Thirteen
Thirteen
SEPTEMBER 2021
Two loud voices boom into the campaign headquarters followed by peals of laughter. Since the boys got back from camp and classes began, Cecilia has made it a habit to bring them for a visit after school. She says we have months to make up for. I’m grateful for the few minutes every afternoon we get to spend together, since most days I’m working long after they’ve gone to bed.
They grew inches while they were gone at camp, coming home with a trunk full of filthy clothes that no longer fit. I expected Cecilia to take the whole trunk and dump it in our trash can, but instead she sat on the floor of the laundry room, eyes glistening. When I asked her what was wrong, she said, “I’ll never get those months back. They’re gone. They’re so different and I missed the change.”
She’s right. Almost two months without their parents and they did come back different kids. They eat dinner like animals, but otherwise, all the changes have been positive, at least what I see. They’re confident and independent, and maybe that’s part of Cecilia’s sadness. The boys don’t need her as much. I feel a pang of guilt. There’s a finite number of summers with your children and we lost one because of this campaign.
Having them home has increased the hectic nature of our days—coordinating the schedules of two active boys, one active campaign, and a couple who largely communicates through assistants. I hoped Cecilia and I would grow close over the summer, working together on the campaign without children’s demands constantly distracting us. Instead, it was the opposite. We grew further apart. In some ways, the boys returning made it easier. At least we have an excuse for barely seeing each other.
I could blame Stuart because he wanted to double our coverage by scheduling us at separate events. But when it was just Cece and me in the house at night, we didn’t recap our days or laugh over the antics of my staff. We climbed into bed and rolled onto opposite sides, a sea of space between our bodies. Marriages have phases, and passion comes and goes, but Cecilia has long acted like sex with her husband is a task she needs to check off her list, somewhere between yoga class and planning dinner. I stopped trying after too many nights of feeling like her obligation rather than her desire.
Before I agreed to run, I asked Cece if she ever thought about divorce. It’s a word I never wanted to utter, and the shock of it rolling off my tongue immediately made me feel queasy. Stuart kept harping that a strong candidate needed a solid marriage. I nodded along, in the reflexive sort of response that was expected. But the more questions Stuart asked about the state of our relationship, the more fear I felt about our future. We’d been distant for years, blaming it on my career and the demands of raising twins. Still, I surprised us both with the question because we were so good at pretending to be okay.
She shook her head and relief washed over me. While we weren’t the perfect couple, I wanted the family I never had and to keep trying to be the husband she needed. We can do this, I thought, until I saw Cece’s chin quiver as she said, “The boys are too young.”
Most days I feel like an expired piece of meat hiding in the back corner of the fridge. She’ll kick me out eventually. But I hold out hope that I can fix this. Maybe she’ll change her mind and love me again, even the rotten parts.
Declan runs up to me and wraps his arms around my waist as his backpack falls to the floor. He speaks so quickly that it’s hard to follow the play-by-play excitement of fifth-grade gym class and the joke his teacher told about fractions. On his last breath he exclaims, “Mom let us get ice cream after school. I got rainbow cotton candy. Two scoops. Hudson just got vanilla.”
Hudson sits in my office chair and spins around as he says, “I like what I like.”
Declan is by his side immediately, spinning him faster and faster.
I turn to Cecilia and whisper, “What are the odds one of them pukes?”
“High,” Cecilia says on a sigh. “Boys, please stop spinning.”
Cecilia has a quiet power about her, evident by the fact that the boys follow her instructions. If I had asked them, they would have laughed and spun faster, ignoring me until I walked away.
I want to be a better father. I want them to listen to me and care about me, and sometimes I think they do. My worst fear is that one day my boys will look at me with hatred instead of with admiration. I might spend too much time in the office, but I tell them I love them every night before bed. I try to make up for the fact that I never heard those words from my own father. It’s not enough, but it’s a way I can try to be better every day. And I remind myself that they’re lucky to have Cecilia. It makes a huge difference to have that kind of love and stability in your life, especially when your father works too much.
“Do you think you’ll be home for dinner tonight?” Cecilia asks.
Stuart wants to meet and I’m surprised he isn’t already in my office. He wants to spend the evening discussing the strategy for the second debate.
