5
Nathan Emerson stood on the massive front stoop of a Tuscany-styled home nestled on a cliff overlooking the chiseled landscape west of Austin, with its vista of speckled yucca, prickly pear cactus, cedar scrub, and an occasional live oak. Before he could ring the doorbell, the heavy wooden doors swung open.
“There you are! You’re late.”
He kissed her cheek. “Hello, Mother.”
She swept him inside and closed the door. “Good thing I had Porter hold off putting on the steaks.” Her heavily jeweled hand pushed at the back of her coiffed silver hair, a familiar gesture his mother used whenever she felt put off by his actions.
“Mmm. What kind of steaks? I’m starving,” he said in an attempt to neutralize the moment. Despite the fact that both her husband and son were physicians, she’d never embraced the volatile hours of those in the medical profession. Now that he had the added responsibilities of serving in the senate, which was quickly becoming nearly a full-time endeavor, his schedule had only gotten worse, especially when he was in session.
He followed her to the kitchen. “Hey, Porter. How’s it going?”
The gray-haired man turned, holding a large platter filled with steaks in one hand and a large set of tongs in the other. “Hi, Nate. So glad y’all could join us for dinner. Hope you’re hungry, because I have here some of the best T-bones in the state of Texas—three inches thick and hand cut from King Ranch beef aged to perfection.”
Nate gave his stepfather an appreciative smile. “That sounds great. I’m starving.”
His mother swept imaginary lint from the sleeve of her fine-gauged cashmere sweater. “We employ a full-time chef, and Porter still thinks he has to buy groceries and do the grilling.”
Her husband winked at Nate before leading them out to the back balcony overlooking a pool. Generous uplighting showcased Mexican palms and pots of flaming red hibiscus, like a scene one might see in a travel brochure for an ocean-side resort in Cabo.
“I urged Porter to stay busy—men who doddle in retirement grow old much faster—but I didn’t mean for him to take up house chores. I was thinking more in line with joining an astronomy club or the like. Use that expensive telescope he ordered last year but lets sit in the library collecting dust.”
His mother wasn’t pushy exactly, but she held no compunction about sharing her opinions generously. She urged quite frequently, and Porter wasn’t the only target of her persuasive tactics.
As bulldog as she appeared, Nate knew his mother had encountered struggle in her life . . . and deep pain.
Her first husband, Nate’s father, had been found dead one evening at the bottom of a pool. Senator Emerson was a favorite in their voting district, loved by liberals and conservatives alike for his no-nonsense approach to politics. A rarity in Texas politics at that time.
While his death was ruled an accidental drowning, it was heavily rumored his demise may have been purposeful. Media accounts subtly mentioned marital problems caused by an overbearing wife who had her sights on the gubernatorial mansion and perhaps beyond.
His mother had quickly quashed the suicide rumor by carefully putting out an innuendo of her own—that his father had simply overindulged in Don Julio, his favorite brand of tequila. He’d gone for a swim to relax before bed and fell asleep while floating on his back and looking up at the stars. Something he often did to dissect his thoughts about what was on the political horizon.
Nate was thirteen at the time. Soon after the tragedy, his mother moved him to an exclusive residential school outside of Wimberley, where he’d met kids with last names that read like a directory of billionaire dads.
She married Porter less than two years later. His stepfather quickly became an ally, arguing to bring Nate home to live with them. He advocated that public schools would provide an excellent education, especially if augmented with personal mentoring.
And he did—mentor, that is. Helped Nate get through med school and, at his mother’s urging, opened more than one research door for him to walk through. His mother certainly had incredible influence on his life, wanted or not. But he credited Porter Wyatt with the man he’d finally become, and he was grateful.
Once he’d been bold enough to ask Porter how he put up with his mother’s constant pushing. His stepfather just smiled and said her need to control everything was in order to feel safe, and that was his job—to make her feel safe.
“Is there anything I can help with?” Nate offered as Porter carried the steaks over to the hot grill.
Porter chuckled. “Nah, stand back and watch the master work.”
“Son, can I get you something to drink? A bourbon, perhaps?”
