Gathering String Read online

  “Sure. I was sorry to read about it. He’s a good guy. Want to tell me what happened?” Jack noticed Swede’s face was suddenly weary.

  “Pretty much what I told the press corps.” Swede shrugged.

  “Right.” Jack snorted. “And now, friend to friend, fill me in on what really happened.”

  Swede sighed. “He tipped the decision to debate Morton to that Politifix shark, Waterman.”

  Jack nodded. “Yeah, I read that in Waterman’s story, but I didn’t think for a minute that was all there was to it.” He looked patiently at Swede, waiting for him to go on. When he didn’t, Jack frowned. “Ah come on, that dog doesn’t hunt.”

  The frank skepticism stung the governor, and his voice rose. “I can’t afford any loose cannons on this campaign. It was my call, when to let the press know there’d be a debate.” Jack leaned back, sipping his coffee, his brows drawn down thoughtfully, but he didn’t interrupt. “It’s been a rough go, these last two weeks without a communications director. My chief of staff has a thousand balls in the air and doesn’t need the press breathing down her neck. I’m missing a senior advisor, and I feel it with that damn debate coming up. Pat knew his job. It’s just too bad he forgot his place.

  “I’ve been thinking about who can fill his spot. I need someone who knows me, knows how I think and how I work. I want someone whose feet are on the ground, who won’t be so damned impressed by the national press corps. It’s got to be someone who’s had experience dealing with these carnivores.” Swede stopped abruptly, waiting. When Jack only stared back, he added, “Jackie, you’ve got to know what I’m driving at.”

  “Sure. You want me.” Jack laughed as he spoke, thinking Swede would laugh too, and then tell him whom he had in mind. But he sobered instantly at Swede’s solemn, serious, silent face. “You’re joking.”

  “Why not you? You’re a damn fine newsman, and you’ve been on the other side too. When you were playing ball, how many interviews did you give? How many stories were written about you, some of them under the worst possible circumstances? You know how the press works, inside and out. And you understand me about as well as Pete and Mama. I want to win, but I’m a reserved person. That’s the way I was raised, and you know all about that too. Between the two of us, we can keep the jackals at bay.” Jack could only stare at the governor, too surprised to respond. “You know how these sons of bitches try to swallow people whole. I need your help with it, Jackie.”

  “Swede,” Jack found his tongue, “you had to know going in how intense the scrutiny was going to be. Maybe it’s a sadistic way of choosing a nominee, but it’s the way the system works. It’s been that way for years. There’s not a person on God’s green earth who’s going to change it now.”

  Erickson nodded. “I know that. I’m asking you to help me control it.”

  “And I’m telling you it can’t be done. Damn it, Swede, in a presidential race the media is a runaway train. The best you can do is hang on for the ride.” Swede slapped the table and looked away, swearing softly under his breath. When Jack went on, it was in a softer tone. “Besides, your image will hold up. You come from humble beginnings, you served your country honorably and well, you’re a self-made man. Come on, you’re the all-American guy.”

  “I’m not,” Swede’s voice was a gruff whisper. “And you know I’m not, Jackie.”

  “I do?” Jack was genuinely confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Swede glanced back toward the doorway, where his mother sat in the living room watching television. Finally he said, “Well, there’s Betty for one thing.”

  “Look, you’re not the first candidate who wasn’t crazy about his wife. In fact, I always kinda thought that was a prerequisite.” Swede gave a small, rueful smile at that, and Jack added, “But she wants to be first lady. She’s going to be right there by your side, and she’ll warm up in front of the cameras.” Jack dropped his voice, his eyebrows raised. “And I assume that for a good many years you’ve either kept everything at home or else been very careful, because ever since you took office I’ve never heard a word of gossip. So unless some girl has pictures …”

  Swede snorted. “Of course not.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “But there are other things …”

  “Yeah, I know.” A small smile played at the corners of Jack’s mouth. “You’ve been known to fix a few speeding tickets. I’ve never known how you do it, but I'm sure as hell not going to mention it to anyone.”

