Red, White, and Blue

by Laura Hayden

  Whatever stood between father and son, it was of an extremely personal and private nature.

  On the other hand, Kate had heard dozens of stories concerning young Emily, recounted with Dozier’s usual flair for storytelling. He knew stories about baby Emily, little Emily, all the way up to college-bound Emily and beyond. But not once did any of the tales, tall or otherwise, include anything about his own son, who had to be about Emily’s age. How could Dozier know such elaborate stories about her without one or two of them including his own son?

  What could have torn that family apart so badly that a son would refuse to have anything to do with his father, especially during a time when his father’s health—if not his life—seemed to be in jeopardy?

  Kate couldn’t help but think about her own father. Blessed with good health, his retirement had simply meant that he took the energies he once dedicated to his career as a plant manager for Glaswell and applied them to his favorite projects at home, at church, and in the community. As to the state of his health, Kate might not know the exact times and dates of every medical appointment her mother and father had, but she always expected and, more importantly, always received an update, even if they were usually reports of good overall health.

  By two o’clock, Kate had managed to shuffle her schedule so that she could leave for the hospital in order to visit Dozier. There was no way they could make all the arrangements to get Emily there until almost 7 p.m. Plus, the president’s afternoon was filled with two meetings with foreign dignitaries from South America, discussing trade agreements.

  By two thirty, Kate reached the hospital, passed through all the security checks, and entered Dozier’s room. He was asleep, his snores almost drowning out the sounds of the monitoring equipment. Kate hadn’t been there more than a minute when a nurse came into the room to adjust one of the leaders on his chest.

  “How’s he doing?” Kate asked.

  The woman smiled and said in a soft voice, “Well enough to proposition three of the staff members.” She looked at him with obvious affection. “Randy old soul . . .”

  “I didn’t know that last one was a fellow,” Dozier whispered. “The long hair fooled me. What’d he call those things again?”

  The nurse grinned. “Dreadlocks, Mr. Marsh.”

  “Dreadlocks. Silly name for a silly hairdo. Looked like someone made him some pigtails out of a couple dozen Brillo pads.” His face softened. “But he was a nice fellow, even if his hair did look a bit silly.”

  Katie leaned down and touched his hand. “How are you doing, Dozier?”

  He smiled around the oxygen tube perched beneath his nose. “Fair to middling, Miss Kate.” He took Kate’s hand in his papery one, then looked at the nurse. “You know who this is, don’t you, Sadie Mae?”

  The woman’s name tag read Sarah McRay, but she didn’t correct him. “No, sir, Mr. Marsh. We haven’t been introduced.”

  “Then allow me. Sadie Mae, may I have the pleasure of introducing you to the first female White House chief of staff, the Honorable Kathryn Rosen, Esquire.”

  The nurse smiled. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. It’s a real honor. And I just want you to know that I voted for Ms. Benton,” she said proudly.

  Even after the election was long over, Kate continued to be amazed by the number of people who started every introduction with that proclamation. As much as she appreciated the validation, she sometimes wondered if they thought she would be any less gracious to someone who kept their secret vote a secret.

  “Thanks.” Kate learned it was the best answer in this case. She turned to Dozier. “So what do the doctors say?” She already knew their diagnosis but thought it only proper to ask him.

  The old man made a face. “Too much rich food, not enough exercise.” His expression turned even more sour. “And they’re giving me what-for about my cigars. They want me to cut down to only one a day,” he complained in a voice a petulant child would use.

  Kate replied just as the responsible adult would in this equation. “Then you’ll cut down to one a day, Dozier. Simple as that.”

  “You listen to Ms. Rosen,” the nurse said, walking toward the door. “You need to cut down, if not cut it out altogether.” She patted the doorframe as she exited as if saying, I’ll be out here if you need anything.

  “So says the nonsmoker,” he grumbled.

