The President's Daughter (5 page)

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Authors: Ellen Emerson White

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“Meg, hi,” he said. “What are you doing down here?”
She turned even redder. “I don't know. We were just kind of walking around and—”
“Well, great.” He seemed very happy to see her. “You haven't been in before, have you?” He turned to the girl. “Lily, this is Meghan, the Senator's daughter, and—?”
“My friend Beth,” Meg said.
Bruce smiled. “And her friend Beth.”
“Really?” The girl's eyes got very big. “Wow. Why didn't you say anything?”
Meg shrugged. “I don't know. I guess I felt—” Like a jerk.
“Well, come on,” the girl said. “We should introduce you to everyone.”
“No, I—” Meg hung back. “I'd really rather not. It's getting late, and we—well, we just wanted to—”
Bruce rescued her. “It
is
dark out there. Do you two need a ride home?”
“Oh, no.” Meg shook her head very hard. “We'll take the T.”
“It's no problem for me to get a car for you,” he said, “and—”
“Bruce, can you look at this, before we post it?” someone called from the back.
He nodded, and motioned for Meg and Beth to follow him through the maze of tables, boxes, and workers to the cluttered office, half-empty coffee cups and pizza boxes everywhere.
“How're things going?” Meg asked.
“Great,” he said. “Our big worry was your mother's early fund-raising power, but the donations are pouring in. I think this quarter's going to be even more spectacular than the last one. And once she starts winning, we'll be up for the
really
big money.”
“You're that sure she's going to win?” Beth asked.
He nodded. “Absolutely.”
Her mother sure could inspire dedication. Unreal. Meg was about to say something polite—and noncommittal—when her “My Favorite Things” ring tone went off, and she dug her phone out of her jeans pocket.
“Where are you, Meg?” her father asked, sounding very annoyed, when she picked up. “We expected you to be home an hour ago.”
“I'm still downtown,” she said. “I got sort of held up.”
“You're supposed to
call
when that happens,” he said.
Yeah. In fact, her parents were absolutely adamant about that
policy, and she had been grounded more than once for breaking it.
“Well, where are you?” he asked. “I'll have to come pick you up.”
If he had to drive all the way into Boston, during rush-hour, he was going to be in an even worse mood. Meg sighed. “Dad, we can just—”
“Where are you?” he asked, less patiently.
“Mom's headquarters,” she said. “Anyway, we can just get on the—”
“Really?” His voice was more pleased now. “What are you doing there?”
“Just looking around,” she said.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It's really busy,” she said. “There's like, all kinds of people here.”
“Well, maybe later on you can start doing some work down there,” he said.
Ideally not—but this wasn't going to be the right time to bring that up. “Yeah, maybe,” she said. “Look, we're going to go out and get on at Government Center, okay?”
“All right,” he said. “I'll pick you up at the station.”
After she hung up, she waited for Beth to finish her conversation with
her
mother—who was also cross—and then they went back out to the main room with Bruce. Everyone seemed to be looking at her, so Lily must have spread the word. Meg nodded at them, taking a button to pin on her jacket.
“So,” Beth said, as they walked to Government Center.
“Preemptive war?” Meg asked.
“I was making conversation,” Beth said.
Right.
They took the D Line train back towards Newton, Beth getting off at Reservoir, Meg getting off a stop later at Chestnut Hill. Her father was in the parking lot and started up the engine when he saw her. The
energy-efficient
engine, it went without saying.
“Where's Beth?” he asked as Meg climbed into the car.
“She got off at Reservoir,” Meg said.
“Did she have a ride?” he asked.
“Her mother,” Meg said.
He nodded, turning on the headlights. “Next time, I want you home when you're supposed to be.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
He reached over to give her scarf a tweak. “And enough with the ‘sirs.'”
She nodded. “Anything you say, sir.”
He laughed, putting the car into reverse and driving out of the lot. “What did you think of the headquarters?”
“It was okay.” Meg slouched against the seat. “I hate those pictures, though. She doesn't look—I don't know—real, in them.” She glanced at him. “Are they all staged?”
“I don't think they're staged, so much as there are photographers following her everywhere she goes.” He braked for a stop sign. “It's advertising, that's all. You have to win the election before you can do anything.”
Meg frowned. “So, you do anything to win?”
“No, of course not. It's just—” He started to turn the corner, then put on his signal and pulled over. “Sorry. I can't talk and drive.”
Meg grinned. “Kind of like walking and chewing gum?”
He smiled back. “Kind of. Anyway, you really shouldn't worry, Meg. Have you
ever
seen your mother do anything unethical?”
Well—no. She shook her head.
“Neither have I,” he said. “And I don't expect her to change now.”
