The World: According to Graham (22 page)

Once he’s calmed down, he reaches over and takes my hand. “So I’ve had this idea for a while. I’m not sure how it’s going to work yet, but here’s what I want to do.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down before he continues. “I want to start an organization of sorts. Something where the Sons of Liberty find politicians that are making a difference in this world, and we throw our support behind them to run for a higher office. Like, how I see this working is we get recommendations, take nominations, whatever, from citizens who see their elected official as doing good deeds for their community. Then, we financially back that candidate when we encourage them to run for a higher office. Make sense? Like we’re grass-roots backers that actually have a platform for getting them elected.”

I’m quiet for a moment while I contemplate his idea. It’s not novel. The Tea Party is a perfect example of a group who tried to do this. The difference is Graham does have the platform. Their radio show is extremely popular, and we saw in the last election just how much impact they truly have. Their tour is selling like hotcakes. They have enough clout that this might actually work.

He must interpret my silence as negative because he continues justifying it. “We have dinners in every city where we meet with all these loaded dudes. They’re trying to buy our influence. Anyway, so we ask them to donate to our organization. We can give these candidates not only money, but publicity and support.”

Silence fills the car again while I think. Now the night sky is dark, and we need to begin searching for our campgrounds.

Thoughts ping-pong through my brain faster than a NASCAR race. It’s a great idea, but it’s very difficult to execute. They would have to choose the perfect test candidate and put all of their faith in him or her that they could pull it off. That level of trust takes a lot of cahoonas. On the other side of the coin, it absolutely gives the Sons of Liberty an opportunity to put their money where their mouth is. They want real changes . . . well, backing candidates to inspire that change is highly impactful.

All of sudden, he yells, “Say something Rachael.”

I jump and grasp my heart, causing me to laugh. “Sorry. Lost in my own head. I think it’s a fantastic idea. I’m just trying to process it all. My MO is to hear the great idea, and then I figure out how to make it work.” I reach over and rub his shoulder. “Calm down, Hoss. It’s all good.”

Once we’re tucked in for the night, as Graham calls it, I have a chance to contemplate his idea a bit more. It’s a good one. I pull out my trusty notebook and begin making notes on how we can make it work as Graham softly snores to my left and George lies on the floor to my right. I’m sandwiched between my boys, and there’s no place that I would rather be.

Maybe Graham’s passions can become mine also.

It’s Thursday and we’re stopping in Harmon County, Oklahoma, somewhere close to the Texas border. Here’s the deal. We could have made it to Phoenix this week. I didn’t tell Rachael, but we made a slight detour—purposeful wrong turn—on the Arkansas and Oklahoma line. I read ahead in my calendar and realized that Lubbock was next week’s stop. I made the executive decision to give us this full week together before the realities of touring begin.

The land here is pretty barren. There aren’t a lot of trees, but there are miles and miles of nothing that looks the same. I’m sort of regretting choosing this as our place to leave the travel trailer and George before we travel back to Washington D.C. tomorrow morning for Rachael’s doctor’s appointment.

All of this is rolling through my mind when we pull up to the campgrounds and are greeted by a lady who looks like she does meth instead of eating Cheerios for breakfast. I try to not judge people based on appearance because they can be deceiving so I park the camper anyway and follow her inside the pop-up camper that she’s using as an office.

The place smells like someone spilled a bottle of honey and didn’t bother to clean it, and it’s so warm that sweat beads along my temples. I have a bad feeling about this—real bad.

“Ma’am, do you—”

She interrupts. “It’s Darlene. Don’t call me ma’am. I ain’t old enough to be your mother. Just look that way ’cause my teeth are bad.”

“Darlene.” I flash her my winningest smile. “I’m going to need to leave my dog, George, here overnight for a few days. Would you mind walking him and feeding him? I’ll pay you, of course.”

“What kinda dog is it?” she asks, leaning against the dining table. I get the distinct impression that she might be asking to see if there’s enough meat on his bones for dinner. She’s so thin that her body seems to have curved into the shape of a
C
.

“Labrador.”

“I useta have a dog. His name was Buddy, but the stupid dog just wouldn’t stay home. Probably got ranned over or starved to death. He was that dumb.” She snickers and sucks off of a bong.