  “So says the White House chief of staff. Think of it as me protecting a valuable asset. I want you well and back at your desk as soon as the doctors say it’s time for you to return.”

  Judging by his poor color and the aged translucence of his skin, she wondered if that day would ever happen. The disadvantage of hiring someone with almost sixty years of political experience was that amount of wisdom and acumen came in an eighty-year-old package. Perhaps they’d been too hasty to make him a full adviser and should have given him fewer responsibilities.

  She’d never forgive herself if she thought she’d helped work him into an early grave. She reached over, snagged a chair, and pulled it to the side of the bed so that she could be on a more even level with him. “So how are you feeling? Honestly?”

  He drew in a shaky breath. “Better than I did, that’s for sure. They’ve got me taking the whole pharmacy right now to help me feel better.” He nodded toward the IV bag suspended overhead. “And Lord only knows what they’re pumping into me from that thing.”

  He coughed slightly, struggling to catch his breath. “Then tomorrow, they’ll crack me open like a piñata and try to figure out where my heart is hiding.”

  She smiled. “It’s in there. Trust me.”

  He pushed his head back into his pillow and sighed. “I wonder.” He stared at the ceiling, obviously lost in thought. “Jack’s not coming. Not that I blame him.” He turned toward her. “I’ve never told you much about my son, Jack, have I?”

  “Not much.”

  “Apple of his mother’s eye.” He raised one feeble finger to wag it slightly. “Not a momma’s boy, though. Named him after JFK. I knew Jack Kennedy was destined for greatness when we worked together on a couple of senatorial committees.”

  His expression faded for a moment, then sharpened again. “My Jack and I never got along. Either too much alike or not enough. I was never sure. Ever since his momma died, he hasn’t had much time for me. An occasional card or phone call. Now I’m lucky if it’s an e-mail every once in a blue moon. I wanted him to follow in the old man’s footsteps—be the next Jack Kennedy—but he turned his back on politics.” Harsh lines bracketed his mouth. “And on me too.”

  He tried to grip Kate’s hand but he had no strength. “Don’t forget your parents, Katie-girl. They’re the reason why you’re on this green earth.”

  Kate thought about the three e-mails she’d received before breakfast from her parents—one from her mother asking for an opinion between two dresses and two from her dad, including a forward of the latest joke he’d received from a friend.

  Her parents were a daily part of her life, even though they lived almost a hundred miles away. Her parents might have been a bit confused by her choice of occupation, but never once had their love been conditional on working in a field of their choosing.

  Dozier managed a grin that looked more like a grimace. “But you’re a good daughter. I know that. You wouldn’t let your father die without coming to see him one last time, even if you hadn’t spoken to him in the last ten . . . fifteen years.”

  She knew exactly what the old man lying in the hospital bed wanted her to say and she gladly said it. “Dozier, you’re not going to die. You’re going to have the surgery, and after you recover from it, you’re going to eat right, exercise daily, and cut down to one nasty cigar a day.”

  His chest rumbled, and at first she was concerned, but she realized a moment later the sound was laughter mixed with a few coughs.

  “Yes, Chief.”

  “That’s better. Now, what can I do for you to make you more comfortable? You need any reading material?” She looked
around the room, which was decorated more like a swanky hotel room than a hospital room. Emily, of course, had insisted that he be given the presidential suite.

  As much as it pained Kate to know that Dozier’s own son had essentially turned his back on his father, she took some relief knowing that Emily had stepped in as a worthy replacement as Dozier’s unofficial daughter. Her fondness for the old man was almost as legendary as he was.

  “Emily is coming by around eight. I think official visiting hours might be over by then, but they’re not going to turn away the president.”

  “She’s a good girl, our Emily.”

  “Yes, sir, she is.”

  “I’m honored to have been in her inner circle.”

  She knew she had to wave off the pity party. Allowing him to wallow in his misfortune wouldn’t help him in this situation. “You’re still in the inner circle.”

