My despair was gone. I knew Stella was well. The laughs in the living room confirmed it. Everybody was happy, I guessed.
Finally, I inhaled deeply and found the courage to leave my bedroom.
As I approached the living room, I heard a voice that was strange but familiar, like something out of a dream. My daughter’s voice. I paused in the doorway and saw Vicky and Mohe—and Stella, sitting on a couch. I rested my eyes on her. She saw me and stood up. She was serious at first, but then she smiled. I swallowed, unable to say a word, and fought a wave of sentimentality.
“Mohe, why don’t you help me with the cooking?” Vicky said.
They both left the room. It was just Stella and me. As she walked toward me, I tried to think of something fatherly to say, but nothing came to mind. Who’d have thought it—a politician without words.
When Stella reached me, she went straight for an embrace. Smart girl. I welcomed that gesture with great joy and relief, even as I struggled with my pride and emotions. What a day this was: my arms around Stella.
We stayed like that for a long time. Then I felt tears on her face. That’s when I realized I would have to be the one to break the ice.
“I’m so happy to see you.”
Surprisingly, those words came out easier than I expected. Next, I held her face with both hands, looked her in the eye, and said, “Will you forgive me?”
“Only if you’ll forgive me,” Stella said.
I took her hand and walked her to the couch. We sat.
“Are you OK, Dad?”
“I am now. How about you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Good. Good. You need to know, Charles Dulles won’t be bothering you anymore. No one will be bothering you.”
Stella shushed me. “I don’t want to talk about anybody else. We’ll have time enough for that.”
I nodded slowly. “Are you staying?”
“For a while. I’m not working right now, so…”
We were sitting on the couch by the only portrait of our family. I picked it up and showed it to her.
“Looking back now, this was the best time of my whole life.”
Stella took the portrait, glanced at it for a moment, and then put it back on the side table. “Well, Mom’s somewhere out there, and we’re still here.”
“You’re right.”
Vicky and Mohe returned with wine and glasses.
“Why don’t we celebrate life before we feast?” Vicky said.
“I saw it. There’s food for an entire platoon,” Mohe confirmed.
While Mohe helped Vicky pour the wine, I realized I was smiling. In fact, I was dazzled by Stella—my little girl, a grown woman.
“You know whom you remind me of so much?” I said.
“Let me guess. Mom?”
“It’s amazing, the two of you.”
Mohe handed out the wineglasses. Then he cleared his throat and said, “I don’t mean to spoil the moment, but we need to deal with Stella’s being missing.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Stella’s here, but she thought it prudent not to tell anyone until things got clarified,” Vicky explained.
“Oh.” I turned to Stella. “You’re going to tell the Secret Service a story, missy.”
Stella smiled. My confidence as a father was showing signs of resurrection.
“Yes, sir,” she said playfully.
Vicky raised her glass. “Here’s to family.”
“And friends,” Mohe added.
We all toasted. An unbelievable moment.
“What are you going to tell them, Stella?” I asked.
“I’ll think of something.”
“Think carefully,” I advised. “And keep it simple.”
We sat at the table to eat. Slowly, the conversation felt more natural. Then, at a quiet point, when all that could be heard was the sound of cutlery on plates, Mohe said, “We all read your memoirs.”
“Well, that’s embarrassing,” I said.
“I don’t think so, Tony. You wanted to protect your daughter. That’s clear.”
“I know, but that won’t be necessary. The threat is gone. We’re all here now.”
“Dad, what happened to Charles?”
“I’d…rather not spoil the moment.”
“You won’t,” Stella insisted.
“I think Charles got the same ending as Loretta Johnson and Samuel Flynn.”
Stella and Mohe exchanged a glance. She said, “I heard Loretta Johnson died of heart failure. But who’s Samuel Flynn?”
I refused to answer that question. Instead, I looked at Mohe.
He cleared his throat and eyed Stella. “Flynn was a longtime contributor to The Nature Dweller.”
“And how did he die?” she said. It was interesting to see Stella displaying her lawyer side; how she made that question sound casual while she chewed her pasta.
“Office fire.”
Stella paused her chewing and stared at Mohe. “His office was set on fire?”
“Well, it burned down,” Mohe said. “They haven’t established that someone set the fire.”
“So what you’re telling me is that both Johnson and Flynn died recently, and that Charles Dulles has been dealt with?”
She turned to me with that question mark.
As much as I’d been enjoying listening to her, I couldn’t avoid providing some answers. I wouldn’t risk dodging them for anything in this world. I was loving every bit of that lunch with my daughter and the remaining loved ones in my life.
“Yes,” I said. “I believe that Charles Dulles is dead.”
“What makes you believe that?”
“Because I’ve recently met with the person responsible for that kind of…work.” That was all I could say. I hoped that Stella would be satisfied.
She looked at me for a long moment. “I understand,” she said, and turned to Vicky. “Gee, woman, you haven’t lost your magic touch.”
