“Who cares?” he said as he turned off the television and finished his dinner. He’d never liked that reporter anyway. Mark was proud of his record, whether or not anyone else recognized his accomplishments. He also knew he would have made a good president. Maybe even a great one.
It was a moot point now.
After taking the last bite of what might very well have been the best steak of his life, Mark flopped across the bed and tried to wish the day’s events out of his mind. It worked, or at least something did, because within minutes, he was snoring peacefully, safe from the scrutiny of political analysts, the disloyalty of party leaders and friends, and the barbs of his opponents. He was in such a deep sleep, not even his nightmares could bring him to consciousness.
But a cell phone did. On the seventh ring.
Rising bleary-eyed, Mark squinted at the caller ID. “Cindy.” He smiled.
“Hi, hon,” he said sleepily after hitting the Answer button.
“Did I wake you?”
“No,” he lied. “Everything okay? What time is it?” Mark wasn’t sure if it was day or night; the curtains in his room let through no light.
“Everything’s fine. I just miss you,” she said.
Mark glanced at the alarm clock. It was twelve minutes past midnight. It felt much later. “Miss you too, babe.”
Cindy Stedman was one of the benefits that had come from Mark’s political career. The daughter of Richard Henton, newspaper tycoon and a major contributor to Mark’s earliest political endeavors, Cindy had caught Mark’s eye when, as a college intern, she was helping with his mayoral campaign. During the campaign, Mark had fallen madly in love with Cindy — her contagious laughter, her tanned olive skin, the way her auburn hair glistened in the sunlight. Best of all, he loved how she never took herself too seriously — a quality absent in Mark. He knew he needed someone like Cindy in his life. And Cindy had believed in him unconditionally, both as a budding politician and her future husband.
Mark had ended up losing the mayoral campaign, but he had won Cindy’s heart. And he had gained name recognition for the next time around, when he won the state congressional seat by a respectable margin. Mark had always credited the Henton family and Richard Henton’s generous support with this victory and the turnaround of his political career.
After a brief courtship, Mark and Cindy married in a lavish ceremony suitable for a couple of their status, though neither of them had felt all that comfortable with the pomp and circumstance. They were private people at heart, thrust into the limelight — one by heritage, the other by calling.
That had been a long time ago.
“You’re all over the news here, you know,” Cindy told him. He could tell by her voice that she was both proud of him and disappointed over this latest turn of events.
“I wish it had turned out differently,” he said. “You would have made a wonderful first lady.”
“They probably wouldn’t have liked my decorating style.” She laughed.
Cindy had always been nontraditional, not afraid to make waves if necessary. Maybe that had been the secret that kept their marriage exciting — Cindy’s unpredictability. Mark still found her as appealing as he did when they’d first met. She never ceased to fascinate him.
“It’ll be good to be home,” he said, wondering if she knew how much he meant that. It had been a grueling campaign. The last leg of his cross-country tour had him stomping through fourteen different cities in six days — a demanding schedule by anyone’s standards.
“Everyone’s disappointed, you know,” she said. “Wisconsin loves you. People really believed you could have won it.”
The words were soothing to Mark’s wounded ego. But there was still that bothersome little thing called reality. It sure got in the way sometimes.
“It takes more than home-state loyalty and a good record to get you elected these days,” he replied.
What exactly did it take to get elected in this current climate? Politics had become anything but conventional lately.
“Used to be all you had to do was meet and greet, kiss a few babies, hit at least one debate home run, and you had a good shot,” he said. “But now, one minor slipup can cost you your entire political career.”
He was right. In the past, even a scandal was survivable. Members of both parties could attest to that. But in recent years, with political enemies looking under every rock to find something disreputable on anyone daring to step into the election process, the outcome was often anyone’s guess.
“It’s over now,” Mark said. “I’ll be home soon.”
“Wish you were flying.”
“Me too,” Mark agreed.
There was something appealing about the ability to arrive at one’s destination within a few hours by plane. Who had time for road trips anymore? The country was in a hurry. The speed of nearly everything had increased — communication, cooking, travel. Even childhood only lasted about ten years these days — the age of Mark’s youngest son, Marcus. After that, there was very little a parent could do to slow down the passage of time. Still, Mark tried to keep up with his son’s world. Marcus owned all the latest iWhatevers, ensuring a strong father-son, techno-gadget relationship for years to come.
Lately Mark had been wishing he could spend more time with his son. He knew they were growing apart, a natural outcome of too much time spent on the road. Maybe now it would be possible to have some real one-on-one moments with the boy who looked so much like him. His teenagers, Carrie and Seth, had already built their walls. They lived in the same house, but barely. Maybe Mark would do better with Marcus.
But first he needed time to process the past few weeks. It had been a whirlwind, and whirlwinds left a good bit of destruction in their wake. Mark had to analyze the damage and put back together whatever he could. Then he could move on with his life.
Driving would delay his return home, but it was exactly what he needed to recover and regroup.
“A road trip will give me a chance to wind down,” he told Cindy. “Maybe it’ll be good for me.”
“Well, drive safe,” she said.
“I will. I love you.”
“I love you too. I miss having you here next to me.”
