The President's Daughter

by Mariah Stewart

  After all, how much richer the collection of reminiscences would be with a contribution from the man who had known the former President longer than any other living soul.

  Simon opened the briefcase that sat on the passenger seat and took out the small handheld recorder. Chances were he wouldn't need it, but better to have it than not. There was but a slim possibility that Kendall could be having a lucid day, and if he was, Simon didn't want to miss a word. He slipped the recorder into the pocket of his tweed jacket and set off for the main entrance.

  The lobby of St. Margaret's was all dark wood, worn Oriental carpets, and hushed voices. Despite the several large fresh flower arrangements and equal measures of disinfectant and air freshener, the lobby bore the distinct albeit faint trace of the old and infirm. An oak desk sat at the lobby's dead center, and behind the desk sat a young woman wearing a dark suit and a vacant smile who chatted softly into a telephone.

  "Hi!" Simon called a quiet greeting even as he entered the lobby.

  The receptionist returned the greeting in a voice that was nearly a whisper, though as he came closer Simon couldn't imagine whom she might be disturbing. As far as he could see, not another soul was present.

  "I'm here to see Mr. Kendall," Simon told her.

  "Is he expecting you?"

  "Ah, no. Is that a problem?"

  "Only if he's sleeping, or in therapy." She put her call on hold.

  "Perhaps you could find out if he's available for company right now."

  "Sure. Just a second."

  Simon's eyes scanned the row of portraits that hung from the walls in heavy frames and wondered if any of the subjects had ever been residents of the house or if their presence was a deliberate effort to give the hall the appearance of still being part of a family home.

  "Mr. Kendall is in the dayroom."

  "Where might that be?"

  "It's through those double doors and down to the end of the hall to the new wing. But you'll have to wait for an aide to take you." She pressed a green button on the phone, then turned her back as if to preserve her privacy.

  As if Simon couldn't hear every word she said.

  "Someone will be out in a minute," she said as she swiveled around in her chair to face him again. "You'll have to sign in first, though."

  She pointed to a notebook, opened flat with a pen cradled in the seam, that lay upon a small table to her right. Simon signed in—name, date, time, and destination—and looked up to find his escort coming through the double doors.

  "You're here to see Mr. Kendall?" asked a pleasant young woman with thick glasses perched upon a wide round face.

  "Yes, I—"

  "Wonderful. Come this way." She gestured for him to follow as she quietly closed the doors behind them, then stopped to ask, "You've signed in?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. The dayroom is this way." She pointed to the left. "So nice that someone has come to see the old gentleman. Such a sweet man, most of the time anyway."

  "He doesn't have many visitors, then?" Simon quickened his step to keep up with her.

  "None," she told him. "At least, none on my shift."

  "Which shift is that?"

  "Eight A.M. to four p.m."

  "How long have you been here?"

  "Oh, since we opened five years ago. I was one of the first employees," she said with just a touch of pride.

  "And Mr. Kendall hasn't had any visitors in all that time?"

  "Oh, he hasn't been here all that time. Just since his nephew moved ... the end of last summer, maybe? But I don't recall that anyone's come to see him. Shame, really, to live so long and have everyone forget about you, you know?"

  She paused at French doors that opened into a spacious room with a wall of windows that looked out over a vast expanse of lawn divided by a fast-moving stream.

  "There, in the rocking chair," she said in a low voice, as if afraid to disturb the occupants of the room. If any heard, none reacted.

  "They're all in rocking chairs," Simon whispered.

  "The gentleman nearest the window. Sorry. I thought you knew him."

  "We've never met."

  "Nice of you to take time to visit a stranger, then. I hope he's talking today. So often he isn't."

  "Well, I guess I'll soon find out." Simon smiled and noticed her name tag. "June. Thank you."

  "You can find your way out when you're finished?"

  "Yes. I'll be fine."

  "If not, there's always an orderly or two around. Take your time. Just remember to sign out."

