“Grayson!” she exclaimed. “I told you not to push him down!”
“I know,” Grayson said, shrugging. “But he said my dad isn’t really my dad.”
“What do you mean, your dad isn’t really your dad?”
“Taylor said that isn’t my dad on the radio,” Grayson repeated, looking up at her with Bud’s hazel eyes.
Unfortunately, having handed the first three or four years of his life to a nanny, her maternal skills were far less honed than her maternal instincts, but her instincts said this squabble with Taylor was growing into something much bigger than a playground thing. “I don’t care what Taylor says about anything, Grayson Andrew. If you push him down again, I will bend you over my knee and spank you like I’ve never spanked you before, do you understand?”
“But you’ve never spanked me, Mom.”
“That is beside the point, young man! Do you understand what I am telling you?”
He nodded, rubbed his hand across his nose. “He is my dad,” he muttered.
“Of course he is your dad. You know it, I know it. It doesn’t matter what Taylor thinks, okay?”
Grayson lolled his head against the car seat.
She glared at him a second longer (fat lot of good glaring did in the bigger scheme of things, really), and handed him a pack of Batman Gummy Bears. Grayson eagerly worked the package open as she pulled out of the parking lot bound for Austin, reminding Grayson, in her most authoritative voice that they were going to a grown-up meeting and he would have to remain very quiet while Mom worked.
“Mom! You don’t work!” he laughed.
Rebecca judiciously ignored that remark.
She arrived far too early. “We’re just going to have to turn down the enthusiasm a notch or two,” she announced to Grayson. Fortunately, the leasing agent was early, too, and was more than happy to hand the key to Rebecca, seeing as how it was almost five o’clock and he had other places to be like everyone else in the free world, which left them with a half hour before the meeting. That was perfect. Rebecca was going to do some pre-meeting decorating. With Grayson in hand, they walked into the entry of what was the new campaign headquarters. It was the size of a postage stamp.
“Is this the doctor’s?” Grayson asked.
“No, it’s a campaign office.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s where people like the president work to get elected.”
“Like Batman?”
“Yep. Just like.”
They wandered down the narrow corridor, looking into various rooms (well, she wandered—Gray took each room as a new opportunity to be shot and killed by a new assailant). Rebecca was, truthfully, a little disappointed that the new campaign offices were the exact opposite of Tom’s posh capitol suite. This rental property was definitely government-issue, with drab gray walls and linoleum floors, and big metal desks and chairs. There was one big room that she presumed would host the phone bank, another large meeting room near the entry, and squeezed between were a handful of small, bleak and windowless offices. At the end of the hallway, flanked by his and her bathrooms, was a larger office with a window overlooking the parking lot for Tom to meet constituents and campaign contributors.
Having completed their tour, Rebecca and Grayson got the big box out of the back of the Rover. As Rebecca hung a few items to give the place a more lived-in, viable-campaign-office feel, Grayson amused himself on the floor with a Hot Wheel, which he repeatedly slammed into the wall, accompanying the car’s collision with crash sounds of his own.
Mother and son both jumped when they heard the front door bang open and someone come striding in. That someone rounded the corner into the large room with conviction, and damn it if his eyes didn’t seem to narrow and the corner of his mouth just barely quirk up when he saw Rebecca. But he had not seen Grayson on the floor until it was almost too late, and had to skid awkwardly to his left to avoid tripping right over him. He stopped dead in his tracks, stared down at Grayson, then looked at Rebecca.
“Hello Matt,” she said, her hands finding her hips.
“Hello, Rebecca,” he answered, mimicking her with a smile.
“This is my son, Grayson.”
Grayson stood, big dusty patches on his knees, and blinked up at the man towering over him
For a moment, Matt didn’t seem quite so arrogant—he smiled warmly. “Hey, buddy, how’s it hanging?” he asked, and held out his hand, palm up. Grayson looked at his big hand for a moment, then suddenly reared back and slapped Matt’s hand as hard as he could.
“Good job,” Matt said with a chuckle, then stepped around him and walked into the middle of the room.
“Cute kid,” he said to Rebecca.
“Thanks. Do you have kids?”
“Me? Nah,” he said, like it was unthinkable, and put his hands on his waist as he looked around.