The Merritts
Hope and Booker Merritt of Franklin Heights have been married ten years. Daughter Lydia, nine, is a science prodigy; while Booker Junior, five, shows curiousity for music and language arts.
Appearing in: The Parent War (upcoming)
Shoe-leather politics is alive and well in Franklin.
Hope Merritt stood with her hand on the doorknob, conflicted. The man on her porch was Chad Jortlesburg. He was running for state senate in the Franklin Heights district—those teeth gleaming at her through the door glass were unquestionably the same as the ones on the yard signs.
She liked the idea of prospective civil servants engaging with the people they hoped to serve, but she and Booker had a policy: no solicitors.
The kids were watching. Lydia around the edge of *Glory Be*. Booker Junior looked up from stacking blocks—he’d mixed the nice Haupe ones with the plastic ones from his grandmother.
In a blink, Hope decided the civics value outweighed the policy.
“Hello, may I help you?” she asked.
Jortlesburg thrust out his hand. “Here to talk taxes. You have little ones, I see. I’m running to make sure your family’s hard earned wages to to fund *your* schools, instead of those all the way across the Shawnee River.”
Lydia, nine, moved her book into her lap.
Hope regretted her decision already. “We don’t really have a horse in the property tax fight. We homeschool.”
The politician’s feet stayed on the Welcome mat, but he kinked his head back like she might be contagious. “That’s fabulous. Send your kids off to public, who knows what they’ll hear? I say keep ’em home. Hold those core values dear.”
He pulled fisted hands into his chest. Booker Junior shifted one arm around in front of his block tower.
At a coffee shop or candidates’ forum, Hope would’ve explained they didn’t homeschool in spite of public options. Lydia, particularly in the sciences, had accelerated beyond what Roosevelt Elementary could accommodate. Booker was only in kindergarten. He would’ve done fine at Roosevelt, but if she was already keeping Lydia home, why not give both children this close, intensive attention now—and send him to first grade that much readier?
She wasn’t at a coffee shop or candidates’ forum, though. She was home.
“I appreciate the visit, Mr. Jortlesburg,” she said, “and we wish you the best in your campaign…”
Hope groped for an out, some brush-off both considerate to the visitor and honest in her children’s presence.
“…but I’d like to save these conversations for another day.”
Jortlesburg’s well-coiffed head tipped like a stumped dog’s. He left behind a pamphlet and moved along to the next house: Mr. Barnacle, the retired industrial parts executive.
#merritts #jortlesburgForSenate
Read more:
www.jeffbondbooks.com/franklin-merritts/
www.jeffbondbooks.com/franklin-gochadgo/