I’m thinking that Buddy might just have been a genius. Hopefully, he has a great new life on a farm somewhere where he gets to rest on a front porch stoop during the hot summer days and swim in a lake.

Warning sirens are going off like crazy, and I’m just about to make a polite excuse as to why we will be staying somewhere else when Rachael walks into the tiny trailer. The look on her face says it all. She’s not impressed. Our eyes lock, and I silently implore her to get the message that I’m not comfortable staying here.

“My sister just called. She’s in Oklahoma City, and she really needs us to take care of the baby.” Message received loud and clear. “Do you mind if we head back that way? It’s a two-hour drive, but I think we can reach there before too late?”

“Sure, babe. Call your sister back and tell her that we’ll be there,” I lie through my teeth.

I turn back to Darlene. “So sorry to have bothered you, but it looks like we’ve had a change of plans.”

“Suit yourself,” she says, and turns on the little black-and-white TV that rests on the kitchen counter before the door closes behind me.

I slide into the driver’s seat and start the truck so fast that you’d think my hair was on fire. “Oh my God, that was brilliant,” I congratulate Rachael. “How did you know that I was looking for a way to politely decline staying there?”

“George,” she replies confidently, with a shoulder shrug.

“Huh?”

“Well, he’s usually so chilled in the backseat. When you walked in to that tiny trailer, he began to whine. I seriously think he’s smarter than most people, so I decided if George wasn’t happy, neither was I. I thought I would use the sister line since you know that I’m an only child.”

I reach into the backseat and pet whatever part of George that I can reach. “Good boy, big guy,” I coo.

When I’ve given him enough accolades, I grab Rachael’s hand. “Smart thinking. That place and that lady were way scary.”

This will work better anyways. We’ll be closer to the airport in Oklahoma City and can still join the tour in only a day’s drive—if that.

We break the No Phone rule near Oklahoma City when I have Rachael Google campgrounds and read the reviews. She selects a nice place about twenty minutes from the airport and the man who lives on property likes George and even has a dog for him to play with.

After I have The Cougar set up and Rachael is happily reading notes from her notebook and transcribing them into her documents program on her laptop, I give her a kiss on the forehead and tell her that I’m taking the truck. She looks perplexed, but I explain that I need to pick up some reading material for the show this weekend.

I like to grab the local newspapers and magazines when the tour arrives in a new location. It’s fun when we can extrapolate our talking points for the show down to local issues. First of all, the crowd loves it, and secondly, placing an issue squarely in someone’s backyard gets their attention.

“Okay. While you’re out, will you grab some more crackers? The baby seems to prefer the bagel chip kind.”

She looks gorgeous. She’s changed into my lacrosse coaching T-shirt. It’s a shade of royal blue that makes her complexion glow. Her hair is piled on top of her head with two pencils crisscrossed holding it in place. For a moment I consider skipping out on my homework trip and pinning her to the bed.

My dick and my brain have a quick rock, paper, scissors battle, with my brain winning. I’ve neglected the Sons of Liberty enough. Rach can wait to be taken care of for another hour. Although my cock wonders if it can.

I promise Rachael that I will not be long and head for the truck. Once I’m back on the highway and I know where I’m going, I give Max a call. He’s all too eager to answer.

“How’s my favorite traveler?” Max greets me.

“In Oklahoma City for a few nights. I think on Monday, we’ll catch up with you guys in Lubbock.”

“Great news. And George?”

“George saved us from certain death by cannibalism, so he gets extra kibble.”

“That George is a smart boy.”

“Yes. He is.” I decide to cut to the chase with why I called. “How’s Phoenix going?”

I’ve been scared to ask. Every update has been bad, but I can’t get a read on Hank yet. Is he a glass half-empty kind of guy, or is everything really going to hell in a handbasket?

“Well,” Max begins. But his “well” is more drawn out, like “w-e-l-l-l-l-l.” That’s not good. “The sponsors are happy. Our appearances at their stores have brought them a lot of traffic. Like we did a signing at some local restaurant and they couldn’t keep up with the food orders.”

“That’s great. We like happy sponsors.” I see a drugstore up ahead and take the exit. “What about the venue? Have you been there yet?”

