Page 79 of Where There's Smoke

“For my throat? Or just for the hell of it?”

“Either or.” He winked. “In this line of work, when you have a chance to have a drink or two, don’t question it.”

“Good to know.”

He sat back and folded his hands across his lap. “And how is your wife doing?”

“She’s…” Dropping my gaze, I pursed my lips. Guilt gnawed at me from the inside out whenever I even thought of Simone, especially when it came to the election. “She’s not handling it well, to be honest.”

“Isn’t she?” He didn’t sound surprised. Or fazed. He sounded as concerned as if I’d commented on the weather.

“She’s lost more weight. And she’s not saying anything, but I know her. I know her. If—”

Roger exhaled sharply and put up a hand. “Son, you’re worrying yourself over nothing.”

“Am I?” I drummed my fingers on the table beside my coffee cup. “She’s stressed herself to the point of hospitalization over lesser things, and that—”

“Jesse.” Roger lowered his hand and shook his head. “Elections are stressful for everyone, and she’s a grown woman who made her choice to be involved in this. She’ll befine.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but I have to admit, it’s crossed my mind more than once to drop out of the election for her sake.”

He sat up straight and smacked the table with his palm. “Drop out of the election? You can’t do that. Not this late in the game!”

“And if it means doing what’s best for my wife’s health?” I threw back.

Roger sighed and shifted. “Listen, you remember when Donna was ill during one of my campaigns, don’t you?”

I nodded. His second wife had been undergoing cancer treatments while he ran for office a few terms ago.

“She was terribly ill, remember?” he said. “Especially during the latter half of the campaign, but she made it through. And when I suggested droppingout of the election or keeping her out of the spotlight, she nearly brained me. She didn’t want to be coddled just because she was sick, and she wasn’t about to let me compromise my career over that. Quite honestly, I think the guilt would have made her sicker than the stress.” He pointed an emphatic finger at me. “Something tells me Simone would have the same attitude.”

Avoiding his eyes, I chewed the inside of my cheek. He had a point. Simone loathed being coddled, and few things pissed her off more than the implication she was unable to handle something. She was the stubborn type who would say to hell with backing off and laying low, and instead run herself into the ground just for spite in an effort to prove shecouldhandle it. And if there was anything she handled worse than stress, it was guilt.

“Okay, yeah, she probably would.” I kept my eyes down. “I still don’t want to overwhelm her.”

“She’ll be fine.” He clapped my shoulder. “As will you. These things are stressful for everyone involved, but if Donna can come through when she’s enduring chemotherapy, the two of you can get through this with flying colors.” He inclined his head just enough to emphasize that if Simone and I didn’t make it through with flying colors—and a beautifully intact charade of a marriage—there would be hell to pay.

“We’ll be fine.” I hoped to God I was right.

Roger and I finished our coffee, and when the clock landed on a reasonable enough hour, I went back to my room to shower and face the day.

As the sun climbed higher and the world awoke, my room became Ground Zero for a slow-motion explosion of activity. The walls constricted around an ever-growing mob of people with clipboards, demands, and cell phones. Throughout the day, people came and went. Coffee came in, and empty cups piled up. With every minute ticking past, the urgency in the room intensified. The quiet panic, the unspoken certainty something had been forgotten or mishandled.

In the pit of my stomach, a coil of nerves tightened. Panic mingled with impatience; nervousness that I wasn’t anywhere near ready coupled with restlessness because I just needed to get this over with. I couldn’t sit still. I was light-headed enough to suggest I should eat something but queasy enough I didn’t dare.

And there were too goddamned many people in this room. Anthony. Roger. Simone. Security. My staff and volunteers. People I knew. People I didn’t. Everyone talking, everyone moving around. I wrung my hands and took a deep breath. All the noise and activity in the room drowned out any ticking clock that might have been audible enough to drive me insane, but the noise itself did a fine job of that anyway. People talking or a clock ticking; neither option offered me a chance to relax, collect my thoughts, think about the debate.Notthink about the debate. Anthony had Lydia and Ranya both busy making calls and scheduling me within an inch of my life, which meantmy assistant was indisposed and unavailable to distract me with talk of a zombie apocalypse.

Anthony himself was obviously stressed. Well, no. Not stressed. Intense, I supposed that was the word. His voice and gestures were sharp, but no more so than usual as he simultaneously interacted with about seventeen different people. In spite of all the activity and legions of people demanding his attention at any given second, he was calm. Calm and in control. How he did it, I’d never know. The man could keep a marching band of sugared-up squirrels in line without breaking a sweat.

Me? Not so much. Any other day, I could handle the activity and the madness. Not as well as Anthony, but well enough. With a debate on the horizon? Against John Casey? Shit. Oh shit. I needed…I needed something other than this place. This setting. All these people.

Quiet. That was what I needed. Quiet and a few minutes without people asking me questions or just being here in the room with me.

Everybody, out!I wanted to shout, but I just gritted my teeth and tried not to throw up.

“You okay?” Simone’s voice sounded distant.

I opened my eyes and forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

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