The President's Daughter (18 page)

“Oh, Dina, I’m sorry. There’s just no easy way to do this. It never occurred to me that you’d think I was sick again.” Jude sat next to Dina on the steps and wrapped her in her arms, just as she had so many times over the years when something or other threatened to break her daughter’s heart.
Oh, if things could only be so uncomplicated again . . .

“I’m not sick, sweetheart.” Jude rocked her just slightly, savoring the feeling and wondering if she and her daughter could ever again be as close as they were at that moment. “I’m afraid it’s nothing quite that simple.”

“Simple?” Dina’s jaw all but dropped. “Simple? I’d hardly call what we went through a few years ago simple.”

“Well, once you hear what I have to say, you may wish that that had been the news.”

“Mom, are you crazy?” Dina was horrified. “There’s nothing—nothing—you could say that could be worse than that.”

“Save your judgment till you’ve heard me out.” Jude paused, praying for some last-minute divine inspiration. When none was forthcoming, she took Dina’s hands in her own and asked, “Do you remember when Simon stopped by here a few weeks ago?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you remember why he said he’d come here?”

“To ask you about an old friend of yours from college. Did you ever find out why he wanted to know about her?”

“Oh, I knew what he wanted to know and I knew why. But at the time, I just didn’t know how much he knew.”

“Mom, you’re not making any sense.”

“You were right when you said that anyone would have expected Blythe and me to stay close after having roomed together for three years. We had.”

“So what was he looking for? What had she done? What was the big secret?”

“She . . .” Jude swallowed hard.
Here we go. . . .
“Blythe had an affair with Graham Hayward. President Graham Hayward.”

“Holy shit!” Dina’s eyes widened. “Your friend was sleeping with the President? Wow, Mom, you must have run with a racy crowd back then.”

“Not at all. Blythe’s relationship with Graham was not a casual fling. Oh, maybe it started out as merely a flirtation between a powerful man and a beautiful young woman, I don’t know. I didn’t know how it started.” Jude looked skyward. So much more to say, and she didn’t want to continue. . . . “Blythe said that they were soul mates. That they were deeply in love.”

“And that’s what Simon wanted to talk to you about? About your friend’s affair with the President?”

“Yes.”

“Couldn’t he have found that in newspapers or magazines from the seventies?”

“Back then, things weren’t as openly discussed. Actually, no one knew about their affair. The ironic thing is that he—Graham—had this reputation for being so moral. A great family man—”

“And no one who knew about it spilled?” Dina nodded. “Impressive that he was able to keep the lid on it. But I don’t know what all this has to do with you and why you’re so upset about it.”

“Well, the piece of the story that Simon Keller hadn’t known about when he first came here was that Blythe had had a child by Hayward.” Jude’s eyes began to well with tears, but she forced her voice to remain steady. “A baby girl. A few months later, Blythe died. . . .”

“I’m sorry about your friend, Mom.” Dina patted her mother’s shoulder. “What happened to the baby?”

Jude took one last long, deep breath.

“I raised her as my daughter.”

Dina’s head tilted slightly to one side, as if she was trying to understand. “I’m not following this. I’m confused—”

“You were that baby, Dina.”

“Mom, that’s crazy.”

“It’s the truth.”

“No, it isn’t.” Dina shook her head. “No, it’s not.”

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

“No. No, this can’t be true.” Dina pushed Jude away and stood on trembling legs.

“I know I should have told you a long time ago. But I promised her and then—”

“No. I don’t believe this.” Dina began to pace. “How could this be? I don’t understand.”

“Dina, please sit down and let me explain. . . .” Jude reached for Dina’s hands and found them suddenly cold. She began to rub them the way she had when Dina was little and had just come in from playing in the snow.

“Explain?” Dina pulled her hands away and appeared blank for a long moment. “How can you explain that I’m not your child?
I’m not your child?
”

“I think you need to hear the entire story.”

“There’s more?” Rage began to replace the confusion in Dina’s eyes. “You’ve been lying to me all my life. Isn’t that enough?”

