Chapter 3
Knightley
Oscar Wilde once said, “To expect the unexpected shows a thoroughly modern intellect.”
I must be a thoroughly modern idiot.
“How could this happen?” I ask the stoplight, the only one in this little town of Hartfield as I head toward my mama’s place.
All poll projections pointed in my favor for this year’s mayoral primary election, but here we are, a neck-and-neck race between me, a Republican, and newcomer and Independent, Jansen Johnson, or Jay, as everyone calls him.
I run my fingers through my hair, no longer caring that I’ve ruined the styled look I sported earlier at my day job, Donwell Family Law, which is named after my grandfather, Donwell Austen.
He's the one who encouraged me to pursue a degree in law instead of taking over the family’s financial business.
My brother, John, does a good enough job managing that, anyway.
His constant and unwavering support allowed me to pursue a life I love—practicing family law.
I entered the political arena four years ago because no good candidates were running for office.
Good people, sure, but not ones who could really make a difference in the town.
More like old codgers who knew they could at least keep the status quo around here.
My job as mayor of Juniper Grove, Mississippi, Hartfield’s neighboring college town, seemed secure.
My first term went splendidly. I passed many affirmative legislations to make Juniper Grove a better city to live in by focusing on tourism, which is hard to come by in the Delta region of the state.
I also amassed cohesive support between both Democrats and Republicans, and I even continued my positive work as the head lawyer at Donwell Family Law practice.
I was a shoe-in for re-election…
Until I wasn’t.
Until he entered the race.
For once I wish this city held primaries for city elections.
The silence in the car is interrupted by an incoming call over the system.
Marcus Long.
“Hello, Knightley speaking.”
There’s a loud bang like an engine misfiring, which considering Marcus’s workplace, could very well be the case.
“Sorry about that,” he says breathlessly. “Just saw the news. Want to come over for pizza and beer in an hour? I’m about to close up shop for the evening.”
The light turns green, and I rev the engine of my day car, a white Maserati, before speeding off, letting my frustrations out on the road.
Calm down, Knightley. The last thing you need is a speeding ticket. Then you can really kiss your second term as mayor goodbye.
Though sometimes, I wonder if I would survive a second term.
The people are good to me in this town, but those who are adamant I’m not qualified to be mayor of Juniper Grove are loud.
Their reasons are: I didn’t grow up in the town, I’m unmarried and therefore don’t understand how to properly protect families, and, of course, those who despise Republicans.
Though, to be fair, those are the ones I have the least encounters with.
My most prominent opposition is from those who follow the local Southern Baptist association’s new president, Pastor Vance Green, who I continually push back against for twisting scripture to fit his political agenda.
Whether I let people see it or or not, the constant pushback and workarounds do get to me. Especially when they accuse me of not being a true Christian because I don’t interpret scripture the same way they do.
“I’ll stop by Mama’s place first, but yeah, that sounds like a good plan.”
Not one for continuous conversation over nothing, Marcus hangs up. The rest of the ride home is uneventful, just me all up in my head and ignoring constant calls from my small campaign team. I do mean small. It consists of three people plus me.
After swinging by Mama’s house to reassure her that I am, in fact, okay, I make my way a little farther into the sticks, until I find myself at the end of a mile-long dirt driveway staring at a simple but nice cabin in the woods.
A few magnolia and oak trees are boasting tall around the cabin, creating a good source of shade in the midst of the summer heat, but here in the dimming evening sun, it creates a sea of orange and yellow hues that even the best painter could never recreate as purely and perfectly as God is presenting the image in front of me.
Shaking my head clear of the marvelous picture, I take the three steps that lead me into the quaint home.
Log beams hold up the roof; wood covers the walls, the floors, and the cabinets.
The matching maroon furniture breaks up the monotony of the light brown wood color.
An unlit fireplace sits against the wall with a bare mantel waiting for pictures of a thriving family.
Cami, my deceased wife, once stated that no matter what home we settled into, she wanted a fireplace with a mantel to show off the amazing family we would grow together.
An idea that died alongside her in the cold expanse of Alaska.
“Right on time.” Marcus rounds the corner holding two beers, and I smell homemade pizza wafting from the kitchen.
“Are you sure you don’t have Italian roots instead of Korean roots?”
Marcus laughs, his monolid eyes crinkling in the corners as he hands me a drink before leading the way back to the tiny kitchen. “I’m a mutt. You’ll never know ‘cause Mama will never tell.”
He’s a shorter guy, though not small by any means.
His past job as a farmhand and his current job as a mechanic shows.
Plus, if I was to challenge him in a wrestling match, he would smirk and shake his head, knowing well and good he’d take me down within an instant.
Marcus is a competitive mixed martial arts fighter, and he often competes around the state.
“If you’re the mutt of your family, then I’d hate to see what your child will look like one day.” I grab a slice of Hawaiian pizza topped with mushrooms and peppers before sinking into one of the two recliners.
Marcus joins me on the other recliner, then in unison as if we are Chandler and Joey from FRIENDS, we lift the side levers and groan in pleasure.
“That’s the stuff.”
I grunt in agreement.
“Wanna watch TV?” he asks.
“You don’t want to talk about our day and make sure our emotions are in a good place first?” I hitch my eyebrow in his direction as he shakes his head and laughs.
When he clicks on the television and logs into Netflix, I notice his recommended shows and movies are chock-full of Korean dramas.
Marcus motions toward the TV and talks around a bite of pizza. “See? I don’t need to talk about feelings. I watch these and remember I’ll never get a woman anyway because I’m not the grumpy son of a rich CEO.”
“Rich CEOs are not all that and a bag of chips, Marcus. What you have to give a woman is so much more.”