  Swede shook his head. “A few? That’s an understatement. But that didn’t even make the worry list. No, there’s really just one serious thing on it. The old man.”

  “Carl?” Even as he said it, Jack realized he should have been able to guess the name would come up. Swede’s relationship with his father had always been a sore point. “What difference could it make? He’s been dead for years. He was an alcoholic, Swede. Lots of people have relatives with that disease. How could it be a problem for you now?”

  “It’s still painful, Jack. Maybe not so much for me, but for Pete and certainly for Mama. He was an embarrassment to us for years. I finally had to put him in the VA where he couldn’t do us any more harm. I was so fucking relieved when he died.” Even knowing what he did, Jack winced at Swede’s words. “When I saw them piling dirt on his coffin, all I could think was that he couldn’t do any more harm. I don’t want the stink of him drifting back on me now. Not now.” Swede muttered the last words, almost to himself.

  Jack leaned forward. “What is it?” There was something, he could feel it; something specific in Swede’s mind that was driving his desperate tone. “What is there about Carl that all of Lindsborg doesn’t already know?”

  Across the table their eyes met, and Swede’s jaw set as if against some deep pain. Jack saw him draw a breath, and he caught his own, filled with apprehension that his friend was about to say something dreadful. But when he spoke, all Swede muttered was, “Nothing. The whole town knows exactly what he was,” and he took a sip of his coffee. At Jack’s blank stare, he added, “He was a miserable father. If it hadn't been for Jim, for your dad, I wouldn't have known what a good man was. I don't want to waste a minute of this campaign pretending I loved a father I didn't.”

  With a frown, Jack tried to shake off his own frustration at the oblique conversation. “Swede, I’ve got to tell you, Carl's problem is going to come up. The Record touched on it during your campaigns for governor …”

  “Yes, but never in much detail. Besides, that was just the Record.”

  “Right. But soon the national media is going to pick it up, and they’ll dig into it. You had to know they would. Sam Waterman’s coming to town.”

  “He’s here. Checked into the Tall Corn Inn late last night,” Swede said.

  “Well, sooner or later one of the town gossips is going to mention Carl. Instead of hoping to keep it quiet, I think you should be the one to bring it up first. Alcoholism isn’t the huge family shame it used to be. Just be matter-of-fact about it. Besides, it speaks to your strength of character, overcoming a lousy childhood and caring for a difficult man all those years.”

  “That’s exactly what I do not want,” Swede slapped the table. “I don’t want any of my success to lie in capitalizing on that old bastard’s failings.”

  Jack’s mouth drew down into a thin line. “Even if it makes the whole issue go away? Because I promise you, newspeople like Waterman won’t be interested in letting you beat a triumphed-over-adversity drum as big as that one. If they think you’re going to use it to make yourself look good, they’ll stop asking you about him. They won’t want to give you the opening.”

  Whatever Swede was going to say next, he stopped suddenly as he considered what Jack said. And then, with the slight beginnings of a smile, he said, “My God, you’ve got a point. If they think I’m just waiting for the opportunity to talk about him, they’ll never bring him up. Jesus, Jackie,” the smile spread into a sly, appreciative grin, “what a
savvy political mind you’ve got. Which proves my point. A man who offers me such solid advice has got to come to work for me.”

  Jack shook his head. “No. No way.”

  “Ah come on, you’re not going to turn me down.”

  “I just did.” Jack sat back, fiddling with his coffee mug and not looking at Swede. “It’s not for me, that kind of work.”

  “Bullshit. How can you know? You’ve never been part of it all. I’m offering you a hell of a chance. I really believe I’m going all the way, and I’d sure as hell like to take you along with me.”

  Jack nodded. “I appreciate that. In fact I’m flattered all to hell. But no.”

  “Why?” It was Swede’s turn to look confounded.

  Jack shrugged, uncharacteristically embarrassed. “I love what I’m doing. I really think I was meant to be here, running my hometown news operation. I look forward to work every morning. There are so many new things to try, so many chances for new business options and partnerships. I’m making a profit with new business models that the big papers couldn’t figure out and …” his head was ducked, and his face turned faintly pink, “I guess I’m proud of that. Why should I trade it to stand between you and the press corps with a whip and a chair?”

