Queen Bee Goes Home Again (27 page)

Miss Mamie looked over. “What did they get wrong?”

“Just a few minor points. They mixed a few of the details from my platform with my opponent's, but at least it wasn't anything major.” He picked up the Gwinnett paper. “It's a law, you know, that the media have to get something wrong in every story.”

He turned the pages, then opened the slim second section. “We didn't even make the front page of the B section in Gwinnett. We're on page four. And they really scrambled the facts. But there's no time to do corrections, so there you are.”

I would have been livid, but Tommy took it in stride. “No sense complaining. It'll only make them mad. If I'm meant to win, I will. Then, I'll need their support.”

He had a point. Definitely not the hothead he used to be.

After we finished breakfast, we all put on our Sunday best to go to the polls. We voted nearby in the fire station by the elementary school, so we decided to walk and enjoy the cool morning.

People who knew us honked and waved as they passed, some shouting well wishes, which sent Miss Mamie and me out of our skins the first few times, but we got used to it well before halfway.

The rustle of dried-out poplars combined with the cool breeze to make it feel like fall, which usually lasted only a few weeks before the first Canadian Clipper brought raw weather ahead of it.

Enjoying the smooth new sidewalks, I took my time and didn't rush Miss Mamie, who seemed to be savoring every drop of Tommy's fame.

By the time we reached the campaign limit at the firehouse, the two of us sat down on the new metal bench on the sidewalk while Tommy shook some hands and greeted folks. I wondered if he knew them from AA, or something else. By the time Tommy came over to escort us inside, Mama and I were beginning to squirm on the cold, curved metal slats of the bench.

“This is it,” he said.

“Will you be awfully disappointed if you don't win?” I asked, then realized how negative that sounded.

Tommy shook his head with a wry smile. “Frankly, I'd be relieved. But if this is the job for me, then I'll do it.”

With that, the three of us went into the garage where the fire trucks usually resided. On election days, they were parked outside, and tables and voting booths took their places.

Once I showed my driver's license and filled out the form to get my plastic voting card, I took the first open booth and shoved the card into the machine, then selected my way to the mayor's race on the screen, the only choice besides a referendum about trash collection days.

There it was. Mayor's race. Thomas Breedlove on the left, Carla Simmons on the right, both independents.

I touched the screen beside Tommy's name, then went on to the referendum, which sounded reasonable to me, so I voted for that, too. Then I touched “completed,” and the card popped back out.

Who in a million years would have guessed that my wayward brother, the drunk, would end up on a ballot, and I would gladly vote for him? I stood there, contemplating how momentous that was and how far he'd come, till someone came close behind me.

“Excuse me, please,” she said nicely. “Are you having trouble with the machine?”

The polls worker. I snapped out of it, embarrassed. “No. It's just that I voted for my brother.”

She nodded, leaning close to whisper. “So did I.”

Then she pointed to the basket by one of Miss Mamie's friends from Women's Club who was handing out flag stickers with
I VOTED
on them. “You can put the card in that basket, then get your sticker.”

If everything went the way it usually did, the results would be available well before the eleven o'clock news.

I dropped my card into the basket and proudly stuck on my sticker as I headed outside.

Miss Mamie came up behind me and took my arm just as I stepped into the sunlight. “What a glorious day,” she said proudly. “I just voted for my son. How about that?”

I closed my hand over hers. “Tommy says he's fine whatever happens, but I want him to
win.
”

Mama smiled. “Me, too.”

Tommy caught up with us. “Okay, ladies. Let's get back home and have us a party.”

No liquor would be served, but that wouldn't matter. We would have good friends and good food and music.

 

Thirty-six

By the time the polls closed at seven, the house was packed with a generous cross-section of our town.

Tommy held court out on the front porch, while Mama and I helped keep the food and iced tea coming.

Her friends had done themselves proud, bringing everything from fried corn to pole beans to chicken legs, barbecue, and pot roast. Plus desserts by the raft, from sugar-free to decadent.

