We stopped at the Waffle Depot to switch cars. I was relieved to discover my Challenger had made it through the night without being stolen.
Next, we stopped at Wilmington Station. At the ticket booth, I bought two one-way tickets on the next DC-bound train. The silver-haired octogenarian working the booth recognized me…which was exactly what I was hoping for. We chatted for a minute or two about our grandkids, who were about the same age. On my way out the door I waved to a few passengers who gave me “the look.” Even shook a couple of hands. A teenaged girl with a red ribbon in her hair raised her camera phone, and I gave her my most vice-presidential grin. She pursed her lips and winked. She removed the ribbon to let her hair down and made another face. It took me longer than it should have to realize she wasn’t taking my picture—she was taking her own.
The Mayor nodded to me, but we didn’t speak.
Outside, I tore up the train tickets and dropped them in a trash can.
Barack was sitting in the passenger seat of the Challenger with his cap low over his face. “I was beginning to worry you got lost in there,” he said. “What took you so long?”
“I can’t exactly walk into the Joseph R. Biden Jr. Railroad Station without attracting a crowd.”
“Nobody calls it that,” Barack pointed out.
“Tonight they will. I made a scene,” I said. “I did everything but kiss a baby. If Esposito or her goons look for us, the trail is going to lead them to Washington—and then it’s going to go cold as Des Moines in January.”
“Unless she’s better at her job than you think.”
“I thought we were both in on this plan.”
“I’m just saying, I doubt it’s going to fool her. She’s being groomed to be the next chief of police for a reason, and it’s certainly not on account of her charming personality.”
I slapped the wheel with both hands. “Next time, I’d appreciate it if you could voice your objections before I spend two hundred bucks on useless tickets.”
“It might work,” Barack said, but there was a discernable lack of conviction in his voice.
I shook my head. “You know, this is where it all began.”
“Inauguration Day,” Barack said. “How cold was the wind chill? Ten degrees, wasn’t it?”
“I meant before that. My first run for president.”
The station was where I’d announced my campaign, back in 1987. I rode an Amtrak train rebranded the “Biden Express” with my family from Wilmington down to DC. After a decade and a half in the Senate, I was ready for a bigger challenge. Little did I know that the bigger challenge wouldn’t be the primary race (which I would unceremoniously quit), but a pair of cranial aneurysms that would leave me on death’s door. I’d had my last rites read.
“You really want to follow up this lead, about the motorcycle club?” Barack asked. “Do you know anything about biker gangs, beyond what you’ve seen on cable TV?”
“I used to ride.”
“Really?” he asked with disbelief.
“I had a life before I went into politics. Wasn’t in a club, or one of these outlaw groups, but I had a bike.”
“I believe you. But we need to seriously think about how far we’re going to go. The body count is rising. Steve is in the hospital. And let’s not forget that you got whooped by some woman swinging her shoe.”
“She’s an Amazon,” I said. “Seven foot tall.”
“If she’s the same woman from the motel, she wasn’t that tall.”
“She was in heels this afternoon. Flats the other night.”
“Regardless, you’re in rough shape. And I’m not even going to mention that knee that’s been hobbling you this whole time, or the concussion you sustained this afternoon.”
“You think that was my first concussion? Ha.”
“We need to think about the bigger picture here, Joe. What’s more important? Solving this mystery, or your health? A lot of people are counting on you. Maybe more than you realize.”
“This isn’t about the future,” I said. “This is about right now.”
Barack didn’t say anything.
I continued, “Remember what you said, when our poll numbers started to dip in 2008? Things were starting to swing McCain’s way. If the election tipped in his favor, we’d be dead in the water. Our whole strategy was built on maintaining that sense of inevitability—that sense that this was your time. America was ready for a black president. If there was even a sliver of doubt in people’s minds, it would open the door wide. ‘I knew America wasn’t ready,’ the doubters would say. ‘I knew he was too young, too cocky, too black.’ After Axe read the poll numbers showing the Straight Talk Express pulling neck and neck with us, doubt started to creep into that room. And what was it you said?”
Barack looked up and to the left, no doubt replaying that day in his head. He didn’t have to repeat what he’d said, though, because I knew every word:
Things have been easy so far. They’re not going to stay that way. The path to victory isn’t a straight one. There are going to be ups and downs, twists and turns. There will be times when we all wonder what the hell we were thinking. That’s doubt. You know what the opposite of doubt is? It’s not certainty, because nothing in this life is certain. The opposite of doubt is hope. I’m not talking about blind optimism; I’m not talking about wishful idealism. I’m talking about that stubborn thing inside each and every one of us that insists something better awaits us as long as we have the courage to keep fighting.
“As long as you have hope,” he said, repeating his words from that day, “you’re still in the game.”
“And when you lose it?” I asked, echoing a field organizer’s question.
“You can’t lose it. Hope never dies.” He looked down at his hands. “We were younger then.”
“Not by much. You’re younger now than I was then.”
“I’m not talking about the years.”
“We had eight years,” I said. “It wasn’t easy.”
“I never expected it to be.”
“Together, though…together we got it done.”
He focused on some faraway point.
I wiped my nose with my sleeve. I was getting the sniffles. Maybe the start of a summer cold. I was all too aware that, at my age, that could mean a joyride in a pine box.
“Forget about 2008, and 2012, and 2016,” I said. “Forget about everything we did, and everything we didn’t do. Forget about our successes and our failures. Focus on this one thing, right here. This is it. This is our chance to make a difference. A real difference.”
I put a hand on his shoulder. For once, he didn’t shrug it off or make a joke out of it. “I don’t exactly know what happened between us at the end, but it’s water under the bridge. You got that? We’re out of our element here—”
“We’re not even on the periodic table.”
“All the more reason to harness whatever hope is left inside us. What do you say? Can we do this?”
“Yes.” A thin smile spread on his face. “Yes we can.”