Ah, America’s latest climate change-driven natural disaster. I’d signed executive orders granting aid a few months prior since Congress had been busy revamping itself and organizing elections. People were in need and I wasn’t about to play semantic games or engage in petty debate about whether Gulf Coast residents were worthy of assistance. I did the job I’d sworn to do and made sure they received federal funding. After the turmoil caused by the Santos Administration, doing the bare minimum had become an act of political courage.
I didn’t care for George’s tone, which was a strange mix of faux pride and cleverly refined derision. Did he assume that because of my perceived political leanings, I’d find his jabs at altruism and self-awareness amusing? I wasn’t much of a conservative anymore, since Santos had demolished any remaining benevolence associated with the Grand Old Party. My best friend was about as flaming a liberal as you could get. Who wouldn’t be proud of a child who dedicated his personal resources to the greater good? If we had more people like that, maybe our country wouldn’t have become such a goddamn mess to begin with.
Or maybe it was merely a poorly timed joke. I’d never been all that good at reading people, but I was usually able to discern intent to a reasonable degree of comedic certainty. Perhaps I’d lost my edge.
I raised my glass toward Alexander in a pointed rebuke of his father’s comment. “Well done. I hope that some of the resources I approved got to you and your fellow volunteers in time.”
“They did,” he said. “But there’s always more to do.”
I noticed he hadn’t looked at his father at all while speaking. George was about to place last in whatever imaginary dating competition my daughter had designed. He slapped his son on the back. “Now that I’m retired, you’ll be taking more of my money to do it, eh?”
Alexander grimaced. “I’ve never taken your money, father.”
The mood swung from cantankerous to icy, and for once it was fully not my doing. In just a few moments I was able to firmly establish that George Guardiola was not the man for me. I’d hoped at the very least that Susannah might have come up with a rough clone of her father in a weakly Freudian expression of helpfulness, especially since she’d dropped a hint or two that she thought this man resembled Tom. Instead I got a stereotype wrapped in a caricature wrapped in a schmuck wrapped in a designer suit. It was borderline insulting. What had she been thinking?
“We can all do more,” I said blandly. “Especially those of us with the means and opportunity.”
“Will you be engaging in humanitarian efforts in your spare time now that you’re no longer in Washington?” George asked.
It took a lot for me to trust people. An awful, awful lot. My inner circle was more aptly described as a party of two consisting of Caroline and myself. Three if I counted Jack, and nowadays I did. I had an inner triangle, at best. The past few years hadn’t made it easier for me to let anyone in.
I’d learned a few things about eager beavers who seemed far too interested in public figures. Yet after decades of practice, it remained impossible for me to determine whether they were asking me questions out of a legitimate interest in who I was as a person or an avaricious desire to run to the nearest rag and spill their guts to some hack reporter.
I knew it wasn’t fair to judge this man solely by first impression, but what else did I have to go on? I couldn’t very well give him the benefit of the doubt based on background information gleaned from my daughter, because I had none. And it was obvious from his body language that he already thought he’d scored points with me.
Damn Susannah and her good intentions. I had to find a clever way to walk back George Guardiola’s expectations and salvage the night. Which was hard to do with his increasingly appealing son dallying nearby.
“Come on, dad,” Alexander said. “I’m sure President Sullivan didn’t come here tonight to talk about herself.”
If he pitched me that ball, I was going to run with it. “The evening is about you, George. Tell me more about your time with the firm.”
“Fifty-plus years conducting just about every kind of legal transaction you can imagine,” he said smugly.
Don’t do that math. Do NOT do that math.
Reader, I did that math.
“That’s an impressively long time,” I said.
“It’s easy when you love your job.”
“That’s certainly true,” I said, wondering how long we could exchange empty platitudes before someone, anyone, would bail us out.
“George was one of the partners I did research with during my 2L summer,” Susannah said.