I shake my head, seeing the flash of disappointment on Cecilia’s face, but she quickly masks it and smiles at our sons. “Well, since it is just us, how about we pick up some burgers on our way home?”
Hudson says, “Cool.”
Declan declares, “This is the most epic day ever. Ice cream, cheeseburgers, and unlimited Minecraft. I love my life.”
Cecilia laughs as she says, “Ice cream, cheeseburger, and then homework and baths. Nice try, Declan.”
“Worth a shot,” Declan says as he high-fives Hudson.
They may be twins, but they are polar opposites. I often wonder how much genetics plays into who a child becomes. Are there parts of me that are unavoidable because of my parents? But if my twins teach me anything, identical genes seemed irrelevant to their strongly emerging personalities. Seeing their differences is a comfort.
Stuart walks into my office, a cell phone to his ear. “As deep as you can fucking go,” Stuart says into the phone, before hanging up and noticing the audience in my office.
“Sorry,” he mouths to Cecilia before walking toward Hudson and spinning him faster in my chair.
“Me next,” Declan pleads.
My wife rolls her eyes. “Time to go, boys.” Cecilia herds the boys toward the door, straightening the pens they knocked over and pushing my chair back in place.
A few seconds of hugs and bets about whether they can eat two whole cheeseburgers, or maybe even three, and my office is quiet again.
“What was that call about?” I ask Stuart.
“Nothing,” he says.
I cross my arms, waiting for his answer.
“Fine,” Stuart says. “That was a buddy at the RNC. He’s doing me a favor.”
“What kind of favor do we need from the National Committee?” I ask.
“The kind of favor I don’t want to discuss with you,” Stuart says.
“When has that answer ever worked, in the history of all political campaigns?”
“I’ve already dealt with enough bad news today,” Stuart says. “You’re not going to like my answer and I don’t have enough patience to cater to your emotions right now. We need to get started on debate prep.”
“What bad news?” I ask, frowning.
Stuart walks to the window and stares outside. “We are down six points. Tess Murphy is likable Teflon and I hate losing. We are adjusting our strategy.”
I knew we had dropped in the polls, but I didn’t realize the drop was that big. No wonder Stuart is on edge. “Am I included in this strategy discussion?” I ask.
“Yes. But the national party guys have more experience. We need their help.”
“Is that what your call was about? This new strategy?”
Stuart nods.
“Talk, Stuart. I’m the candidate. I want to be in on it,” I say, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms.
“We need dirt.” Stuart sits on the edge of my desk. “We need to make Tess Murphy unlikable.”
I immediately start shaking my head. “No opposition research. That’s not how I want to play this. We focus on our campaign, our platform.”
“Okay,” Stuart says in a sarcastic way that obviously means the opposite.
“Stewie, I’m serious. No dirt digging. No negative ads. I’ve been clear that’s not the way I want to win.”
“Either we do it and control the narrative or the national party does it on their own, without our input, and we have no control.” Stuart starts pacing the room. “There is no such thing as a clean campaign anymore. Especially not against a candidate like Tess Murphy: married to her college sweetheart, career public servant, committed to the cause.”
Stuart leans forward, his arms perched on either side of my desk. “You win as the family man. Voters have to like you more, and that’s not easy because she’s incredibly likable.” He leans back and says, “And don’t call me Stewie. I hate that.”
I smirk briefly, but then the weight of Stuart’s words settles. He’s right. Everyone falls for Tess Murphy, even the people who should hate her. I know this firsthand. But I also know the danger of opposition research, and the secrets it may uncover.
“No,” I say, forcefully. “I’m firm on this. No good comes from digging up dirt on Tess Murphy.”
Stuart shrugs. “You had no problem with negative ads on the other Republicans.”
I swallow. I need to tell him. I need to tell him everything so that he can manage this situation.
I shake my head as I confidently say, “We have to consider the gender dynamics. We attack her and it will look bad.”
Stuart seems to think about this. “We’ll make them reactive. When she attacks, we respond. But we have to be ready to respond. We need to start the opposition research.”
“Table it for now. We can deal with that if and only if she attacks.”
Stuart starts to lose his cool. “You have no idea how these things work. You’re a newbie. I love that, but you have to trust the political experts.”
