Page 118 of Where There's Smoke

“You didn’t. It’s okay.” I glanced around. Certain we were alone, I put a hand on his shoulder, and that shoulder sagged beneath my touch.

Jesse closed his eyes and exhaled.

When he looked at me again, I nodded toward the building behind him. “Go be with Simone. She needs you.”

“Thanks,” he said, barely whispering. “And I’m sorry for what I said.”

“I know,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”

We held each other’s gazes for a moment. What I wouldn’t have given to be able to pull him into a gentle, reassuring kiss right then, but I couldn’t and it tore me up like he couldn’t possibly know.

Without another word, Jesse went inside to be with his wife.

As soon as the door shut behind him, I pulled out another cigarette.

Just as I suspected, in the days following Simone’s collapse and her release from the hospital, Jesse lunged into the lead in the polls. For the first time in my career, soaring approval ratings and spectacular poll results left me with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I questioned every percentage point Jesse gained, wondering if it was Simone’s ordeal that had given him that edge. And how much of that ordeal was a result of Jesse and me? Of course the campaign itself had taken its toll, but deep down I was sure Jesse and I had contributed to her condition more than either of us wanted to admit. More than even she would admit.

And just as Jesse said she would, Simone insisted on hitting the ground running after she was released. He’d persuaded the doctors to withhold the green light for at least a few days, but within a week, she was back in the public eye, carrying the torch for her husband. The media scrutinized everything about her, from her paleness to her obvious fatigue, but for the most part, people rallied around her.

As much as I’d been reluctant to agree to put her back on the tour schedule so quickly, Jesse was right: getting back in the saddle was good for her. Though she was still tired and more on the fragile side than I would have liked, every minute she spent visiting with voters and appearing by her husband’s side definitely raised her spirits. I was still careful to look over the schedules and make sure she didn’t overdo it, of course, but I wasn’t quite so inclined to panic if she was double or even triple booked.

And with the election coming up quickly, double and triple booking were the name of the game. I was exhausted; I couldn’t imagine how she felt.

After yet another gala dinner—God, those things got old—everyone retired to the hotel. I went to my room to go over polls and see what the media had to say, and Roger hovered over my shoulder while I checked the various new sites to keep up on the latest word on the street.

Video after video showed reporters speculating on the state of the Lancaster-Cameron marriage, on Simone’s health, and where Jesse stood in terms of public opinion. Overall things were looking good. There was no shortage of commentary on Simone’s eating disorder and the possibility of an underlying drug problem or unannounced pregnancy, but the couple had handled this situation well. His image as a devoted husband—which ate at hisconscience and mine—had done nothing but good things to his numbers since her hospitalization.

“Stress over his wife’s ill health and recent hospitalization have clearly taken their toll on Democratic front-runner Jesse Cameron,” a news anchor said. “The doting husband, upon being asked about Simone, was barely able to contain his emotions.”

The screen switched to the clip of Jesse getting choked up during an interview he’d insisted on doing shortly after Simone was hospitalized. I didn’t think he was ready, not when he was emotionally raw and the particular interviewer had all the tact of a sleep-deprived wolverine, but he went ahead with it. And just as that interviewer always did, she needled at his wounds until he finally cracked, providing the perfect tug-at-the-heartstrings clip for newscasters to play over and over and over again:

“My wife has always been good to me,” Jesse said in the clip. “I can’t imagine how anyone could think she would be the reason I’m passionate about anti-spousal abuse legislation. Not even… She’s always—” He paused, dropping his gaze and swallowing hard. Then he looked at the camera, and his voice shook as he said, “Simone has always been better to me than I deserve, better than I ever could have asked for.”

The anchor reappeared. “Polls have shown a dramatic uptick in Cameron’s already solid ratings, giving him a strong lead over GOP candidate John Casey.”

“Ah, I had a feeling that would happen,” Roger said.

“Of course it did,” I muttered. “The people like Jesse better than Casey. Canceling appearances doesn’t always bode well for gaining favor from voters, but under the circumstances…”

“Precisely.” His tone gave me pause.

I looked up and searched his smug, knowing expression. “What exactly are you getting at, Roger?”

He chuckled. “Oh, come on now, Anthony. You remember when Donna was ill, don’t you?”

Something twisted beneath my ribs. “Of…course I do.”

“So I’m sure you remember what happened to the polls shortly after she took a turn for the worse.” He gestured at the screen. “Voters are nothing if not consistent.”

My heart dropped.

“Simone will handle itjustfine,”Roger’s voice echoed in my ears.“You worry too much about her, son.”

“I know her,”Jesse had replied.“I don’t want this to stress her out more than it already has.”

“She’s a grown woman.”Roger made a dismissive gesture.“And besides, she’s used to red carpet events, meeting fans, all of that. This won’t be much different.”

I moistened my parched lips. “You knew. You knew from the get-go that this would be too much for her.”

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