Chapter 23: Our Pensions

Grady dropped out of the race on a Tuesday, on the courthouse steps, at ten in the morning.

I watched it from the bottom of the stairs with the baby in a carrier on my chest and Marshall beside me.

She was three weeks old.

She slept through the whole thing, which I took as a review.

A podium had been set up where the campaign launch had stood, and four camera crews waited behind the rope.

Nobody was holding a Lindemann Freight sign.

Instead, a hundred retired drivers in worn company jackets stood in a ragged line along the bottom step, with their arms folded.

One had a sign in marker that said: Thirty Years, No Pension.

Lacey stood at the far end of the line in a plain gray cardigan.

She was not behind her brother.

She was next to the oldest driver in the line.

Grady came out of the courthouse doors alone.

He wore a navy suit that fit him a little too loosely, and he had no notes.

He looked at the podium, and then at the crowd, and then at the two hundred phones.

"Thank you for coming," he said. "I'd like to make a short statement."

Nobody clapped.

"After a great deal of reflection, I am withdrawing from the race for the state senate."

"I'm doing so for family reasons."

"Which reasons?" a reporter called.

"Personal reasons."

"Mr. Lindemann," a woman called from the second row. "Did you or did you not replace your wife's birth control with sugar?"