ALL IN: Race for the White House (13 page)

“I’m looking forward to this, Honey.”
 

“Let’s get some rest now, Jack. We’ve got quite a day planned tomorrow.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I woke up on Thanksgiving morning, the year before the election, to an empty bed. It was 6 a.m. and Sarah had already gotten up. I could hear her downstairs working in the kitchen. I stayed in bed for a while, daydreaming about debating, I was killing it. Then, as was my habit, prior to getting up, I said my prayers.
 

That’s when I heard her calling, “Jack, get up. We have to get the bird in the oven.” Normally I dreaded preparing the never quite fully thawed bird, wrestling with the plastic thing that is somehow surgically stuck inside. I usually would say something like “Dirty Bird,” because Sarah knows I hate the possibility of salmonella. The news people do stories and harp on it before Thanksgiving every year. The news media can always be counted on to say something negative, that’s a given. Today would be different. I was determined to turn the project into a Zen experience. I walked down the stairs and turned the corner and headed for the kitchen, “I want to help with the Turkey,” I said in a flat monotone.
 

Sarah, knowing when to take an opportunity said, “Okay, Sweetie, get the bird out of the fridge, gobble-gobble.”

I opened the fridge and pulled the bird out.
 

“Where do you want it, in the sink?”

She continued the instructions, “Take the wrapper off and clean it, run some cold water through it and rinse it off.”

I wasn’t much of a cook and was happy to follow her lead. I pulled out the plastic piece; somehow it came out easier than usual and I placed the bird on a roasting pan. I remembered from last year to bend the wings back and under the bird, to make a stand. Sarah brought some butter over and, grabbing a piece in her hand, rubbed it all over the top and sides of the Turkey. She selected a temperature on the dial of 350 degrees and I placed the Twenty-five pounder in the oven.
 

“Alright, can you have cereal this morning? I don’t want to make more of a mess.” Referring to the mess, I leave after cooking. “Let’s have something easy, I’m having oatmeal would you like some?”

“No,” I said as I went to the pantry, grabbed a couple boxes of cereal, and mixed them in a bowl with milk. I sat down to eat at one of the bar stools at the center island.
 

 
“Jack, your mother told me she has hired a nurse for your father. I didn’t know how you would take the news so I saved it for the morning.” Sarah was right; everything seems easier to take in the daylight. Things that cause you to wake up at three o’clock in the morning worrying always seem simpler to deal with the next day.
 

I said, “I think that’s a good idea.”

Sarah agreed, “I think so too. Your mother said she needs the help. She doesn’t want to wait until she can’t handle him anymore; this way they can settle into a routine while he’s still able to get to know her for himself.”

“What time is everyone coming over?” I asked. I was really happy Mom would have help. I didn’t like the thought of her having to struggle as a lone caregiver, especially with Sarah and me traveling all over the country.
 

Sarah said, “We’re eating at one and I told your mom and dad to come over anytime.”

Once the guests arrived, we got down to the business at hand, pictures on the front porch with the press. We all assembled on the porch, close to the front stairs between two white pillars, braving the cold without jackets. Standing on my left was Bill Mitchell and his 29-year-old son Steve.
 

Bill was divorced earlier this year and had invited his son.

Dad was propped up by my mom who stood directly in front. His nurse, Betty, quickly whisked the chair away from behind. Dad held his hands lovingly on Mom’s shoulders for support, forcing a pleasant smile through the hurt for the pictures. On my left was Sarah, next to her was Martha; they were nearly the same height now. Next was Bethany, who had worn her prettiest dress for the occasion. I put my hands on Bethany’s shoulders to mirror Dad. We all smiled and afterward disassembled with everyone filing back through the large red double doors leading into the house.
 

A federated news reporter called out, “Jack, when do you plan to announce your candidacy?”

The table was laid out beautifully.
 
