“I’m not saying he wasn’t. Of course he was, but the women married to great men know they fart in their sleep and leave the toilet seat up. They are human. Your brother is human, imperfect, the same way your father was imperfect.”
“My father was no cheat.”
“How do you know what goes on between a man and a woman behind closed doors?”
“Are you saying—”
“I’m saying Keith and Delaney’s problems shouldn’t keep him from serving this state. You hold him to an impossible standard, which is your father. He always did spoil you.”
“Spoiled? Me? Keith is the one you both spoiled, allowing him privileges neither Kayla or I ever had simply because he was a boy. Letting him run wild so now he’s an entitled, underachieving, underperforming brat who assumes he can ride my father’s name and legacy into office. Well, not on my watch and not until I’m satisfied he will serve the people of this district well.”
Mama sighs with a despairing shake of her head. “You’re just like your father.”
“Thank you.”
Mama whips a glance at me, rolls her eyes and relinquishes a tiny smile. Against my will and better judgment, my lips quirk, too. Our clashes of will usually end in mutual respect.
“Look,” Mama says, “I know Keith has some growing to do, but no one’s perfect. Your daddy certainly wasn’t when we first got married.”
“I repeat. Are you saying Daddy cheated on you?”
Mama’s expression closes. She pulls her lashes down and tightens her lips at the corners. “Your father was faithful our entire marriage, as far as I know, and he was the kind of man who couldn’t have lived with that lie. So…no, he didn’t cheat.”
Relief releases the breath I was holding. “I don’t expect Keith to be perfect, but I do expect him to do better and to be prepared.”
“His heart is in the right place. He’s not corrupt like some of these folks running for office. If you’
ll be in Georgia anyway, helping Congressman Ruiz run for governor, it’ll be easier to advise Keith, too.”
My shoulders, held battle-tense, relax a bit. “We’ll see. Ruiz has to choose me first. There are a few firms he’s considering.”
“Considering?” Mamas brows snap together. “Did he not see what you did for Maxim Cade?”
“Well, Maxim is a once-in-a-lifetime candidate. Charlie Brown probably could have managed that campaign and won.”
“Don’t do that, Tru,” Mama says, eyes narrowed, voice dropped. “They diminish us enough without you making yourself small. You descend from queens. And I’m not talking about going all the way back to Africa. I’m talking about your grandmother who put her life on the line as a freedom rider. Your aunt who was a pastor when they said women couldn’t be and led one of the largest congregations in the South. Your great-great grandmother, who, with a sixth-grade education, opened her own restaurant and became one of the wealthiest women in this city.”
“I know, Mama.” I chuckle at her shaking the branches of the family tree to make her point. “You’ve told us a million times.”
“Well don’t you forget it. Congressman Ruiz would be lucky to have you manage his campaign, and better hope you’re still available and interested by the time he realizes it.”
“That part,” I agree, feeling some of my usual confidence surfacing. I reach across and touch her hand. “Thank you, Mama.”
She squeezes my hand briefly before pulling away to eat her breakfast.
“And I’ll see what I can do for Keith,” I say grudgingly. “At least sit down with him and hear where his head is at.”
Mama nods. “Thank you. I’m the first to admit he’s not always…responsible, but he has potential. If your father were still around…”
She’s right. Daddy would have whipped Keith into campaign shape by now and had him on someone else’s ballot years ago with his own run as the end game. I should have seen that. Should have done that. Kayla runs our family foundation, but I inherited Daddy’s strategic mind. Who will I have to pass it on to?
“Um, Mama,” I venture, poking the remnants of my cantaloupe with a fork. “Can I ask you something?”
Mama nods, not looking up from her newspaper that is still delivered to our front door every morning. It’s been so long since I saw the news in ink on paper, it feels like she’s holding an artifact.
“Do you know if we have a history, on either side, of early menopause?”
Mama’s brows bend and dip. She shakes her head. “Not that I know of. Why do you…” She drops her paper to the table and her wide eyes snap to mine. “The doctor. Is that why you were seeing the doctor that day?”