“What? I don’t look like a guy who knows how to make a buck?”
“Did you get a raise?”
He grinned. “You’re looking at a man with green flowing in.”
“Good for you,” I said, taking that as a yes.
We hurried outside, blinking in the sunlight, and Flynn hailed a taxi for me. I gave him a hug, double-checked that he didn’t want a lift at least as far as the hotel, and then gave the driver my destination.
He pulled out in the Michigan Avenue traffic and I settled back. The Magnificent Mile stretched out ahead of us, and I sighed, half-wishing I could tell the driver to just drive, drive, drive until I was certain that I’d stop stumbling over every bump in my life.
I loved The Drake and I loved my parents, but I knew damn well that seeing them was going to bring everything back.
Each day since Jahn died was getting a little easier. But then I’d turn a corner and it would be hard again. I’d catch the scent of his cologne. Or hear his name unexpectedly.
Or maybe I’d see the tears in my mother’s eyes.
I closed my own eyes and drew in a calming breath. This was one of those corners, and I needed to steel myself to get past it. To be strong for my parents, who’d always been strong for me.
The outside of The Drake has a sort of art deco vibe that I love. I could imagine girls in flapper dresses hanging out in the Roaring Twenties, much to the delight of the stuffy businessmen who were secretly thrilled to see so much leg and so much cleavage.
But while the outside got my imagination humming, it was the inside of The Drake that took my breath away. It didn’t scream elegance. It simply was elegant. A massive staircase leading up to a beautiful floral arrangement that was flanked on either side by stunning chandeliers. That was all you could see until you climbed those stairs and entered the fairyland.
I did that now, pausing at the top of the stairs to turn and face the magnificence of the Palm Court. My parents had first brought Grace and me here when I was seven and she was ten, and I’d been certain that we must secretly be royalty. The entire room glowed white, from the drapes on the columns to the upholstered chairs to the massive wash of flowers that seemed to bloom out of the fountain that was the centerpiece of the room.
I took a moment to push down my memories, then headed toward the hostess stand. “I’m meeting my parents,” I said, even as my mother rose from a table behind the fountain and waved at me.
“The senator’s table. Of course. I’ll take you.”
I followed, amused. He might have been elected by California voters, but even in Illinois, my father was The Senator.
“Sweetheart, you look tired.” My mom engulfed me in a tight hug, then stood back and examined every inch of me.
I shrugged, feeling seven all over again as I smoothed my sundress and straightened the sweater I’d worn to ward off the museum chill. “I’m okay,” I said. “Just not sleeping that great. The funeral and all.”
I still remembered the look of horrified impotence in my mother’s eyes when I’d told her about my nightmares after Gracie’s death. I couldn’t stand knowing that I was adding to what was already a terrible burden, and so the next time she’d asked, I’d lied and told her that the bad dreams had been a passing thing. Her relief had been palpable, and sacrificing the comfort of my mom’s hugs and soothing words had been a small price to pay to see that burden, however small, lifted from her shoulders.
“Where’s Daddy?” I asked in an effort to change the subject.
“We ran into the president of Trycor Transportation.” She nodded across the room, where my father stood by a table chatting amiably with a silver-haired man and two young girls who were obviously his daughters. “He’ll be back in a minute. In the meantime, you and I can order.”
Our table was far enough from the fountain and the harpist that we could easily hear each other. We ordered high tea and Earl Grey for all three of us, and then Mom dived into all the mundane life stuff. I settled back, comfortable with the warm familiarity of the conversation.
“How is Flynn?” she asked. I gave her a run down of his flight and bartending schedule, and she made maternal tsk-tsk noises. “Tell him he needs to seriously consider going to college. He’s too bright to simply ignore his education.”
I bit back a smile, remembering why Flynn had chosen not to join me at The Drake. “I’ll tell him.”
“And why don’t you and I take a trip home soon? We’ll take some time, get a bit of relaxing in. Maybe even drive up the coast and go shopping.”
“La Jolla?” I asked, knowing that had to be what my mom meant by home. Though the Washington lifestyle had fit both she and my father like a glove, they hadn’t moved there full-time. “I’d love it,” I said truthfully. “But I’ve been away from work for more than a week now, and things are going to be crazy when I get back.”
