Page 58 of Campaign Season
“Think upgraded Boone’s Farm, downgraded Smirnoff Ice,” Jonah quipped.
Michelle wrinkled her nose. “Still doesn’t explain why this tastes musty.”
Marianne laughed. “What does ‘musty’ even taste like?”
“This,” Michelle said, holding up her glass.
Candace shook her head. “Some of us appreciate the way things age, Shell.” She took a sip, savoring the warmth, then settled back down beside Jonathan.
“Look,” Jonathan said, nodding at the television, his smile tired but bright. “I think they might call it.”
On screen, the scrolling banner froze for a moment, then flashed in bold letters:
ARIZONA’S 8TH DISTRICT: DEMOCRAT FLIPS SEAT
The room erupted. Michelle threw her hands up, Jonah slapped Scott on the back, and Melanie whooped loud enough to startle one of the kids upstairs.
“I told you!” Jonathan crowed, his voice rough but triumphant. He raised his glass with a shaky hand. “Pancakes, Candy. Don’t forget—you owe me pancakes.”
Candace laughed, clinking her glass against his. “Deal. I'll even throw in chocolate chips.”
Jonathan winked, then leaned back into the cushions, his chest rising and falling with the effort of holding onto the moment. His laughter softened into a cough, and Candace’s hand was immediately on his back again.
“You okay, Dad?” Michelle asked, concern edging her smile.
“I’m fine,” Jonathan rasped, waving her off. “Don’t you dare let me ruin a victory.”
The chatter resumed—Michelle teasing Jonah about over-celebrating, Jameson making a quip about putting Shell on clean-up duty, laughter bubbling around them like champagne. Candace kept her eyes on Jonathan.
When his gaze met hers, it was steady, even tender. “Help me upstairs?” he asked quietly.
Candace set her glass down and nodded. “Let's go.”
He pushed himself to standing, leaning more on her arm than he meant to, and together they walked slowly toward the stairs. The hum of voices and television faded behind them, replaced by the creak of the old farmhouse floorboards and the hush of their steps.
Halfway up, Jonathan stopped, catching his breath. “Candy,” he said softly, “tonight was a good night.”
Candace swallowed against the ache in her chest and squeezed his hand. “Yes. It was.”
He gave her a small, tired smile. “Don’t forget my pancakes.”
Candace chuckled, though her eyes stung. “I won’t.”
She guided him the rest of the way, both of them knowing—without needing to say it—that victories came in many forms.
"Do you remember that night?" he asked. "When you won your seat in Congress?"
Candace nodded.
"I didn't think I could be prouder of you."
"Jon."
"I was wrong. You're an amazing woman, Candy. A terrific mother. I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you that."
"There's nothing to be sorry about."
He leaned close and kissed her cheek. "Thanks for the ride."