  Simon walked the length of the wide room on dark maroon carpet, though no one seemed to notice him at all. Even Miles Kendall didn't blink when Simon pulled over a chair and sat down facing the old man.

  Pale blue eyes were set in a face grown narrow with age. Brown spots covered his hands, and as Simon drew closer he could see there were several similar patches on the man's bald head as well. Dressed in a plaid cotton shirt of navy blue, white, and brown, a navy cardigan, and navy slacks, Miles Kendall bore no resemblance to the man who, once upon a time, had been so close to the most powerful man in the world.

  "Mr. Kendall," Simon said, and the blue eyes blinked.

  Simon leaned a bit closer. "Hello, Mr. Kendall."

  "Hello," the old man acknowledged him with a nod.

  "Mind if I join you, Mr. Kendall?"

  The old man smiled and nodded.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

  "Do you have gum?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Do you have gum?" The old man worked his jaws as if chewing.

  "You mean, chewing gum?"

  "That's right. Got any?"

  "No, I'm afraid I don't. I'm sorry, Mr.—"

  "How 'bout licorice, got any licorice?"

  "Ahh, no, I—"

  "What have you got?" The old man appeared perturbed.

  "I... well, let's see ... I..." Simon searched his pockets. In the inside pocket of his jacket he found a small forgotten mint wrapped in green metallic paper. "Seems the only thing I have is a mint, and God knows how old—"

  Kendall reached out and took it with hands that trembled. He brought it to his lips and Simon realized that he planned on biting into it, paper and all.

  "Wait! The wrapper ..." Simon reached for the mint.

  "It's mine. You said I could have it. You can't take it back now." Kendall's hands disappeared behind his back as he sought to protect his prize.

  "It is yours. And you're welcome to it. But you have to take the paper off before you can eat it. Here, bring it here." Simon gestured for Kendall to bring his hands forward. With a sigh of suspicious resignation, Kendall complied.

  Simon unwrapped the mint and handed it back to the old man, who popped it into his mouth before Simon could change his mind and possibly eat the mint himself.

  "How was it?" Simon asked when Kendall had ceased chewing.

  "Small." Kendall frowned. "Got any more?"

  "No, I'm sorry. That was the only one."

  Kendall grunted his displeasure.

  "If you like, I'll come back another time and bring you more."

  "Bigger one?"

  "If you like."

  "Okay."

  "Tomorrow maybe," Simon told him.

  "Okay."

  Kendall began to rock slowly in his chair, his eyes drifting toward the window and beyond. What, Simon wondered, did he see there?

  "What did you do today, Mr. Kendall?" Simon asked.

  "Went sailing," Kendall replied, his eyes never turning from the window.

  "Who did you go with?"

  "Jamey and Dan."

  "Where did you sail?"

  "In the bay, of course." Kendall turned and looked at Simon as if the question was a stupid one.

  "Did Graham go with you?" Simon thought he'd throw the name out and see what happened.

  Kendall shook his head.

  "Doesn't he sail?" Simon asked.

  "Doesn't who sail?"

  "Graha
m."

  "Of course Graham sails." Kendall gave him that look again. Stupid question. "Everyone sails."

  "Why didn't he go with you this morning?"

  "Because he's with Tommy."

  "Tommy? You mean his brother, Thomas?"

  "No one calls him Thomas," Kendall advised him.

  "Where were they, Graham and Tommy, do you remember?"

  Kendall gave Simon a withering look. "Of course I remember. I told you, it was this morning."

  "Sorry, I forgot," Simon apologized. "Where were they, this morning?"

  "Getting ready for Tommy's party."

  "What party is that?"

  "Graduation."

  "High school?"

  "Sure." Kendall nodded.

  "Where does Tommy go to school?"

  "Choate. We all go to Choate."

  "So today is Tommy's graduation from Choate."

  "Yesterday was graduation. Today is the party."

  "Where's he going next year, do you know?"

  "Of course I do." The look of annoyance crossed the old man's face again. "He's going to Brown. Don't you know anything?"