“Your daughter Shepardized everything I did, along with all the other projects I assigned her. She was a good worker.”
Alexander nearly spat out his punch. “Jesus, dad, you make it sound like a carnival. This girl busted her ass every damn day, morning to night, to the tune of over sixty hours a week just so you could sneak out to go golfing. As a law student. Hope the sleep deprivation was worth that offer you got, Susannah.”
This was not the laconic retirement party chitchat I had expected. And the tenor of Alexander’s remark led me to believe that a round of golf might not have been the exact reason George was cutting out early.
Susannah grabbed my arm. “Gotta powder my nose. Want to come with?”
Dear god, yes. I followed behind her like a lost little lamb.
“What on earth was that?” I asked, once we were in the ladies’ room.
“George and his son don’t get along.”
“Oh, you don’t say.” That explained Alexander’s mood in the elevator. “Why’d he come?”
“Misplaced sense of familial duty? I have no idea.” She checked her lipstick in the mirror. “He’s ruining everything.”
I knew she meant Alexander, but… “He’s not. Their back and forth has been illuminating. His father is an ass. Did he act like this when you were a summer associate?”
“George Guardiola is the reason I got hired, mom. We were in the middle of an economic downturn, it was a super-competitive year, and I outworked every single other student.”
Did she feel she owed him something? “I hope I’m not being offered up in exchange for some sort of employment debt.”
“Mother.” She scowled at me. “That’s profoundly offensive.”
Which meant the statement was probably partly based in truth. “Can we go back out there and get this over with?”
“Not if Alexander is still with him.”
Alexander was the only reason I had any desire to rejoin the party. “Come on. I’ll feed you cake.”
“No, let’s just say our goodbyes and leave.”
Even better. I could go home, clear my head, and forget this night ever happened, all while giving Susannah an out. “Let me take the lead on this one.”
Father and son were still standing where we left them, obviously awaiting our return.
“I’m so terribly sorry,” I said. “I made Susannah promise that I could tuck her kids in and it’s already past their usual bedtime. I hate to run so soon, but…” I held up my hands in apology.
“Understandable.” George nodded in septuagenarian sympathy before extending his hand. “It was an honor.”
I expected palm to meet palm but instead I found a business card. His cell number was written on the back. Good god, the man needed to learn how to read a room. Or a single person. But I held my tongue, slipping the card into my purse without comment.
“I hope you appreciated the punch and enlightenment,” Alexander said.
Maybe he did know why I’d been compelled to attend. “Your anthropology lesson was well received, I assure you.”
“Good. Very good.” His eyes met mine for a brief second, then longer, until I wasn’t sure how long all four of us were standing there not saying a word.
“Time to go, mom,” Susannah said, and dragged me out of the room.
It took a while for an elevator car to arrive, and I couldn’t help sneaking one f
inal look at the gathering we were leaving behind. I glanced from George to Alexander and back again. Oh, no. There was no comparison. No competition at all in that department. There was a good amount of shared genetic matter between them but that was where the similarities ended.
Maybe Susannah was right. Maybe I could date again. Let myself feel things. Let myself do things. I hadn’t felt anything in so long that I’d forgotten the sweetness of the first flicker of attraction. Regaining that part of myself was… liberating.
The idea forming in my head was a brilliant confluence of lascivious deliciousness and questionable plausibility. I could have a fling. A fling sounded good. I didn’t have to get involved in anything serious. Maybe trying to define what I wanted or needed had been my problem all along. I could keep an open mind, ease back a little.
Yes, I could get away with a fling if I was discreet. Pure sex. Perfect. Get a little frisky, have a healthy romp, spanktastic style. I could do this. Find myself someone who knew what he was doing. Who wouldn’t expect too much. Who could enjoy my companionship and perhaps a little more. I didn’t need deep involvement.