“It wasn’t because I wanted to—”

“How could you have lied to me
all of my life
?” Dina was shaking from head to toe. “How could you not be my mother?”

“Dina . . .” Jude whispered, feeling more helpless than she ever had.

“Who are you?” Dina cried. “Who are you if you’re not my mother?”

“Dina, please, if you’ll calm down and listen—”

“Calm down? You tell me that everything I ever thought I knew about you—everything I knew about myself—is a lie, that my whole life, my whole existence, is a lie, and you think I should calm down?”

Dina’s breath began to come in sharp, shallow spurts, and tears ran down her face. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because after Blythe died, your father made me swear not to.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he was afraid for you. Afraid that someone would want to harm you if the truth came out.”

“Why?”

“Because Blythe’s death had not been an accident. You were only a few months old when she died.” Jude knew she was leaving out a lot but figured this was probably not the time to go into detail.

“Why are you telling me now?”

“Because after what happened tonight . . . I just can’t believe that it’s coincidence. And I can’t justify risking another ‘accident.’ I’ve already put you at risk by not telling you sooner.”

“You don’t think it was Simon, do you?”

“No . . . I don’t know what I think. I don’t know who to trust or who to turn to.” Jude rose, wringing her hands. “I can understand how shocked you are, how hurt you are, and I’m more sorry than I can ever say. Yes, I’ve lied to you all your life. I won’t blame you if you hate me, if you leave and never come back. But through the years, I’ve done the best that I could to keep you safe. Even now, nothing is more important to me than your safety.”

“Will you tell me everything?” Dina studied the face of the woman who stood before her.

Jude nodded, her sad eyes never leaving her daughter’s face. “I met Blythe my freshman year in college. We had one or two classes together and lived on the same floor in the same dorm, but that’s all we had in common. She was beautiful and rich and everyone admired her. I was poor and only managed to get to college with heavy financial aid. Somehow we became friends—no one was more surprised than I was when she asked me to room with her sophomore year. Our personalities just seemed to complement each other, and over the years, we became the best of friends. That friendship lasted until the day she died.”

Jude swallowed hard. All else aside, it was still sometimes difficult to speak of Blythe.

“Anyway, after college, I went right to Arizona to attend graduate school. Blythe went to Europe for six months, then decided to live in D.C. Her father was Ambassador to Belgium and kept an apartment there.”

“How did she meet President Hayward?”

“She first met him at a reception that she attended with her father. Their paths crossed several times after that, when she’d been invited to attend a dinner in honor of a Belgian artist after her father had returned to Brussels. After that, I’m not really certain how the relationship progressed. I do know that over the following year or so Blythe attended a lot of White House functions as the date of the President’s best friend. A man named Miles Kendall.”

“That name is familiar.” Dina frowned.

“He’s been in the news. He died recently.” Jude rubbed her temples. “Simon Keller had met with Miles while beginning the research for his book on Hayward. Miles was suffering from Alzheimer’s. He apparently told Simon about the affair.”

“And told him that Blythe had had Graham’s child?”

Jude shook her head, “I’m not certain that he hadn’t figured that out for himself.”

“How?”

“He’d paid a visit to Blythe’s sister, who’d apparently shown him photos of Blythe. When he came here seeking information about Blythe’s affair with Hayward, I don’t think he had any idea that there had been a child.”

“Then how did he know?”

“I think he knew as soon as he saw you that you were Blythe’s child. You look so much like your mother, Dina.”

Dina winced at the reference.

“I’m sorry, honey, but anyone who knew Blythe would know whose daughter you really are.”

“Then how did you think you could hide it?”

“Here, in this small town, the chances of running into anyone who had known Blythe Pierce were pretty remote.”

“That’s why you didn’t want me to go to school so close to D.C.,” Dina said.

Jude nodded.

“How did Simon find you?”

“Blythe’s sister told him where I was.”

“Does she know about me?”

“Yes.”