  "I guess not."

  "We're all going to go to Brown," Kendall told him. "Me, Graham, Steven ..."

  "Steven?"

  "He's Graham's brother, too."

  "The brother between Graham and Thomas," Simon said quietly, as if to himself. "The one who died."

  "Why did you say that?" Kendall sat back in his chair, clearly startled. "Steven didn't die."

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I was thinking of someone else," Simon covered. If, in Kendall's mind, Tommy Hayward had just graduated from high school, Kendall and Graham would be fourteen years old. And Steven, two years older than Graham, who died in a boating accident when he was nineteen, would still be alive.

  "That was a dumb thing to say," Kendall muttered, and focused his eyes out on the lawn again.

  Simon touched the man's arm, and when he turned back to Simon, Kendall said, "Got any gum?"

  "No, sorry. Not today."

  Miles Kendall rocked for a few long minutes, a distant look in his clouded eyes. Simon watched in silence, wondering just where Kendall's mind had taken him.

  Finally, Simon stood and said, "Mr. Kendall, may I come back to see you again?"

  "Will you bring gum?"

  "I'll bring something," Simon promised, thinking about just what Miles Kendall might do with a whole pack of chewing gum. "Maybe more mints. Would you like that?"

  "Sure." Kendall nodded enthusiastically. "Tomorrow?"

  "Sure. Tomorrow," Simon told him.

  "Mints," the old man said with quiet satisfaction. "Tomorrow."

  Tomorrow, Simon thought as he patted his new friend on the shoulder, perhaps we'll be in a different decade.

  He glanced over his shoulder just as Kendall turned back to the windows and went still.

  Then again, maybe not...

  Chapter Five

  Her arms folded across her chest and a half smile on her lips, Dina watched as her mother first examined, then rejected, one dress after another from the display in a favorite store. By the time Jude reached the end of the rack, she'd found only two garments to her liking, and those she held out for Dina's opinion. "The black?" Jude asked. "Or the gray?" "The green." Dina reached behind her mother for a soft crepe dress of pale sage. "Definitely, the green." Jude frowned.

  "Not my style. That would look terrible on me." "How do you know? You haven't tried it on." "I make it a habit of not trying on things that I know would depress me. A dress, for example, that is cut lower in the back than the base of my spine—" "It's not that low."

  "—is probably not a good look for this middle-aged body." Jude took the green dress from Dina's hand and returned it to its place on the display. "Though I do appreciate the fact that you obviously are blind to the extra ten pounds around my middle and the fact that the skin on my upper arms continues to wave on its own long after I've said good-bye."

  "Ten pounds? Nothing that a good workout program can't help."

  "Remind me to have this conversation with you again on your fiftieth birthday. In the meantime, I'm leaning toward the gray. What do you think?" Jude stood in front of a mirror and held the dress up to her body. "Simple lines and a great color to set off that wonderful amethyst necklace that you bought for me in Mexico last summer.

  "I think I'll try it on." Jude turned in the direction of the dressing room. "Why not take another look and see if there's something you may have missed the first time around? I'll just be a minute."

  Jude's minute was actually seven, but Dina didn't mind the wait. A second look through the racks produced nothing that caught her eye, so she amused herself by trying to count the number of piercings on the face and earlobes of a young girl who was waiting for the elevator. Dina was up to eleven when Jude stepped out of the dressing room.

  "The gray is perfect," Jude declared, smiling as she returned the black dress to the rack.

  With a look of longing at the pale green, Dina said, "Mom..."

  "Yes?" Jude was still smiling as she walked toward the nearest cash register.

  "Nothing." Dina sighed.

  As Jude searched her wallet for her credit card, Dina leaned over and whispered, "Mom, you're in a rut."

  "I like my rut." Not bothering to whisper, Jude handed over the card to the saleswoman. "I'm happy in my rut."

  The forty-something saleswoman chuckled as she rang up the sale.

