_____
It was a handful of minutes before 5 p.m. the following Monday, and a dozen people filled the office. Jim walked over to Melissa, busy talking to Rebecca.
He cupped his wife’s elbow. “I’m glad your parents could take the kids for the afternoon.”
“They were happy to do it. They just wished they could be here for you.”
“That’s OK, I don’t need more people witnessing the utter collapse of my political career, although it would make for a great story for my memoir that I’m sure no one would buy.”
Melissa rolled her eyes. “At least you’re looking at the glass as half full.”
“Yeah, and probably filled with poison.”
Former Emerald Valley Mayor Marilyn Dewhurst walked up to the couple. Dewhurst was active in the Chamber of Commerce and in the city’s Historical Association, but had left city politics three years ago. She patted Jim on the arm. “After all those years of putting politicians under the microscope, now you know what it feels like.”
Had the comment come from anyone else, he would have found it antagonistic, but the city leader had been a valuable source on the New Creation story. And since he took office, she’d met with him a couple times to offer some much-valued insight.
“How many more signatures do they need?” she asked.
Jim glanced at Brian, who was across the room. “About 3,500. Brian’s pretty confident they don’t have the numbers, but it’s not his job on the line.”
Marilyn nodded. “He’s got skin in the game himself, so he’s probably as nervous as you are. If you get recalled, he’s out of a job, too.”
“I’m know you’re right, but it feels like I’m all alone.”
“Welcome to politics.”
Jim’s eyes were glued to the wall-mounted clock as the second hand swept across its face and past the top. The light chatter continued for everyone else, but Jim was silent, his fingers interlaced with his wife’s as the minutes ticked away. He excused himself for a few minutes and went back to his office with Melissa and closed the door.
“Brian will know where to find us when he has some news.”
“Aren’t you worried people are going to wonder where you are?”
Jim raised his eyebrows as he put his arm around Melissa. “I just snuck off to my office with my wife. They can think whatever they want.”
Melissa playfully batted his chest. “Behave, Jim.”
“I should let you know in advance I might need someone to ‘console’ me, or ‘celebrate’ with me, depending on how things turn out.”
Jim drank in her mischievous grin. “Be that as it may, we’re not going to do anything about it now with an office full of people, so keep your hands to yourself…for the time being.”
Jim snapped to attention. “Yes, ma’am.”
Leaning against the desk, he pondered his situation. “Seriously though, what if we don’t win? What if I get recalled?”
She touched his shoulder. “Then we figure out what to do from there. None of this is a surprise to God, and He will give us the wisdom to figure out what to do if it all falls apart.”
Jim sighed. “Why, thank you darlin’, I can’t reckon what I did to deserve such a wonderful little lady as yourself.”
Playing along, Melissa coquettishly fanned herself with her hand. “I do declare, Mr. Mitchell, that’s just about the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about little ol’ me.”
There were sharing a laugh when Brian knocked on the door and asked to enter. “I just got off the phone with the Secretary of State’s office.”
Jim leaned in. “And…”
A smile spread quickly across his face. “They had about a thousand signatures in this latest round, which was not nearly enough to make the threshold, even if they are all valid. Congratulations!”
Jim let out a cheer, kissed his wife and shook Brian’s hand in quick succession. “Man, I'm glad that's over. I feel like Jimmy Stewart in that scene in It’s a Wonderful Life where they keep the bank open even though they have to give up their honeymoon money and only had two dollars left.”
Brian shook his head. “It’s a Wonderful Life? What are you, eighty-five?”
“Hey, we watch that or White Christmas every December.”
“I’m more of a Grinch fan, myself.”
“That doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Jim said. “Let’s go out and share the good news, shall we?”
Epilogue
Thursday, June 8
The temperature that evening at Emerald Valley High School was much cooler than it was when Jim attended Rebecca’s graduation here last year. While the billowing clouds were a reflection of the general gloom that pervaded June in Southern California, the rain had been held at bay. Those filling the stands had brought sweaters and sweatshirts and more than a few umbrellas just in case the weather worsened, as it was predicted to do later that evening.
As Jim approached the stadium, the first thing he noticed was the cluster of seniors in green or gold caps and gowns. Some may have found it quaint, but Jim liked the school’s tradition where the boys wore the darker color and the girls were attired in the lighter regalia.
In light of the recent attack, Jim was thankful for the added security presence that Gibson had demanded. He waved at Strojny as he took to the platform. Since the weekend, he had come to accept the fact that if he retreated to the shadows in order to make good on his promise to keep Melissa completely safe, he would not be able to fight the battles he believed were worth fighting. As much as he hated the ramifications of such a decision, the idea of not making changes when he could was just as untenable.
Crossing the stage, Jim shook hands with Principal Chavez, District Superintendent Elliott McMahon and School Board President Lee Anne Baldwin. They remained standing as the school band played “Pomp and Circumstance” and the nearly 400 graduates began to march toward seats in the middle of the field, ringed by the almost 2,500 people who filled the stands.
The principal opened the event by highlighting the academic and athletic achievements of the graduating Matadors. Jim was most impressed that those headed straight to four-year colleges and universities—more than fifty percent of the class—had collectively been awarded more than a million dollars in scholarships.
Not typically a fan of graduation speeches, as they all tended to follow a predictable pattern, Jim sat as patiently as he could. Valedictorian Gracie Van Holsbeck’s address seemed headed down the same path, with inside jokes only her friends in AP Statistics and Band would understand. But then, she pivoted as she performed an original piece of spoken-word poetry about the spark of creativity in all of us. By the end, people were on their feet, Jim included, applauding her efforts.