“Stuart, I’m not willing to negotiate on this. No opposition research. It’s not how I’m going to get elected.”
Stuart’s eyes narrow. “What do you think your father is going to think of this approach?”
My jaw immediately tightens at the mention of my father, my teeth grinding back and forth. “You don’t work for my father. You work for me.”
“He’s incredibly well connected. You might need to get past your hatred so that we can use his influence.”
“No,” I say flatly. “Mention him again and I’ll find a new campaign manager.”
“Fine,” he says with an eye roll.
Stuart doesn’t push because he knows it’s pointless. I’ve never been good at letting people in, and Stuart gave up trying years ago. We’ve known each other since we were boys, he attended my wedding, sent cigars when the twins were born, and yet I’ve shut down every attempt at emotional conversations with one-word answers and shoulder shrugs, especially when it comes to questions about my father. I’ve kept our friendship superficial because that’s the only way I knew to hide my family’s dark secrets. And now, I try to keep our relationship professional, because we both want to win, and explaining why I hate my father isn’t going to help that goal.
Stuart continues, “The opposition research is happening. They’ve started digging into Tess. I should have the report by the end of the week.”
“Well, tell them to stop,” I say, stumbling over the words.
“I can’t.” Stuart speaks slowly, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Winning this election matters to more people than just you. Get. On. Board.”
I pace the room, my thoughts spiraling as I feel Stuart’s focused eyes examining my every move.
“Spill it,” Stuart says. “Why do you care about the Tess Murphy opposition research?” he asks quietly.
“Because I knew her,” I blurt.
“What?” His response is almost a laugh until he sees the panic on my face.
“I knew Tess,” I say, as I swallow slowly.
“You cheated on Cece?” I watch as anger sweeps across Stuart’s face, his mind jumping twelve steps ahead.
“No. I’ve never cheated on Cece. You know I wouldn’t do that.”
There are lines I’d never cross after witnessing the destruction between my parents. “This was before I met Cece. Tess and I were kids. It was the summer before Princeton.”
“Start talking,” Stuart says. His face is pale. I watch as shock turns into something else. He’s hurt. This secret must feel like a betrayal of our friendship, but it seems too late to fix that mistake.
I use the same story Tess repeated to her campaign. I tell Stuart that I met Tess when I was eighteen; she worked for my mother one summer; I haven’t seen her since.
Stuart listens, except he’s known me most of my life. He knows that my story could never be this simple. He’s uncharacteristically silent as he waits for me to finish.
“That’s it. That’s why I don’t want opposition research.”
Stuart shakes his head slowly. “In all the campaigns I’ve worked on, something has always come out. A secret. Some housekeeper paid under the table, a teenage arrest, drug use. Everybody has something to hide. But I naively thought that running my friend’s campaign would be different.”
“You never asked if I knew her.”
“I didn’t know that was a question I needed to ask. Don’t worry, I’ll update my candidate background questionnaire. Going forward, I will ask if any of my candidates screwed the opposition.”
“You’re crossing a line, Stuart.”
“Really? You don’t think it would have been a good idea to tell your campaign manager, your friend, that you know the opposing candidate? That you had sex with the opposing candidate? Jesus, Grant. This is some grade-A idiot shit, even coming from you.”
“She worked for my mother for a few weeks. It was one summer. You’re jumping to conclusions.”
“I need to know the whole story. Now,” Stuart commands.
“That’s it. You have the whole story, Stuart.”
He shakes his head, unconvinced. “Who else knows?” Stuart asks, his chin jutting forward.
“Tess and her campaign manager.” I hesitate before continuing. “And my father.”
“Tess’s campaign knows? Fuck.” He draws out every syllable of his favorite word.
I quickly cut off Stuart’s spiraling. “Tess’s campaign manager was sent a picture of us, from an anonymous account. Tess admitted she worked for my mother. That’s it.”
“At least you two agree on your lies.” Stuart’s voice deepens as he continues. “This is going to be everywhere. It will destroy your campaign. There is no such thing as one isolated photograph from an anonymous account. You are staring down the tunnel of a blackmail campaign.”
