

We drove to a nearby pizzeria for dinner, some place that Matt had found. None of us really cared where we ate, as long as we didn't have to wait to be seated. We were led to a table that hadn't been wiped down, but the hostess just dropped our menus in front of us and walked away. I tried to get someone's attention, but everyone kept walking by like they didn't see us. Viv was refusing to sit in the high chair, saying, “No!” over and over again, and then screaming so loudly, I was sure she was going to pop a blood vessel. Ash finally wrangled her in there, and Viv arched her back and howled, making it as hard as possible for Ash to buckle her in. When she realized she couldn't get out, she slapped her hand out and hit Ash in the face, then continued to wail, her face now purple.

“Thanks for the help,” Ash said to Jimmy, who was studying the menu. Ash never said things like this, but Jimmy didn't seem bothered.

“Should we take her outside?” he asked, by which he meant that Ash should take her outside.

“You mean, so we can fight her back into the high chair again in ten minutes?” Ash said. “No, but thank you for the offer.” Jimmy rolled his eyes and went back to the menu.

I didn't blame Ash for getting angry—to be honest, I had no idea how she was managing Viv at these campaign events without losing her mind. We were in the car for such long stretches of time and now that Viv was mobile, she was bored and fidgety when she was strapped in anywhere too long. I also didn't blame Viv for the fit she was throwing now. In a way, I was almost jealous. It probably felt good to let it all out.

We ordered two pizzas and a round of beers as soon as the waitress came over, and Ash put some puffs on Viv's tray, which she normally loved but this time she looked at them, slapped her hand down, and screamed, “Cookie!” while aiming her face up to the ceiling.

“Give her your phone,” Jimmy said to Ash. “Jesus, before we get kicked out.”

“We can't do that every time she cries. It's not good for her,” Ash said, but then she immediately dug into her bag and pulled out her phone. A few seconds later, Elmo was playing and Viv was quiet—or at least quieter. She was still crying, but it soon slowed to sniffling and finally stopped.

We ate the pizza quickly. It wasn't very good, doughy and flavorless, but we each shoved a couple of slices in our mouths. We asked for the check when our food arrived, so we could get out of there as soon as we were done. Ash cut up a piece of pizza for Viv, who maybe ate one bite before pushing the rest off her tray and saying, “No!”

“Come on, baby girl, just try it,” Ash said. Viv kept saying, “No!” and finally Jimmy said, “Just leave her be.”

Ash glared at him and said, “So she can go to sleep and wake up in the middle of the night crying because she didn't eat? And then I can get up with her and spend tomorrow exhausted?”

What disturbed me the most about what was happening between Ash and Jimmy was that they were acting like we weren't even there. We'd spent enough time together as couples that we'd been witness to each other's arguments. But this was different. It was like they didn't even notice that anyone else was around, too far gone to remember that they weren't alone.

Matt was pretty quiet during dinner, almost like he wasn't aware of the fighting at the table. I made a halfhearted attempt to talk about the melon that had won the contest that day—it was so big it seemed almost pornographic—but no one joined in and we finished our meal in silence.

Back at the hotel, Matt sat on the bed and read e-mails on his phone. “Don't you want to take the comforter off the bed first?” I asked, and he looked at me and shrugged, moving just slightly so I could pull it off and throw it on the floor. “Comforters are the dirtiest parts of hotels,” I said.