“I’m sure we can work it out,” she said dismissively, as if whatever issues I might have at work weren’t even worth bothering about. She lifted an arm, her smile bright. “Here comes Daddy.”
I stood up and folded myself in my father’s arms, and the comfort I found there was enough to make me forget my mother’s weirdness.
To my parents’ credit, we didn’t talk about Uncle Jahn or the funeral or the will. They seemed to innately know that I needed space. That I just needed them, and so we talked about Mom’s fund-raising and the various charitable organizations she worked with and the most recent legislation that Daddy was pushing and how well his new aide was working out.
As we’d been talking, the waitstaff had come with our tea and food, and now I took the final scone, slathering its sugared top with clotted cream before taking a not-very-ladylike bite.
As I did, my mom and dad exchanged a glance.
“What?” I said, afraid I was about to get called out for bad manners. “Did I do something?”
“I mentioned my new aide,” my father said. “That reminded me of something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Reminded,” I repeated. I wiped my mouth and took a sip of tea, then sat back and studied my father. He was not the kind of man who needed to be reminded of anything, and I realized with sudden insight that whatever he was about to say was the reason they’d come to Chicago in the first place. “Okay. I’m listening.”
“Do you remember Congressman Winslow?”
I shook my head slowly. “No.”
For the briefest of moments, my dad looked irritated. “Well, he remembers you. He’s serving his second term in Washington now, but before that he was in Sacramento with me. And every year he was one of the faculty at the legislative summer camp that your sister used to go to. He was even her mentor when she did the youth ambassador program.”
“Oh.” I nodded as if this all made sense. But from what I could tell so far, it was my sister the congressman remembered, and not me. “So what is the congressman up to?”
“Quite a bit, actually. He’s definitely a man to watch on the Hill. But most recently, he’s hired himself a new legislative aide.” He grinned at me, but I just shook my head, confused. “You, Angie.” He leaned over and captured me in a hug, then released me so that my mom could repeat the process from my other side.
“Did you get a raise?”
He grinned. “You’re looking at a man with green flowing in.”
“Good for you,” I said, taking that as a yes.
We hurried outside, blinking in the sunlight, and Flynn hailed a taxi for me. I gave him a hug, double-checked that he didn’t want a lift at least as far as the hotel, and then gave the driver my destination.
He pulled out in the Michigan Avenue traffic and I settled back. The Magnificent Mile stretched out ahead of us, and I sighed, half-wishing I could tell the driver to just drive, drive, drive until I was certain that I’d stop stumbling over every bump in my life.
I loved The Drake and I loved my parents, but I knew damn well that seeing them was going to bring everything back.
Each day since Jahn died was getting a little easier. But then I’d turn a corner and it would be hard again. I’d catch the scent of his cologne. Or hear his name unexpectedly.
Or maybe I’d see the tears in my mother’s eyes.
I closed my own eyes and drew in a calming breath. This was one of those corners, and I needed to steel myself to get past it. To be strong for my parents, who’d always been strong for me.
The outside of The Drake has a sort of art deco vibe that I love. I could imagine girls in flapper dresses hanging out in the Roaring Twenties, much to the delight of the stuffy businessmen who were secretly thrilled to see so much leg and so much cleavage.
But while the outside got my imagination humming, it was the inside of The Drake that took my breath away. It didn’t scream elegance. It simply was elegant. A massive staircase leading up to a beautiful floral arrangement that was flanked on either side by stunning chandeliers. That was all you could see until you climbed those stairs and entered the fairyland.
I did that now, pausing at the top of the stairs to turn and face the magnificence of the Palm Court. My parents had first brought Grace and me here when I was seven and she was ten, and I’d been certain that we must secretly be royalty. The entire room glowed white, from the drapes on the columns to the upholstered chairs to the massive wash of flowers that seemed to bloom out of the fountain that was the centerpiece of the room.
I took a moment to push down my memories, then headed toward the hostess stand. “I’m meeting my parents,” I said, even as my mother rose from a table behind the fountain and waved at me.
