The Hopefuls (25 page)

Matt wasn't very sympathetic toward me. If anything, he was irritated that my insomnia was interfering with our trip. “You need to get on schedule,” he'd say, not bothering to hide his impatience. And soon, it wasn't just at night that I didn't recognize him. I'd look at him through my foggy eyes as we walked around in a foreign country and think, I don't know you at all. I married a stranger.

After we were back in New York and sleeping again, I didn't tell anyone about my jet lag or the thoughts I'd had about Matt. It didn't seem normal, so when people asked about the trip, I just said, “It was amazing. A once in a lifetime experience.” And after enough time had passed, I almost believed it.

But that year in Texas, it started happening again, and there were times that Matt seemed unfamiliar to me, when even his voice wasn't his own. I remember once staring at him across the room, an expression on his face that I'd never seen before, his eyes blank and unreadable, and my chest got so tight I could barely breathe, because I didn't recognize him at all.

One morning, we drove four hours to Arlington, Texas, to visit a woman named Angela Kinsey, who'd just been diagnosed with cancer, most likely the result of exposure to the chemicals from the nearby drilling. Angela arranged for a few other women from the neighborhood to join her, so they could share their experiences with Jimmy, tell him about all the health problems they were facing.

We dropped Ash and Viv off at the hotel—it didn't seem right to bring a healthy, squealing sixteen-month-old along while these women talked about the nosebleeds and headaches that their own children were having—and I went along, supposedly to get pictures, but I knew as soon as we stepped into the house that I wouldn't even bother taking my phone out. (How crass would it be to snap a photo of Angela crying as she told Jimmy she didn't know who would care for her children while she started chemo? I didn't care if Katie got mad at me. Some things weren't meant to be photographed.)

The house was small and dark, even though it was sunny outside. For a brief moment, the darkness was a relief from the heat, but then almost immediately, the air began to feel stuffy. There was an overpowering mothball smell inside and I figured I'd get used to it, but it seemed to get stronger the longer we were there.

Angela took us into the living room, where a few women were already sitting on a flimsy-looking floral couch. Jimmy sat at one end and I found a seat on a rocking chair in the corner, while Matt sat on an orange recliner.

By this point, Jimmy's spiel was so polished—he was fluid when he spoke, sure of his words. He was great in front of crowds, could get up in front of fifty people and capture their attention. “These failed policies are hurting us,” he'd say. “I want to be an advocate for all Texans, an advocate for you. We've had enough with the insiders, who are only concerned with protecting the oil and gas industries. You deserve someone to protect you. They accuse me of being an outsider, and you know what I say to that?” Here Jimmy would smile and pause and wait for a couple of laughs. “I say, You're right! I say, Being an outsider is what makes me so qualified for this job. I'm not in bed with oil and gas—I'm just a Texan interested in looking out for other Texans.”

But where Jimmy was his best was in small, unscripted moments. No other time on the campaign showed this more than the afternoon we spent at Angela Kinsey's house. It was amazing to watch him there, looking like he belonged among all of these women. He sat on that floral couch in that mothball house and talked to them like it was something he did every day. His body was relaxed as he accepted tea from Angela. He didn't shift as the couch sagged underneath him. I wondered if these women knew that Jimmy had grown up in a mansion, that he'd gone to boarding school, that his whole life was unrecognizable compared to theirs. Maybe they did know and it didn't matter. Maybe all they cared about was that he was there now.

He sat forward as one of Angela's neighbors told him about her son's asthma. “You must feel like you're living in a nightmare,” he said to her. “You don't deserve this, none of you do. These health problems aren't a coincidence and everyone knows it. We need to do something—and I really do believe that something can be done. People might be turning a blind eye to you, pretending that this isn't happening, that you don't exist, because it's easier for them. But this is happening. I'm here and I'm a witness to it. I want to be the one to help you, to make sure you're heard.”

