Diligence (Determination Trilogy 2)

by Lesli Richardson

  I keep my right arm draped around Chris, and my left hand holding Hudson’s.

  I’m still in shock, in some ways, even though I know I can’t show my true emotions. I have to keep them tightly capped and only express what the public will agree is an acceptable level of emotion without dipping into what might get labeled as histrionics or melodrama.

  I’m now a mom. Not taking them isn’t an option I even considered. They’re our kids now, and I will fiercely protect them, and love them, and try to give them as good of a life as I can.

  If I could graduate from high school a couple of years early, followed by college and law school, and end up president…I should be able to figure out how to be a mom.

  It’s a full military funeral, because Charles was an Army vet, but they are being buried next to each other.

  I know tomorrow’s front pages will show a picture of Chris standing and holding Hudson on his hip, both of them saluting Charles coffin. Or else it will be a picture of Chris’ tears as he wept when the officer knelt and presented him and Hudson and the girls with the folded flag that had adorned Charles’ coffin.

  I’m honored that State Senator Benchley Evans is in attendance, accompanied by his son-in-law, Susa’s husband, Carter. Benchley was a dear friend of Momma’s, way back when, even from before they were both serving as senators together in the Florida state legislature.

  Before that, Momma and Benchley worked for the same law firm. Benchley’s wife, Michelle, stayed home because she’s recovering from the flu and not feeling up to traveling. They attended my inauguration, but that was so crazy, and my attention was pulled in so many directions, that I was barely able to do more than say hello to them and hug them. I’d hoped to have a little time with Benchley during the inauguration. He gave us crucial advice during my campaign, sitting down with Kevin several times, as well as pulling a few strings to get support for me from moderate GOP supporters who were sick of Fullmer and his far-right Evangelical minority base.

  Chris, Kevin, Carter, and Owen have become quite close over the past several years, and not just because Carter and Kevin bounce ideas off each other and have formulated tactics lethal to the political opposition. They are also members of an exclusive club of powerful men who love powerful women, and who have secrets to keep.

  During the last several years, I’ve reconnected with and become closer to Benchley, and his wife. Momma named them my godparents when I was born, but since I grew up mostly in Tallahassee and their house was outside of Brandon, I barely knew them and they felt more like distant relatives. I remember spending time with them when I was a little kid. Once Benchley was elected to state office and serving in Tallahassee, I was usually too busy with my own studies and life to spend much time with him and Michelle.

  There will be a wake after the graveside service, but I’m not going. That would be a security nightmare. It’s already enough of one for Chris and the kids, but Lauren and Kevin will be with them. Chris made that call after I left the decision up to him.

  I’m not sure if it was husband Chris who decided that, Uncle Chris who’s now Chris the dad, First Spouse Mr. Bruunt, Special Agent Bruunt, or Priest, but it doesn’t matter—it was his call to make. The kids have been through enough, and will already be uprooted. I want Tory’s parents and Chris able to visit with family and friends without half an army surrounding them.

  I’ve already said goodbye to Chris and the kids and Tory’s parents, and they are making their way toward their limos. Carter is having a brief private chat with Kevin before they head toward the motorcade. Elliot, Leo, and other key staffers have already departed, some on their way back to the White House.

  I turn to Benchley. “You are still coming to the White House for dinner tonight, right?” I’ve wanted him and his wife to come up for a visit, but something always gets in the way, usually my schedule.

  Benchley flashes me the winning smile that served him so well throughout his political career. “Can I ask a favor, President Samuels?”

  I smile back. “Depends. I’m not allowed to nuke anyone, or so I’ve been told. And you can call me Shae. You’ve known me since I was a baby.”

  He glances around and leans in, dropping his voice. “Can I ride back with you now? Please? I’m tired, and I can send Carter on to the wake. I’d love to be able to say I rode in a presidential motorcade at least once in my life.”

  This I can do. He and Carter both have already been cleared for full access to us and the White House. It’s the least I can do for an old family friend.

  “Absolutely, Senator Evans.” I grin and hold out my arm for him to take. We almost lost him years ago to a serious heart attack, so I’m grateful for his presence now. My path to the White House was definitely smoothed by his sage wisdom about Floridian voters and politics. Kevin has him on speed-dial, I think.

  “I’m so proud of you, Shae,” he says as we slowly make our way at his speed down the hill toward The Beast with a circle of Secret Service agents surrounding us at a discreet distance. “Your momma…” He chokes up. “She’d be proud of you, too.”

  I blink back tears. “Thanks, Benchley.”

  Once we’re alone and underway, he sighs. “I have to be honest—I hope SusieJo decides she doesn’t want to go any farther than governor.”

  “Why?” That’s surprising, considering Benchley is a major GOP operative in Florida. Benchley is the last person I ever would have thought I’d hear words like that from. He would have run for governor himself had it not been for the heart attack. Michelle put her foot down and ended his career as an elected official once his final term in the state Senate elapsed.

  Didn’t end his involvement in politics, though, and he’s still a kick-ass attorney and political operative, although he’s mostly retired from law practice.