I brought Tommy a fresh Diet Coke on the porch. “Where are Carla's people gathering?” I asked him between constituents.

“At the Presbyterian fellowship hall,” he said.

“So what happens when the results come in?”

His brows lifted. “Either I'll go congratulate her, or she'll come congratulate me.”

No nerves for this boy.

“Can I bring you a plate?” I offered.

He shook his head.

Well, maybe a little hint of nerves. Tommy rarely turned down food.

Then another of his friends came out to sit beside him, so I left them in peace.

I stood just inside the front door, listening to the bluegrass band tune up outside.

Four hours from closing till the results. I sure wished I had something more than food to distract me.

Be careful what you wish for.

Connor Allen walked up the front stairs, and I hightailed it for the kitchen.

 

Thirty-seven

I managed to avoid Connor till the news van arrived at ten and set up their lights on the verandah to tape Tommy's reaction to the final results.

Everyone gravitated toward the lights, crowding around to find out the results. Fortunately, Connor kept his distance.

Then a car drove in and parked behind the news trucks, and out came the election supervisor with a sealed envelope in his hand.

I watched him work his way through the crowd, then approach Tommy. All the TV lights flashed on, briefly blinding my brother. Everybody fell silent as the elections supervisor handed the envelope to Tommy. Then he saluted and wished my brother well before stepping out of camera range.

Tommy looked at the envelope, his lips rolled in, then looked to me. “Lin, would you please do the honors?”

Suddenly dry-mouthed, I hustled over and took the envelope. Blinking rapidly from the glaring lights, I turned to the crowd and opened the envelope. Then I unfolded the letter to see two names and two totals in the center. Somebody handed me a cordless mike and I read, “‘For the office of mayor of Mimosa Branch, Thomas Breedlove, fifteen thousand, seven hundred, and eight. Carla Simmons, twelve thousand, three hundred, and fifty-two.'”

The crowd exploded after they heard
twelve thousand.
Everybody hugged everybody else, the bluegrass band struck up a lively number, and I shared a proud look with my brother, the mayor, then handed him the mike.

Geneva came up and put her arm around me. “Told ya. God does some good picking, doesn't He?”

“With your help as his campaign manager,” I said.

“I just put the icing on the cake.” She beamed. “This was meant to be.”

She turned so the cameras couldn't see her yell, “Speech! Speech!”

The little red lights atop the cameras lit up again.

My brother stood with a humble smile, then said, “I am so grateful to all of you who helped me get elected, vote by vote. Citizen by citizen, every one of you in Mimosa Branch deserves a
fair
administration—”

Applause and cheers erupted.

“A fiscally responsible administration,” he said over the din, which just escalated the noise.

He ate the mike for a firm, “And an open, honest administration.”

More cheers.

“Like we had with my beloved predecessor, Donnie West. So thank you all for entrusting our city to my care for the next five years. With God's help, I promise to live up to your trust.” He dropped the mike and waved to the cheering crowd.

Then who should walk up but Carla Simmons, looking like a million bucks. A path cleared between her and Tommy, and we all watched in anticipation as she approached the victor.

With a genuine grin, she put out her hand, and Tommy took it. A chorus of “Shhhh!” and “Quiet!” calmed the crowd.

Carla Simmons didn't need a microphone. Her cultured voice projected to the back of the onlookers when she turned toward the camera lights and said, “Please accept my congratulations. And I'd hereby like to pledge my support for what I know will be a wonderful administration under Tommy Breedlove's leadership.”

Then, to everyone's shock, she pulled Tommy over and kissed the daylights out of him just the way Connor had kissed me.

Laughter exploded, and it was all caught on camera.

His cheeks flaming, Tommy raised the microphone and said, “Well, I've always considered my business life and my personal life to be separate, and I'd thought we'd wait a while to announce this. But after what she just did, I think I'd better introduce y'all to my fiancée, Carla Simmons, who has agreed to marry me next June. Why she said yes, I couldn't begin to tell you, but I sure am glad.”

