Chapter 11
After smiling for what felt like the millionth picture of the afternoon, Ford glanced down at his watch, hoping he could leave the christening, go back to his townhouse, and call Trevor. He needed to hear the deep soothing voice and the easy laughter to shore up his courage before going to his parents’ house for dinner and he was running short on time.
It had been seven months since the night he’d met Trevor Moga in a random Manhattan bar. Seven months in which he’d developed the most honest and important friendship of his life. Seven months of sex the likes of which he had never imagined and couldn’t give up. Seven months of telling himself he had to come out to his parents. And tonight was the night he’d finally do it.
Growing up, he had been taught to believe that being gay meant turning his back on his faith and morality. He now knew that wasn’t true, but to be the kind of man he wanted to be, he had to make a choice: remain alone, find a way to have a relationship with a woman, or be honest about who he was, which meant no more sneaking around, no more hiding, no more lies of omission. He’d stressed about it, thought about it, prayed about it, and though it took him longer than he would have liked, he now finally knew there was only one real option. For the most part, he was at peace with that, but talking with Trevor, even for a few minutes, would still help ease his nerves.
“You look absolutely miserable,” his sister Judy said under her breath.
“Is it obvious?” He flicked his gaze around the large living room. “Do you think anybody else noticed?”
“Probably not.” She grinned wickedly. As the middle child and youngest daughter, Judy had always had a tinge of a wild streak. “They’re all too busy looking at their own watches. This is the longest baby christening of all time.”
“I thought it was just me!” Ford said in relief.
“Not just you.” Judy shook her head. “We’ve been here for three hours. The baptisms for all four of my boys combined didn’t last this long.” She paused. “You’re welcome for that, by the way.”
He grunted and took a sip of his water. “What’s the etiquette on leaving?”
“Hmm.” Judy tapped her lip. “You don’t have any kids so you can’t blame one of them for being sick or restless so… Hey, I have an idea.”
“What?” Ford asked desperately.
“Thom and I brought Kathy with us. I can ask her to say she has a migraine and then you can drive her home. That way you can leave and you’re a good Samaritan. Double win.”
“No. I can’t ask someone to lie. That’s not—”
“Don’t worry about it.” She waved her hand and started walking away. “Kathy won’t mind.”
“No, Judy, don’t.”
She kept walking.
“Judy,” he hissed.
Not wanting to make a scene, he stopped trying to get her attention. Kathy Smith would probably refuse to fake a headache at her close friend’s event. After all, Ford wouldn’t even consider doing that and he barely knew Mitzie and Lon Rogers. He was at the christening only because his mother had prodded him and his father had reminded him that the Rogerses and several other families on the guest list had been generous with their campaign contributions.
Though he itched to avoid mingling with people he barely knew and instead wanted to hide in a corner and look at his phone, he reminded himself that would be rude. So he squared his shoulders and glanced around the room, deciding who to approach. He had just started making his way toward a woman he knew from his school board days when Judy came rushing over to him, Kathy Smith in tow.
“Ford, can you do us a huge favor?” she asked, her voice pitched higher than necessary. “Kathy has a terrible migraine. Thom and I brought her but we can’t leave yet. Can you please drive her home?”
“Oh.” He blinked in surprise and flicked his gaze to Kathy.
She gave him a small smile and said, “I’d really appreciate it.”
“We’d all really appreciate it,” repeated Judy loudly.
“Sure.” Ford cleared his throat and tried not to fidget. Chances were nobody was paying them any attention, but if someone was watching, he wouldn’t help matters by looking guilty. “Uh, of course.”
“Great! It’s settled,” Judy said happily as she clapped her hands together. “Thanks, Ford. Call me later, Kathy.” She waved and walked away.
After taking a moment to gather himself, Ford said, “I just need to thank Mitzie and Lon and then we can go.”
“I’ll come with you.” She curled her arm through his, leaned close, and whispered conspiratorially, “That way I can make sure to tell them about my migraine.”
By the time he finished dropping Kathy off and driving back to his townhouse, Ford had only an hour to unwind before he needed to leave for his parents’ house. The first thing he did was call Trevor, but the closest he got to the voice he longed to hear was a recorded message.
“Hi. It’s me,” he said. “I hope you’re having a nice Friday. If you hear this soon, call me, but I’m having dinner at my parents’ house at six so I’ll be out of pocket for a few hours after that.” He paused, considered whether he would sound overly attached or needy by saying anything else and then remembered how free Trevor was with his affection. “I miss you. I know it’s only been a week since I saw you but we’ve barely talked and…” He sighed. “I miss you is all. Call me.”
