Page 45 of Someone to Tempt
Now, I want to go clean in all areas of my life, but can’t quite find the courage to do it.
“You can’t spend all your time paddle boarding,” Iris tells me.
I tap a finger against the steering wheel like I’m considering my answer. “Not all my time. Beauty rest is important, too.”
“The foundation has an office in Austin, right? Do you do any work there?”
“Grandpa put me on the board of directors a few years ago, so I’m an expert at ribbon cutting and awarding checks. I keep my visits to the office limited to the days when lunch is catered.”
“You always had an appetite,” she says with an indulgent smile and then falls silent, staring out the window at the darkening sky. The silence stretches comfortably between us as shades of purple and orange streak above us.
I’ve actually taken on a more significant role in the foundation’s activities in Texas in the past couple of years, partnering with grant seekers to understand and champion their work. It took a bit of time to gain the trust of the staff, especially since I’ve requested that my growing role be kept out of the spotlight—and off my grandfather’s radar—as much as possible.
Why do I insist on letting the people I care about think the worst about me?
I can tell myself a story about wanting to ensure my actions are genuinely about helping others rather than seeking validation. How keeping my efforts private helps me separate my ego from my work. But I’m also processing ongoing survivor’s guilt, and the feeling of not deserving recognition for doing the right thing now when I spent so many years feeling like I was always doing the wrong thing.
They say the best defense is a good offense, or maybe that’s backwards, but I’m going with it either way. I don’t like having the spotlight pointed in my direction, and I want to know more about Iris. Who she is now and what truly makes her tick under the defenses she so faithfully maintains—something we have in common, even though I’m not dumb enough to mention that to her.
“Tell me what brought you back to Skylark.”
“A position in the mayor’s office.” The answer is generic and doesn’t even begin to satisfy my curiosity. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who isn’t telling the whole truth.
“Why a small town in Colorado? You went to school and started your political career in Minnesota, right?”
“Mom had a friend in St. Paul, so when things went bad so quickly after that summer, she moved us to Minnesota.” She wrinkles her nose. “Isn’t everyone’s dream for their senior year to spend the winter with months of snow, ice, and freezing temps?”
“Seems like you made the most of it,” I answer. “You were awarded an Academic Excellence Scholarship for undergrad.”
Her eyes widen. “Did you Google me?”
“Of course. You have an impressive LinkedIn profile.”
She groans.
“Don’t be humble, Dixon. Lots of university honors. A job after graduation working for the governor as a youth policy advisor and community engagement manager. Quite the overachiever.”
Her voice is quiet when she explains, “Given everything Nick and I faced, creating better opportunities for kids like us is important to me.”
Her hands are clasped tightly in her lap, her knuckles white. What isn’t she saying about Minnesota?
“Is your mom still in St. Paul?”
She frowns and turns her face back to the window. “She moved to Florida when I was in college. Other than our awkward holiday conversations, we don’t talk.”
“I’m still having trouble understanding why you left your role in the governor’s office.” I scratch a hand across my jaw. “The opportunity for advancement there seems?—”
“I wanted to come back and implement some of those same programs here. We never stayed in one place long growing up, but Skylark felt like home.” She draws in a long breath. “In a mostly affluent community, with people who have been here for generations, families who might need help or interventions can fall through the cracks. I don’t want any kids to fall through the cracks. Skylark is more than our reputation for fun. We’re a place where all families should be able to access the healthcare and education services they need.”
“Okay.” I reach over to squeeze her hand, but she quickly pulls it away and crosses her arms over her chest.
I can’t stop prodding for what she’s not telling me. “From what I hear on the news, Robert Wilhelm is a contender for the party’s presidential nomination in the next election cycle.”
“Governor Wilhelm has done an amazing job for the people of Minnesota,” she says, tension radiating off her like a wave. “I’m sure he’ll do the same if elected on a national level.”
“You don’t want to be a part of that? It seems like a lot of opportunities would have come your way if he’s successful in his bid.”
“I want to be here,” she insists, and I wonder which one of us she’s trying to convince. “There’s nothing wrong with starting small and building my resume the old-fashioned way. Gloria is also here, and she was the first politician who inspired me toward a career in public service. I wanted a chance to be mentored by her.”
