did so. The speech itself was thoughtful, well-constructed and effectively cadenced, and his brother’s delivery was spot-on. It was a side of Graham that CJ hadn’t known existed, and the fact that his brother had excelled in politics was easy to understand. The speech was short, but by the time Graham was finished it seemed that even the birds, which had been chirping loudly before the address, had stopped to give consideration to Graham’s words.
Then Graham moved seamlessly into the Q and A period, selecting the reporter from Buffalo for the first question. CJ only half listened to this part of the dance. He wasn’t particularly interested in Graham’s political leanings, and since he’d lived in Tennessee for the duration of his brother’s state senate service, Graham hadn’t been making policy for him anyway.
The back and forth went on for a while, with things staying nice on both sides. Eventually CJ heard light snoring coming from the general vicinity of Uncle Edward. Graham must have heard it too, because on the tail of his latest response he announced that he would take just one more question.
It came from a reporter for the Washington Post, and CJ didn’t hear her name when his brother called on her. Edward’s snoring had started to become hypnotic, and CJ felt his own eyelids getting heavy, and then had a sudden, humorous image come to him of the headline in tomorrow’s papers: Candidate for New York Senate Seat Hails from Family of Narcoleptics.
He wasn’t aware that everybody was looking at him until he’d first registered that silence had fallen on the press conference. When he looked up, it was to find virtually every eye on him, with the exception of Graham, who was still facing the crowd. Out of the corner of his eye CJ saw Daniel tense in his chair.
Obviously CJ had missed something important.
“My brother has been kind enough to alter his busy schedule to support me,” Graham said, “but I promised him he wouldn’t have to talk if he came.”
That earned a round of chuckles from the audience, and a noticeable lessening of the tension up Daniel’s spine, but the Washington Post reporter was undaunted.
“Mr. Baxter,” she said, and it was clear she was not addressing the senator, “can you tell us how you, with your status as a bestselling author, plan to support your brother during the last leg of his campaign?”
From behind, CJ saw his brother’s head droop just a fraction. This was one of those awkward moments in the public eye, when a candidate-friendly gathering could take a quick plunge south if things weren’t handled correctly. Graham was likely wrestling with the choice of taking a firmer stand on questions directed to family members or being accommodating to someone who could influence a large group of people with a single column. After a moment he turned to CJ.
“What do you say, Charles? Care to field a question or two?” Unseen by the audience was the pleading look in his brother’s eyes.
CJ didn’t say anything for a few seconds, nor did he move, and he could see nervousness on his brother’s face. Then, after releasing a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, he stood and made his way to the podium, where he shook his brother’s hand with a warm, slightly sheepish smile.
“Be kind,” he said to the gathered journalists, which earned another smattering of laughter.
CJ squared up on the podium; he’d done this before. He just had to think of it as a Q and A after one of his readings—even if the most recent one of those hadn’t gone as well as he would have hoped.
“How do I plan to aid my brother’s campaign?” CJ asked the crowd. “Well, if you’ve read any of my books, you know I’m essentially apolitical, so you probably won’t see anything on Medicare or on the federal budget worked into the next one.”
Another round of laughter, and as far as CJ was concerned, laughter was good.
“So I guess it’s a good question. I just consider myself Graham Baxter’s brother. I’m here to support him as family, not as a writer.”
Graham was on his right side, a few paces off, and CJ aimed a quick smile that way, all theater, and in doing so he saw the pleased expression on Daniel Wolfowitz’s face. That bothered him. Graham had stepped up to the podium, ready to redirect, when the intrepid Post reporter came back with a follow-up.
“Mr. Baxter, can you talk about the