Anton looked into the crowd and started again. “There is one person absent tonight who should’ve been here,” he said. “And that’s my granddad, Senator Harold Coleman.” He glanced up at the ceiling, as if expecting to find the old man there, and pumped his fist in the air. “Pappy, this night is for you.”
The crowd roared. Connor gave him an approving thumbs-up, as if this had been part of the prepared remarks. Anton looked away, a trifle annoyed. That was the thing with politicians and their handlers—everything was fair game, everything was fodder, and nothing was left to chance or spontaneity. But then he remembered how he had been lagging in the polls just before Pappy passed away. Their own polling had shown that voters thought he was too young and inexperienced, that they suspected him of riding into office on his father’s coattails. The day after Pappy’s funeral, Connor had released to the press a picture of Anton by his grandfather’s gravesite. His face was grief-stricken, pensive, and the way the afternoon sun hit his hair from behind gave him an ethereal look. His girlfriend Jenny’s gloved hand lay lightly on his shoulder as she consoled him. It was a private, intensely intimate moment, and somehow, the fact that the picture was all over the Internet didn’t lessen the intimacy. Anton had been furious at Connor for releasing it, David had been philosophical, and Connor himself had remained silent in the face of Anton’s protestations. But a poll released the following week showed Anton in the lead for the first time, a lead that he never lost. Connor had taught him the oldest axiom in politics—you take your weakest card and play it. Not only had Connor played on the public’s misgivings about political dynasties, he had doubled down on it. He had not tried to hide Anton’s family background—rather, he had flaunted it, reminded everyone of the senator’s long years of service to the state. And then he had asked that they give an opportunity to his grandson—Connor had long since banned the word “adopted” from descriptions of Anton’s family relationships—to continue that tradition of service.
So it was understandable that Uncle Connor thought the reference to Pappy was canned. So be it. Anton glanced at his notes and said, “We all know why you’re really here. The governor will address you in just a few moments.” He waited for the applause to subside and then turned toward Delores and David, waiting in the wings. “Mom and Dad, I love you.” His words echoed through the cavernous room. He paused for a second and then pulled out the crowd-pleasing line of the night: “And Jenny, thank you for putting up with me this past year, as I’ve traveled from one end of this mighty state to the other. I couldn’t have done it without you.” As he expected, the crowd of campaign workers went wild. Chants of “We want Jenny, we want Jenny” rang out, and from her perch in the first row, Jenny leaped to her feet, turned around, and waved to the crowd. She blew Anton a little kiss and he grinned.
By the time he was winding down his victory speech, his shirt was soaked with sweat, but he didn’t mind, swept up in the enthusiasm of the crowd cheering at every wonky proposal as if he had scored a touchdown. The usual kernel of loneliness lodged deep within whenever he was in a crowd had not surfaced tonight and he was grateful, wanting to enjoy the moment. “So let’s give it up for the governor of our great state, David H. Coleman,” he yelled, and the din in the room grew to an ear-splitting level.
David strode onto the stage, grinning from ear to ear, enveloping Anton in a bear hug that almost knocked the younger man off his feet. “Whoa, Dad,” Anton whispered, but the microphone picked it up and the crowd loved it. After a long moment of simply gazing at his son with pride—a moment when Anton had goose bumps all over his body—David finally took the microphone. “Friends,” he boomed, flinging his arms wide open, “thank you for being here to celebrate the happiest and proudest day of my life.”
Anton looked over to see Delores wiping the tears from her eyes. She caught him looking at her and winked. He smiled, looked away, and out of the blue, as happened every time he accomplished something—when he’d been named captain of the school lacrosse team, when he’d walked down the stage clutching his high school diploma, after he had finished law school—he thought of her. Where was she now? If she still lived in the state, she would’ve heard of him winning tonight, right? Right? Even if she lived on the streets, in the gutters, surely she would hear about her son, the fourth most powerful man in the state. But who was he kidding? She was most likely dead, or so out of her mind, or had so many other kids, that she probably had forgotten she ever had a son named Anton.