  “Because I’m probably going to win.”

  Jack nodded. “Yeah, you probably are. And then I’d have to live out east where the traffic is hell, and I’d have to pay half-a-jillion dollars to live in a house a quarter as big as the one I already own free and clear.”

  “That’s where Tess came from, and you still seem pretty taken with her,” Swede pointed out.

  Jack’s smile came back. “True. But I like to think she’s happier out here with me. Besides, I’m honestly looking forward to covering your campaign. How many small-town publishers get to say they really covered a presidential race? It’s going to be a great ride, and I want to write about it.”

  Swede slowly shook his head. In spite of the smile, he could see the stubborn set of Jack’s jaw, and knew there was no point going on. “Well I’ll be damned. I don’t get many turndowns, my boy. I’ve got to admit, I’m a little envious. Not many men can claim to be so content.” Jack’s smile went a little sheepish and Swede asked with a laugh, “So, got any ideas who might be good to replace Pat? Because Waterman’s going to be on me like stink on shit, and he’s only the first.”

  “You got that right. From the word down at the coffee shop, he’s lined up about half the town for interviews. He even called me at the paper Tuesday, asking if I’d talk to him.”

  “When are you meeting him?” Swede asked.

  Swallowing the last of his coffee Jack said, “I’m not. I turned him down.”

  The surprised look on Swede’s face faded into an annoyed frown. “Why did you do that?”

  “I’ve been interviewed enough for one lifetime. It’s better on the other side of the notebook.”

  “But didn’t he work with Tess? She wasn’t embarrassed that you stiffed him?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Jack ran a finger around the handle of his coffee mug, remembering his conversation with Tess. “I might have done it if she’d insisted, but she understood when I said I was reluctant. In fact, she seemed relieved. He’s a hell of a newsman, but the guy would want to talk about my family and how you helped me out when they died. I never liked talking about that when I was playing ball, let alone now, all these years later. It’s not political fodder.”

  Swede nodded, his face serious. “I can understand that, but to tell you the truth, Jack, I’m a little disappointed.” Jack’s brow furrowed. “You’d be one source I know is on my side. You know how to be careful in an interview. And like I just said, you’re politically savvy too. Come on, Jackie. You already turned down my job. The least you can do is help me draw this guy’s fangs.”

  A reluctant half-smile came to Jack’s face. “Well, you know I always try to do the least I can do. But he’s lined up a ton of interviews. He doesn’t need me for the profile.” He was still hoping Swede would let him off the hook. Jack hadn’t liked the man. He hadn’t liked the way Waterman had parked at his desk and helped himself to his whiskey. He didn’t like the way he’d found him with Tess, or his edginess when Jack had offered to drive him to the Inn. And he especially hadn’t liked it when he mentioned in his blog that Jack had been on the platform during Swede’s declaration announcement.

  Swede scoffed, “Naw, if he has to, he’ll bump somebody to talk to you. It’s a hell of a story, what happened to your folks. Sorry, but you and I both know it is, and he’s going to want to use it. Why don’t you give Waterman a call from here? I’ll bet you money he fits you in today. Then we’ll sit down and talk about the column you’re going to write about me rising above my father’s problems.” Jack’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What? It was your idea. I figure it’s only right for you to be the hack to write about it first.”

  Swede was right. Sam was surprised by Westphal’s call and didn’t hesitate to nail him down before he could change his mind again. It didn’t hurt that it was still so early in the morning that Sam hadn’t even left his room at the Tall Corn yet.

  “I had planned to just check out the town first thing this morning. But I could meet you right now,” Sam said.

  “I’m finishing something up. Give me an hour?” Westphal asked.

  “Sure. You want to give me directions to your place?”

  “It’s out in the country and might be a little tricky for you to find. Besides, I’m already in town. I could meet you at the Journal. You know where that is,” Jack replied. But as he spoke, Jack remembered that Thelma had said she was going to come in to reconcile the month-end reports, and he knew she would be hanging around, trying to take in every word.