“Then why would she tell him where to find you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure that out myself.”

“Have you asked her?”

“No. It’s been a while since we’ve been in touch. We had a disagreement some years ago.”

“Why?”

“Because Betsy wanted . . . to be a bigger part of your life than I felt she should be. She wanted you to know your Pierce relatives, but I resisted. I said that I was afraid that the situation would be too confusing to you as a child. You’d wonder what your connection was to Betsy. But looking back, I think the real reason was that I was selfish and shortsighted and utterly wrong. I knew that eventually I’d have to tell you everything, but I just kept putting it off and putting it off. . . .” Jude spread her hands helplessly before her. “I’ve always thought of you as mine, Dina. I can’t help it. I know that someone else gave birth to you, but I’ve always felt in my heart that you were mine. I’m sorry. I know it’s not a good-enough reason to have kept you from your . . . blood relatives . . . all these years. But I loved you so much, wanted so much for it to be true—”

“I can’t hear any more.” Dina clapped her hands over her ears. “I just can’t hear any more of this.”

“Dina . . .” Jude rose to follow her.

“Don’t.” Dina held up a hand as if to keep Jude away. “I need to go. I need to get out of here.”

Dina fled through the gate that stood between the garage and the house.

“Dina . . .” Jude called from the gate.

Dina was halfway down the driveway when she stopped and looked back to ask, “Did she name me, or did you?”

Jude leaned against the gate and held on to it for support.

“She did,” Jude whispered. “It was her grandmother’s name.”

Dina turned and ran, trying to escape from words she could no longer bear to hear and a reality she could not comprehend.

A tearful Jude let her go, knowing that all she could do was pray that once the shock had passed Dina would forgive her. And that someday maybe she’d be back.

Not true, not true, not true, not true, not true . . .

The words echoed over and over and over in Dina’s head, like a bell that would not stop ringing.

She parked her car in front of the carriage house, though she barely recalled having driven home, and simply sat there, staring blankly out the window, trying to make sense of what had happened. The hollow area inside her had spread until she felt empty, as if everything had been removed and the void where her organs had once rested had been filled with a terrible chill.

From an open window somewhere she heard a phone ring several times. With no sense of urgency, she opened the car door, slid out, and walked woodenly into her house. She sat on the edge of a small side chair in her living room and looked out the window with eyes that saw nothing beyond the frame.

How can you not know that your
mother
isn’t really your mother? And this man who had been her father . . .

A former President of the United States.

How absurd. Who could believe such a thing?

Dina picked up the photo of Frank McDermott that stood on a nearby table, the same photo that was prominently displayed in Jude’s home. “Who did you think I was? Did you know the truth?”

A million questions gathered, ebbed and flowed, until Dina’s head began to pound. There was no escape from the incessant buzz between her ears. She went upstairs and lay across her bed, hugging her pillow.

There was a family she had never met, had never even heard of until this day. Blythe had had a sister, Jude had said.

I have an aunt.

Are there grandparents, then, too? Cousins?

Did Hayward have other children? There was a son, wasn’t there? A congressman or senator, something . . . Dina thought she recalled hearing something about him. Were there other offspring?

Do they know about me?

Blythe’s sister knows about me. . . .

From some place deep inside the barest remnant of a long-forgotten image emerged. Dina closed her eyes and was, for the briefest of moments, enveloped by scent. Gardenia, she recognized it now, though she was certain that at the time she did not know its name or the name of the woman who wore it. That she had been tall and blond and had kind eyes Dina remembered, even as she remembered the touch of the softest fabric against her cheek when the woman knelt to embrace her.

Her fairy godmother. That’s how Dina had come to think of the woman who always arrived laden with a mountain of beautifully wrapped presents. Always on birthdays, always on Christmas, sometimes just because. Dina tried to remember the woman’s voice, but it was too far lost in time. The visits had stopped the year she turned five. She’d never gotten a clear explanation of why, and though the woman had appeared in her dreams for several years thereafter, over time the memory had faded.