He ended the call and then stared at the phone for a couple of minutes, hoping it would ring. When it didn’t, he slumped his shoulders, shuffled into the living room, and collapsed onto the sofa. He had a speech planned out, one he hoped came across as a confident announcement rather than a guilty confession. Though he’d practiced it several times in front of the mirror and even more frequently in his head, there’d be no harm in doing it again, so he forced himself to sit up straight, like he would at his parents’ house, wiped his clammy palms on his chinos, cleared his throat, and started talking.
“Mom, Dad, there’s something I want you to know.”
Ford’s original plan had been to have The Talk with his parents as soon as he got to their house. That would allow them the most time to absorb the information and ask any question while he was still there. And, more importantly, he was nervous to the point of nausea and he didn’t think he’d be able to choke down any food with the pressure of the conversation looming over him. Unfortunately, things didn’t go as planned.
“Laura. Hi.” He blinked a few times, gathered his bearings, and then followed his sister into his parents’ house. “I, uh, didn’t realize we were having a family dinner.” He thought back to his conversation with his mother and swore she had invited just him, saying they didn’t see each other enough now that he spent most of his time in DC.
“We aren’t.” Laura shook her head and walked through the entryway toward the kitchen. “The girls and I went shopping with Mom. Hobby Lobby was having a huge sale on their summer stock so the lines were insane and we ended up staying out longer than we’d planned.”
“Oh.” He sighed in relief. “Good.” He realized how that sounded and quickly stammered, “I mean about the sale. That’s good.”
“Uh-huh. I have another month with the girls before they go to school and we’re working on decorations and accessories for their dorm rooms.”
“And Grandma’s teaching us how to make fabric-covered albums,” said Rebecca, Laura’s twenty-year-old daughter. “Right, Grandma?”
“Yes, sweetie.” Ford’s mother leaned her spoon on the side of the mixing bowl, patted her granddaughter’s shoulder, and then stepped over to Ford. “Hi, son.” She embraced him and kissed his cheek. “Dinner’s running just a few minutes late, but don’t worry, Megan and Rebecca are helping me catch up.” She turned toward the counter and beamed at her granddaughters. “Isn’t that right, girls?”
“Yes, Grandma,” said Rebecca.
“Uh-huh,” agreed Megan with a nod. “Is this the right size for the peppers, Grandma?” She held up her cutting board.
“That’s perfect.” Ford’s mother returned to her spot at the counter. “You had the Rogers’ baby christening this afternoon, didn’t you, Ford?”
“Yeah.” He sat at the traditional farmhouse table. “It was”—he considered his phrasing carefully, wanting to be polite without lying—“fine.”
“That’s good. Judy was there, right? And her friend Kathy Smith?” She stirred her bowl but looked at Ford.
“Yeah.” He nodded, caught himself tapping his foot, and pressed his hand down on his thigh as a reminder to stop.
“Did you have a chance to spend time with Kathy? She’s such a lovely girl, isn’t she?”
“Uh-huh.” His fingers started tapping against his leg without permission.
“Why are you fidgeting?”
“What?” He clenched his hands into tight fists to keep himself from moving. “Uh…”
“You were with Aunt Judy today, Uncle Ford?”
Grateful for the change in topic, Ford swung his gaze over to his niece. “Yeah, I was.”
“Did she, uh, bring Patrick with her?” asked Megan.
“Megan!” Her sister Rebecca shot her a scathing look. “Don’t.”
“What’s the big deal? I’m just asking a question about my cousin.”
“Why are you asking about Patrick?” said Ford’s mother.
“No reason.” Megan continued chopping vegetables.
Rebecca sighed in relief.
“I was just wondering if Uncle Ford saw Patrick’s arm,” Megan said.
Rebecca tensed and Laura said, “What happened to Patrick’s arm?”
“He got a tattoo,” Megan said smugly.
“Megan!” Rebecca shouted.
“What?” Megan’s eyes were wide with mock innocence. “Mom asked.”
Rebecca huffed at her and then turned to Laura. “It’s not a big tattoo, Mom.”
“Patrick got a tattoo?” Ford’s mother said in horror. “On his arm?”
“High up,” Rebecca said quickly as she patted her bicep. “You’ll never be able to see it when he’s wearing a button-down or even a polo.
