Curtis Sittenfeld - American Wife

I had a maid bring out some peanuts and popcorn, and two televisions were playing—the one in the wooden cabinet, and another that had been brought in so we could watch more than one channel simultaneously, though we turned off the sound on both—and Charlie was preparing to call his opponent and concede the race when his and Hank’s and Debbie’s and Harold’s cell phones all started ringing at once, and less than three minutes later, the networks reported that they were placing Florida back in the undecided category. By one-thirty A.M., Charlie was leading in Florida with a hundred thousand votes, and by three-thirty A.M., he was leading with fewer than two thousand, with most of the votes in the uncounted precincts expected to go to his opponent. When we went to bed just after four, it was impossible to know what to think; the only consensus by then was that the results would be so close there’d have to be a recount, and it might be several days before anyone knew the outcome. I wouldn’t have believed my fatigue could be so overwhelming on such a nerve-racking night, but the last few days of campaigning had been especially wearying, and I felt that my body was begging me to lie down. Equally surprising was that Charlie seemed to feel the same. As the night had worn on, we’d been rejoined by several family members, we’d been paid a visit by a group of television and newspaper reporters and their attendant cameramen and photographers, and I’d noticed that increasingly, Charlie stuck close to me. Once, when I stood up to use the powder room, he asked where I was going. “And you’re coming right back?” he said. I nodded. At close to four, when I said, “Will you forgive me if I turn in?” he said, “As a matter of fact, I’ll join you.” The thirty or so people in the living room applauded as Charlie walked out, and he looked sheepish when he paused and grinned.

In bed, after we’d brushed our teeth and turned out the light, he set his head sideways on my chest, and I ran my fingers through his hair. He said, “So what’s gonna happen?”

“Oh, honey, I don’t know any more than anyone else.”

“But what’s your hunch?”

“Honestly, sweetheart, I don’t—”

He interrupted me. He said, “I’ve been thinking what I should do is be baseball commissioner. I’d be perfect, right?”

It was the first I’d heard of this idea, but it sounded plausible enough. I said, “Okay.”

“It’d be fun—challenging but not a total pain in the ass, and a good way to utilize all the skills I’ve acquired. But this state-government shit, the three-hour meetings about groundwater or labor relations or some dairy law from 1850, I’ve had my fill.”

“Is the baseball-commissioner position going to open soon? It’s Wynne Smith now, isn’t it?”

“I’ll put out a few feelers. Smith’s pushing seventy, so I’ll bet they’re ready for new blood.”

“Just don’t forget you have two years left of being governor.”

Charlie was quiet, and then he said, “If I resigned, would you think that was terrible? Monty is up to the challenge, no question.” Monty was Ralph Montanetti, the lieutenant governor.

“You wouldn’t want to see this term through to the end?” I said.

“This campaign has been brutal—I don’t have to tell you that, but between the two of us, I’m starting to feel like the thrill is gone. I already know Hank’s gonna be gunning for ’04, but I’m not sure it’s worth it. The idea of winning a presidential election, lately, it’s been reminding me of—What’s that line about making partner at a law firm? You’ve won a pie-eating contest, and your prize is more pie.”

“Will you do me a favor?” I said. “Will you try to remember that whatever happens, we’ll be okay? If you want to stay in politics, if you want to get out and go back to baseball, if you just want to relax—” Charlie was fifty-four by then, and it wouldn’t be embarrassing if he no longer worked; he could take early retirement, we could travel, we could even buy our own second home somewhere other than Halcyon, in Minnesota or Michigan, and he could fish and I could read. “You’re lucky that you have so many options, and so many supporters and admirers,” I said. “That’s what’s important.”

Charlie lifted his head and turned it so that, in the dark, we were face-to-face. From the far side of the second floor, we could hear the televisions and the people still awake in the living room. He said, “When they announced I hadn’t gotten Florida, that pissed me off. We’ve been down there, what, fifteen times in the last year? And I’ll bet you right now everyone in the liberal media is shitting their pants with excitement—they get to say I lost, then they say, ‘No, wait, you didn’t,’ and then they’ll say, ‘Oh yeah, you did.’ Twice the fun, right? Over at the hotel, that wasn’t my idea of a good time, to have to smile like a gracious loser while everyone I’ve ever known sits around staring at me. But then I thought, If everything happens for a reason, God must know what He’s doing. What kind of believer would I be if I only trusted in Him when life goes my way?”

“There’s still the possibility that you won,” I said. “The election’s not over yet.”

He shook his head. “You know I lost, and I do, too. I feel it in my bones. But Lindy, I’m at peace.” He kissed my lips and said, “This might sound crazy, but I’m already starting to think I dodged a bullet.”

____

I THOUGHT WE’D ride back to the White House in the cars we were in—I was looking forward to a moment alone, or alone with three agents, to absorb what just took place—but the minute Edgar Franklin leaves my car, Jessica reappears, climbing in as she holds out a phone. “It’s the president.”

If it were anyone other than Charlie, even Ella, even my mother, I’d refuse. But I raise the phone to my ear, and when I say hello, Charlie says, “When did aliens kidnap my wife and replace her with you?”

He sounds boisterous, and he also sounds like he’s walking somewhere—possibly toward the residence elevator to change for the gala, which is in a rather alarming twenty minutes.

“Charlie, I didn’t intend to catch you off guard, but I couldn’t let another—”

“No, it was brilliant. Hank is only pissed he didn’t think of it himself. One parent to another, that was definitely the way to go.”

“You’re not upset?”

“I just hope Mr. Sympathy appreciated how generous it was of you to make time for him, especially since the word on the street is that now you won’t have a chance to freshen up. But don’t worry, I promise not to tell the students and teachers saluting you that you’re wearing stinky underpants.”

Uneasily, I realize he thinks I spoke to Edgar Franklin in his stead, less as myself than as a presidential surrogate, the way I sometimes attend funerals of foreign leaders. I say, “Charlie, I told Edgar Franklin I support ending the war and bringing home the troops.”

For ten seconds, Charlie is silent, and then, in a bewildered voice, he says, “You support ending the war and bringing home the troops?”

“I made it clear I don’t speak for the administration, I don’t speak for you, and it’s not as if he and I had an elaborate discussion about foreign policy. It was mostly him expressing his views and me listening.”

“I’m sorry, but I think our connection must be messed up. It sounded like you just said that you told an antiwar activist surrounded by TV cameras that you side with him over me.” I am quiet, and Charlie says, “Good God, Lindy.”

“Sweetheart, you and I can have differing opinions. The abortion issue—”

“Is that what this is about? You were determined to cause a huge controversy today, so after the witch doctor croaked, you cooked up another one?”