How could she
not
change? “I don't know,” Meg said. “I guess.”
“Meg, all I can tell you is this: your mother is absolutely, totally, almost sickeningly honest,” her father said. “She doesn't do anything she doesn't believe in. She humors them—”
“Them?” Meg asked.
“Glen, the staff, you know. She humors them,” he went on, “but once she gets out there, she does what she wants. And she says what she wants. She doesn't do things because they ‘look good.'”
Maybe. “So, how come what she does looks so good?” Meg asked.
“Because it's what people want to see.” He let out a hard breath. “I don't know what to say, Meg. I can't believe that I'm sitting here telling you something you should already know.”
“I guess.” Meg jiggled her knee up and down, thinking. “Is she going to win?”
“I don't know,” he said.
One thing she was sure about was that her
father
was honest. “Do you
think
she's going to win?” she asked.
“I don't know,” he said. “But I think everyone's going to know she was in the race.”
“Hmmm.” Was she brave enough to ask the obvious question? “Do you want her to win?”
Her father didn't answer right away. “I don't know,” he said finally. “I want her to be happy.”
Which meant what, exactly? “Wouldn't being President make her happy?” Meg asked.
“I'm not sure,” he said, both gloved hands resting on the steering wheel. “It's almost as if—she wants a woman to be President, she wants that desperately, and at this point, she knows she's the only one around who can genuinely pull it off.”
Meg frowned again. “What about ambition and power and stuff like that?”
“I don't know, Meg.” He shook his head. “I don't think your mother's obsessed with either—it's more of a challenge thing with her. She's a very complex woman. A very wonderful woman,” he added more quietly.
If they were getting along right now—which wasn't always the case—she definitely wasn't going to get in the way of that, so she let a few respectful seconds pass. There had been too many times when her parents hadn't seemed to be quite so much in love—maybe not even in love at all. Maybe not even in
like
. It hadn't been that way recently, but that didn't stop her from worrying, especially with her mother being gone twice as much as usual.
She looked at her father, thinking about what a nice man he was. Probably the nicest man she knew. She remembered suddenly being the star of the Thanksgiving play when she was in third grade. The part had required pigtails and a little blue dress, both of which she had. The play was in the afternoon, and her father had come, one of the few men in the audience, sitting up front with Steven, who was in nursery school. After the play, he came backstage to get her, his smile very proud. He gave her some flowers—she couldn't remember what they were; daisies, maybe?—then picked her up in a big hug, and the three of them went all the way in to Harvard Square to have hot fudge sundaes at their favorite ice cream place. Then, Trudy stayed with Steven, and she and her father went to the movies—
at night
. He had always been able to make them feel special.
Seeing him next to her, his face healthy and wind-burned, as though he never sat behind a desk or read
The Wall Street Journal
, Meg obeyed an overpowering urge to hug him.
“What was that for?” he asked, as she pulled free before he could hug back, embarrassed.
“I don't know.” She blushed, staring out through the windshield. She almost never gave in to urges to hug people. “I like you.”
“Well, I like you, too,” he said.
She hated conversations like this. “Steven's probably making Trudy crazy right now.” Especially if he was hungry.
“Probably.” He started the engine, then looked over at her, shaking his head. “You're very much like her.”
Meg flushed. “I am not.”
“When your grandfather was alive, he used to sit there for hours, watching you,” her father said. “He said it was frightening.”
“Well, I guess I
look
kind of like her,” Meg said. “But I mean like, she's—and I'm—”
Her father just grinned, glancing over his shoulder to check for cars, then pulling out into the street.
RIGHT AFTER DINNER that night, the phone rang.
“I've got it!” Meg yelled from the kitchen. “Hello?”
“Hi,” her mother said. “How are you?”
“Okay.” Meg sat down at the table. “Where are you?” Which was always the first question any of them asked her these days.
“Detroit,” her mother said.
Oh. Well, okay. Whatever. “I thought you were in Iowa,” Meg said.
“I was.” Her mother yawned, and Meg had a momentary disturbing flash of her sitting alone and exhausted in a hotel room somewhere. “I flew up because we ran into some luck today.”
“What happened?” Meg asked.
“The UAW endorsed me,” her mother said.
The autoworkers union. Which was a big deal. Meg wanted to gulp, since—well, her mother was getting
a lot
of endorsements. Already. “Um, wow. That's really good, isn't it?”
“It's
tremendous
,” her mother said. “I really wasn't expecting it. Or, anyway, not yet.” She yawned again. “What did you do today?”
Well, it was safe to say that no one had endorsed her. Meg shrugged. “Nothing much. Beth and I went in and kicked around downtown at Macy's and everything.”
“Did you pick up anything?” her mother asked. “Aren't they still having Christmas sales?”
