about nothing.â She glanced at her watch. âIâve got to pick Emily up. Gavin is supposed to be watching her, but knowing him, sheâs running free-range around town.â Kate leaned down and kissed Patricia on the cheek. âEverything is going to work out. Youâll see.â
Patricia let her eyelids fall again, allowing the pain medicine to lull her into a catnap, hoping that when she awoke, things would look very different.
THREE
âD o you think sheâs really serious about a write-in campaign?â Gavin asked as he repetitively tossed a red rubber ball against the wall of the small back room in Milesâ campaign headquarters. The suite of offices was housed in the refurbished old torpedo factory on Chances Inletâs Main Street. McAlister Construction and Engineering had been located in the same space for nearly thirty years. Miles remembered his father building out pieces of the large warehouse, bit by bit, as money became available. The torpedo factory was also home to the Tiny Dancers ballet studio across the hall, as well as his brother Gavin, who lived in the loft space above.
It was Sunday afternoon and the office was blissfully quiet except for the sound of the rubber slapping against the brick, making Milesâ head ache. He paused in his pacing of the worn pine floor and snatched the ball out of the air before Gavin could catch it, squeezing it tightly between his fingers.
âHey!â Gavin complained when Miles tossed the ball out into the hallway that linked the offices to the ballet studio across the hall. Gavinâs dog, Midas, scampered wildly after it, his nails screeching on the concrete.
âOh, sheâs serious all right. Sheâs already got a website up and running, not to mention over four thousand likes on her campaignâs Facebook page. And itâs only been live for two hours.â Coy barely glanced up from the two laptops he had spread out on the coffee table while he answered Gavinâs question.
âWow.â Gavin wrestled with Midas, trying to pull the ball from the dogâs mouth. âIt sounds like The GTO Grandma is
revving up
for the race.â
Miles reflexively smacked the back of his brotherâs head when he paced by him, making Gavin chuckle even harder.
âDude, youâve got to find the humor in this somehow.â
âPolitics is serious business, Gavin,â Coy shot back. âEspecially if we want to win.â
âAww, come on.â Gavin tossed the ball again and Midas chased after it. âShe doesnât actually stand a chance, does she?â
Miles paused in his pacing to glance out the window at the town where heâd lived most of his life. A town heâd always dreamed of representing in Congress. He sighed in frustration. It had all sounded so easy when he was a fifth grader.
âOf course she has a chance,â Coy said from behind him. âThe opposing party may not get to put their own candidate on the ballot, but they can certainly redirect their volunteers and donors to Fayeâs campaign. Tanya Sheppard and the rest of the media will try to make Fayeâs movement sound like a grass-roots effort, but hers will be a highly orchestratedânot to mention well-fundedâcampaign.â
Miles slumped into the chair that had once belonged to his father, settling his body against the familiar creased and worn leather. âWe had enough money to run against that idiot Brian Kendrick, donât tell me we have to worry about fund-raising again?â Begging for contributions was Milesâ least favorite aspect of campaigning. There was something about it that made him feel bought and paid for.
Coy tucked his cell phone between his ear and his shoulder. âYou can never have enough money in politics.â
âSo how hard can it be to raise some more cash? Just play on the stud factor,â his brother teased. âPost some tweets orvideos