Maybe I could find a man who was willing to stay within those boundaries. Who’d live by my rules, keep to the edge, not try to get too close. Someone who wouldn’t leave the toilet seat up, who wouldn’t tag me in inappropriate posts on Facebook, who knew what fapping meant but had enough propriety not to explain it to me. He’d be younger than me, perhaps, with indescribably gorgeous greenish-blue eyes, close-cropped hair, and a seriously dysfunctional relationship with one of his parents. Think of the things I’d have in common with him!
Dear lord. I was in sooooo much trouble.
Chapter 6
My inner monologue has been known to drift, so allow me to explain. I am hardly a kinkster, though I must stress that there’s nothing wrong with people who want to get adventurous with their love lives. I would also never yuck anyone’s yum, as the kids say, but I have no desire to swing from the chandeliers either.
I considered myself fortunate that Caroline hadn’t shared the details of what went on between her and her husband, because I knew it was out of my league. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t desirous of affection. That I didn’t want to feel… wanted. That I didn’t want a little oomph in bed and not an elderly Centrum-fueled turn down intercourse lane.
Alexander Guardiola was extremely attractive. There really wasn’t another way to describe him. The silver here and there, the scruff, the twinkle in his eyes… those last fleeting moments at his father’s retirement party were equal parts blessing and curse.
Therein lay my problem. That was all they were. Fleeting. Moments. Once I got back home, I’d silently berate myself for hours before reaching the inevitable conclusion that any momentary whimsy about feeling like a human again was just that. Pure. Driven. Fantasy. That sort of mental back and forth made it quite difficult to be in civilized company, which was why my adoption of increasingly hermit-like qualities seemed fitting.
When Susannah asked if she could drive me home, I leapt at the chance to abandon the car service I normally used, and we headed for the parking garage.
“That was a disaster,” I said.
“You got his number,” she pointed out. As if that had been a shock. “Despite Alexander’s best efforts to goad his father into being an ass.”
Was she still going to push George Guardiola off on me? Had she forgotten our discussion in the ladies’ room? Was I going mad? “All of that man’s assholery was self-inflicted. And I don’t want his number. How on earth did you ever think he and I would get on?”
Susannah started the car. Even in the dark I could see her cheeks redden. “I tried, okay? You need to start cutting me some slack. Not everyone can be as perfect as you.”
Here we go. Maybe I could deflect. Or not. Probably not. “He’s not likable, Susannah. And I’m far from perfect.”
My cheap attempt at a jab did not go unnoticed. “Could’ve fooled me.”
I took off my seatbelt to face her. “You have something to say. Say it.”
Her fist clenched. Oh, this was not good. We’d danced around each other for the past few months and as a result, a blowout was coming. “Two years, mom.” She slammed her hand on the steering wheel for emphasis. “I thought you were dead, gone, poof, for two fucking years. Do you know what that was like? And then what happens? I get a strange call—not even from you, fucking Caroline has to pick up the phone and fucking dial international—telling me you’re alive before I get this nonsense story from you about running across the border to safety but whoops Daddy and Jess are gone though. And then whee, we get our happy reunion after your best friend and her husband and their band of merry men obliterate the president’s head and I hightail it back from France and what do you do? You hide away in the White House, you run over to Jack and Caroline’s so you can ignore the rest of the world, you pass judgment on everyone and everything you touch, you occasionally act civil but treat my husband—the father of your grandchildren—like he has the fucking plague and the best part of all of this? My father and sister—the child I always knew was your favorite—you come back here and it’s like they didn’t exist. You can’t even say their names. You couldn’t even handle being in the same house with all those memories of the two of them. And that’s fine. I can’t judge you for that. You put my childhood home on the market, you live downtown now. Fucking fine. But even with all of that I know I finally have you back, I get to hope maybe we can build over some of the glaringly nonexistent relationship we might have had if our family life had been anything close to normal, and you push yourself away again. I mean, if you’re going to pretend Daddy and Jess were never here, don’t I at least get to pretend I have the chance to force you out of this cloud of misery you’ve baked yourself into? I tried, okay? I tried and I failed. I’m sorry that my affection for you makes me dare to try and see you happy. I’m sorry I’m an afterthought. I’m. Fucking. Sorry.”
