Free Miss Julia's Marvelous Makeover by Ann B. Ross Page A

place—but that was something he would have to come to on his own. I wasn’t about to suggest it.
    â€œNo chance of that,” Sam said, responding to what I’d said, not to what I was thinking. “He’s still having trouble, so, no, I’ve got to meet my commitments one way or another.”
    â€œWait a minute, Sam,” I said, becoming more alarmed. “Is there something you’re not telling me? Just how long are they planning to keep you in the hospital?”
    â€œOh, I don’t know. A couple of days, I guess. And no, I’m not keeping anything from you. But the next few days are packed with campaign events, and I can’t just not show up without somebody in my place. Let the word get around that I’m unable to meet my obligations, and Jimmy Ray will have the election sewn up. He’s going after me hot and heavy as it is—he’s running a television ad against me next week.”
    â€œWhy, the nerve of him! Make your calls, Sam, then let’s get you to the hospital. I don’t want you lying up there worrying about Jimmy Ray Mooney.”
    But after six or seven phone calls, he was having little luck in getting substitutes for a VFW meeting in Brevard the following morning, a speech at the Kiwanis Club luncheon, a Polk County neighborhood meeting in the afternoon, and a local roundtable forum that evening—all on the same day. And in the coming days, a neighborhood barbecue, the Rotary Club again, a street dance in Polk County, a local gathering at the party headquarters, a panel discussion at the League of Women Voters, and I don’t know what all.
    â€œI thought,” I said after the latest turndown, “that you said you’d have plenty of volunteers. Don’t they realize that you can’t do everything? Especially from a hospital bed? What’re you going to do, Sam?”
    â€œI’m going to turn to the one I can count on—you.”
    â€œMe? No, oh, no, I can’t do that. You said I wouldn’t have to make any speeches.” I looked at him, wondering which would be worse—having him in the hospital or me on a stump—and it was looking as if I would have both. “Well, you said not many, anyway.”
    â€œBut you’d be the best one,” Sam said, smiling and drawing my head toward his shoulder. “Who better to represent me and sing my praises? And, honey, I’d rest so much easier in the hospital if I knew you were out carrying on the campaign.”
    That was a low blow, because of course I wanted him to rest easy in the hospital. He didn’t need to be lying in bed worrying and fretting about his commitments to the campaign, even if he had said he didn’t care whether he won or not. And of course, as his wife, I’d do any and every thing I could to ease his mind, even though I’d lost that loving feeling about a senate race. But make speeches? I wasn’t sure that was covered under the heading of wifely duties.
    â€œWell, we’ll talk about it, but right now let’s get you on over there,” I said, knowing that the best way to avoid a commitment of my own was to change the subject. “Here’s Lillian with your bag. Do you want to take something to read?”
    â€œYes, there’s a stack of magazines I haven’t gotten to yet and the Gibbon book on top of them—they’re all by our bed. Lillian, if you don’t mind . . .”
    â€œNo, sir, I don’t mind,” she said, turning to go back upstairs. “Be good to move ’em so I don’t stump my toe anymore when I make the bed.”
    I almost had to fight Sam for his suitcase when we started out to the car. He couldn’t stand for me to be carrying it, but I just walked out with it and let him follow behind. Lillian had the worst of it—she’d packed his books and magazines in another bag and it was all she could do to lug it out.
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