My younger friend stares at me as if I’d just spoken Korean.
“Okay, yeah.” I clear my throat and take a swig of my drink. “Moving on. Too mushy.”
After a pause, he pops his neck then pegs me with a serious stare. “What are your plans moving forward in this election? Jay is already a popular person in Juniper Grove for his contributions to relief efforts when the Mississippi River flooded several years ago.”
I release a slow breath and take a bite of pizza. “I don’t know. Yeah, he helped with relief, and he’s filthy rich. But I’ve made our town a real college town. People like to visit Juniper Grove now. When you look at Jay and me on paper, we are tit for tat on policy, promises, and procedures.”
“Look at you sounding like a real politician with your alliteration. Or are you actually a Baptist preacher?”
“What’s the difference between the two?”
We laugh as he continues to scroll through Netflix.
I say the one thing I’ve been avoiding. “I think—“ a pit settles in my stomach, and I breathe through it. “I think it’s because he has a wife and kids, you know? People see that as ‘more than.’ Especially here in the south. If he can lead his family, then he can lead the city. He’ll have Vance Green’s support since Jay is actually a Southern Baptist and I’m not, which will take a lot of votes from me.
But what I don’t get is that I’ve been leading the city well for the past four years. ”
“Right,” Marcus helpfully adds.
“I had a wife. God just didn’t see fit to let me keep her past the honeymoon.”
Marcus pauses his search and sets the remote down. “In all seriousness, do you want to talk about it? I know it’s been eight years since the accident, but I also figure some moments of healing are harder than others.”
The man can be articulate when he needs to be. “I’ll always miss her, and sometimes I think about her when I least expect to think about her. But I’m okay. I’ve made peace with it. I just don’t think marriage is something I want to try again. She was the one, you know?”
“Understandable,” Marcus says. “So are you not going to try and even the score between you and Jay?”
“Ha. As if I’d find someone to fall in love with and marry before the election in November.
Besides, it wouldn’t be the worst thing if he won.
He’s a good man, and I think he’d continue to improve this town.
And I don’t plan on moving my church membership to Southern Baptist. I’m perfectly content at my Presbyterian church. ”
“It’s three months. Stranger things have happened. I’m sure any woman would love to be the wife of the mayor. And you’re a lawyer. That says a lot in itself.”
I choke in disbelief. “Do you hear yourself, Marcus? Quit watching those ridiculous K-dramas, okay?”
He laughs then clicks on a particularly cringe-looking drama. “Trust me. Just watch one episode and you’ll be hooked.”
I stand. “Find a girlfriend to watch these with.”
“Hm. Henrietta comes over occasionally and watches them with me. But I hear Emma Jane is matchmaking her with Frank Weston.”
“You’re late for town gossip. That’s in the past, and Grant has already given Frank a job until he’s back on his feet from bankruptcy. E. J. is attempting to match her with Reverend Philip now.”
Marcus looks up at me from his seated position, the last bite of pizza at his lips. “What? The reverend? Is it… going well?”
“Seems to be, actually.” I shrug, feeling that familiar taste of disdain on my tongue.
Why Emma Jane feels the need to match people up is beside me.
Her talents do not lie in matchmaking but in relational business.
Sure, she could start a great business from this, but it’s Hartfield, Mississippi, for crying out loud.
Not the best place for a startup. She’s too confident for her own good, too beloved by this town such that her ego is sky-high.
I have thirteen years of life on her, and if I’ve learned one thing, especially today, it’s that overconfidence in yourself will lead to your destruction.
But don’t take my word for it. Pride is the downfall of man, according to scripture.
Reverend Philip, however, has been oddly open to Emma Jane’s attempts to get Henrietta and herself in a room with him.
“Hm.” Marcus stands, setting the empty plate down on the small end table between the chairs. “Is Henrietta receptive to his advances?”
“I couldn’t tell you. In order to maintain cordiality with E. J., I’ve stepped back.” Then it dawns on me. “You like Henrietta?”
Marcus shifts his glance down to his feet, then to the empty plate on the side table. “I said she comes over and watches K-dramas with me.” He says the words as if the meaning behind them was obvious.
“Dude.” I clap him on the back. How does one equate watching television together to interest? I watch television with him all the time. And E. J. “Why haven’t you asked her on a real date?”
“I don’t know, man.” Marcus picks up the plate, and I follow him into the kitchen. “Emma Jane is trying to set her up with all these high-profile men.”
I scoff. “Reverend Philip is not a high profile man.”
“No,” Marcus contemplates, “which is weird. Did Henrietta have a change in heart?”
“Do you think Henrietta is responsible for these setups?”
“Yes?”
I laugh, placing my plate into the sink. “Not a chance. This is all Emma Jane and her desire to launch a matchmaking service.”
“In Hartfield, Mississippi?”
“My sentiments exactly.”
Marcus is silent as he washes the dishes. I busy myself with putting away ingredients from his cooking. Finally, he says, “Do you think Henrietta would say yes if I asked her out?”
I think for a moment. I have honestly thought the two of them would be a healthy match. I’ve mentored Marcus for a long time, ever since he became a Christian years ago. We quickly became friends. In a small town like Hartfield, you befriend whoever you can.
I’ve caught Henrietta and Marcus admiring each other countless times, but unlike someone I know, I’m not trying to play God and make matches.
“I think so. She’s only a few years younger than you. You have a steady job. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.” I grin and waggle my brows. “And you’re obviously handsome. Why would she say no?”
With renewed confidence, Marcus straightens his shoulders. “Will you help me write her a letter?”
“Why a letter?”
“You know I suck at talking. I want to get this right.”
A smile breaks across my face. “Let’s go.”