“Give me your plate,” Vicky said and served Stella more pasta.
“But, Dad…?” Stella said as she twisted another forkful of spaghetti.
Uh-oh. She wasn’t satisfied. “Yes?”
“Something’s not right here. I mean, it doesn’t matter right now about the intertwined interests, and how Charles and his people cooked the money. All I’m interested in is our well-being.”
“That’s exactly how I feel.”
“Are you saying you’ve negotiated with the man responsible for killing at least three people connected to The Nature Dweller scheme?”
“That’s right.”
A stillness had fallen in the room. All eyes were on me.
“May I ask what the terms were?” said Stella. “Apparently, I’m the one who’s responsible for all that came about after I quit lawyering for The Nature Dweller.”
“Your point being?”
“That I’m enjoying this meal as much as you.”
“I certainly am.”
“When we shouldn’t be. No one will bother me, you said. You’ve asked this man to leave me out of it, haven’t you?”
I nodded. “Like any father would.”
“I know,” she said, not unkindly. “But what have you negotiated? What was your end of the bargain?”
I sipped my wine as I considered my answer. Then I told them honestly, “At my end was a simple, honest, and heartfelt request from a former president of the United States of America.”
I wasn’t ready to tell her that request would cost me my life.
51
SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH
The following day, Mohe and Stella took a flight to the FBI field office that covered Montana. On the journey, they had time to prepare for the expected questions, and to prepare to dodge the unexpected ones.
Arnold Garcia was the FBI investigative specialist in charge of the conversation. They talked for nearly two hours, clarifying all the basic points—the main one being the fact that Stella voluntarily visited Charles Dulles at hi
s residence. She explained that afterward, due to the pressure of informing Charles that she was no longer defending The Nature Dweller, Stella felt depressed and decided to take some time out, camping alone on the plains of Montana. When she was ready to return to civilization, she went to her father’s home.
“Right. So, this depression you’ve been through. Did it help spending that many days on your own in the midst of winter? In Montana?” Agent Garcia said.
“I wasn’t having any sort of existential crisis, Agent Garcia. I just felt the need to get away from everyone. People depress me sometimes.”
“Brave woman,” he said, lowering his eyes to the thick file on his desk.
“Women have to be strong.”
“Tell me something, Ms. Morris. Do you find it reasonable that I should believe that with Loretta Johnson dead and Mr. Dulles currently nowhere to be found, you were simply away on a nice, normal camping trip?”
“You’re asking for my opinion?”
“You’re a lawyer. If you hadn’t left the case, things might have turned out differently for the organization you represented.”
“Precisely because I’m a lawyer, I’ll avoid speculation and reiterate the reason for my absence. I’m sorry that I got people worried about me, but as I said, I wasn’t well.”
“Yeah, yeah. I got that part. It’s just that—”
“I think I’m done. If you need anything else in the future, do let me know. All I want to do is help.” She stood up. “Can I go?”
The FBI agent frowned deeply. But he said, “I guess we’re good for now. Thank you, Ms. Morris.”
Stella left the FBI office knowing that Agent Garcia was far from satisfied. But that was his problem. Stella had done what she had to do. And now she could go wherever she wanted without having to hide her face.
Stella and Mohe decided to spend the rest of the day in Utah and return to Glasgow first thing the next morning. Mohe drove them in the rental car to a fancy restaurant in the Wasatch National Forest, just minutes from downtown Salt Lake City. They sat at the best table, ordered grilled elk and a bottle of wine, and tried to understand what in the world they were doing with their lives.
“Hang on. Someone’s calling,” Mohe said, taking his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. “It’s your father. Hello, Tony…”
Stella sighed. She’d just managed to get out of a complicated situation, and now she had to deal with another one. What would her father think of her relationship with Mohe, if she could call it that?
“It went well… Yeah, early in the morning… It was tiring for her… OK, I’ll tell her… Take care.”
Mohe hung up. “You father sends his love.”
“Thanks.”
“He sounded weird. Don’t ask me. I have no idea why.”
“Do you think he knows about us?”
“I don’t know. And what about us, Stella?”
She teased him with a smile. “You’re the old guy here. You’re supposed to know all the answers.”
“Ha. Good one.”
“No. Really. What about us? What do you think this is—us?”
Mohe shrugged and stared at her. “I don’t know. Something clicked inside me when I saw you at your house in Arcata. I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since then. I know it sounds juvenile. What can I say?”
“It actually sounds cute.”
“It does?”
“I say we live and let live. For now.”
“I’m good with that.”
They smiled at each other, but Stella’s smile soon faded. She took a sip of her wine and said, “There’s one thing bothering me. This agreement my father has with the man behind the crimes connected to TND. Did you buy it?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you say so then?”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
“You think my father—or me—is still vulnerable?”
“I don’t know this man.”
“But you’ve been my father’s right-hand guy forever.”
“Doesn’t mean I know everything.”
