turned to Graham, a smile on his face. “You have the funeral this weekend and then carry the emotion all the way to election night. We can play the whole ‘my grandfather’s dying wish was that I press on’ thing. People will eat it up.”
Graham could see that Daniel’s enthusiasm did not translate well. Edward, especially, had quickly moved from wondering how anyone could think fifty-eight degrees in October was cold, to appearing ready to have a coronary.
“Daniel, this might not be the best time to talk about strategy,” Graham said.
“Why?” Daniel looked around, until his eyes alit on Edward’s face. “Oh, right. Your grandfather.”
Almost instantly, a proper sympathetic look appeared. “I really am sorry for your loss.”
“We haven’t lost him yet, Daniel,” Graham said.
“Right. Of course not,” Daniel amended, yet this detail would not be more than a small speed bump. “But what I’m trying to get at is that this is a real opportunity for you to finish this thing off right. You’ve already played the educated-rural angle, no political experience—”
“Lest you forget, I’ve been a state senator for two years.”
“And with a family legacy personified by a dead grandfather driving you. It might as well be a mandate.” Then Daniel frowned at Graham. “You would have never said ‘lest’ at Stanford.”
“I swear I’m going to hit him,” Uncle Edward said, and it did indeed look as if he might take a swing at the diminutive lawyer. His hands, still at his sides, were balled into fists. But before he could give in to the impulse, Julie got up from the couch and took her father-in-law by the arm.
“Come on, Dad,” she said. “Let’s go get a cup of coffee.”
It took some convincing, and for a few moments Graham wasn’t sure if Julie would be able to redirect Edward, but eventually he allowed himself to be coaxed to the kitchen. Julie frowned at Graham as she passed, which in his experience was the equivalent of a curse word or two from most people.
“What did I say?” Daniel asked, once Edward had left the room and attention had returned to him.
Before Graham could answer, a middle-aged woman in a nurse’s uniform appeared at the entrance to the family room. Looking over her glasses, she spotted George and joined the growing circle at the fireplace.
“Your father’s asking for you,” she said. She had a diluted Southern accent, and just a touch of the local flavor to tell Graham she’d been in Upstate New York for a while. And there was something else, something that seemed out of place—surprise, maybe? Then he remembered what Edward had said about Sal Sr.’s meds. The nurse—Patricia, her nametag said—put a hand on his father’s shoulder. “He shouldn’t be awake. I don’t understand it.”
That brought a deep laugh from Graham’s father, whose shoulder bounced beneath the nurse’s hand.
“Then you don’t know your patient,” he said. With some effort, he lifted himself out of the chair, brushed off his pants, and started for the back room.
“Let’s go say goodbye,” he called behind him.
Graham and Sal Jr. followed George down the hallway, and they were almost to the back room before Graham realized that Daniel was at his side, once again gaining entry to someplace he didn’t belong. Graham kept his smile to himself as they stepped into his grandfather’s room.
Truth be told, Sal had been going downhill for more years than any of them would have admitted to anyone outside of the family. It had started with his memory. Car keys, dentures, whether or not he’d already gassed up the Ford. After that, it might be a loaded .38 left on the coffee table, within easy reach of the great-grandkids. Or forgetting to eat for a few days. But the stubbornness that had long been a part of the Baxter genetic makeup had not allowed Sal to admit to these painfully obvious lapses. He’d taken to leaving himself notes—reminders about things like eating, or about errands he had to run, or had already completed—so that he didn’t make two trips to Kaddy’s to purchase two identical compressors. Over time, as the condition progressed, as it became more difficult for his mind to keep things straight, the notes had expanded to include more mundane tasks like making sure to lock the front door, times to bathe and change, and when to go to bed (this note cleverly affixed to the clock in the kitchen). The problem with this approach, however, was that it stirred in Sal a