“Yeah. We were mostly just looking around, though.” Meg mouthed the word “Mom” as Steven came in.
“Well, you really need a new ski jacket,” her mother said. “That thing you're wearing around now is disgraceful.”
Next, presumably, she would have to hear about how terrible her
hair looked, too. “I like it.” Even though it was ratty and beat-up, and covered with ancient, partially torn lift tickets.
“Then, get the same kind,” her mother said.
“Yeah, but—” Meg pushed her brother's hand away from the phone. “Steven, wait a minute, will you?”
“Come on, let me talk,” he said impatiently.
“I said, wait a minute.” Meg pushed him harder. “When are you coming home again, Mom?”
“I think maybe next weekend,” her mother said. “So, do me a favor, and get the jacket, and maybe we can all go up to Stowe for a couple of days.”
“Wow, really?” Meg lowered the phone. “Mom says she's coming home, and we can maybe go skiing next weekend.”
“Well, let me talk to her,” Steven said.
“Okay already.” Meg lifted the phone back up. “Steven's being a jerk, so I'd better let him talk to you. That's really good about the autoworkers.”
“Thanks,” her mother said. “Take care of yourself, okay? It sounds as if your cold is pretty much gone.”
Meg nodded, dodging Steven's attempt to grab the phone again. “Mostly, yeah. Where are you going tomorrow?”
“South,” her mother said.
“Just in general?” Meg asked.
“It feels that way. Actually, Atlanta, and Miami; then I have to head up to Washington by Monday.” Her mother laughed. “It sounds as though you'd better put your brother on.”
“Yeah, really.” Meg scowled at him. “I'll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Okay. I love you,” her mother said.
“Um, yeah, me, too,” Meg said quickly. “I, uh, went to your headquarters in Boston today; they were pretty neat. Here's Steven.”
“God, about time.” Steven grabbed the phone from her. “Hi, Mom, where are you?”
Meg got up, moving to the door. “Dad? Neal? Mom's on the phone!”
“Oh, good.” Her father came in from the sitting room. “I thought it might be.”
“Wow, let me talk!” Neal rushed in, trying to get the phone away from Steven. “Come on, it's my turn!”
“God, wait a minute, will you?” Steven pushed him.
Not that she and her brothers were predictable, or anything. “Neal, don't bug him,” she said. “He just got on.”
Neal scowled, and sat sulkily in a chair to wait.
“She still in Des Moines?” her father asked.
Meg shook her head. “Detroit.”
He looked surprised. “What's she doing there?”
“She got the UAW,” Meg said.
“Really? My God, she's cleaning up on the unions.” He tapped Steven's shoulder, indicating for him to hurry up.
Once Steven and Neal had finished, and her father was on the phone, she and her brothers waited at the table.
“Guess what Mommy said?” Neal asked, leaning forward on his elbows. “She bought me a cowboy hat in Texas! A real one!”
“How dumb is that?” Steven snorted, his mouth full of Oreos he'd found on top of the refrigerator—since Trudy always hid unhealthy food from them.
“Yeah, well, she got you one, too.” His face fell. “That's supposed to be a surprise.”
“Yeah?” Steven looked eager. “What color are they?”
“If you really think it's stupid, we can have Dad tell her to take yours back.” Meg helped herself to some Oreos, giving one to Kirby, who wagged his tail and retreated under the table to eat it.
“Meg, shut up, okay?” Steven said, blushing.
“Be careful, okay?” their father was saying. “Well, I have to worry, I can't help it.” He listened. “Okay, I love you, too.” He listened
again, then hung up to see Meg grinning, Steven pretending to throw up, and Neal giggling. “Little brats.” He picked up what was left of the package of cookies. “Come on, who wants to go watch the Celtics game?”
“Gross,” Meg said. “I hate hockey.”
“Cute,” her father said.
 
SHE SPENT THE next couple of days looking forward to going skiing, but began to lose enthusiasm when she realized what it was going to be like. The first warning came on Monday night when her father remarked that “there would be some politics going on, and they all had to be prepared for that.” What she had seen as a relaxing family weekend was going to be more of a marathon three-day campaign session. Glen was coming, Linda—who Meg had decided to call the Ice Queen—was coming, campaign coordinators and pollsters were coming—and Meg didn't feel like going.
She didn't communicate that to her brothers, both of whom were so excited that the weekend was all they talked about. She was anything
but
eager.
Wednesday night, hearing her father wandering around—he did that a lot when her mother wasn't home, especially after they were all in bed—she got up and went downstairs, finding him coming out of the den.
“What are you doing up?” he asked, automatically checking his watch.
She shrugged. “I don't know. I'm not tired.”