She sniffled, averting her eyes. I didn’t speak, chastened by the little noises she was making as she rested her head against the car window.
Everything she said had merit. Everything was valid. Everything was the truth. How could I counter it, or explain it, or justify it? I couldn’t. We’d hemmed and hawed and danced around the hard conversations we needed to have and when Susannah let her pent-up anger and hurt burst open in front of me, I didn’t have a damn thing to say in response. I couldn’t heal that pain. I couldn’t even handle my own. She’d said horrid, awful, correct things. It would take far, far too much of me to admit that she was right. About any of it.
“Say something,” she whispered, after she managed to compose herself.
“I’m processing,” I said.
“Naturally. God forbid you just be a person.”
She was goading me and I wasn’t about to give in. “Susie—”
“Don’t call me that. Don’t fake nice. Stop appropriating Daddy’s nicknames for people to make yourself sound more approachable.”
A hurtful blow, but fair. I could have taken our little tête-à-tête toward some healthy parent/offspring bonding, could have attempted to rebuild the relationship Susannah had correctly observed we’d never really had, but instead I went straight for good old reliable defense mechanisms. Let no one accuse me of being spontaneous, because I am not. I am as predictable as they come.
“I told you I wasn’t ready,” I said through clenched teeth.
“You don’t want to be ready.”
Did I need to curse? Apparently I needed to curse. I didn’t do it all that often unless it was warranted. “I wasn’t aware I was on a goddamn timeline, Susannah. And even if I was ready, I’m definitely not ready for a pandering prig who only showed interest in me because of who I was.”
“What choice do they have? Men aren’t going to be attracted to you because of your sparkling personality.”
Now that crossed the line. “I think we need to stop talking. Take me home.”
The distance between Susannah’s office and my high-rise was blessedly short. I debated whether to restart the conversation. It wasn’t going to be pleasant, and I’d had enough fuss for one night. For a lifetime, even. But I couldn’t leave things the way they were.
“Do you want to come inside?” I asked, when she pulled to a stop.
She stared at me. “Seriously?”
I tugged at the necklace at my throat. I didn’t wear much jewelry. Just the necklace, which had been a gift from Caroline, and my wedding and engagement rings. And a timepiece that had once belonged to Tom, which I’d had adjusted to fit my own wrist.
“I should have talked to you about the house,” I said.
She rubbed her eyes. “This is so much bigger than that.”
“I know. I need to get better at telling you things. But it’s hard when I feel like sometimes you only do things with me out of obligation.”
“Is that what you think tonight was? Obligation?”
“I don’t know.” Ugh, I did not want to have this discussion in the front seat of an Audi but Susannah hadn’t given me much choice. “Do you think a man will magically fix me?”
She actually laughed. “Mom, it’s gonna take a lot more than that. I thought it might provide you with a distraction. Something. But maybe you don’t need that. Maybe you’re too busy looking for other ways to divert your attention from what you really ought to be dealing with.”
A reminder that I still wouldn’t talk to her about Tom and Jess. “Susie—”
“Please,” she whispered. “I mean it. Don’t call me that or I’ll start crying again. You sound just like him when you say it like that.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, because I couldn’t think of any other way to respond.
“Stop apologizing. Get off your ass and do something. You can’t move on with your life until you deal with what happened to our family.”
How could I ever begin to deal with the agony of how we’d all been torn apart? Susannah didn’t know the half of it. I could barely block out the images that flashed through my head in my nightmares. Was it fair to curse her with the same burden? I knew she wanted answers. She deserved them. But the tiny bit of motherly instinct I had warned me that it wasn’t right to lay that anguish at her feet. Not until I was able to handle it myself.
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