The Second Sister Read Free Page B

thirty don’t show up to the polls.”
    â€œWhich is why I’m back in Denver,” I said, cutting into my breakfast, carefully composing a perfect bite, with equal parts egg, bacon, biscuit, and hash brown, before putting my fork in my mouth, “to oversee the final get-out-the-vote push—”
    â€œShould have happened weeks ago,” Joe said, as he took a bite of his overly pale omelet. “But it didn’t because Miles and the rest of those ivory-tower idiots from the party don’t know a thing about retail politics. They spent two point six million on a consultant who told them they needed to buy more yard signs! Do you know how many actual yard signs they could have bought for two point six million?”
    â€œHalf a million,” I said, dragging another perfectly composed bite through a pool of gravy, making sure it was evenly coated. “And we do need more.”
    â€œSee? You don’t need a consultant to tell you that. If they’d have left you in charge of the ground game instead of sending you off to placate pissed-off women’s groups.... Why waste your talent with that? You don’t even like women.”
    â€œThat’s not true. I like women.” I frowned. “I don’t dislike them. Anyway, let’s not play armchair quarterback right now, okay? I’m trying to eat.”
    Joe took another sip of his Bloody Mary and stayed silent—for two seconds.
    â€œI’m just saying, if Miles wasn’t such an insecure, egocentric jerk, if he’d been smart enough to keep you in a position where you could play to your strengths—”
    â€œIt was my idea to bring Miles on board, remember? Well, maybe not him specifically, but somebody with experience running national campaigns.”
    â€œYou’ve worked on tons of campaigns,” Joe said, gnawing on dry toast.
    â€œSix,” I said. “Always for the same candidate. And the first one doesn’t count. I was just a junior staffer answering phones and handing out bumper stickers.”
    â€œAnd next time you were running the show. What does that say about you?”
    â€œThat Ryland couldn’t afford anybody better—that’s what. Listen, it was a small district in Colorado. It’s not rocket science. Shake enough hands and you win. If the sitting governor hadn’t slept with his babysitter, Tom wouldn’t have won.”
    â€œBut he did,” Joe countered. “You were successful in four out of six races. If you were playing baseball, you’d be an all-star.”
    â€œIn the minor leagues. Triple A. Maybe double.”
    Joe drained the bloody dregs of his glass and munched morosely on his celery stump, but kept eyeing the muffins. I thought about taking the last one, just to torture him, but decided it would be too cruel.
    â€œDoes Ryland understand what he has in you?” he asked. “You’re the one who got him in the race to begin with. You’re the one who came up with the strategy that brought him in second in the Iowa caucuses!”
    â€œStrategy?” I laughed. “Please. You mean the five-point plan I scribbled on the back of a cocktail napkin from that dive bar in Georgetown? We didn’t come second in Iowa because of strategy; we just worked harder. You can do that in a caucus. Again, not rocket science. And as I recall, when I first showed you my plan, you said it would never work and called me some very unflattering names.”
    â€œYeah. And then I wrote a two-thousand-dollar check to the Ryland Presidential Exploratory Committee. None of this would have happened without you, Lucy. Tom Ryland might not know that, but I do.”
    I held the bakery basket out to him. “Thank you. The last muffin is yours.”
    â€œI’m serious, Luce. What is it you see in him?”
    â€œIn Tom?” I asked, confused by the question and that Joe should be the one asking it. “Well, he’s a