“Hold that thought till I get home. We’ll celebrate.”
“Celebrate, huh? Well, Congressman, I’m impressed.”
“With …?”
“You remembered.”
“Remembered?”
“Our anniversary. It’s a few days out, but it’d be nice to celebrate early. See, the counseling has helped.”
Mark was fully awake now.
“Anniversary?” The word tumbled off his tongue.
How could I forget the most important date in my life?
Aloud he said, “Twenty-six wonderful years.”
“Seven,” corrected Cindy. “Twenty-seven years. But at least you remembered the date.”
“You’re going to love your present,” he quickly assured her, wondering what time the hotel gift shop opened in the morning.
“Still no regrets about your decision?” Cindy asked.
“To drop out of the race or to marry you?”
“Both.”
“No regrets at all about marrying you. As for the other …” Mark hesitated and then picked up an Elect Stedman bumper sticker, looking at it thoughtfully. “The country wasn’t ready for my message.”
“Their loss,” Cindy said.
Mark loved Cindy more than anything, but he knew she hadn’t necessarily been able to tell these last few years. She had stepped back and given Mark his space — the space he said he needed to run a presidential campaign. But it seemed the more distance she had allowed to come between them, the more distance his job required. Or took. Robbed might have been an even better verb. Mark was certain that although she wouldn’t admit it, Cindy was happy he had dropped out of the race. She would gladly give up the White House to have her husband back.
“We’ll celebrate both,” Mark s
aid. “Our anniversary and the end of the campaign.”
“It’s a date, Congressman.”
After hanging up, Mark lay awake for a while, staring up at the ceiling. Cindy deserved better from her husband. Now that the campaign was over, Mark vowed to himself that he would start putting Cindy first in his life again.
Yes, it would be good for both of them if Mark Stedman finally came home to stay.
CHAPTER 2
“HE WOULD’VE BEEN A SPOILER!” HARLEY PHILLIPS SAID AS HE gleefully slammed the morning’s Washington Post down on his desk with such force it startled his secretary, Marcia Clayton. “Stedman did the right thing. Divide and the other side conquers!”
Harley Phillips knew politics. He should. He’d been a Washington congressman for as long as most people could remember; some speculated he’d been one all the way back to Lincoln’s day. Although that was an obvious exaggeration, Harley was indeed a Washington mainstay. His longevity in Congress was legendary, following in the ranks of Ted Kennedy, Robert Byrd, Strom Thurman, and so many others who’d had a knack for winning reelections for decades on end.
Harley was overjoyed that Stedman had finally succumbed to the political process and had withdrawn from the campaign. Anyone with half an ounce of political savvy knew the Wisconsin congressman didn’t stand a chance of winning this election.
“If you can’t win, get off the racetrack!” Harley would often say of his opponents.
He was highly competitive, and he knew it. The dream of victory consumed him.
“I have nothing against Stedman personally,” Harley said. “And our Gridiron routine was the best.”
“The Washington press corps still talks about it,” Marcia said.
“Of course they do. It was classic. Went viral on YouTube, you know. No one can accuse me of not being a team player.”
“No, they can’t, sir,” Marcia said.
“But camaraderie has to step aside in an election year. It’s every candidate for himself,” Harley said.
“Or herself,” Marcia added.
“Yes, well, perform in the polls or get out of the way! That’s what I say. And Mark Stedman has finally gotten out of my way. Now we can all go about the business of electing the electable.”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Who needs upstarts coming to Washington trying to change the status quo? It’s taken years to get things to my liking in the House. I don’t need Mark Stedman from Wisconsin suddenly getting the notion to start changing things by becoming president!”
Truth be known, Harley hadn’t taken kindly to Stedman’s presence in the House ever since the junior congressman first appeared on the House floor. And even though Mark had two decades of experience behind him now, Harley still referred to him as “Junior.” And it wasn’t meant as a compliment.
Yes, things were going Harley’s way. Just how he liked it. As long as the country was headed in the same direction Harley Phillips was headed, he was a happy man.
MARK IGNORED THE MORNING SUN THAT PEEKED AROUND THE drapes for as long as he could, but he finally surrendered and opened his eyes. The numbers on the alarm clock surprised him —8:30!
“How could I sleep in this late?” Mark scolded himself. “I should have been on the road already.”
He quickly threw on his clothes, tossed his belongings into his suitcase, and was out of his room in ten minutes flat. After taking the elevator to the lobby, he stopped by the front desk to check out. He didn’t even bother with breakfast. If he got hungry, he’d grab a bite on the road.
Mark rolled his suitcase to the exit doors of the Willard (no sense bothering a bellman for one piece of luggage) and handed his parking ticket to the valet.
“I’ll have it right up for you, sir,” the valet said, as he took the ticket, then ran off toward the parking area.
Mark hoped the morning rush hour would be over by now, and he was eager to get far away from D.C. as quickly as possible.
The air was unseasonably thick with the kind of summer heat and humidity that Washingtonians always said they’d grown accustomed to, but no one really had. Mark pulled the collar of his shirt away from his sweaty neck and wondered how it could be this uncomfortable this early in the day this early in the year. It was April and not even ten o’clock in the morning!