“Unless he decides to make it bigger.”
“Megan!” Rebecca snapped at her younger sister.
“People do that all the time!”
“I can’t believe Judy let him get a tattoo,” said Ford’s mother. She walked over to the table and sat down.
Ford was simultaneously regretful that his mother was upset and relieved that the attention was off him.
“I’d never get a tattoo, Grandma,” said Megan with the kind of moral superiority reserved for eighteen-year-olds.
The whole conversation reminded Ford of his childhood, sitting quietly in a corner while his sisters Judy and Laura argued and their mother worried. Laura had always been well-behaved, conservatively groomed, and interested in spending her free time with her church youth group. Judy, on the other hand, had regularly tested the boundaries on clothing their mother considered appropriate, fought over doing homework, and spent time with friends their parents’ considered ‘bad elements.’
“Patrick’s nineteen, Mom. I doubt he asked his mother for permission,” Ford said. Much like Judy didn’t ask for permission when she dated Thom, who his parents didn’t care for because he was Catholic, drove a motorcycle, and didn’t do well in school. Ford suspected the only reason they showed any enthusiasm when Judy announced their engagement was because she was already pregnant with Dan at the time. Not that anyone would dare say that aloud. “Besides, Rebecca said it’s small and discreet and you’re only young once, right?”
“What about when he’s swimming? Or if he’s wearing a golf shirt with shorter sleeves? He might only be young once, but a tattoo will send”—she scrunched her nose—“a certain message forever.”
“Lots of people have tattoos,” Ford pointed out.
“His girlfriend has piercings,” Megan said, gleefully. She raised her hand in front of her face and moved it in a circular pattern. “All over.” When her mother gave her a pointed look, she wiped the smile from her face. “I’m praying for her.”
Laura sighed. “Youth is wasted on the young.” She stepped over to the bowl her mother had been stirring and poured the contents into the prepared cake pan. “He’ll be fine, Mom.”
“Dad says anybody who spells hot with two t’s and a w will never amount to anything.”
“Megan, you’re not helping,” said Laura as she popped the batter into the oven and put the empty bowl in the sink.
“Patrick is nineteen years old. You’re telling me he can’t spell hot? How did he get into college?”
“It’s community college,” said Megan.
“He knows how to spell hot, Mom,” Ford said soothingly. “It’s a”—he pressed his lips together and tried to think of the right terminology—“form of slang.”
“Dad says he’ll end up like Uncle Thom and never be able to hold a job because he has a worthless major,” said Megan.
Ford jerked his gaze to his sister. “Really, Laura? Come on.”
She shrugged and wiped down the counter. “Don’t look at me. Craig’s right about that one. He tried to talk Patrick into majoring in business, but he wouldn’t listen.”
There was nothing surprising about a teenager not taking school advice from his uncle. Especially an uncle who had a tenuous relationship with the teenager’s own parents.
“Well, you know what they say,” Ford offered.
“One man’s trash is another man’s philosophy degree?” said Laura.
It was no mystery where Megan got her holier-than-thou attitude.
“I was going to say to each his own,” said Ford.
Laura rolled her eyes. “Come on, girls. We’re meeting Daddy for dinner at the Sushi Bar.” She wiped off her hands. “Mom, do you need help with anything else?”
The question helped their mother regroup. “No, dear, thank you.” She stood. “I’ll finish up the salad and we’ll be all set.”
“Bye, Grandma!” Megan and Rebecca said in unison as they walked out of the kitchen.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, Mom,” said Laura. “Are you here all month, Ford? We need to have you over. Maybe one evening next week? I’ll talk to Craig and let you know a good time.”
“Sure.” Ford nodded. “Let me know.”
With another wave, Laura left and silence descended, reminding Ford that his nephew wasn’t the only person who’d disappoint his mother that day. But disappointing or not, he had to go through with his plan.
“Should I find Dad and tell him it’s time for dinner?” Ford wiped his clammy hands on his chinos.
“That’s a good idea. There’s something we need to talk to you about and there’s no point putting it off.”
Ford blinked. Was it possible his parents already suspected his secret? And if they did, wasn’t inviting him for dinner and treating him the same as always a good sign?
“Sure.” He stood. “I’ll track him down.” He stepped toward the door.
“He’s probably in his den.” His mother looked tired as she leaned against the counter. “Try there first.”
“Your heart isn’t working?” Ford pushed his plate aside, his appetite vanished.