Jimmy's voice was soft as he spoke. There was nothing forced about his response to them. And even though his words could have come off as dramatic, they didn't. He sounded empathetic and determined, and each woman nodded at him whenever he said something.

I didn't doubt that Jimmy was just as invested in this issue as Matt was—you couldn't sit in these homes and listen to people describe the different ways they were being poisoned and not care about it.

Matt was the one who'd found Angela Kinsey and arranged the meeting with her, and he'd spent the car ride there talking about the safety measures that should've been taken to protect the neighborhood. But once we got into the house, you would've never guessed how much Matt wanted to be an advocate for these people. He looked awkward as he held a cup of coffee on the orange chair. He wasn't the one running for office, sure, and you could say that he was trying to stay out of the way and let Jimmy shine. Maybe that was part of it. But every once in a while, Matt chimed in, and the women would listen politely, but you could almost see their eyes glaze over, just waiting for Jimmy to start talking again.

Winning the primary had given Jimmy more confidence—not that he'd really been lacking it before. But you could see now that he had a little more swagger as he walked into a room, a little more pride in his voice as he introduced himself as the Democratic nominee.

There was a fair amount of media attention on Jimmy, mostly because everyone was paying extra attention to all the Democrats running in Texas that year, hoping that an organization called Battleground Texas really could turn Texas blue. And while Jimmy's race wasn't nearly as high profile as some of the others and he wasn't as well known, journalists liked the fact that he'd worked for Obama and was young and handsome. He made for a good story.

Houston Style Magazine
did the biggest profile of him, complete with a spread of pictures showing him speaking to a group of farmers, shaking a supporter's hand, and also at home in the backyard, throwing a laughing Viv up in the air with Ash smiling beside him.

When the issue came out, the magazine sent over a bunch of copies and we each took one, flipping through the pages and reading silently. For whatever reason, I looked up to see Jimmy staring at the pictures, and saw as he nodded just a little bit, smiled, and then said quietly to himself, “Well, look at this.”

At the beginning of the summer, Rachel Maddow highlighted the Railroad Commission race, profiling Candace Elroy and her oil and gas connections, and then discussing a situation in Weatherford, Texas, where there was so much methane in the well water that people could light it on fire. The current Railroad Commission had closed the case, declaring that it didn't have anything to do with the oil and gas production.

The end of the segment showed a picture of Jimmy—the one of him standing outside—and we all screamed when it came on the screen. Rachel Maddow went on to say that no one in Texas thought Jimmy had a chance to win—he was a Democrat after all—but that maybe, since things had gotten so bad, maybe because water was actually catching on fire, Texans needed to pay attention and rethink things.

The segment was less than four minutes, but still one of the most exciting parts of the campaign. Jimmy seemed to ignore the fact that Rachel Maddow had announced that he was almost definitely going to lose, and was ecstatic about the coverage. Maybe he was already at peace with the outcome of the election, maybe he knew all along what was going to happen. Or maybe he was just so happy to be on national television that he didn't really care.

Whenever Jimmy mentioned any good press or told us about a new interview request, Matt would almost immediately counter with a negative story he'd read about him, or remind everyone how much of an advantage Candace Elroy had. I don't know if he was conscious of this or if it was just a reflex, but after it happened a few times, Jimmy started calling him Debbie Downer—I can still remember the first time it happened, how Matt's face got hard and Jimmy laughed in a way that didn't sound particularly friendly.

I didn't want to think that Matt was trying to bring Jimmy down in these moments—maybe he was, but I told myself it wasn't out of spite. I hoped Matt just wanted to pull Jimmy back to reality, to remind him that there was still a lot of work to be done. Matt was someone who was always genuinely happy for his friends' good news, who believed that there was always enough to go around—but maybe he only thought that when he was getting the most.

After the
Rachel Maddow
segment, while the rest of us were still buzzing from the thrill of seeing Jimmy on national news, Matt said, “Too bad we're the only people in Texas watching MSNBC.”