  Sam said, “I want to take a drive out through the countryside anyway. You know, a little color for the narrative.”

  Jack knew that was bullshit, but understood from his own experience that Waterman would prefer an interview at the house. A source is always more relaxed in his own home. But it would solve the Thelma problem. “Alright then, I’ll meet you there.” Jack gave him careful directions, explaining that the turn off for the house was just after the second bridge over Cat’s Ear Creek.

  “The second one?” Sam asked. “I cross the same creek twice?”

  “Yeah, it bends, you know, like a cat’s ear.” Westphal laughed. “Look, Tess is home, so if you get lost just give her a call, and she’ll talk you in.” And he rattled off the number.

  “Fine.” Sam shrugged off trying to picture just what a cat’s ear looks like as he scribbled it down. “I’ll see you in an hour.” Quickly gathering up the things he’d need and scooping up the keys to the rental car, he hurried out the door. With a little luck, he’d catch Tess at home before Westphal got there.

  Before Jack went back to the Ericksons’ kitchen, he tried his home number, but it just rang until the voice mail picked up. Tess was in the shower and didn’t hear it.

  Chapter 17

  Sam missed the turn to the house the first time he went by. But it only took a mile of backtracking, and he caught it on the second go-round. Pulling into the drive, he gave a low whistle, looking at the white, square house with its huge wrap-around porch and deep green shutters, the undisturbed snow of the gently sloping front lawn dazzling in the winter sunshine. “Looks like Currier and Ives,” he muttered as he stepped out into the biting cold.

  The wind was sharper here on the high hill, and he pulled up his coat collar as he hurried up the front walk. There was no doorbell, but when he knocked on the solid wood door, a dog on the other side began barking loudly. After a couple minutes he knocked again, and the dog increased its volume. If anyone were home, they’d certainly hear the noise. Huddling deeper into his coat, Sam was just considering going back to the car, thinking Tess had probably decamped in the face of his arrival, when the door opened.

  She was wearing a pale pink V-necked sweater with black jeans, and her hair
was wet. When she saw him, her blue eyes went wide. He started to say something, but she threw up a hand. “No. You are not pulling this shit here.”

  “Shit?” He had no idea what she meant.

  Color rushed into her face, and he realized she was suddenly and colossally angry. “You showed up at my door once before, betting I wouldn’t slam it in your face. Well, watch this.” Stepping back she shut the door, hard.

  For a few seconds Sam just stood there, blinking. Then he tried a tentative knock, setting off the barking again. After a few minutes, he sighed and pulled his cell phone from his pocket and the scrap of paper with Westphal’s home number. As it rang in his ear, he could also hear it faintly beeping on the other side of the door. When the voice mail picked up, he hung up and hit the redial. On the third try it didn’t ring at all, just went directly to voice mail, and he figured she must have taken the phone off the hook. He was just raising his fist to pound on the door again, when it swung open.

  With a cordless phone receiver in her hand, looking confused, she asked, “What the hell is going on?”

  His mouth dropped open and he stammered, “That’s ... that’s what I was going to ask you.”

  She shook her head. “When I went to take the phone off the hook, I saw the message light was on. Jack called to say he’d given you directions out here.”

  “Right. He called this morning, and told me he’d see me. So why are you slamming doors in my face?’

  “Because the last I knew he didn’t want to talk to you.”

  Sam took his hands out of his pockets, spreading them wide, “He must have changed his mind.”

  “Why?” she snapped.

  “How the fuck should I know?”

  “What did you do?”

  “What did I do?” His breath smoked in the freezing air. “I flew into Des Moines about ten last night, picked up that cheap rental car, drove for over two hours, checked into the Tall Corn Inn, and went to sleep. I hadn’t even had a cup of coffee when Thor himself called me, gave me directions out here, and said you’d be home if he wasn’t here yet. I followed the directions, crossed Cat’s-fucking-Ear Creek twice, and here I am. That’s what I did.” He shivered a little, and answered her skeptical glare with, “Tess, he just must have changed his mind.”