Despite having told his mother on numerous occasions he didn’t drink alcohol, Nate simply smiled and declined her offer. “I would take some sweet tea, though, if you have some.”
“Of course, dear.” She retreated inside, leaving him and Porter alone underneath the night sky. The house was located far enough outside the metropolitan area that the lack of city lights allowed for a brilliant showing of stars.
“Your mother might have an agenda,” Porter warned.
“Yes, I figured. Especially when her invitation didn’t include Tiffany.”
“She means well.”
Nate slowly nodded. “Ah yes . . .”
“Here you are, Nathan.” His mother reappeared and handed him a glass.
He raised his eyebrows. “Lemonade?”
His mother’s brows knit together in confusion. “Isn’t that what you asked for?”
He and Porter shared a look. “It’s fine, Mom. I love lemonade.”
“So, do you think the Cowboys are going to do anything this year? Or just more of the same?” Porter moved the steaks from the searing station onto the hot grill and lowered the lid. “ESPN is reporting that Tony Romo’s injuries are continuing to hinder his performance. Another injury and he might be finished.”
“Yup, that’s what I’m hearing.” Nate didn’t really care for football, but he found following the game made for good politics and lively conversations over dinner. “Word has it Kellen Moore is being groomed as a potential replacement. He posted an impressive 50–3 record while at Boise State.”
His mother leaned against the balcony wall, watching them. He knew it was coming any minute.
He was surprised when she waited until they were seated around the dining table.
“Nate, I need to talk to you about something that is concerning me.”
He placed his knife and fork on his nearly empty plate and swiped at the corners of his mouth with a napkin engraved with the letter W. “Oh? What’s that, Mother?”
“You’ve been dating Tiffany Shea for some time now, haven’t you?”
He nodded, indulging her. “Yes, that’s true.”
She looked at him like he was a petulant child. When he didn’t add anything more, she brushed at the back of her hair with her hand and continued. “If you are serious about running for governor, I urge you to carefully consider giving her a ring for Christmas and follow that up with a June wedding. News cycles matter, and you should maximize how this can be played and keep you in front of voters.”
Nate laughed. “You want me to get married so I can get some camera time?”
She lifted her chin. “I wasn’t trying to be clever here. You can bet Wyndall Holiday is taking his run very seriously. If you are going to unseat that savvy campaign machine he’s got going, you’re going to have to take every advantage coming to you. Including marrying Tiffany in a perfectly timed manner.”
Nate drew a deep breath. “First, yes, I may propose to Tiffany at some point, but that has not been set in stone. So let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Especially when I haven’t even decided to run for the governor’s seat. My research at the institute would have to be put on hold, and if I do that, I stand to potentially lose out on a lot of funding. My team is the best there is, but no leader is still no leader. We’re on the brink of opening some doors in the field of human cognition and associated brain function. I don’t want anything to detract from swinging those doors wide open.” He carefully laid the napkin on the table next to his plate. “I can barely juggle my political duties now. I’m not sure it makes sense to add to that load with a run for governor.” He tried to smile. “I’m sorry, Mother. I don’t mean to disappoint you, but it could well be that the timing is just off this go-round.”
The petite woman, who had won the 1965 Miss America pageant by performing a delicate ballet, looked across the table at him, her features now transformed into something resembling a bulldog. She flung her napkin to the table. “Nathan, you always do this.”
“Do what?”
“You lose focus. As a child, you’d save and save to buy a racing bike. Then at the store, a trail bike would catch your eye and you’d change your mind. And then—”
“Mother, my political career can’t be equated with purchasing a bicycle. Or whatever other incident you are about to invoke. This is my choice alone. As of this moment, I choose to use my talents and limited resources serving my constituents in the senate, where I can make a difference in steering the medical funding matters I care about—and I plan to remain available to my research. My life’s work.”
Her eyes narrowed to a slit. “Oh? And who do you think is funding that little project of yours?”
“Vera—no.” Porter set his fork down.
Nate frowned. “What are you talking about?”
His mother leaned back in her chair. “All that money that keeps pouring into your pet project comes from donations—charitable giving that is often orchestrated by people with influence.”
