left her office, the morning seemed to drag. At lunchtime, she drove from Warren up to Old Bisbee for a celebratory, end-of-campaign lunch with Jeff Daniels and Marianne Macula.
Jeff-a full-time, stay-at-home, minister's husband-had planned the event, weeks earlier-win, lose, or draw. With the election over, Jeff hoped life with his pastor turned campaign manager wife would return to some semblance of normalcy. Their usually neat parsonage had deteriorated to a shambles while Marianne masterminded the whole campaign and Jeff handled the mass mailings out of the room that usually served as Marianne's study.
It was a great lunch, complete with an appropriate set of toasts.
Later in the afternoon, how ever, the effects of the champagne kicked in, and it was all Joanna could do to keep from falling asleep at her desk. As much as she hated the prospect of going to a beauty salon, she was grateful when it was time to abandon the office in favor of Helene's Salon of Hair and Beauty.
Helene's looked exactly like what it was - an ill disguised two-car garage that had been hammered-and-longed into a beauty shop by virtue of some very creative do-it-yourself plumbing and electrical work provided by Helen Barco's retired handyman husband.
When Joanna sat down in the chair, Helen Barco took one look at her, shook her head, clicked her tongue sadly, and said, "Oh my, no. This will never do. Your mother tells me you're going to be on the TV news tonight. We don't want one of our girls looking like something the cat dragged in, now do we?"
"We certainly don't!" And an hour and a half later, Joanna didn't.
The remodel job on the building might have been amateurish, but the finished-product Joanna Brady who walked out the door of Helene's at five-thirty that afternoon was strictly professional classic make-over. Her red hair had been cropped off in a short but stylish cut. Her makeup had been professionally applied. Lipstick and un accustomed nail polish matched perfectly. She'd have to remember to use the lip-liner Helen had insisted she take.
"Good luck," Helen Barco said as Joanna headed out the door. "I hope you win. Eleanor's very proud of you, you know."
The fact that Eleanor Lathrop might be proud of her for any reason at all was a notion Joanna found somewhat foreign. It didn't seem the least bit likely. In her whole life, she could count on one hand the other rare instances when Eleanor had been proud of her or had come out and said so.
Joanna sat in her Eagle, leaned back against the headrest, and closed her eyes. Her neighbor, Clayton Rhodes, was still handling the evening chores, so there was no need for her to rush home. It was a good thing, too. Working round the clock, she had driven herself to the very edge of exhaustion.
Cochise County measured eighty-five miles by eighty-five miles. In fighting to win the election, Joanna had covered damned near every inch of it. She had worked on the campaign tirelessly and with every ounce of her being. Yet even now, this close to the end, she still didn't know if she wanted to win. That was crazy, especially now when there was nothing to do but wait. The polls would close at six-in twenty-five more minutes. After that, it was simply a matter of time, of letting the election officials count the ballots and eventually certify a winner-whoever that might be.
Sometime later, Jim Bob Brady's knuckles rapped sharply against the window beside her head, jarring Joanna awake. Embarrassed, she sat up straight, pulled her coat around her, and rolled down the window.
"I just wanted to sit here and think for a while, she said. "I must have dozed off."
"You coulda fooled me," her father-in-law returned, standing with both hands on the window sill. "You were dead to the world, snoring so loud, it's a wonder the glass didn't break. And sitting out here in the chill like this, you're liable to catch your death of cold."
Obligingly, Joanna reached over and switched on the engine, but the air
Jeff-a full-time, stay-at-home, minister's husband-had planned the event, weeks earlier-win, lose, or draw. With the election over, Jeff hoped life with his pastor turned campaign manager wife would return to some semblance of normalcy. Their usually neat parsonage had deteriorated to a shambles while Marianne masterminded the whole campaign and Jeff handled the mass mailings out of the room that usually served as Marianne's study.
It was a great lunch, complete with an appropriate set of toasts.
Later in the afternoon, how ever, the effects of the champagne kicked in, and it was all Joanna could do to keep from falling asleep at her desk. As much as she hated the prospect of going to a beauty salon, she was grateful when it was time to abandon the office in favor of Helene's Salon of Hair and Beauty.
Helene's looked exactly like what it was - an ill disguised two-car garage that had been hammered-and-longed into a beauty shop by virtue of some very creative do-it-yourself plumbing and electrical work provided by Helen Barco's retired handyman husband.
When Joanna sat down in the chair, Helen Barco took one look at her, shook her head, clicked her tongue sadly, and said, "Oh my, no. This will never do. Your mother tells me you're going to be on the TV news tonight. We don't want one of our girls looking like something the cat dragged in, now do we?"
"We certainly don't!" And an hour and a half later, Joanna didn't.
The remodel job on the building might have been amateurish, but the finished-product Joanna Brady who walked out the door of Helene's at five-thirty that afternoon was strictly professional classic make-over. Her red hair had been cropped off in a short but stylish cut. Her makeup had been professionally applied. Lipstick and un accustomed nail polish matched perfectly. She'd have to remember to use the lip-liner Helen had insisted she take.
"Good luck," Helen Barco said as Joanna headed out the door. "I hope you win. Eleanor's very proud of you, you know."
The fact that Eleanor Lathrop might be proud of her for any reason at all was a notion Joanna found somewhat foreign. It didn't seem the least bit likely. In her whole life, she could count on one hand the other rare instances when Eleanor had been proud of her or had come out and said so.
Joanna sat in her Eagle, leaned back against the headrest, and closed her eyes. Her neighbor, Clayton Rhodes, was still handling the evening chores, so there was no need for her to rush home. It was a good thing, too. Working round the clock, she had driven herself to the very edge of exhaustion.
Cochise County measured eighty-five miles by eighty-five miles. In fighting to win the election, Joanna had covered damned near every inch of it. She had worked on the campaign tirelessly and with every ounce of her being. Yet even now, this close to the end, she still didn't know if she wanted to win. That was crazy, especially now when there was nothing to do but wait. The polls would close at six-in twenty-five more minutes. After that, it was simply a matter of time, of letting the election officials count the ballots and eventually certify a winner-whoever that might be.
Sometime later, Jim Bob Brady's knuckles rapped sharply against the window beside her head, jarring Joanna awake. Embarrassed, she sat up straight, pulled her coat around her, and rolled down the window.
"I just wanted to sit here and think for a while, she said. "I must have dozed off."
"You coulda fooled me," her father-in-law returned, standing with both hands on the window sill. "You were dead to the world, snoring so loud, it's a wonder the glass didn't break. And sitting out here in the chill like this, you're liable to catch your death of cold."
Obligingly, Joanna reached over and switched on the engine, but the air
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