“I don’t think so,” I say, my voice sputtering. “Tess and I have been in touch. Her campaign hasn’t received any other pictures.”
“Oh, you’ve been in touch with Tess. That’s nice.” Stuart folds his hands, his body and words making a mockery of my statement while his eyes narrow. He looks like he wants to murder me.
“I met with her once. I thought it was necessary.”
“Listen,” Stuart growls. “It was necessary to tell your campaign manager the truth. Meeting with the opposing candidate is never necessary.” He pauses, annoyed that he has to take a break to breathe. “You lied. You need to start talking. If I’m going to manage this, I need to know everything.”
My forehead immediately starts to dampen. A part of me wants to explain. Because maybe then I could begin to alleviate the gnawing guilt of that summer. But I know I can’t. All of the worst moments of my life are tied up with Tess. If I admit one part of our relationship, everything unravels. It’s not just about the campaign anymore. It will destroy my future and the dreams Stuart shares.
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Stuart says. “If she worked for your mother, you would have told me. If you had something to hide, you would freak out about opposition research. You hid this for a reason and I’m trying to figure out just how epically it’s going to blow up in our faces.”
I hang my head, knowing Stuart is right.
It’s then that I notice Stuart and I are not alone. He was too angry and I was too defensive to notice that Cecilia slipped into the room and is standing behind my heavy office door.
I don’t know how long she’s been there, but she’s heard enough to create a tightness across her face, her slender hands clenching into fists. She looks as if she’s deciding whether to slap me or run.
Cecilia stutters, “Declan left his backpack.” She bends over to pick it up.
I lean in to Cecilia’s ear and whisper, “There’s nothing to tell. It was one summer. It meant nothing.”
She takes a step back, her eyes slowly moving from my feet up to my face. “You sound like your father,” she says, knowing the devastation of those words.
“I can explain,” I stutter.
She closes her eyes. When they open, I see a streak of pain quickly disappear as she surveys the room. “Yes. We will speak later,” she says.
She walks away. There is an audience of campaign staffers outside my now open office door. I reach for her arm. She hesitates but then kisses me on the cheek because of the room of people pretending to work while they gawk at this scene. Her voice is clear and her eyes are narrow as she says, “I’m taking our children home. You should change your plans and join us for dinner. And you will tell me everything.”
I nod.
Cecilia tosses Declan’s backpack over her shoulder as she says, “You can pick up the burgers, Grant.” She leaves, exchanging pleasantries with the staff on her way out, and never once looks back at me.
There’s a brief look of guilt on Stuart’s face. He knows this isn’t good for my marriage, but his remorse quickly evaporates.
“Sit down,” Stuart says, slamming my office door. “We need to come up with a plan.”
I shake my head. “I need some space, Stuart.”
He laughs too loudly. “No. You need to tell me the entire story of your relationship with Tess Murphy and then we need to prepare for the second debate.”
“I can’t,” I say, my voice as unstable as my body feels.
“Yes. You. Can.” Stuart speaks to me like I’m a child he needs to teach a lesson.
I stand, but Stuart corners me at the door, blocking the exit.
“Leave me alone, Stuart. I’m serious. I’m done.” Each word is louder than the last. As if my voice is yet another thing I’m unable to control in this rapidly deteriorating situation.
Stuart holds up his hands. “Sorry I’m blindly trying to win a campaign for a candidate who doesn’t seem to care.”
“Then quit!” I scream.
“No,” Stuart says. “Dropping out would be a career-ender for me. You can’t imagine the scrutiny I’m under since the last election. If I botch this, I’ll be lucky to get a state rep campaign.”
“You made it seem like you were doing me a favor.”
“I am, Grant. I’m the best. But I lost the last election and I’m trying to prove to the entire Republican Party that I can be the kingmaker they need. Besides, I’ve won with bigger shit shows than this. Leave. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I know everyone is staring as I walk toward the front door. They expect an explanation, some reason why their boss who barely raises his voice to get everyone’s attention at team meetings just screamed at his campaign manager. But I’m all out of words.
Except Cece needs an explanation tonight. Maybe it’s time I told her what happened that summer. Because it feels impossible to hide the truth any longer, and then she’ll finally know that all this time, I’ve just been pretending to be a good man.