The mystery girlfriend was his
opponent
? A CPA and lawyer?

Mama and I looked at each other with a mixture of happiness, worry, and shock.

The crowd went wild.

Loosely hugging Carla, Tommy tried not to blink when half the crowd lifted their cell phones for photos as a battery of media flash cameras went off.

“Isn't that illegal?” somebody hollered.

Carla fielded that one. “No, sir, it is not. We have thoroughly checked the statutes and regulations. Our personal lives never affected our political lives, and we both plan to keep it that way.”

Tommy drew her toward the house, waving. “And with that, we'll bid you all good night.”

Framed by the lights inside the screen door, Tommy kissed Carla back with steaming intensity, then they both laughed and headed for the den of iniquity to hide.

Abruptly, the lights went out and the camera crews loaded up their vans.

The party went on, but my mother and I headed for the relative quiet of the kitchen. Once there, she sank to a chair and started bawling.

“Mama?” I sat beside her, my hand on her back. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing,” she wailed. “I'm just so
happy
. Tommy finally fell in love for real, and she's a
wonderful
woman.” She wiped her nose with her lace-trimmed hanky. “I know, because I talked to her after several of the debates.”

“That's
one
prayer answered,” I soothed, fighting my own sense of emptiness that threatened to shadow my happiness for my brother.

The door from the back hall swung open, and Tommy brought a grinning Carla in. “Mama, we have something to ask you,” he said gently, “if you don't mind.”

Miss Mamie dried her tears with her sodden hanky, then straightened like a queen. “Of course I don't mind. And congratulations, Tommy.”

Carla held back, suddenly shy, while Tommy seated her next to Miss Mamie, then joined her. He didn't mince words. “I was wondering if you would be okay with our moving in here after the wedding.”

Mama's eyes widened, her mouth dropping open, but not in shock. “Okay? I'd be delighted.” She beamed. “Thank you both so much. Thank you.”

I gave myself a mental head slap. Of course! She'd thought Tommy would leave her when he married.

“Tell Miss Mamie what happened,” Tommy urged his bride-to-be.

Carla leaned over. “I first saw this house when I was riding Amtrak on my way from D.C. to Atlanta for a meeting, and y'all waved to us from your verandah. It was magic, love at first sight, your house and your hospitality. Everything that my driven, workaholic life was not. So I found out about the town and started dreaming. And when I finally faced how miserable I was as a corporate financial lawyer, I sold my town house in D.C. and moved here.”

Tommy hugged her shoulders, a proud smile on his face. “Tell them the rest.”

“Every time I passed by, I wished I could live in this house. Then I ran into Tommy at an AA meeting and realized he'd been the one who'd waved to me.”

Tommy regarded her with admiration. “Seventeen years, clean and sober. I fell for the way she worked her program before I fell for her.” He smiled our way. “We have a lot more in common than you'd think.”

Both in AA. That could be great or awful, depending. But for now, it was great.

Carla grinned. “I flirted with him all the time, but he never asked me out.”

His plate was full taking care of our parents, but Tommy never complained.

“We really, truly love each other,” he said. “I know our time together seems short, but there are no secrets between us, and we still love each other.”

Carla nodded. “And
like
each other.”

“What are your plans after the wedding?” I asked her.

“I'm going to do bookkeeping and a few tax returns part-time from home,” she said.

Glory be! An in-house accountant. And an honest one.

Mama shook her head, opening her arms and gathering Carla to her. “Welcome to the family, precious girl.”

After they'd hugged, Carla drew back. “I hear you're a fabulous cook. I can't even boil water; I've always been too busy to learn to cook. Tommy said you could teach me, if that's okay.”

Perfect. It was perfect.

Mama could pass on the family recipes to an eager student, so she wouldn't be alone while I went to class and Tommy went to City Hall.

Miss Mamie leaned close to Carla to whisper, “Why don't you two go to the justice of the peace in Gainesville and get hitched right away? You don't have to tell anybody, so you can still have a church wedding. That way, you could move right in.”