Page 29 of The Americana Playbook

Fitzy

Don’t tell me not to worry when you’re in the one place I can’t get to you.

I told you I didn’t like this plan. You could’ve just showed up with me when I go.

It’s been weeks of back and forth figuring out how we get the ball in motion. If Fitz had it his way, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near the White House without him and would’ve shown up days from now when The New England Rebels pay their post-Super Bowl win visit.

If I don’t respond in an hour, go to the staff gate and tell the security guard you’re Walter’s son-in-law. By the time he grabs your elbow, you’ll have a Secret Service escort inside. Trust me, this works.

Fitzy

Did someone touch you?

I’m in the middle of responding when I feel eyes on me. I look up, and the secretary smiles.

“I’m sorry,” she tells me, speaking with a heavy Boston accent. “I can’t believe how grown up you are. I still think of that little girl in the ad when your father ran for senate. I worked on that campaign.”

“And now you’re here working for my mother.”

“It’s a pleasure to serve the First Lady.”

I try to keep the laughter to myself.If you say so.

The phone on her desk shrills, and she answers it. “You can go in.”

Standing, I look around, wonderingwhereI’m supposed to go when part of the wall opens. The outline of the door is so thin I didn’t even notice it before.

An agent nods at me. “This way, ma’am.”

Before I follow the agent, I turn on my heel, facing my mother’s secretary again and thank her. I want to leave a trail—not just ofme, but of what I’m going to do before I do it. “Thank you,” I tell her. “I’m looking forward to seeing you more as I help my father campaign.”

Timidly, the older woman reaches out, shaking my hand before I back away and follow the agent through the opening in the wall.

“Parker.”

I expected to see my mom, and I guess, considering Madeline orchestrated the initial meeting, it’s not odd she’s there. But my father, sitting in a chair across from my mother’s desk, is a surprise.

He stands, adjusting his white shirt sleeves that have ridden up his gray suit jacket, and walks over to me. Apart from a little greyer in his hair, he looks the same, as if campaigns and the presidency haven’t aged him the way I imagine they do other politicians. But Dad isn’t like any other politician. He’s Walter Montgomery. He wasbornfor this. That’s what everyone used to say. Honey, on the other hand, never quite felt the same about her only child.

“In our case, a spare would’ve been helpful.”

I can tell by the way Dad’s arms relax and his careful steps that he’s about to hug me. For a split second, I contemplate stepping around him. But I’m here to show good faith. I’m here to negotiate.

“Hi, Daddy.” I pat his back gently as he circles me.

I can’t, for the life of me, remember the last time we hugged. I guess it wouldn’t matter. I feel absolutely nothing except a bubbling rage. If I wasn’t standing in a place where one wrong move would land me tackled by at least a dozen grown men, I’d strangle him.

“Parker.” He steps back, putting his hands on my shoulders. “It’s good to have you home, sweetheart.”

“If you want to come home, you’ve got to follow the program,”I hear my mother say as I sobbed into the pay phone over a decade ago.

But I’ll never be home. Not with any of these three people, no matter where we are.

“You always have to make an entrance, don’t you, Parker?” Mom asks as I sit in the chair across from her desk. “We did leave you with a number to call.”

I smooth out the pleats in my dark grey skirt. “I thought you’d be happy to see me. I thought you might take this as a sign that I’m willing to do what you want.”

Mom tips her head as Dad steps behind her desk, next to Madeline. “It’s been nearly two weeks since we spoke,” she reminds me. “I figured you’d be too prideful to go through with everything.”

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