No wonder she’s going to Harvard.
The monotonous routine of handing out diplomas was broken up a bit when French teacher Alexandria Runyan stood in so she could hand her son, Nicholas, his graduation document.
Jim drummed his fingers as he waited to give his speech. Normally, he would have preferred to address the crowd during the middle of the ceremony, but Chavez had asked him to give the closing comments so that words from the most well-known Emerald Valley resident would be the last bits of advice they received before they shifted their tassels and threw their caps into the air.
No pressure or anything.
While they both knew the school district officials couldn’t forbid him from saying anything he wanted, Chavez made two requests: 1) Make sure it wasn’t a political speech, and 2) don’t mention the October raid at all. Jim was fine with those parameters, although his speech might not have been as tame as the principal would prefer.
He began his comments with his obligatory thanks for the invitation and joked about how long it had been since he was in their seats. He promised to not go too long, so they could get out to Glenn’s Burgers in town for a chiliburger or some fried mushrooms. He’d made a few notes during Van Holsbeck’s speech that he referred back to now. He
noted her eloquence before praising her friend Caitlyn for choosing his alma mater, USC, and teasing Caitlyn’s boyfriend for picking UCLA .
“Don’t worry, Justin. I’m sure they’ll let you transfer. Eventually.”
The audience was a mixture of playful cheers and boos, and Caitlyn shouted “Fight On,” all of which prompted ripples of laughter.
He shifted the focus of his speech, briefly reflecting on the shooting on campus that had happened nine years earlier that fall. He noted how the campus had healed from that event and was stronger than ever.
“It would have been easy to run away from that horrible day and act like nothing had happened. But, thankfully, the administrators at this school chose to learn from that event and created ways for students to reach out if they need to. My friend, Mr. Gould, is one of those teachers I’m told many of you have stopped by his room during lunch or after school for advice or encouragement.”
Scattered applause sounded from students upon whom Terry must’ve made an impact.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw Chavez glaring, no doubt afraid Jim was about to break his promise to avoid any discussion of the events of last fall. He glanced back at the principal and smiled to reassure him.
“I wish I would have had a teacher like Mr. Gould when I was in school because, while I had people telling me I was a good writer, no one told me I needed to keep things in perspective. Like many of you who are high achievers, I had my eyes set on the prize. I was going to be the best reporter I could, win as many awards as I could, and nothing would get in my way. Nothing.”
In his years of speaking about what happened with Pastor Jeremiah, his cousin Vinnie and the rest of New Creation Fellowship, Jim had the story down to a tight 60-second narrative, and he didn’t stray now. The audience literally itched to be done with the ceremony.
“But while many of you are running headlong into the great mystery that is your future, just as many of you—even more perhaps—are running away from something. Whether it’s an abusive home or a boyfriend who gives you bruises no-one can see, you just want to escape your life and find something better. Maybe your parents work as hard as they can, but they just can’t seem to get ahead. You’re on the run, too. Fleeing a life of failed dreams and lowered expectations. You want to break free from the chains that keep you locked to a life you don’t want for yourself.”
Heads nodded in agreement as he continued.
“No matter why you are in such a hurry, you have to ask yourself the following question: Is what I’m running toward better than what I’m running from? You’ve got to have a plan, a goal, a purpose, and if that purpose is to make more money or get more fame, let me assure you it will not be worth it in the end.” He paused. “Well, I know the fame part is true. I haven’t made enough money yet to find out.” Jim smiled at his own joke.
“I spent enough of my earlier life running after the wrong things, things that were temporary. And even though I know what’s important now, that doesn’t mean it’s easy to avoid the temptation to measure my accomplishment against the person next to me and feel that I’m lacking somehow. Listen, while I have some pretty good people I work with, there is enough ambition in Sacramento to power the sun for a year.”
The laughter in the audience was the perfect segue as he began to wrap up his comments.
“But if I give in to that, no matter how appealing, it’s not going to give me one more minute with my wife, or more time to play with my kids. This isn’t to say we should shirk our responsibilities and live for ourselves—just the opposite, in fact. We need to live for those around us, loving people who love us, and sometimes those who don’t.”
He leaned forward as he drove his final point home. “I’ve been to the top of my career as a reporter and not liked what I did to get there. Now, I’m doing relatively well in politics, despite recent events. But if my purpose in life, if what I’m running toward, is just to be praised by people who don’t really know me rather than being loved by those closest to me, then I’ve lost the only race that really matters. So, whether you are headed to college, a career or some other amazing adventure after you leave here tonight, I beg of you to live for something that will have value and significance long after you or I or any one of us is long gone from here.”
Jim congratulated the graduates and returned to his seat. He appreciated the applause but was thinking about getting home to kiss his wife and spend some time with the kids before they went to bed.
After all of his ups and downs, the awards and the scandals, the celebrations and the funerals, those were the things that really mattered.
The End
About the Author
Dave Milbrandt is a former reporter who teaches high school and college students when he’s not writing his latest adventure. To learn more about Dave’s books and what he’s working on next, please visit his website and follow him on Goodreads and Twitter.
www.davemilbrandt.com
@DaveMilbrandt
If you enjoyed this book, a review at Amazon or Goodreads would be greatly appreciated. Thank you!
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