The Hopefuls(56)

—

Rebecca wasn’t a big drinker. Compared to the rest of the Kellys, she was usually downright sober. When she showed up at Sunday dinner, she’d have one glass of wine, which she’d sip on throughout the meal. I think it was her way of silently judging the rest of us. If someone tried to pour more in her glass, she’d put her hand over the top, which often led Babs to mutter “Teetotaler” at her, like it was a dirty word.

But on vacation, all bets were off. Maybe it was the close proximity to everyone, or the fact that she knew she was stuck on the Kelly compound, but most days she started drinking white wine in the afternoons and by dinner she was often tipsy.

On the last day of the trip, she and I sat on the patio, each of us relaxing in an Adirondack chair, a bottle of wine between us. The rest of the family was on the lawn playing a huge game of touch football—even Jonah was out there. When Rebecca said she didn’t want to play and the numbers became uneven, everyone looked at me and waited for me to bow out, which I did. It was just as well. I didn’t need to end up on crutches.

The two teams were huddled separately, shouting funny threats back and forth, pretending to whisper secret plays to each other. They were loud and the kids were laughing. The last game of the trip was always the rowdiest.

“They think they’re the f*cking Kennedys,” Rebecca said, and I coughed on my wine as I laughed. She wasn’t looking at me, she was staring at them, and for a second I wasn’t sure if she even knew she’d spoken out loud, but then she continued. “Look at them. They think they’re so special. Charmed.” She paused and squinted like she was trying to figure them out.

“They do,” I said, because it felt like I had to say something. I’d always wanted Rebecca to like me, but I didn’t want to become her confidante. I wasn’t exactly like Jenny and Nellie, but I didn’t want to be included in the outcast portion of the family. I was quick to mock the Kellys, but not belonging to their club would be worse than belonging.

Rebecca turned to look at me. “You have it the worst though,” she said. She started laughing—hard, and not in a particularly nice way. I gave her a confused smile while I waited for her to continue, and then she said, barely able to catch her breath, “Because if they’re the Kennedys, then you’re married to John-John.”





Chapter 13


A couple of weeks after we got back from St. Michaels, we were sitting on the couch, watching The Daily Show, when Matt’s phone rang. We glanced at each other, wondering who would be calling, and then Matt looked down at his phone and said, “It’s Jimmy.” For a second, I thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he swiped the screen and said, “Hey man, what’s up?”

He was quiet for a while, only saying, “Really?” or “Okay,” and once, “Wow.” I kept trying to catch his eye so he could let me know what was going on, but he wouldn’t look up. I bent my head in front of him, which was maybe a little obnoxious, and he held up a finger to me, telling me to wait a minute, and then walked upstairs. I muted the TV to listen to the conversation, but Jimmy was doing most of the talking. When Matt finally came downstairs, he looked a little shocked.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it’s fine.” He was speaking slowly, like he was trying to find the right words, and I waited for him to continue. “Jimmy was approached by some people asking if he’d want to run for the Railroad Commission.”

“What? What people?”

“Some ‘major Democratic stakeholders,’ he said. Apparently, they want someone new in the Democratic field. There’s one guy with some sketchy financial stuff and another old guy who’s run like three times already.”

“That’s crazy. Is he going to do it?”

“It sounds like it. I mean, it’s kind of a long shot for him to win the general. But it’s great experience. And you never know. They want someone young who can bring energy to the party. They also think he can raise a lot of money.”

“What’s the position again?”

“Railroad commissioner.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“You’re not from Texas,” Matt said.

“Neither are you.”

“Jimmy’s talked about it before. He thought it would be something to aim for in the future. Like years down the road.” Matt closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the couch.

“He wants to be in charge of the railroad?” I asked.

“That’s not what they do. They deal with gas and oil regulations. It’s hard to explain.”

“Was he calling just to tell you?” I asked. I was already bracing myself for this to send Matt into a spiral—one more thing Jimmy got that he didn’t, one more step forward that he wasn’t taking.

“He said he wanted my advice. If he does this, he’s going to have to start fund-raising soon,” he said. Then he gave me a wry smile. “He also just wanted to show off, I think.”

“The Jimmy Dillon Show has officially started,” I said. “He’s probably looking in the mirror, smiling at himself and brushing his hair.”

Matt made a small “hmmph” sound, but then he laughed and nodded in agreement. “No shit,” he said.