  He shook his head and released a phlegmy cough that racked his entire body. “No, I have to step down. She can’t afford to keep me close. Not anymore. I’m a liability now.”

  “What are you talking about? This—” she indicated the monitoring equipment that surrounded the bed—“is just a minor inconvenience. Once we get you healthy again, your duties await you. And don’t you forget that, mister.”

  His reddened eyes swam in tears and he clutched Kate’s hand. “No, I can’t stay in the administration. I’ve done something. Something bad. And it’s going to hurt our Emily if I don’t separate myself from her and the White House. Immediately! It’s a matter of life or death.”

  DOZIER’S GRASP TIGHTENED ON HER FINGERS, growing almost painful. “I can trust you, Kate. I know you want the best for her. And you . . . you . . .” He coughed again, his whole body shaking with the effort as he tried to sit up.

  “Calm down, Dozier. Everything’s all right.” Kate could do little else but extricate her hand and help brace him so he could cough more easily. He was far too fragile to slap on the back to help with the coughing. After the painful barrage of explosive coughs, he slumped onto the bed again. She helped reposition his oxygen tube and other monitoring wires and leads, muttering words of assurance.

  His eyes remained half-closed, as if the energy to open them was beyond him for the moment. “She’s never going to forgive me. I’ll have given her reason to hate me, just like I gave Jack.”

  “Shh . . . Emily loves you unconditionally. If you’ve done something, just tell her and she’ll forgive you.”

  “No, she won’t.” He squeezed his eyes shut and tears spilled down either temple. “I’m going to die . . . without a single member of my family at my side. I’ve either outlived them or run them off. All I’ll have is a couple of business acquaintances who have taken pity on an old man. I’ll die and then they’ll forget all about me.”

  Before Kate could argue otherwise, he pushed on. “And what happens after that? I have no heavenly award waiting for me. Not an evil ol’ rascal like me. I’ve done too many bad things, hurt too many people.” He turned his tear-streaked face to Kate. “I don’t want to hurt Emily. Or disappoint her. But I never thought what I did would come out or matter in the long run. I guess I never expected my run to last this long. Getting old just means you’ve had more time to do stupid things to hurt people.”

  As much as Kate didn’t want to learn what new scandal waited in the wings, she realized she needed to know—if not for Emily’s sake, then for Dozier’s pacification. She prayed that she could come up with a response that would ease his concern and help him stop suffering so much. That sort of mental turmoil couldn’t be good for the upcoming operation and the recovery afterward.

  Later she’d worry about how it impacted Emily.

  “What can I do to help, Dozier? If I can do anything to help, to fix things, I’ll certainly try.”

  He released a ragged sigh. “Tell Emily I’m sorry. I should have said something when she brought that girl into the campaign.”

  By that girl Kate somehow knew exactly whom he was talking about. Her pulse quickened and her breath caught in her throat. “You mean Maia?”

  He nodded. “Like the apple that Eve used to tempt Adam. All shiny and pretty on the outside, but full of evil and temptation on the inside.”

  His analogy was a bit strained, but Kate didn’t want to correct him. What she wanted to know was more about an apple called Maia. “What do you mean? What did Maia do?”

  “Temptation,” he said between gritted teeth. “It’s been my downfall all my life, you know. My Miriam said as much on her deathbed. She said, ‘Dozier, you gotta resist the temptations of the office. If you don’t, your greed will bring you down someday.’” He sniffed. “I don’t want my greed to bring down our Emily. I don’t want to let her down like I let Jack down. I never meant to involve her.”

  Despite being lost at what he was talking about, Kate did her best to calm him with generic assurances. But behind the platitudes, she couldn’t help but be worried. Dozier was talking life-and-death matters. Maia was already dead. What was lurking under the surface here? How could she learn more without getting him even more upset? But that wasn’t a problem, she realized. The man was determined to tell her no matter what the cost.

  “She was such a pretty young thing, that Maia girl. Despite what she was doing, I never wanted her dead.”