An older couple stood near him, awaiting the arrival of their car as well. “Gonna be a hot one today,” the man said, making friendly conversation.
Mark Stedman turned and nodded. The man immediately recognized him.
“Congressman Stedman?”
Mark smiled, and the man extended his hand. “Sir, it is an honor!” he said with sincerity. “You sure had our vote!”
The woman smiled, nodding her head in agreement. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out her camera, an action that didn’t escape the scrutiny of her husband.
“Now, Agnes, we don’t want to bother the congressman,” the man said, noticeably embarrassed by his wife’s potential breach of privacy.
“No problem,” Mark said, motioning for Agnes to come stand by him.
A doorman offered to take the photo so that Agnes and her husband could be in the shot.
“This is very kind of you,” Agnes said, bubbling with excitement. “Thank you so much!”
The doorman directed the couple to move in closer and then snapped a photo that was likely destined to be enlarged and framed and hung on the couple’s wall as soon as they got home.
“Thank you, Congressman,” the woman said to Mark.
“Happy to do it!”
And Mark meant it. He often felt uncomfortable with large crowds, but he was skilled at working the one-on-ones. He enjoyed making new friends wherever he went. It often happened exactly like this — a chance meeting of mere seconds. But Mark knew he could have sat down with this man and woman, total strangers, and it would have been like talking to old friends. Mark could read people that quickly and usually that accurately. These were his kind of folks.
“Sure wish you would’ve stayed in the race,” the man said. “A bunch of us in Sarasota were going to vote for you. You were the best of the whole lot.”
Mark smiled. “Thanks!” Validation felt good to anyone, especially the wronged. “Wasn’t meant to be, I guess.”
“Will you run again?” Agnes asked.
“I don’t know, but I’ll tell you one thing I learned a long time ago: never say never.”
“Well, we sure hope you’ll consider it,” the man said. “The country needs a back-to-the-basics president like you … especially now.”
Mark knew what the man meant without his having to elaborate. Over the years, the country had developed a severe distrust of many of its elected officials in both parties. Some of that distrust had been rightfully earned; some of it was guilt by association. Regardless, most folks would say they were looking for a new kind of leader this election year. What that was, and who that was, was anyone’s guess.
The valet drove Mark’s government vehicle up to the hotel entrance, exchanged the keys for his tip, and then opened the door for Mark.
This trip would be Mark’s last approved use of his government vehicle. The previous night the limo service had picked him up, but now he was taking the remainder of his personal belongings home in his government car. He would later drive it back to Washington to turn it in and then fly home to Wisconsin. He had some government duties and loose ends to tie up before he could say he was totally free from the political scene. How long his absence from politics would last was a question even he couldn’t answer. But for right now, he looked forward to the respite.
Mark waved a friendly good-bye to his new friends.
“I’m still gonna vote for you!” Agnes promised, holding her camera close to her heart.
“My name won’t even be on the ballot,” Mark laughed.
“That’s okay. I’ll write it in!” she said.
“I suppose you could,” Mark replied, impressed with such loyalty, �
�but you’ll be my only vote.” They all laughed.
“The next time you run, we want to help,” the man said, handing Mark his business card.
“Don’t say that to a politician,” Mark said. “We’ll hold you to it!”
“I hope you do.”
With a final good-bye, Mark drove away from the Willard. Next stop Wisconsin.
CHAPTER 3
ONCE ON THE BELTWAY, MARK REACHED OVER AND TURNED on the car stereo. Music always made the drive seem shorter to him, and if he needed anything on this particular day, it was to get home quickly, home to the waiting arms of his beloved Cindy. He may have forgotten that their anniversary was rapidly approaching, but Cindy was his everything. In the tumultuous sea of politics, she was what kept him afloat. He hadn’t told her that, not lately anyway. Mark had been so busy with the presidential election — and before that, all his congressional duties — time had slipped through his fingers, and he simply hadn’t had any leftover hours, or minutes even, for the more important things. But Cindy was what mattered most in Mark Stedman’s life. He knew that in his heart, and she knew it too. He was certain of it.
Besides, he told himself, I will never again forget our anniversary.
A noble promise, but one he would probably unintentionally break. Mark was terrible at remembering dates — a shortcoming that drove his staff to the brink on more than one occasion. But an anniversary was different. Some men only got one chance to forget something that significant. And Mark was determined not to ever blow it again.
The gift! Mark suddenly remembered. He was already on the road, but he told himself he would stop somewhere along the way and get Cindy something. Something meaningful. He recorded a note to himself on his iPhone, just to be safe.
Even though Mark had forgotten their anniversary — which he had — and even if Cindy had known about it — which she didn’t — she no doubt would have given him a free pass. She was forgiving like that. Oh, she would have kept it in the back of her mind for future leverage, to be sure. Cindy Stedman was forgiving and unconditionally loving, but she wasn’t stupid. A forgotten anniversary could be worth several movie nights out with the girls or one good shopping spree, at least … within reason, of course. Cindy could never be accused of being frivolous, but she did enjoy keeping up with the latest styles.
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