“Terrific.” His expression was wry. “It's going to be fun waking you up tomorrow.”
Since she always stayed up as late as possible, it was probably
never
fun to wake her up.
He reached forward, touching her forehead with the back of his hand. “Do you feel okay? You're not coming down with anything, are you?”
Oh, good idea. If she was sick, she wouldn't have to go. “I don't know,” she said. “I just can't sleep.”
“Would you like me to make you some warm Coke?” her father asked.
She looked at him uncertainly. “Would that help?”
He laughed. “No.” He sat down on the stairs, indicating for her to sit next to him. “What's wrong? Are you still upset about this weekend?”
Well—yeah. But, she shrugged. “I don't know. I thought it was going to be just us.”
“She's running for President,” he said. “There's no way it's going to be ‘just us' for a long time.”
Meg slouched down, not wanting to hear that.
“Oh, don't worry.” He put his arm around her. “It's not going to be that bad.”
If they had to do stupid politics the whole time, they weren't even going to get to
ski
. “Will people be taking our pictures all over the place and asking questions and everything?” she asked.
He nodded. “Probably.”
“Sounds like fun,” she said grumpily. “What am I supposed to say to reporters?”
He sighed. “We've gone over that, Meg. Just be polite and friendly. And don't worry about it. Your mother's staff will keep them out of the way—that's what they're there for.”
Meg kicked at the bottom stair with her right foot.
“World champion fretful child,” her father said.
Yeah. So? “Don't make fun of me,” she said.
“I'm sorry. Look,” he kissed the top of her head, “please don't worry. It's going to be fine. All you have to do is stand there and smile.”
Right. “Look daft, you mean?” she asked.
“I'll buy that,” he said, grinning. “But, it's really going to be fine.”
Not likely, but she didn't want him to call her fretful again. “Do you promise?”
He nodded.
“Can I quote you on that?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said.
 
THEY GOT TO Stowe right before dinner on Friday night. The place was packed with reporters and cameras, and her mother's staff was very excited. Her mother had a press conference, and then, there was a quick photo session, naturally. They ate at the Tavern at the Inn, a dinner which wasn't exactly restful, but they
were
together, as her father kept pointing out.
By the time they finished, it was too late to do much of anything else, although she and Steven and Neal—and an advisor named Nasira who had gotten her PhD when she was only about twenty-three, and was an expert on the Middle East, particularly issues relating to Iran—went down to the game room and played pool and air hockey for a while. Her parents had rented a townhouse for the family, and the campaign had taken over part of the nearby conference center, as well as a couple of condominiums and a block of rooms at the Inn itself for the ever-expanding staff. Her mother's formal Secret Service protection hadn't started quite yet, but she noticed that a bunch of agents and other security people seemed to be around the resort, too.
Steven and Neal ended up going to bed pretty early, so that they'd be wide awake for skiing in the morning. Meg wasn't tired, so she hung out down in the living room, watching the same kind of endless strategy session that she usually saw around the kitchen table or out on the patio. And, as usual, her father was making jokes that only her mother seemed to think were funny. Everyone else was too busy being serious, and she wished that Preston had been able to come, since everyone would be a lot more relaxed if he was there. Although, as far as Meg could tell, Glen and Linda
never
had a good time.
After about an hour, she gave up, deciding that the meeting was never going to end.
“Going to bed?” her father asked, as her mother flipped through a thick sheaf of reports and briefing books.
“Yeah.” She nodded. “I'm pretty tired. Are you guys going to do this all night?”
“We're going to call all of the other candidates, see when they're going to bed, and stay up fifteen minutes longer,” her father said, and her mother laughed, touching his shoulder with a caressing hand, without looking away from what she was reading.
“Well,” Meg said, self-consciously. “Good night.”
Her mother took out just enough time to smile at her. “Eight o'clock breakfast sound good?”
“Yeah.” Meg shrugged. “Sure. Good night,” she said to the room in general, getting a couple of nods, a couple of good nights, and a couple of grunts in response.
“Don't stay up too late,” her father said, “okay?”
“But I'm expecting someone,” Meg said, amused to see three sharp glances from campaign people.
Everyone seemed very busy and distracted, so she went upstairs, feeling a little lonely. She could watch some television, maybe, or go online—but, she didn't really feel like it. Since it wasn't going to be a family weekend, she should have asked if Beth or someone could come along. But, the five of them were
supposed
to be spending time together, so it wouldn't have seemed right to invite any of their friends. It would be a lot more fun if she had, though. She stood at the top of the stairs, listening as a man named Jim—who had worked on every Democratic Presidential campaign for the last thirty years—droned on and on about New Hampshire and the early primaries. Well, her leaving sure hadn't upset things much.

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