Hunter's Moon (20 page)

By the time Daphne introduced the next United States senator from the state of New York, CJ already felt as if he’d lost at least half of his soul. He joined in the applause in halfhearted fashion, and stood along with everyone else, and did his best to appear, if not supportive, at least not too put out with the whole thing—all while guiltily wishing that Dennis had some idea what he was being forced to endure on his behalf.

As Graham began to speak, CJ’s mind was nowhere near the podium, but then as the state senator went on, he found himself paying greater attention. He’d never heard Graham address a crowd and was surprised at the ease with which he did so. The speech itself was thoughtful, well-constructed and effectively cadenced, and his brother’s delivery was spot-on. It was a side of Graham that CJ hadn’t known existed, and the fact that his brother had excelled in politics was easy to understand. The speech was short, but by the time Graham was finished it seemed that even the birds, which had been chirping loudly before the address, had stopped to give consideration to Graham’s words.

Then Graham moved seamlessly into the Q and A period, selecting the reporter from Buffalo for the first question. CJ only half listened to this part of the dance. He wasn’t particularly interested in Graham’s political leanings, and since he’d lived in Tennessee for the duration of his brother’s state senate service, Graham hadn’t been making policy for him anyway.

The back and forth went on for a while, with things staying nice on both sides. Eventually CJ heard light snoring coming from the general vicinity of Uncle Edward. Graham must have heard it too, because on the tail of his latest response he announced that he would take just one more question.

It came from a reporter for the
Washington Post
, and CJ didn’t hear her name when his brother called on her. Edward’s snoring had started to become hypnotic, and CJ felt his own eyelids getting heavy, and then had a sudden, humorous image come to him of the headline in tomorrow’s papers:
Candidate for New York
Senate Seat Hails from Family of Narcoleptics
.

He wasn’t aware that everybody was looking at him until he’d first registered that silence had fallen on the press conference. When he looked up, it was to find virtually every eye on him, with the exception of Graham, who was still facing the crowd. Out of the corner of his eye CJ saw Daniel tense in his chair.

Obviously CJ had missed something important.

“My brother has been kind enough to alter his busy schedule to support me,” Graham said, “but I promised him he wouldn’t have to talk if he came.”

That earned a round of chuckles from the audience, and a noticeable lessening of the tension up Daniel’s spine, but the
Washington
Post
reporter was undaunted.

“Mr. Baxter,” she said, and it was clear she was not addressing the senator, “can you tell us how you, with your status as a bestselling author, plan to support your brother during the last leg of his campaign?”

From behind, CJ saw his brother’s head droop just a fraction. This was one of those awkward moments in the public eye, when a candidate-friendly gathering could take a quick plunge south if things weren’t handled correctly. Graham was likely wrestling with the choice of taking a firmer stand on questions directed to family members or being accommodating to someone who could influence a large group of people with a single column. After a moment he turned to CJ.

“What do you say, Charles? Care to field a question or two?” Unseen by the audience was the pleading look in his brother’s eyes.

CJ didn’t say anything for a few seconds, nor did he move, and he could see nervousness on his brother’s face. Then, after releasing a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, he stood and made his way to the podium, where he shook his brother’s hand with a warm, slightly sheepish smile.

“Be kind,” he said to the gathered journalists, which earned another smattering of laughter.

CJ squared up on the podium; he’d done this before. He just had to think of it as a Q and A after one of his readings—even if the most recent one of those hadn’t gone as well as he would have hoped.

“How do I plan to aid my brother’s campaign?” CJ asked the crowd. “Well, if you’ve read any of my books, you know I’m essentially apolitical, so you probably won’t see anything on Medicare or on the federal budget worked into the next one.”

Another round of laughter, and as far as CJ was concerned, laughter was good.

“So I guess it’s a good question. I just consider myself Graham Baxter’s brother. I’m here to support him as family, not as a writer.”

Graham was on his right side, a few paces off, and CJ aimed a quick smile that way, all theater, and in doing so he saw the pleased expression on Daniel Wolfowitz’s face. That bothered him. Graham had stepped up to the podium, ready to redirect, when the intrepid
Post
reporter came back with a follow-up.

“Mr. Baxter, can you talk about the bench warrant that’s been issued against you in”—she looked down at her notepad— “Williamson County, Tennessee?”

In the half second CJ afforded himself to look in Daniel’s direction, he saw the blood drain from the man’s face. When he turned back to face the crowd, he hoped he wasn’t grinning.

“I don’t know anything about that,” he said, which wasn’t really a lie.

Graham was at his side a moment later, a firm hand on his elbow.

“I’m sorry, Deborah, but we have no further comment on that,” Graham said. “Thank you all for coming. Please see Ms. Carlson if you would like to schedule a follow-up interview.”

Even though the press conference had officially ended, the reporters continued to call out questions, and not a one of them that CJ could hear had anything to do with Graham’s campaign. As calmly as he could, with the cameras rolling, Graham escorted CJ away from the microphone and into the waiting sphere of his campaign manager, who, without once losing his smile, removed the new political liability from the scene.

On the way back to Adelia, CJ had lost count of how many times he’d thanked himself for driving solo to Albany. He could imagine what was going on in the other cars, or back at Graham’s office in the capitol, and had no wish to be a part of it.

It wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t figured that Janet would have called the cops. And who would have thought that something like that would come up at a press conference anyway?

