Her phone pinged. She picked it up out of her purse, looked at the screen, and tapped out a reply with the same practiced skill I’d seen Arch deploy on dozens of occasions.

“I hate those things,” I said.

“Me too,” she said. “It’s a necessary evil.” She stood up.

“I hope you don’t feel like you’ve wasted your time,” I said.

“Not at all,” she said.

“I’d vote for you if I could,” I said.

She winked. “It’s a secret ballot, you know,” she said.

That very afternoon, I went to his campaign office and told Arch and his staff all about my visit with Marylou Greene.

“She’s knocking on doors in East Nashville?” said Nick Averett. “Oh, please.”

Averett had a surly mouth and an air of entitlement I recognized from my past encounters with a certain class of Texans from the suburbs of Dallas and Houston. I preferred his deputy, Bart Walsh, a Belle Meader like Arch, who projected an air of calmness and Tennessee gentility. He waited for Averett to finish before he lifted his hand.

“I think Marylou deserves a little more attention,” Walsh said.

“It’s a moot point,” Averett said. “We’re playing for the runoff. She’ll be out of money long before then.”

“She doesn’t need money to knock on doors and talk to people,” I said.

“Charlie—it’s Charlie, right?” Averett said. “No offense, but I’ve done this a few times.”

“You’re the expert,” I said. “I’m just telling you about a conversation. She was very persuasive.”

“He has a point,” Walsh said. “We could spend a little more time canvassing. Just personally talking to people, especially in North and East Nashville.”

“We’re already doing that,” Averett said.

“I mean Arch,” Walsh said. “Not just the volunteers.”

“Do we have time for that?” Averett asked.

“We’ll make time,” Arch said. “Hey, guys, can I talk to Charlie for a minute?”

Walsh and Averett excused themselves.

“I’ve got something important to tell you,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Vanessa’s pregnant.”

“When’s the due date?”

“Late December, right around Christmas,” he said.

“After the election.”

“Thank Christ.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just—I’m really happy for you, Arch. Truly.”

“Thanks, bud.”

It all seemed too much. But this was the way of things for Arch. The plate could never be too full. Even when covered by clouds, the sun never ceased to shine.

ten