Mama sent over her best dishes and an antique white lace tablecloth her mother handed down to her. The deep brown mahogany table showed through the thick lace, perfectly set with handsome white dishes adorned with 24-karat gold rims. The settings were finished with bright silverware arranged over folded white linen napkins. The bird sat directly across from the white fireplace mantel and the glowing fire.

Like a Better Living Magazine, the turkey sat in the center of the table, perfectly prepared with crisp brown skin and stuffing pouring out the front. Sarah followed grandma’s recipe of ground sirloin, mashed potato, celery and a few other ingredients. I’d watched her making it, and couldn’t wait to taste my childhood favorite. Among Sarah’s notable talents, I would always tell her she was the best cook in the world. I’d say to our friends, ‘Wait till you try her Italian, her meatballs are so good…
you’ll weep and want your mother to hold you.
If we weren’t in politics, we could open a chain of Italian restaurants,’ I’d exclaim with excitement.
 

She’d always say, ‘Jack, the buildup; nothing can live up to the fuss you make.’

I said grace, “Father, we are truly thankful for the blessings we are about to receive through Your bounty. We are grateful for all the good things You have given this family. Food in our bellies and a warm roof over our heads. We thank You for the wonderful and caring grandparents You have given the girls, and for our amazing friends, Amen.”

“Okay, let’s eat,” Bethany said, “I’m starving.” The meal was delicious and we took turns telling stories and asking the girls’ questions about school and their trip to New Hampshire. Bill’s son Steve was planning to scale Everest in the spring and spent a winter in the Maine woods in preparation.
 

I asked, “Steve, your dad told me you were living in the woods last winter, how did you manage in the freezing cold?”

Steve began explaining; he chose each word carefully and was not a young man to be rushed. Like his dad, he was tall and on the trim side, even though the two of them could eat more than the rest of us combined. I don’t know where they put it. Bill’s ex-Melissa used to say he had a hollow leg. Routinely he would order two steaks when we traveled.
 

Steve told us, “I only slept outside, three or four days a week, when working at the ski resort.” Steve taught advanced skiing at Sugarloaf Mountain in Rangeley Maine part of the week and commuted back the two and a half hours to Portland on his days off to stay with his girlfriend.
 

“How did you stay warm?” I asked, curious.

“I used hot water bottles I filled and microwaved before I left work. When I got to the tent, I put them in my sleeping bag.”

He told us, “The sleeping bag is rated to 32 degrees.”

“You slept in a tent?”

“Yes, I made a couch and a bed out of snow, then placed a tarp over that and pitched the tent. It’s all about a mile in from the road next to a river which has frozen.”
 

“Why so far in?”

“Well, there I know no one will bother me or my things. On top of the tent is another tarp, I usually had to brush the snow away to get in. I followed the river to the campsite, that way I can always find it. The river is my guide path.”

“What about bears and wildlife?” I asked.

“Well the bears are in hibernation, but I’ve seen a lot of deer. There are wolves off in the distance, and every night I hear them hunting turkeys. The turkeys scream out… then all is quiet. The wolves know to kill only what they will eat.”

“I would freeze. I’m always good till the sun goes down and then I don’t know why, but my body doesn’t like that. What did you do with your car?”

“Oh, that,” he said. “A store owner lets me park it in his lot at night, near where the river and the road meet.”

He finished, “I thought if I couldn’t handle a few months of three nights a week outside in the Maine winter, I’d better not try Everest, but it was good and I made out fine.”

“That’s amazing, Steve.”

While Steve was telling us the story, as is usually the case, all wasn’t as perfect as pictures would have shown. During the telling of how he used hot water bottles, my father had an accident, and Mom gave a quick look and his nurse took him quickly away. Later on, when Sarah and I were alone with Mom, she told us she had to have the nurse because my dad would not cooperate with her. She told us about an episode where he’d become belligerent, knocked her down, pushing her away. Mom told us she was exhausted and really needed the help and there had been no other way to keep him home.
 

The next morning I awoke to the murmuring hum of people talking on the front lawn.
 

I turned over to Sarah and asked her if she heard.
 

“They’re getting set up for your announcement.”

