I said. “When I was thirty-four, I had two children and no idea at all of who I was or what I wanted out of life.”
Zack winced. “Jo, I already feel like a shit about this. If hauling my ass over a mountain of broken glass would make you feel better, I’d do it, but this is just making us both miserable. Cristal doesn’t have anything to do with the life we have now.”
“I know,” I said. “But she isn’t going to go away.” I poured us both coffee, folded the paper so I wouldn’t have to see Cristal’s photo, and turned to another front-page story about the impact Jason’s withdrawal of the custody suit would have on Ginny’s political fortunes and on those of her party. Despite everything, it was absorbing reading.
For much of my adult life I had been involved in electoral politics: first as the candidate’s wife, later as an activist, finally as an academic. I had managed campaigns, cooked turkeys, knocked on doors, hosted coffee parties, and sat in drafty halls enduring endless windy speeches. I’d hated almost every minute of it. I knew people who came alive with campaigns. They were addicted to the adrenalin rush of picking up the paper every morning and looking at poll numbers; they relished the gossip and thrived on trying to guess the shifting whims of the electorate. I found the process frightening and exhausting, but because I believed in what our party was doing, I stayed in. In mid-life, I came up for air, took a hard look at the party my family and I’d given our lives to, decided either it had changed or I had, and I walked away.
Now, I was back in – at least as a spectator. That morning as I left for the strategy meeting Ginny’s campaign manager had called, I automatically assessed her chances in the upcoming election. I knew Ginny’s federal riding, Palliser, intimately. It took in the southwest corner of Regina and the territory extending to and including Moose Jaw. It was a prosperous area and politically volatile, seesawing back and forth between the parties of the right and the left with the outcome often determined by fewer than a hundred votes. Until news of her ugly marital difficulties surfaced, Ginny had seemed unbeatable, but the jokes and innuendo had taken their toll. Despite the fact that she’d worked her constituency hard and delivered on her promises, the party’s internal polling on the night before the hearing opened showed Ginny trailing the candidate for my old party. Jason’s abrupt change of heart about custody of his daughters would stop the hemorrhage of votes from her campaign, but as I pushed the security buzzer in the lobby of her condo, I knew that the meeting ahead would be dominated by one question: was Ginny’s career salvageable?
Ginny herself met me at the door. She was wearing running shorts and a tank top, and her hair was damp with perspiration. “Perfect timing,” she said. “I got in my run and I’m just about to hit the shower. Have you seen the papers?”
“I have.”
“Then you know that I used your line about staying home with the kids last night because that’s where I belonged. My campaign manager said it made him want to blow chunks, but he thought it was effective.”
“That’s a start,” I said. “I don’t imagine that he’s thrilled to have me here this morning.”
“Ignore him,” Ginny said. “But an old friend of yours is coming, and he is thrilled that you’ll be here.”
“Who’s the friend?”
“Keith Harris. When he called from the airport to get my address, I told him about our agreement. I thought if he had concerns, we should deal with them up front, but he was delighted. How do you two know each other?”
“Remember that line about politics making strange bedfellows?” I said.
“I’ve heard it two or three hundred times,” Ginny said dryly.
“Sorry,” I said. “Anyway, Mieka was married to Keith’s nephew, and Keith and I were on a political panel together for a couple of years.”
Ginny cocked her head. “I had a feeling there was more to it than that.”
“There was,” I said.
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “That must have been interesting.”
“It was,” I said. “For a while.”
A young man in khakis, a black T-shirt, and a Blue Jays ball cap came out of the kitchen. He had a newspaper in one hand and a half-eaten Crispy Crunch bar in the other.
“Milo, this is Joanne Shreve,” Ginny said. “She’s going to be with us till E-Day. Joanne, my campaign manager, Milo O’Brien.”
Milo’s smile was not pleasant. “So you’re the Trojan horse.”
Ginny’s voice was wintry. “Back off, Milo. Joanne’s here at my invitation.”
“You’ve already screwed up once, Ginny,” he said. “And it may cost us this election.”
Ginny shot him a look that would have curdled milk, but it bounced off her manager. “Are you sure we can trust her?” he said.
“I’m standing right here, Milo,” I said. “Why don’t you ask me?”
He turned his eyes on me. They were a startlingly bright blue. “All right, Joanne Kilbourn-Shreve, can we trust you?”
I met his gaze. “Yes,” I said.
Ginny laughed. “There’s your answer, Milo. I’m going to shower. You and Joanne get acquainted.”
Milo crammed the rest of his Crispy Crunch bar in his mouth and headed down the hall. I followed him into the kitchen. The room was bright and attractive, but like the rest of the condo it had the unused quality of a show home. It even smelled new. Milo went to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair with the elaborate courtesy of a waiter in an overpriced restaurant, and gestured to me. “Madam?” Then he pulled another Crispy Crunch bar from his pocket, peeled back the wrapper, took a bite, sat down, and began talking on his cellphone.
Somewhere in the apartment a phone began ringing. It stopped and then began again. Milo didn’t move. I took out a notepad and pen and began making notes. Milo narrowed his eyes at me and kept on talking. In fifteen minutes, Ginny was back. She was dressed in a pullover and slacks and talking into a portable phone. She nestled the phone between her ear and her shoulder, took a bran muffin from a paper bag on the kitchen table, and continued fielding questions from her caller.
Left to my own devices, I studied Milo. He had a wild kinetic energy that kept him constantly in motion: drumming on the table with his fingertips, tapping his foot, rolling the wrapper from his Crispy Crunch into a ball, and tossing it towards the wastebasket. All the while, he was wheedling, cajoling, cursing, and threatening the luckless souls on the other end of his cell. The purpose of his endless stream of calls was no mystery. The party had written Ginny off and moved her workers to other, more winnable ridings. Milo was giving it his best shot, but I knew from experience that once the workers had been moved, it was almost impossible to get them back. If Milo hadn’t been such a putz, my heart would have gone out to him.
When the buzzer rang from the lobby, Ginny was in the middle of yet another interview. She gave me a beseeching look, and I walked over, pressed the entry pad, and went to the hall to wait.
Keith Harris was older, thinner, and more drawn than he had been the last time I saw him. With his laptop case slung over his shoulder and his suit-bag hooked to his forefinger, he looked like a traveller at the end of a long and unsuccessful business trip, but as always, he was gallant. He stepped inside, dropped his luggage, and held out his arms. “May I kiss the bride?”
“No longer a bride,” I said. “Zack and I have been married a year and a half, but I’m still me, and I’d welcome a kiss.”
“Good,” he said. The kiss was warm but not passionate: a kiss between loving friends. When it ended, Keith stepped back and looked at me. “Marriage obviously agrees with you.”
“It does,” I said. “We’re very happy. And you?”
Keith shrugged. “Getting by.”
Milo came out into the hall, pocketed his Crispy Crunch, and shook Keith’s hand. “God, am I glad to see you,” he said. “Did they arrange any accommodation?”
“No. This trip was a last-minute decision.”
Milo’s young face creased with anxiety. “But you are staying?”
“As long as I’m needed,” Keith said.
“Thank God. I’ll call about a hotel room. Smoking, right?”
Keith sighed. “Nope, I’ve quit yet again. Doctor’s orders.”
Milo had no interest in other people’s doctors. “Okay, nonsmoking,” he said. “Keith, we’ve gotta pull this out. If