“The senator’s table. Of course. I’ll take you.”
I followed, amused. He might have been elected by California voters, but even in Illinois, my father was The Senator.
“Sweetheart, you look tired.” My mom engulfed me in a tight hug, then stood back and examined every inch of me.
I shrugged, feeling seven all over again as I smoothed my sundress and straightened the sweater I’d worn to ward off the museum chill. “I’m okay,” I said. “Just not sleeping that great. The funeral and all.”
I still remembered the look of horrified impotence in my mother’s eyes when I’d told her about my nightmares after Gracie’s death. I couldn’t stand knowing that I was adding to what was already a terrible burden, and so the next time she’d asked, I’d lied and told her that the bad dreams had been a passing thing. Her relief had been palpable, and sacrificing the comfort of my mom’s hugs and soothing words had been a small price to pay to see that burden, however small, lifted from her shoulders.
“Where’s Daddy?” I asked in an effort to change the subject.
“We ran into the president of Trycor Transportation.” She nodded across the room, where my father stood by a table chatting amiably with a silver-haired man and two young girls who were obviously his daughters. “He’ll be back in a minute. In the meantime, you and I can order.”
Our table was far enough from the fountain and the harpist that we could easily hear each other. We ordered high tea and Earl Grey for all three of us, and then Mom dived into all the mundane life stuff. I settled back, comfortable with the warm familiarity of the conversation.
“How is Flynn?” she asked. I gave her a run down of his flight and bartending schedule, and she made maternal tsk-tsk noises. “Tell him he needs to seriously consider going to college. He’s too bright to simply ignore his education.”
I bit back a smile, remembering why Flynn had chosen not to join me at The Drake. “I’ll tell him.”
“And why don’t you and I take a trip home soon? We’ll take some time, get a bit of relaxing in. Maybe even drive up the coast and go shopping.”
“La Jolla?” I asked, knowing that had to be what my mom meant by home. Though the Washington lifestyle had fit both she and my father like a glove, they hadn’t moved there full-time. “I’d love it,” I said truthfully. “But I’ve been away from work for more than a week now, and things are going to be crazy when I get back.”
“I’m sure we can work it out,” she said dismissively, as if whatever issues I might have at work weren’t even worth bothering about. She lifted an arm, her smile bright. “Here comes Daddy.”
I stood up and folded myself in my father’s arms, and the comfort I found there was enough to make me forget my mother’s weirdness.
To my parents’ credit, we didn’t talk about Uncle Jahn or the funeral or the will. They seemed to innately know that I needed space. That I just needed them, and so we talked about Mom’s fund-raising and the various charitable organizations she worked with and the most recent legislation that Daddy was pushing and how well his new aide was working out.
As we’d been talking, the waitstaff had come with our tea and food, and now I took the final scone, slathering its sugared top with clotted cream before taking a not-very-ladylike bite.
As I did, my mom and dad exchanged a glance.
“What?” I said, afraid I was about to get called out for bad manners. “Did I do something?”
“I mentioned my new aide,” my father said. “That reminded me of something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Reminded,” I repeated. I wiped my mouth and took a sip of tea, then sat back and studied my father. He was not the kind of man who needed to be reminded of anything, and I realized with sudden insight that whatever he was about to say was the reason they’d come to Chicago in the first place. “Okay. I’m listening.”
“Do you remember Congressman Winslow?”
I shook my head slowly. “No.”
For the briefest of moments, my dad looked irritated. “Well, he remembers you. He’s serving his second term in Washington now, but before that he was in Sacramento with me. And every year he was one of the faculty at the legislative summer camp that your sister used to go to. He was even her mentor when she did the youth ambassador program.”
“Oh.” I nodded as if this all made sense. But from what I could tell so far, it was my sister the congressman remembered, and not me. “So what is the congressman up to?”
“Quite a bit, actually. He’s definitely a man to watch on the Hill. But most recently, he’s hired himself a new legislative aide.” He grinned at me, but I just shook my head, confused. “You, Angie.” He leaned over and captured me in a hug, then released me so that my mom could repeat the process from my other side.