Like a radio finally tuned to the right station, the announcement message struck a chord, and while at that moment it was only a feeling, I knew we’d hit a nerve.
 

Americans have watched as the land of our fathers has slipped away. I am asking you to join me in taking back your country. Today, I call you to action. The time for dreams is finished. The time for hope is gone. The time to act is now.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Washington Correspondent for National Integrated Media, NIM Television News, interviewed me on Christmas Eve. This wasn’t just anybody; this was Alexa Green, respected reporter. We’d hand-picked her to come to Kentucky - timed for our yearly family Christmas gathering along with a few of Sarah’s usual local favorites.
 

We thought she’d be perfect. Alexa was a rising star, well- respected for her tell-all - tell it like it is style. Best of all our research had shown her to be fair and honest. We were right. She asked tough questions; about my brother Roger, Northern Can, and how my dad made his money. More importantly, she asked some great questions about our energy plan. I was pleased she spent a significant amount of the time on the subject.
 

After we were done with the interview, I told Alexa, “I want to show you something.” I invited her out to the patio to look at the stars.

“Are we off the record now?” I asked.

Alexa answered, “Of course, and you can always count on my word when I give it. The microphones are off, but you gave a great interview along with some compelling material. I’m sure we’ve got a great piece; I think you’ll be happy.”

“I already am... this is what I had hoped.”
 

“Hearing about your plan gives me hope for this country.”

My main worry was about Roger’s antics and how distracting they could be. I didn’t say it, instead I voiced, “Thanks, Alexa.” Then, flicking the lights, “I’ve got to have it pitch dark out here for better viewing.”

“Better viewing of what?” She quizzed. I gently took hold of her arm and led her down the partially lit stairs. I placed her free arm on the railing, then carefully walked her down the stairs, then into the dark path to the patio. It was a clear sky, but a slightly chilly Christmas Eve Night.

“Alexa, look up.”

“My God, I can’t believe my eyes,” she said.
 

“That’s what I thought my first time; isn’t it amazing? When there are no clouds and no light interference, you can see multiple levels of stars.”

I led her to the loveseat and turned her - gently guiding her back to sit - then I took the chair directly across from her.

She exclaimed, “I can see four layers, it looks like one complete universe laid out each on top of the other. It’s incredible, Jack! Being from the city, I guess I’ve never seen a sky in complete darkness. I didn’t realize.”

In the background, our family’s favorite Christmas album was playing a dynamic version of Carol of the Bells, adding to the beauty of the moment. The sound was coming from outside speakers playing in unison with the inside of the house. Suddenly I was overcome.
 

I said, “Looking at the heavens and listening to this music makes me think of God and his incredible love.”

“That’s wonderful, Jack.”

I could hear a chill in her voice, “Oh, I’m sorry, you must be cold, I have some blankets for when we’re out here.”

“I’m a bit chilled,” she shivered. I opened the ottoman storage and grabbed one of the soft blankets. I moved over in front of her and firmly wrapped her in it.

“My mom used to wrap me up like this.” I rubbed the sides of her arms through the blanket for friction to generate heat, “Cozy now?”
 

“Yes, I feel much better now. Thanks.” I sat back next to her.

She continued in the dulcet tone of a woman not of a reporter, “You’re so much different than I ever would have imagined, it’s positively disarming Jack… I mean, seeing you with your family and even the way you interact with Sophie… well, I never would have thought.”
 

I moved a little closer and put my arm around her shoulder. She came willingly, leaning into me.
 

“You’re not what I expected either, I have to be wary of reporters who are all about seeing only the negative.”

She turned her mouth up towards my face - close enough I could feel the warm breath in her words, “Please call me Lexi.” Saying that, she paused for a moment, “You have such a beautiful faith.”

“Lexi, I believe God gave us the night sky to show us proof he is near. What more obvious way would there be to show all generations for time immemorial? He’s placed a billion galaxies, each with a billion stars on display every night for us to see, doesn’t it make you think?”