  A shiver went up Kate’s spine.

  He drew a deep breath that seemed to help him regain some control. “I want you to promise that you’ll forgive me—forgive an old, selfish man who couldn’t control his greed and his lust.” He reached up and touched Kate’s face. “I know you work hard to keep a direct pipeline to God. I’ve seen it in your eyes, in what you do and say every day.”

  His next statement caught Kate completely by surprise.

  “And I’ve resented that fact ever since we met.”

  At her puzzled expression, he added, “Not resented you but resented that you could work in this business and not get caught up in its seamier side. We both know that politics can be a dirty, filthy business. But you seem to rise above it. They call you Spotless Kate behind your back, you know. Nothing bad seems to stick to you—no stains, no grime.”

  She tried to laugh. “Spotless? Hardly. I’m tempted by the same things that have tempted everybody else—money, power, position. Maybe the only difference is that I keep asking for help in order to resist those things I ought to resist. And when I’ve failed—and trust me, I fail to resist many things—I’ve asked for forgiveness from God.”

  “From God?” He almost spat the words out. “It’s too late for God to forgive me.”

  Kate gripped his hand. “It’s never too late. God’s capacity to forgive is infinite.”

  Dozier coughed out a laugh. “He and I haven’t been on speaking terms in years . . . a lot like me and Jack. I’ve already fallen a long way down. Too far to be forgiven.” His focus wavered. “I could tell you stories . . .”

  She waited, not wanting to prompt him for details but hoping he would offer them on his own. Somehow she knew it wouldn’t take much to open the floodgates.

  She was right.

  Dozier pressed the heel of his hand to his closed eyes, scrubbing away his tears. “I never meant to hurt Jack, but I did. And I definitely don’t want to hurt Emily, but I’ve made a big mess of things.”

  His breath caught in this throat. “I thought I’d been careful,” he said in a low voice. “Nothing was in my name, not outright. But somehow that little vixen Maia found out.”

  Watching Dozier confess was like watching a train as it hurtled over a trestle that ended halfway over the river gulch. “Found out what?” she prompted.

  “I couldn’t help it,” he said like a plaintive child. “I couldn’t turn it down, not that kind of money. I’ve worked hard all my life and I ought to be able to profit from that hard work.”

  “Dozier . . .”

  “It’s Pembrooke.”

  “What about it?”

  “I’ve accepted some . . . paymen
ts for helping put them in the right place to get some key government contracts.”

  “How much?”

  “No cash, mind you. Just a little bit of stock and more in stock options.”

  The admission caught Kate short. She had expected worse—a tale like Charles Talbot’s, of personal debauchery or some capital crime gone unpunished. But this was still enough to rattle her.

  How had she missed it? She’d done a deep background check on Dozier when it became evident that he was going to be part of Emily’s inner circle during the campaign. She performed a similar check on every person who became part of Emily’s “Kitchen Cabinet.” At no point had she, or later the FBI investigators, uncovered anything that even suggested he held any stock in the Pembrooke Group, one of the world’s largest petroleum technology industries. Such possession would have immediately been a red flag, screaming, “Conflict of interest!”

  Not only did Pembrooke have deep infiltration into almost every aspect of oil production around the world, but they also had hundreds of government contracts, many of them large military ones. Dozier must have sat on over a dozen committees that were instrumental in awarding contracts to Pembrooke.

  Kate found herself lowering her voice in deference to the sensitivity of the news. “How much stock?” Her mind raced ahead. If it was a few paltry shares, then perhaps he’d simply overlooked his ownership, having lost the particulars in a sea of similar stock holdings.

  “Right now, I own only a couple of shares—not that much really. But the big problem is that I have a long call stock option I was going to exercise as soon as we got her energy program off the ground. We both know Pembrooke is positioned to make a killing on the program, and because of that I stand to make a lot of profit.”

  “How much?” she repeated.