“You look worse, believe me,” Marcus replied as he approached the front steps of his building. “I should have expected you’d be here.”
“You’re losing your edge, old man.”
“I probably am,” Marcus conceded as he led Pete upstairs, unlocked his front door, and let them both in. “But Dayton? Really? I didn’t take you as that desperate.”
Pete shrugged. “What can I say? The man made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
“But he’s an arrogant gasbag.”
“He’s a politician.”
“My point exactly.”
“Fair enough, but at least he’s a principled gasbag.”
“At least,” Marcus said as he tossed his keys on the counter and urged Pete to make himself at home. “But come on, you can’t really want Bob Dayton to be the next president of the United States, can you?”
“Point me to someone better and I’ll sign on tomorrow.” Pete loosened his tie, set his briefcase on a chair, and plopped onto the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table.
Marcus grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge, handed one to Pete, and put the other by his La-Z-Boy. Then he went back to the kitchen, found a can of mixed nuts in the pantry, opened it, and set it on the coffee table. He slumped in his recliner and reached for the remote. “For crying out loud, Pete, the man’s a socialist.”
“He’s not a socialist.”
“Oh yeah, then what is he?”
“A progressive.”
“You mean a liberal.”
“But an honest liberal.”
“I grant you that—he’s honest and a good family man—but seriously, does he even have a real shot?”
“To shape the debate? Absolutely. To win? I don’t know. But hey, he’s rising in the polls. It’s just name ID right now, but if he wins Iowa and picks up a head of steam going into New Hampshire, who knows? Ask me again in a few months.”
“Well, tell him to drop the bow ties. He looks ridiculous.”
“What are you talking about? Your father-in-law wears bow ties. I thought you liked them.”
“Javier Garcia is a highly sought-after corporate trial lawyer, Pete. Nobody cares what he wears, so long as he wins. Your man wants to be the next commander in chief. I’m telling you, drop the bow ties.”
“Fair enough. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Good. Now, tell me you didn’t really sign on to do domestic policy for him,” Marcus said, turning on the TV and flipping through the channels.
“Of course I did,” said Pete, taking his first sip of his beer.
“Full-time?”
“You betcha.”
“And you’re really leaving your practice?”
“Done.”
“But why? I mean, after you left the Marines, you became one of the best cardiologists in the country. Why give all that up?”
“Boredom.”
“But you’re finally making real money for the first time in your life.”
“I’m bored out of my mind, Marcus. And with the divorce final, most of what I make is just going to alimony, after Uncle Sam gets his bite, so really, what’s the point?”
“I’m sorry about Jane.”
“Hey, what can you do? I should have seen it coming.”
“You were a good husband and a great dad.”
“Some things aren’t meant to be.”
Marcus was silent for a moment. Then he switched the channel to the Nats game. The two men watched the entire second inning without saying anything. The Nats were playing the Texas Rangers, and there was no score yet.
“So you’re moving to Des Moines?” Marcus asked when a truck ad came on.
“Actually, I just got an apartment here. Moved in a few days ago.”
“Here in D.C.?”
“Georgetown.”
“That’s cool.”
“So we’re finally neighbors.”
“The campaign’s going to be run from here, not Iowa?”
“The PAC is run from here, and technically that’s who pays me. We’ll see what happens if he pulls the trigger. Right now he’s just in an exploratory phase.”
“Did you let your apartment in San Diego go? I love that place.”
“Me, too—no, I’ll hold on to it,” Pete replied.
“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said so far.”
“For now, I’m subletting it to one of my nephews. He’s a sophomore at San Diego State.”
Marcus took another pull on his beer.
“Look, buddy, you want the truth?” Pete asked.
His tone had suddenly changed. Marcus had heard it before. He muted the television and turned to look at his friend. “Sure, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter; it’s just…”
“What?”
“I don’t know, man. It’s just that when Jane moved out, she went back to Westport. She’s got custody of the kids. She took the furniture. I tried to keep living in the apartment, but I couldn’t stay. Too many memories. Too many ghosts.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“What can you do?” Pete said again, returning to his beer.
“Anything but politics,” Marcus quipped.
“Yeah, right—you spent the best years of your life in the White House.”
“Not doing politics.”
“Same difference.”
“It is different—the Service is scrupulously apolitical.”
“Okay, but I’ve been scrupulously apolitical my whole life, and where has it gotten me? The country’s in trouble, Marcus, serious trouble. Someone needs to get us back on the right track—or try, anyway. The senator’s offered me a shot on developing serious reforms, especially on health care and the VA. I decided it was now or never.”
“Go with never.”
Pete ignored him and changed the subject. “So, I understand you saw Annie today.”
“Yeah. Why?”
“What do you mean, why?” Pete asked. “You don’t find her attractive?”
“Pete, you just got divorced.”
“Which means I’m back on the market, my friend.”
Marcus snorted, shook his head, and turned back to his beer and the game.
“Anyway, none of this is the point,” Pete said, munching on some cashews.
“So what is?” It was top of the third. The Nats were rallying. They had runners on first and third with only one out.
“You should come with us. Say yes to Dayton.”
“Why?” Marcus asked as the Nats’ lead-off hitter came to the plate.
“To get out of the house.”
“I get out of the house.”
“No, Marcus, really out. You need a break, a change of pace, of scenery.”
“Like you?”
“Believe me, buddy, you need it even more than I do.”
“I’m fine, Pete. But thanks for the concern.”
“No, Marcus, you’re not fine. You’re depressed and stuck in the mud.”
Marcus looked at his friend. “No, I’m not—not anymore.”
“Yeah, you are, and I’m worried about you. You’re not getting past this thing, and you need to.”
“Getting past it?” Marcus asked, suddenly angry. “My wife and kid are dead. I’m not getting past anything.”
“I know, and I’m sorry—it’s unspeakable what happened to you,” Pete said. “But it’s not going to get any better by quitting your job, avoiding your friends, dodging your family, and not answering your phone or emails. I mean, seriously, when was the last time you went back to Colorado?”
Marcus shrugged.
“When’s the last time you talked to the Garcias? Or your mom?”
Marcus said nothing at first, just finished off his beer. “It’s been a few months, but—”
“I get it, okay? I do. I’m a doctor, and I’m your friend. And I’m telling you—you can’t just shut down and hide from the world. When Jane left, I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach. And yes, I was devastated and furious. I stopped eating. Lost twenty pounds. But I finally realized I needed a change—a change of scenery, a change of pace, people, everything. And, Marcus, I’m telling you, you need one too.”