Joanna’s heart ached with sympathy. She under stood what was happening with her daughter, but why did their mutual grief separate them rather than draw them together?
Shaking her head, Joanna retreated to her own room to dress. She stood dispiritedly in front of the closet door-a closet from which she had not yet found the heart to banish all trace of Andy’s clothes. With Andy’s scent still lingering around her, she tried to decide what she should wear.
What was the proper mode of dress for her today?
There was no manual of suitable behavior for a sheriff’s candidate who was also a recent widow.
Not only that, the question of what to wear touched on all the deeper questions as well. Why was she running for office in the first place? Why was she putting herself through all this? Why was she putting Jenny through this?
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, back during and just after Andy’s funeral when people’s feelings were running high. Friends, neighbors, and even complete strangers from all over the county had urged her to run, encouraged her to take Andy’s place on the ballot. Back then, even Jennifer had wanted her to do it. And when Joanna had reluctantly agreed, one of the reasons she had done so was the belief that running for office would be something she and Jenny would do together-would work toward together-a shared goal that would unite them and help take up both their time and energy. She had thought it would give them a needed focus and would keep their lives from being constantly centered on Andy’s death.
But it hadn’t worked out that way. Not at all.
In fact, as the campaign had heated up, it had become a bone of contention. Jenny had lost interest in the election process almost immediately. She had dragged her feet every step of the way, constantly creating logistical roadblocks of childish whimpering and whining rather than helping.
As for Joanna, even though she had worked hard on both her father’s and Andy’s separate campaigns for sheriff, in both cases she had been part of the campaign-a cog in the wheel, a member of the team-not the candidate. Doing it all on her own, without Andy there to backstop her, she had found overwhelming.
As the candidate, she had been forced to juggle all the time commitments of electioneering-the civic meetings, speeches, and doorbelling-that couldn’t be delegated to anyone else. Nor could she delegate the complexities of her life as a newly single parent or the demands of a job that was now a sole source of income rather than a shared one. The only good thing about all this was that sometimes when she fell into bed at night, she was too worn out to toss and turn.
At last Joanna chose two hangers and pulled them down from the clothes rod. One hanger held a winter-gray blazer made of a medium-weight wool. On the other was a pearl-gray blouse. She was in the process of laying out the clothes on the bed when the phone rang. Dropping what she was doing, Joanna hurried to answer.
“Hello,” Eleanor Lathrop said to her daughter.
“How are we holding up this morning?”
Not very well, Joanna thought. She said, “Fine, Mother. How are you?”
“What are you going to wear today?”
“Funny you should ask,” Joanna answered. “I was standing here in my underwear wondering that very thing.”
“Well, wear something nice,” Eleanor ordered.
“I was just watching the news from Tucson. They were talking about you, about how you’re the only woman candidate for sheriff in the whole state.
They said that if you’re elected, you’ll be breaking new ground. They plan on sending a television crew down here to cover it live.”
At the word “television,” Joanna sank onto the bed. “To cover me?” she managed.
“What about that new gray blazer of yours and that light gray blouse?” Eleanor continued. “Those would be good. And speaking of which, what are you doing after work?”
“After work?”
“I already checked with Helen Barco at Helene’s. She could do you right at four.”
“Mother Joanna began, but Eleanor rolled over the abortive objection.
“Now, Joanna, I know you don’t believe in going to the beauty shop all that much, but this is television. People all over the state are going to see you. It’s important for you to look your very best. Besides, I told Helen it’s my treat. It isn’t every day your daughter gets elected sheriff, you know.”
Eleanor’s initial opposition to Joanna’s candidacy had gradually changed-first to grudging acceptance and later to highly committed partisan support. It was one thing for Joanna to tell her mother to go jump in the lake. It was another thing entirely to insult a loyal campaign worker. Only Marianne Macula, Joanna’s campaign coordinator and best friend, had logged more hours on Joanna’s run for office than her mother, Eleanor Lathrop.
“All right,” Joanna relented. “Four o’clock?”
“Right. Shampoo, blow dry, makeup, and manicure.”
“Manicure, too?”
“It won’t hurt,” Eleanor told her. “You might even like it. Now what about Jenny? Is she going to come to the polls-closing party at the convention center or not?”
“I haven’t asked her. It’s a school night. If she comes at all, she shouldn’t stay very late.”
“Well, I’m sure the Bradlys would be glad to take her back home with them if she gets too tired.
Mark my words, Jim Bob and Eva Lou Brady won’t hang around celebrating for very long.
They’re not much on socializing.”