Nate locked eyes with her. “I’m well aware of your personal donations and the fact you’ve garnered much support in the way of financial funding for the Institute of Brain Sciences. But—”
“And that support will continue, won’t it, Vera.” Porter smiled at his wife, doing a little urging of his own.
“Of course it will. Who do you take me for?” She turned to her son. “Don’t misunderstand. I am not making threats. I’m simply trying to convey a very important matter you seem to have overlooked.”
“And that is?”
“Many of your largest donors also contribute to a political action committee that was formed about this time last year. These donors would like to see you elected to a higher office.”
Her words finally hit him, and he reacted to the blow as if it were physical. “You registered a PAC on my behalf? Without my knowledge?”
“Not on your behalf exactly. True, Concerned Citizens for Texas cares about what you care about politically. We live in a hotbed of volatile issues right now—immigration, oil drilling and the environment, gun rights, the definition of family, and safety from threats coming from outside America. We live in a highly dangerous time.” Her face softened. “Look, Son. I’m not trying to make you leave your important research behind. I’m simply asking you to take a look at how moving into the governor’s mansion could further those interests. Surely there is an individual who could take the helm temporarily until you could return to your very important work at the institute, which I’m quite proud of, actually.”
Porter stood. “He’ll think about it, Vera. But for now, it’s time for dessert.” He cleared the table with as much intent as he had on clearing the tension in the room. “I’m making Bananas Foster.”
At the end of the evening, both his mother and Porter walked Nathan out to the circular drive where his car was parked.
His mother frowned. “Did you get a new car?”
“What?” He slid his keys from his pants pocket. “Oh, no. Mine’s in the shop.”
Porter patted him on the shoulder and grinned. “I told you to quit driving those foreign jobs.”
“I agree,” his mother added. “How does it look that you don’t drive an American-made vehicle?”
Her husband placed his arm around her waist. Teasing, he pulled her close. “I was talking avoiding repairs, not politics.”
She gave them both a shrewd grin. “So was I.”
Nate pulled the rental car door open, remembering the girl who had backed into him. The panicked look on her face when she realized what she’d done, and the relief when he told her not to worry.
“Someone didn’t see my car and backed into me in a parking lot. Not a lot of damage, but I had to leave my car in the shop for a couple of days.” He leaned over and kissed his mother’s cheek.
“Well, I hope they were well insured,” she said.
Nate couldn’t help but grin. He shook his stepfather’s hand. “Thanks for a great steak.”
“Don’t be a stranger, Son.” He patted the top of the car. “There’s more where those came from.”
Later, as he drove away, he turned up the radio and let his thoughts return to the girl at Central Market.
He’d spotted her when he’d first walked in the store, was drawn to how intensely she worked at placing the flowers just so. Perhaps it was a bit curious that he would spy on a floral clerk. But there was something about her obvious pride in her work that he appreciated.
She’d been crushed to find that same work disassembled at the hands of another. He certainly knew how that felt.
Six months ago, he’d pushed a very important funding bill through committee, one that would secure reading programs in some of the most illiterate counties in Texas. Hours of lobbying his peers in both the senate and congress were necessary to bring the bill to the floor for a vote.
The prospects of success looked good down to the final hours, when Governor Holiday’s cronies stepped in and convinced key members of the house to vote the sponsored bill down in order to divert the funds to one of his pet projects—a new sports stadium in north Dallas that would be used by multiple high schools in the affluent area.
Yes, he knew that look in her eyes.
He appreciated the way she’d squared her shoulders. How she’d no doubt used calculated discretion in tempering her response. Like him, she knew timing was everything. And that sometimes winning meant appearing to lose initially.
Clearly, she’d already had a horrible night when she failed to look in her mirror and backed into him, sending her pretty eyes wild with dismay.
Nate pondered the warm feeling it had given him to exhaust her cause for concern. The look of appreciation in her eyes was well worth the expense of letting her off the hook. Just a couple of words of reassurance and her world settled back into its right place.
Suddenly he understood what his stepdad meant about making a woman feel safe. Because by taking away that girl’s angst, he’d felt like a hero.