“And Graham, right there is the heart of the problem,” he says this in his game-show announcer voice. “Like, the people love us. Old. Young. They’re showing up at the sponsor events and gush over our awesomeness. It’s behind the scenes that’s a nightmare.”

“Elaborate.” I pull into a parking spot, but don’t get out of the truck.

“I mean, I’m trying to take a more active role in what you used to do.” I don’t like how he says “used to do.” It makes my stomach tighten and I feel a bit sick. I’ll be there on Monday and this shit will be fixed. “I went to the venue today, and it was like watching monkeys at the zoo fuck a Nerf football.”

I’m so glad that I had not just taken a sip of water or I would have sprayed it all over my windshield. Even after all these years, Max’s comments still tickle my funny bone. “Fuck a football?”

“Yeah. I remember standing outside of the monkey cage at the zoo when I was a kid and watching this monkey hump a football. It was so damn funny, and I laughed hard enough that I pissed my pants. Mom was annoyed and dragged me to the bathroom. When we came back, the bastard had passed it to another monkey who was humping away. Absolutely pointless humping, but damn it was funny to watch.”

“Makes sense. I’ll file that one away for future use,” I reply. “Okay. Now back to the tour.” Sometimes Max gets a bit distracted and I have to walk him back to the original question.

“Yeah. So. I get there and it’s chaos. No one has a site plan for where the organizations should set up. They’re hot, tired, and pissed because their time is being wasted. Some militant bitch is screaming at the poor girl whose job it is to assign locations. It’s really not the girl’s fault. She says that Hank hasn’t finished the site plan yet.”

“So what did you do?”

“Well, I did what any great leader does and jumped on the brick wall built around a tree and gave an
Independence Day
-quality rally speech, which calmed the masses down. Then, I went and kicked Hank in the nuts until he gave me the site plan.”

“What was Hank doing that the site plan wasn’t ready?”

“Great question, Mr. Jackson. You’re one smart cookie. I’m so glad that you asked.” Max pauses dramatically. “He was . . . wait for it . . . doing nothing!”

“Nothing?”

“Not a God damn thing.” He quickly backtracks. “Doing nothing might be a tad of an overstatement. He was eating a fast food burger with the crew and discussing a scene from
Sons of Anarchy.”

My forefinger taps a beat on the steering wheel in frustration. The saying, “when the cat’s away, the mice will play” leaps into my head. “Did you call him out on it?”

“Of course. How long have you known me, man? Sheesh . . .” Having a conversation sometimes with Max is draining. “His excuse was that he bought the crew lunch to boost morale.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to Hank when I arrive tomorrow night. We don’t have enough cash to buy the crew lunch. They already receive a per diem food stipend as part of their contract.”

A dad and little boy use the Red Box in front of my truck to select a movie. The little boy must get the movie that he was hoping for because he bounces up and down with excitement, and when the box spits the movie out, he hugs it against his chest. I smile at the image and imagine introducing Sam to my favorite movies.
I get it universe. You don’t have to keep reminding me why I’m on this journey.

“Speaking of money, when is the tour going to actually yield me a dollar for my bank account? Because if I’d quit our radio show, I would be dead broke.”

I file the mental list of movies that I’ve been making away in my head and focus back on the conversation at hand. “Well, we knew that the radio show was our bread and butter until we’d paid back the advance from the tour production company. It’s not happening as fast as I had hoped, but merchandise sales should help.”

“Well, I . . .,”

“I know that me not being present is a strain,” I say, not letting Max cut in. “I know that Hank would be doing a better job if I was managing him every day. This is the last show—I promise. Next Monday, we’ll meet you guys in Lubbock and I’ll spend every waking moment busting Hank’s balls until we have him back in line. I’ll also spend some serious time with Bryan, making sure that our finances are in line. I’ll be the CEO again just like I agreed to.”

“Those words are music to my ears. Good luck with the doctor’s appointment tomorrow. And tell Rachael hi for me.”

When Max hangs up, I stare at my phone is disbelief. Wow! He actually acknowledged that Rachael’s pregnant and asked me to tell her hello. I don’t know what caused the change of heart, but I’ll take it.