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“Mr. Gruco has a slide!” Zeke bounces up and down in his seat. “Let’s invite Charlie, Mom! I can show him I can hold my breath too!”
I sigh and let my smile fade some. Zeke seems to notice and stops bouncing in the seat. “Honey, I think Mr. Gruco is probably busy today. Why don’t we find a different place?”
Zeke frowns. “Can you ask?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to bother him.”
“But Mom,” Zeke cries. “You said we could do whatever I wanted.”
I bite my lip and try to find some other excuse that wouldn’t technically be a lie. I’ve already lied enough to Zeke. As far as he knows, Dad and I just aren’t getting along anymore. He has no idea who his father really is and what he’s capable of, and it breaks my heart every time he asks about him. For the first time in Zeke’s life I’m grateful Devin was, for the most part, an absent parent. Emotionally, at least. It’s made the separation easier on Zeke.
“Please,” Zeke whines, his puppy dog eyes imploring me.
I tap my fingers on my thigh and pause for several seconds, all the while knowing I’m going to give in. He’s right, I told him we could do whatever he wanted.
And he’ll only turn eight once.
I pull my phone from my back pocket and force a smile. “Okay, Bud. I’ll ask.”
* * *
Colter
“Thank you,Mr. Gruco. My vote is for you.” Agnes smiles, revealing nothing but gums and horrid breath, and I smile back.
“It’s my pleasure. Let me know if there’s anything else you need. Here,” I pull a card from my wallet and hand it to her. “My office number is on the back. Call anytime.”
Agnes takes the card, holding it up and tipping it toward me. “I sure will, you can bet on that.”
With a grin permanently sketched on my face, I touch her arm and give her a nod. “Take care, dear.” I pass by her and wave when she returns the goodbye. I lift a hand to several people and wish the woman at reception a good day as I exit the third nursing home of the day.
It’s sad really, how easy it is to make the elderly happy. Forget the improved rec-room and a repaved patio I can feasibly promise, all you really need to do is listen to them.
It’s been hours of listening to stories of ‘back in the day’, grandchildren, and one man even told me about a robbery he and his buddy pulled off when they were in their twenties. It’s difficult to tell if he recognized my last name or simply doesn’t give a shit who knows about it. I think I saw a total of three visitors today, and I can’t help but think that’s my future. Only I won’t have any grandchildren to ignore me.
Jesus, I’ve been moody lately.
I try to shrug off the feeling like I’ve been doing for the past week, but it’s useless. With every free minute I have, Abi is on my mind. Thankfully, I’ve had plenty to keep me busy.
Oliver smokes a cigarette by the car, and when he sees me, he takes one last drag before tossing it to the ground and smashing it with his boot.
I frown in disapproval. “Probably not the best place to discard a cigarette,” I say when I’m close enough for him to hear.
He shrugs and opens the back door of the Lincoln. “Whatever you say, boss.”
I roll my eyes and climb into the back seat while Oliver goes around to the driver side.
Instead of pulling out my phone right away, I lean my head back against the headrest and close my eyes. It has been a long fucking week. With two weeks until election day, I can’t afford for it not to be.
Everyday, I’m out of bed by five to get in a quick workout before heading to campaign headquarters where my manager briefs me on the people I’m to charm that day. Rich people, donors I promise to move their agenda, and middle-class voters I promise to give a better quality of life to.
It feels sickeningly ironic that I got into politics to make a difference. To help people. My childhood was spent watching my single mother do everything she could to take care of me, all the while knowing she was struggling. Hearing her cry in the next room during the night when she didn’t think I could hear. I couldn’t fix it, and when she got sick, I couldn’t fix that either.
She hadn’t spoken to her estranged parents since before I was born, and when they heard the news, they came flocking. Tears streaked their faces and they tried to mourn with me like our losses were the same.
My mother was everything to me. I watched her give every ounce of her soul to me, and then I watched her shrivel away. These people hadn’t bothered to attempt to make amends with her.
She never talked about her family. It wasn’t until they showed up at her funeral in BMWs that I had any idea they were wealthy. Wealthier than my father, even. My father who let my mom struggle, who watched her in need, and then chose to silently enjoy her suffering.