He’d covered the more than two hundred miles back to Adelia at the speed limit. He couldn’t risk getting pulled over and having them find the out-of-state warrant. Then, as Richard had predicted, he would wind up spending time in jail. That aside, though, he couldn’t banish his grin, because he’d accomplished two things in one distasteful afternoon. He’d gotten Dennis out of jail, and he’d been absolutely no help to his brother. Of course, there might well be ramifications for his own career, but he’d been taking shots at that on his own for a while now.

When his phone rang he thought about leaving it in his pocket, especially since New York was a
no cell phone while driving
state, but there were few enough people who had the number and he was curious. He checked the number and, his smile growing, answered it.

“Hello, Elliott.”

“Where are you?”

“Almost back ho . . . almost back to Adelia. Why?”

“Why? Because you’ve broken into the Top Ten videos of the day on YouTube, that’s why.”

CJ couldn’t tell if Elliott thought this was a good or a bad thing. Wasn’t any publicity good publicity?

“Did they get my good side?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you what they got. They got you flushing your career down the toilet.”

At least he now knew where his agent stood on the matter.

“Aren’t you going a little overboard, Elliott? What are they going to do? Remainder all my books?”

“If by
all
, do you mean the slightly over fifty thousand of your latest masterpiece that people have actually paid for?”

“Ouch,” CJ said.

“Ouch is right.” CJ heard some ambient noise in the background, maybe the sound of angry fingers punching keys, a muffled voice, then Elliott was back. “Listen, CJ. You have to lay low while I figure out what to do. You hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“No more press conferences. I’m amazed one of those cops standing around you didn’t put you in cuffs right there. How would that have looked to all the middle-aged women who buy your books?”

“Who knows? It might have helped things. You know, the whole bad-boy writer thing.”

“Until they hear you were pinched for breaking into your ex-wife’s place. Then you’re just another stalker.”

The way Elliott said that last bit left CJ at a loss for words. He drove in silence for about a quarter mile, until Elliott said, “Hey. You still there?”

“She’s not my ex yet, Elliott. And technically it’s still my place.”

He hung up, and Elliott didn’t try to call him back. As SR 44 turned into Buckley, taking him into Adelia, he found his good humor beyond reclaiming.

Chapter 15

It was five o’clock in the afternoon when CJ parked the Honda behind Kaddy’s. He took the back steps to his apartment, opened the door for the dog, and then followed Thor back down. As he stood on the asphalt waiting for his friend to do his business in the grass along the back fence separating the hardware store from Adelia’s only cigar shop, Artie came out the back door. He was holding a bag of garbage that looked only half full.

“Hey, boss,” CJ said.

“How are you, son?” Artie asked.

“It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, I heard.” At CJ’s surprised look, he added, “We have the Internet here too, you know.”

Thor had finished what was on his mind and had made his way back to the men.

“He was out about an hour ago,” Artie said.

“Thanks for watching him for me.”

“Not a problem.” Then, seeing CJ eyeing the garbage bag he still held, Artie shrugged and walked it over to the trash can and dropped it in. When he returned, he bent down and started to scratch Thor behind the ears. “What was it about?”

CJ didn’t have to ask what Artie meant. He considered brushing the question off, but then decided against it. He didn’t mind telling Artie. So he did, and he liked that Artie smiled at all the parts he should have smiled at. And Thoreau liked that Artie kept petting him while CJ talked. In fact, the only drawback to having told the tale was when Artie tried to stand, only to find that his knees had locked. CJ rushed over to help, and between the two of them, they were able to get Artie at least reasonably straight. CJ led his boss inside, with Artie complaining about CJ babying him until CJ was able to deposit him on the stool by the cash register.

Thor had followed them in, and he walked over to sniff Cadbury for the umpteenth time.

“Your dog is obsessed with my scarecrow,” Artie remarked.

“At least he doesn’t talk to it.”

“But Cadbury gives great advice. In fact, every time I’ve been tempted to break into a home to steal my own belongings, he’s talked me out of it.”

That pulled a laugh from CJ, despite how his afternoon had turned out.

“Okay, maybe I should consult with him the next time I’m tempted to do something stupid.”

“You could do worse.”

Satisfied that Artie wasn’t going to tumble from the stool, CJ walked around to the other side of the counter and surveyed the store.

“How’s business been today?” he asked.

“Alright this morning, but we probably won’t see anything the rest of the afternoon.”

CJ turned back to his boss. “Why’s that?”

“The football game.”

CJ mouthed an
oh
. He’d heard some of the guys at Maggie’s talking about the game this morning.

“I haven’t seen a high school football game since I moved away.”

“You should go. It’s a lot of fun.” Artie looked around at the empty store. “It’s not like I need any help around here.”

It seemed like a good idea to CJ. A little fresh air after the long drive back from Albany, and a chance for him to clear his head a bit.

He went back upstairs to get Thor’s leash, then loaded the Lab into the car and set off for the high school. It was one of the places he hadn’t visited since returning, and it had nothing to do with his experiences there—which were mostly positive—but to the fact that it was on a side of town to which he didn’t often have reason to go.

CJ had tried his hand at football his freshman year, except his heart hadn’t been in it. He’d played safety, and he could still remember a few good hits he’d laid on unsuspecting receivers. But at the end of the day, football just hadn’t been in his blood. That was the way it had been with baseball too, only he was a lot better at baseball, and it took him a lot longer—and a college scholarship—to realize that wasn’t in his blood either.

He drove down Reist Avenue, the window down for the dog, crossing over the creek that meandered south for ten miles before widening and emptying into the Onochooie. On his right, spreading out from the creek in both directions, stood thick clusters of trees that made this part of town seem more rural than it really was. As he drove away from the water and the tree line began to thin, he rounded a bend and saw Adelia High. And he came near to driving the Honda off the road.