“Of course not. Why don’t you talk to him?”
“Sure. I’ll try.”
“He was president. You were vice president. There must be people you or he could talk to.”
Mohe shook his head. “I don’t know what idea you have of the presidency, but there are no magic buttons. And we’ve been outside for quite some time. The players have changed. Besides, POTUS power is way more limited than most people understand.”
“I’ve seen presidents do a lot.”
“They can do a lot, yes. But the real power lies behind the curtains.”
“And what happened to you? I mean, you were the first Native American to become vice president. The youngest one, if I’m not mistaken. I know my father didn’t do well, but how about you? It seems like you’ve given up your career to stand by my father. Are you that loyal?”
“It’s not about loyalty. Stella, you’re a smart woman, and you sure make love in a way that drives this old man crazy, so don’t get me wrong. But you’re nurturing romanticized views of power. Let’s leave this conversation for another time.”
“You want to go to our hotel and let this smart woman drive you crazy?”
“That would make me happy, yes.”
52
GLASGOW, MONTANA
While I was waiting for Mohe and Stella to get back from Salt Lake City, I invited Vicky for a walk around my backyard. I loved that part of my property—so much calming nature. It almost made me forget the Secret Service vehicle that would stay nearby for the rest of my life. We walked slowly, arms around each other. It was strange to a certain degree, but comfortable. I knew now that whatever doubts I had about Vicky had been the product of my (justifiably) paranoid imagination.
The arm around my waist guided me to a plum tree. It was only ten feet tall, but it had a nice fragrance. Vicky let go of me and stared up at its branches.
“Sweet and dark. But we have to wait until September,” she said.
Then she looked at me. I stared back at her. Though I smiled, I couldn’t hide the heavy burden that was weighing me down. And it was right there, by that plum tree with Vicky, that I came to a decision. If I could have carried on with a normal life, then Glasgow and Mohe and Vicky and Stella were all I would want. My negotiation with Gregory Olsen didn’t include a happy ending for me, though.
“I don’t think I can make it until September,” I said. Vicky interpreted it as an old man joke.
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
“What was it that you were saying the other day, about us moving to Slovenia?”
“Oh. That. Has it crossed your mind?”
“I thought you meant it. Am I wrong?”
She stepped closer. “No. I meant it.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
“You’re not serious… Are you?”
“I am. It’s a nice dream. I buy it.”
“You buy it… What about Stella?”
“I don’t think she would mind.”
“That’s not the point. She’s staying in this house. You and Stella need to catch up—you know, father and daughter things.”
“I know. But mending our relationship has nothing to do with this place. She and I can be close anywhere we want.”
“OK. Why the rush?”
“There’s no rush. But there’s no need to postpone either.”
Her face lit up as she realized I was serious about leaving. “OK, I guess. So, when do you wanna do that?”
“Well, you know, let’s pack our bags.”
“You’re crazy!”
I held her in my arms and kissed her like a teenager in love.
“Did you have any illusions that I wasn’t crazy?”
Another kiss followed, interrupted only by Vicky’s phone bleeping. She broke off, read the text message, and smiled.
“They’re here. Ringing the doorbell.”
Vick
y rushed back to the house. I stayed behind. My smile vanished as soon as I remembered what awaited me. Gregory Olsen could very well have someone hiding out here, watching—aiming? Who knew the ways they had these days to take people out.
Then I wondered if I was being fair to Vicky. The truth was, she had been my most constant companion since my beloved Anya died. I knew her dream was to one day return to her country, and I figured if I couldn’t offer her a long, promising relationship, the least that I could do was take her back to Slovenia and set her up there, so she had enough to live on well after I was gone.
Slowly and heavily, I made my way to the house. When I entered the kitchen, Stella was there, and as she walked toward me, the joy I felt was greater than any fearful thought. I was tired of my fears.
“Hello, Dad.” She hugged and kissed me. I kissed her back.
Where did all the resentment go? Honestly, was I being mocked by unseen forces? I was expecting long conversations, a burning need to get things off her chest, but that wasn’t the case at all. Jesus, when did Stella grow more mature than her old father?
“What do you want me to do for dinner?” Vicky said.
“Oh, please, no, Vicky. I say we order in pepperoni pizza and drink wine,” Stella said. She looked at me. “What do you think, Daddy President?”
We all laughed. Where did all that joy came from?
“I’d love to,” I said. “But I thought you were a veggie?”
“I was. That and so many other things.”
“Great. Let’s get fat, everyone. I’ll order it,” Vicky said.
That night, after slices and more slices of cheese and pepperoni, duly accompanied by cheap Italian wine, we all sat by the fireplace. I felt happy, as much as I could be under the circumstances, but very tired. They could hear it in my voice.
“We have, uh, news,” I announced. “Stella, I hope you’ll forgive your old father if you think I’ve betrayed your mother.” She stared at me, and I blurted it out: “The thing is, I’m moving to Slovenia with Vicky.”
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