Throughout the campaign, Ash was still booking jewelry parties. (Or trunk shows, as she called them.) Right after I'd gotten to Texas, I'd gone along with her to one of these parties that was hosted by one of the Dozens. There was nothing memorable about it, except that when we got back, Ash said, “Don't worry, I won't drag you along to all of these! I don't want you to feel obligated. They can be such a bore.”

I was relieved when she said this, since I actually did find the parties a little boring. But after meeting all of her friends and seeing the dynamic between them, I began to get a little paranoid that she was embarrassed by me. I told myself that even if this were true, it wasn't the worst thing in the world. After all, it hadn't always been my favorite thing to introduce her to new people when we were living in DC. I remember once when she came to a happy hour with all of my work friends, how I'd winced when she kept telling stories that started, “My daddy said…”

Ash and I had figured out how to keep our friendship separate, or at least I thought that's what we were doing, until one day in June, when she invited me to a jewelry party that her friend Charlotte was hosting. “She specifically asked for you to come,” Ash said. “Don't feel obligated, but I'd love it if you did.”

“Of course,” I said. What other choice did I have? Was I going to tell her I was busy, that I had to sit in the basement that night and couldn't be disturbed?

“Great,” she said. “It will be tons of fun.”

I told Colleen about the party, how I was strangely nervous about going. I'd told her all about these girls, so she wasn't surprised by my hesitation.

“I just don't know why they'd invite me. It's not like we really hit it off,” I said.

“Oh my God, do you think they're going to Carrie you?” Colleen asked.

“To what?”

“Carrie you. You know, dump pig's blood on you, humiliate you, all of that.”

“Oh my God. You're crazy. They're not that bad.”

“Yeah,” Colleen said. “They sound great.”

The night of the party, Ash came down to the basement as I was getting ready. “Can I do your makeup?” she said. “I'm in the mood to play around.”

She'd never asked to do my makeup before—as close as we were, this felt weird, but I agreed and sat with my eyes closed while she swept brushes across my face and updated me on everything that was happening with her friends, which meant telling me who was trying to get pregnant and who was having money problems. I mostly just said “Mmm-hmm” as she chatted. When I finally looked in the mirror, I had smoky eyes and a dark lip. “You look so great,” she said, nodding her approval, and I made myself smile and say thank you.

The party was fine. Everyone was friendly, at least to my face, and we all drank wine and bought some jewelry. I was different from these girls, and thank God for that, but they weren't so bad. Honestly, I'm not sure they even thought about me enough to judge me. But the whole time I watched Ash make her presentation, there was part of me that wondered what she really thought of me, if she wished I wore more makeup, was a little more ladylike, and most of all, if she talked about me the same way she talked about all of the Dozens. I couldn't shake the feeling the whole night, and I was happy when it was finally over.

Matt looked up as I came down to the basement after the party. “Whoa,” he said when he saw my makeup. “Ash did it,” I told him. I didn't feel like elaborating any more about it, and went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. It took me much longer than normal to wash my face, and I realized why Ash needed to use cold cream every night—it was like stripping paint.

When a friendship ends, people don't always give it the same amount of thought that they do relationships. With an ex-boyfriend, there are discussions of bad timing or different expectations. But most of the time, friendships end in a different way—slowly, and without declaration. Usually people don't really notice until a friend has been gone for a while and then they just say they grew apart, or their lives became too different. But as I brushed my teeth that night, I wondered if people ever blamed the end of friendships on geographical differences, the divides that come from being born in different areas, culture clash.

I was exhausted as I climbed into bed. Matt was under the covers, but sitting up with his laptop open, typing away at something. “Did you have fun?” he asked. I lay down and closed my eyes. “Something like that,” I said.

A few weeks later, Jimmy and I were on our own for dinner—Ash was doing another jewelry party at a friend of her mom's and Mr. Dillon had invited Matt out to a steak house. I thought it was weird that the two of them were going out to dinner without Jimmy and said as much to Matt, but he just shrugged like it hadn't occurred to him.