  "Besides," Jude continued, "I have lovely gray shoes that I barely ever wear—"

  "Would it anger the gods so terribly if you were to buy new shoes and a new dress on the same day?"

  Jude laughed good-naturedly. "Sweetie, you talked me into a dress. Take your little victory and be content with it." Jude took the dress bag holding her purchase from the saleswoman with one hand and signed the sales slip with the other. "If you weren't insisting on me accompanying you to this fund-raiser for the new park, I wouldn't have thought about what I'd be wearing until the morning of the affair."

  Jude tucked the sales slip and her credit card into her purse and nodded thanks to the saleswoman.

  "You're on the committee. You have to go," Dina reminded her mother as they walked toward the entrance to the mall.

  "But I didn't have to buy a new dress, and I don't have to go with my daughter."

  "You have someone else in mind you'd rather go with?"

  "No, but I don't know why you'd want to go to something like this with me." Jude paused in the entrance. "How 'bout some lunch?"

  "Great timing. They can probably hear my stomach complaining in Chestertown, I'm so hungry."

  "The Plum okay?"

  "Perfect. They have wonderful turkey sandwiches and they're only three stores away."

  "So why do you?" Jude asked as they walked into the restaurant and waited for the hostess to seat them.

  "Why do I what?"

  "Why do you want to go to this fund-raiser with your mother?"

  "Two?" the hostess asked.

  "Yes. Nonsmoking," Dina added before the young woman could ask.

  "This way."

  Dina and Jude followed to a small table at glass windows overlooking the mall, from which they could see the constant parade, mostly, on this Saturday morning, groups of teenage girls and young mothers with strollers.

  "You didn't answer my question." Jude decided not to let the subject drop.

  "Which question was that?" Dina's eyes skimmed the menu.

  "The one about why you want to go out with your mother on a Saturday night instead of, oh, I don't know." Jude frowned and pretended to search for a suggestion. "A young man, perhaps. It's not as if there aren't any vying for your attention. There's Jack Finnegan, and there's that nice-looking Don who's always building something for one of your projects. Those window boxes he made for the new library wing are just darling."

  "Don and Jack will both be at the fund-raiser." Dina looked up at the waitress who had appeared at her e
lbow the second she began to close her menu and said, "I think I'll have the turkey and an iced tea."

  "I'll have the same." Jude nodded and added after the waitress walked away, "Which one would you rather go out with?"

  "Neither."

  "What's wrong with them? They're both such nice men," Jude came to the defense of Dina's would-be suitors.

  "Mom, there's nothing wrong with either of them. Yes, of course they're both nice men. They're also both fun to be around. But neither of them . .. how does one put this to one's mother?" Dina paused, then grinned. "Neither of them does much to speed up my heart rate."

  "Oh." Jude slipped a straw from its wrapper and slid it into the glass of iced tea that the waitress set before her. "But maybe if you—"

  "No maybes, Mom. The chemistry is there or it isn't."

  Jude frowned and Dina laughed.

  "Mom, what was it about my father that made you pick him out over every other man you met?"

  "What?" Jude tilted her head, as if surprised by the question.

  "My father. What was there about him that attracted you? What was so special about him that you fell in love with him instead of someone else?"

  "Well." Jude cleared her throat. "He was ... smart. And ... good-looking. And ... fun. He had a great sense of fun. And of course, we'd been friends for a long time."

  Dina moved her iced tea glass to permit the waitress to serve her sandwich. "If you add to that, that he had short legs and a slightly swayed back, I'd think you were talking about Waylon."

  Waylon was Jude's basset hound.

  Jude stole a French fry from Dina's plate.

  "Your father was just a very special man, Dina," Jude said, avoiding Dina's eyes. "Certainly he was a man of honor. He served his country proudly—in the end, he gave his life for his country. Everyone said he was a hero."

  "Do you ever regret not marrying again?"

  "No, of course not."

  "Mom, don't say it like it's something disgraceful. Your husband died before I was born. You've been alone for thirty years."

  "I've never been alone. I had you."