“My heart still works, otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting here with you,” said Ford’s father.
The joke fell flat with Ford’s mother wincing and Ford needing a moment to catch his breath.
“What exactly does heart failure mean then?” Ford asked. “And how do we fix it?” The second question was the most important.
“It means his heart isn’t as strong as it needs to be to pump enough blood and oxygen through his body,” said his mother, her voice trembling.
Ford’s father covered her hand with his own. “I’ll be fine,” he said soothingly.
The statement kept Ford on track. “What’s the treatment for this, Dad?”
“There are several options and we don’t know exactly what my treatment will be yet.”
“But we do know some things.” His mother looked at his father, silently communicating something.
“But we do know some things,” his father repeated his mother’s words.
When he didn’t elaborate after several seconds, Ford asked, “What do we know?”
His mother opened her mouth to answer, but his father spoke first, “I have this, Theresa.”
His mother licked her lips and waited patiently.
“I need to watch my diet, exercise more, and cut down on stress.”
Ford bobbed his head, the information logical.
“That means shorter hours,” his father continued.
“You have a good staff. Experienced. They’ll be able to handle it.”
“For the year and a half I have left on this term, yes.” He clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils. “But the Democrats are vicious. They have no regard for honesty or morality, and I’m constantly forced to defend our side from their attempts to ruin our country!” His father’s voice rose with every word until he picked up his glass and gulped down his water. After taking a few deep breaths, he added, “Not to mention the situation with Aceve.”
The mining company was one of his father’s biggest donors and he had been close with their CEO for decades. But Aceve had suddenly found itself at the center of a very public and very expensive environmental violation battle, and if the allegations against them were true, they’d be paying out millions and a few of their executives might face criminal charges. Even if they weren’t true, it would take years, if not decades, for their image and stock prices to recover, which meant Ford’s father would need to find new donors to fund future campaigns.
“I can help, Dad. I’ll step in and—”
“No,” his mother said firmly. She looked at his father. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t,” he promised and then turned to Ford, suddenly looking diminished. “Son, even if I do everything the doctors say, I’ll probably need to take medication for the rest of my life. But if I don’t slow down significantly, I’m looking at surgery in a best case scenario and in a worst case…” He glanced at Ford’s mother, whose eyes were wet, and then back to Ford. “The point is, I have to make lifestyle changes. I can handle the rest of this term. But no stress means no more elections.”
Ford reared back. “What do you mean no elections?”
Bradford Hollingsworth II was currently in his fifth Senate term, after having served two terms in the House of Representatives. He had run for president twice but hadn’t made it out of the primary either time, and up until that moment, Ford had thought there was a decent chance he would try again.
“If I don’t have to worry about another election, I can stop campaigning and that’ll cut my hours to almost nothing. I can spend the next year and a half getting everything in order and then hand my seat over.” He sighed. “This is happening sooner than I would have liked, but there’s no other choice.”
Ford could only imagine how much it pained his father to have to give up a dream that had been handed down by his own father. Ford’s grandfather had held various state offices, including governor of Missouri for two terms, and he had also waged an unsuccessful presidential bid as the Republican nominee. Two generations of Hollingsworth men had dedicated their life to their country with the presidency as their ultimate goal, and if his father retired now, that meant they’d both failed.
“Retirement’s a good thing,” Ford said, hoping he sounded encouraging. “You’ll be able to spend more time with Mom and with the grandkids.” He doubted the words would ease his father’s disappointment, but it was all he could offer.
“Family comes first always,” his father agreed. “And besides, you’re ready.”
“Ready?” Ford repeated, trying to follow the conversation thread.
“We’d planned on a longer stint in the House for you before you took over my Senate seat but that was mostly because of the election cycles.”
Ford’s first term as a congressman had started midway through his father’s fifth Senate term and four years ahead of the next presidential induction. If his father had planned on running in the next presidential election, he would have had the rest of his current term and half of his next term remaining in the Senate, which meant his seat wouldn’t have been available.
“You want me to run for your Senate seat?”
His father nodded. “There’s no longer a reason to wait. I’ll announce this as my last term and let the voters know you’ll be taking over to make sure their interests are represented in Washington.” His father met his gaze, some of the earlier exhaustion replaced by pride and hope. “I believe in you and so do the voters. You’ll accomplish what your grandfather and I couldn’t. And my new job will be staying healthy so I can live long enough to finally see a Hollingsworth in the White House.”