Deadlocked

Chapter 57

Josh Seeley won the primary. It was close, the networks not calling the winner until early Wednesday morning. Mason watched the returns until it was over, flipping between the cable and broadcast networks, hoping to catch live reports from the hotel ballroom in St. Louis where Seeley and his supporters had gathered to await the results.

He was channel surfing in the hopes that he wouldn't catch a glimpse of Abby. While the talking heads dissected exit polls, he played out his fantasy that she had left the campaign to come back to him-that she would ring his doorbell any minute, throw her arms around him, and whisper for better and for worse in his ear. He could practically feel her touch and taste her skin against his.

Since Sunday, he'd reached for his phone more than once to call her, stopping each time. She'd left him a voice message at home on Monday, picking a time she knew he wouldn't be there. She said that she was glad that he and Claire were okay and that she was sorry he wasn't home when she called. She said she would try again but things were crazy and not to miss her too much. He replayed the message just to hear her voice.

When Seeley finally appeared for his victory speech, Abby was on his left, Seeley's wife to his right. Seeley held both their hands, raising them high in victory, then turned to embrace each of them. Seeley's wife was more than gracious when he hugged Abby hard enough to lift her off the stage. The camera captured Abby's exhausted exhilaration. He did miss her-too much.

He waited an hour for things to calm down before calling her on her cell phone. It rang five times before she answered.

"Congratulations," he said.

"Lou? Is that you?" she shouted over the din of celebration.

"I saw you on TV," he shouted back. "You look great."

"Hang on a sec," she said. "Let me get somewhere quiet." He paced as he waited. "Are you still there?" she finally asked.

"Never left," he said.

"It's three o'clock in the morning, for God's sake," she said.

"You know how these election returns are. Once you start watching, you're hooked."

"You didn't have to call," she told him. "You could have waited."

"Not me. I wanted to talk to you, not leave a message."

He heard Abby catch her breath. "I called. You weren't home."

"I'm never home on Monday. Especially after I almost get killed on Sunday."

"Is that why you called? To tell me that I shouldn't have ducked you. I'm sorry if that upset you."

"I think that's called an apology with a tail."

"Don't do this, Lou. Please."

"You're right. It's your big night. I'm sorry. No tail." Neither of them spoke for a moment, though Mason thought he heard Abby crying softly. What's next for the campaign?" he finally asked, hoping to salvage something from the conversation.

Abby took a deep breath. "Washington. We leave in the morning to meet with the national campaign people. They think Josh can win in November and they're going to put a lot of money into the election."

"I guess you'll be living out of a suitcase for a while."

"Maybe longer," she said. "Josh wants me in Washington if he wins."

Mason thought about the way Seeley had embraced Abby. "I don't blame him."

"I've got to get back," she said. "I'll be in and out of town. I'll call you. We can have dinner."

"I'd like that," he said, and let her go.

He woke Tuffy, the dog coming alive when he picked up her leash.

"Yeah, I know," he told the dog. "It's three o'clock in the morning. Who goes for a walk at this hour? You and me, buddy," he said, clipping the leash to the dog's collar.

They took a lap around the block, Mason opening the car door instead of the front door when they got back. He rolled the windows down as he pulled out of the garage, Tuffy sticking her nose into the warm, moist night air. He hoped a drive into his past would get his mind off his uncertain future with Abby.

The drive to the suburbs flashed by, some of the traffic lights blinking yellow in deference to the late hour. He turned onto Judith Bartholow's cul-de-sac, parking across the street from her house, dousing his headlights.

The house was dark, the answers to his lingering questions tucked away in the mind of a woman who may have condemned his parents to death. Though he knew that harsh appraisal was less than fair. His father was to blame as well. He knew that but couldn't focus his raw emotions on his father as clearly as he could on the woman. She was an easier target since she was still alive; his father was a remote memory.

Mason thought about the woman's daughter, Judith, how she'd appeared to be close to his age, perhaps a few years younger. The math and the story played tricks with his mind, conjuring more fanciful complications of an incomplete story. Guilty of what? Claire had asked the question, Mason willing to let it go unanswered for now.

A security patrol car turned onto the cul-de-sac. Mason started his car and headed for home with the bright headlights bouncing off his rearview mirror. He waved to the rent-a-cop as he drove by.

It was just as well. He had to be in court first thing in the morning.