I'll Stop the World (54)

“He’s got more money, though. And it’s getting worse.”

“I know, but I just don’t think—” Bill distracted himself by looking at Millie, then groaned. “Baby girl, did you really just stuff eggs in your diaper?”

“Poop!” Millie hollered in glee.

“You just don’t think . . . ?” Veronica prompted.

Bill pivoted in his seat to face her, taking her hand on the table. “In a small town like Stone Lake, with a candidate like Diane, I just don’t think we can know which way it’s going to go, even with all his money and influence. She may inspire people to vote who don’t typically care about local elections.”

“On both sides,” Veronica pointed out. “You know how awful people can be.”

“Maybe they’ll surprise you. When they hear what Diane has to say, how can they not root for her?”

She loved her husband more than anything, but some days, she just wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him. His relentless optimism was one of the things that made him so good at his job—teenagers needed someone to believe in them, and Bill wore his belief like a finely tailored suit—but sometimes it was maddening that they saw the world so differently.

It wasn’t entirely his fault. Good grades, good looks, and a wealthy family had ensured that every door in Bill’s life had swung wide open for him—until he met Veronica, the poor girl with no parents, no money, and an overeager uterus.

The Warrens were sure that Veronica had gotten pregnant on purpose, in order to trap Bill into marriage. They hadn’t even bothered to come to the wedding. They told Bill it was because their family had been hit with a bout of flu, but Veronica knew better.

Not that she was surprised. She knew their type, and they would never approve of hers. Veronica always had to shoulder her way through every door herself, throwing her full weight against it until it began to budge, an inch at a time.

Which was why she couldn’t take anything for granted, especially with the election only a few weeks away.

“The debate is in five days, Bill. This profile was supposed to give us a bump going into it. Now . . . I just don’t know what we’re going to do. Which is a problem, since it’s my job to know what to do.”

Bill put an arm around her, rubbing gentle circles into her back. “Is there anything I can do?”

She gave him a weak smile, then gestured at Millie, who by this point seemed more egg than baby. “De-egg our child? I’ll figure out this other stuff. I just needed to freak out about it for a little bit.”

“I’m always here for freak-outs,” Bill said, planting a kiss on the top of her head before turning to the baby and wrinkling his nose. “Good grief, child; it’s a good thing you’re cute.”

Veronica took a deep breath as Bill scooped Millie out of her chair and swept her into the bathroom. Her stomach still churned uncomfortably, and the sight of smashed egg all over Millie’s high chair was doing nothing to help. She dropped her eyes back to the paper, focusing on her breathing as she spun through ideas for the day.

In. Maybe Bill was right, and more people could see through the blatant misinformation in the paper than she thought.

Out. But she had to prepare for the worst. The gap between Gibson and Diane hadn’t been much, but was probably wider now. Would the debate be enough to make up the difference?

In. They’d just have to prepare more. And get the word out. Make sure people showed up. People who may be receptive to what Diane had to say. People who . . . who . . .

Out. Really needed to throw up.

She barely made it to the sink before retching up her morning coffee. As she leaned over the breakfast dishes, rinsing her mouth with handfuls of running water, her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the front door. Veronica closed her eyes briefly, steeling herself for yet another unexpected problem. People didn’t knock on doors unannounced at six thirty in the morning just to say hello.

The second she opened the front door, her day got worse.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed under her breath at Kenny Gibson, standing in full uniform on her front porch. She hurriedly shut the door behind her, hoping Bill hadn’t heard it open over the sound of the bathtub faucet and Millie’s squeals.

“Hey, Ronnie,” he said. His lake-blue eyes scanned her approvingly. “How’s the family?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you want, Kenny? Cornering me in parking lots is one thing, but this is my home.”

He ran a hand through his straw-colored hair. “I need to talk to you about the campaign.”

“I thought you said the campaign had nothing to do with you.”

“It doesn’t. I mean your campaign.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Look, I made a traffic stop the other night. Car driving real slow across Wilson Bridge, and some kid walking next to it, right in the middle of the road. Really weird kid. Never seen him before. Didn’t seem to know what year it was. I was going to bring him in, but then the other kid, the one driving the car, she vouched for him. Said he was her cousin visiting from out of town, and that he’d gotten light-headed. So I let them both go with a warning.”

He took a step closer to her, bending down so he could lower his voice. “Ronnie, it was one of Diane’s kids. Rose. I don’t know who the boy is, but I don’t think he’s her cousin. And I don’t think her parents know he even exists.”