  “I don’t have to tell you this is a hard life,” he says. “It’s a lonely life.” He chokes up, which moves me because he’s not a man prone to emotion like this. “It’s a life of secrets, and she’s got more than enough on her plate already. Stress like that ages you faster than anything. I can only imagine what would happen if she ran for a national office.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. It’s part of the reason why your mom didn’t run for US Senate.” He looks at me, and there’s something deeper in his gaze.

  It makes me shiver.

  He continues. “You’re a mom now.” I watch him dab at his eyes with a handkerchief. “And I have a promise to keep.”

  I shiver again, remembering a promise of my own. “What promise?”

  “I promised your mother I’d give you something if you ever became a mom. Or, that it’d be given to you when I died.” He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, withdraws a small letter-sized envelope, and holds it out to me.

  I stare at it. On it, written in my mother’s distinctive script, is her nickname for me.

  Sunflower

  I can’t bring myself to reach for it yet. Instead, I look him in the eyes. “What is this?”

  “You need to read it.” He sighs. “Like I said, politics is a life of secrets. Some of them deeper and older than others. They get deeper the higher you ascend.”

  For a moment, I wonder if he knows.

  We have about forty-five minutes before we reach the White House, but I have a feeling whatever this is will shake me to my core.

  Finally, I take it from him and force myself to open it. It’s written in her hand, in blue ink, before Alzheimer’s started stealing her life a piece at a time. I wonder if she wrote it with her favorite pen, the one I gave her that she always used, the one that now sits in a pen holder on my desk where I can see it every day and remember her.

  Sunflower,

  As I write this, you’ve just graduated law school. Last night, after your graduation party, you came home and we shared a glass of wine and laughed and I have never in my life been more proud of you.

  I’m writing this now because I was recently diagnosed with Alzhei
mer’s. I haven’t told you yet because I didn’t want to add extra stress on you or spoil your graduation. It’s only a matter of time before I can’t tell you any of this, however, so I’m setting things in motion now.

  You claim you never want kids. I respect that. I know how life can take us in different directions than we expect, though. You might one day meet a guy who coaxes you to change your mind.

  I don’t know the circumstances under which you’ve received this note. If you’re receiving it, it means I’m not alive, or at the very least I’m not lucid, because I’d be telling you this myself. The man who’s given you this note, or who you’ve just inherited it from, was personally given explicit instructions by me to present it to you himself if he was alive and you became a mom. Or to pass it on to you with an accompanying note from him upon his death.

  I don’t know where you are in life right now, if you became president, or if you ever sought office at all and decided to practice law. I don’t know if you’re still in Florida or some exotic locale and living an exciting life.

  All I know is that I hope you are blessed and happy and fulfilled. And becoming a mom is a terrifying journey.

  There are things I never told you, things I never could tell you. They are things you need to know, because they are key pieces of your past.

  I’ve lied to you, Sunflower. And I hated to do it. I hated like hell. But I had to do it. I did it even when this man begged me to tell you part of it, once you turned eighteen.

  The first lie is that there wasn’t an accident—there was an on-purpose. The sonofabitch I was married to was beating me, lying to me, abusing me. He was a drunk and a schemer, and I didn’t know it until after I married him. I wanted to be a mom, an attorney, maybe even governor.

  He changed after I married him, and made me afraid, terrified.

  When I called in for work one too many times, a friend of mine was notified and he came to check on me. This man is important, Sunflower. This man saved me when I hit my rock-bottom and thought I’d ruined my life.

  This man is really your biological father. He had even more to lose than I did, and he took a huge risk by helping me. A risk in many ways. A risk that he freely offered to take, that I let him take, a risk I accept multiple layers of guilt for taking, and that I would do again because I got to be your mom.

  There’s a reason I never went farther in state government—I didn’t want further scrutiny on my life. As of when I write this letter, you don’t yet know one of the reasons, and I will keep that reason from you as long as I possibly can so I don’t add extra stress on you right now. The second reason was because of fear of discovery of a secret from my past, and this other man will tell you about that.

  I knew I couldn’t risk it. I proved to myself what I needed to, I proved to you what was possible, and I know that I made good differences in our state. I wanted to leave you a good example, not a scandal that might taint your future by my ancient actions.

  Hopefully, what I did with my life is enough to offset choices I made years ago.

  I hope this man is still alive. He stood back and silently watched from afar, helping only when I would let him, and let a dead, drunk, abusive asshole take credit for giving you life. I want him to finally be able to take credit for the selfless love he’s shown you all these years. And he has. He’s been there in ways big and small, for both of us, while having to maintain a distance because the last thing I would ever do would be to harm him or his other loved ones.

  Because of his sacrifices, Sunflower, I have you. You were my greatest joy, my greatest achievement, and the light of my life, baby.

  I’m proud of you, and I want you to finally know the truth. I owe it to him. I owe everything to him.

  And so do you.

  I love you,

  Momma.

  Chapter Thirteen

  My hands are shaking when I finally look up from the letter. It feels like I can’t breathe.

  Benchley’s gaze is focused out the window.

  He’s…crying.

  “We didn’t know if Michelle would even be able to have kids,” he hoarsely says. “She had problems, and we’d been trying for so long. Your mom and I worked at the same law firm when I first graduated law school. She actually hired me there. She was seventeen years older than me. She helped me land my job as county administrator just a couple of years later.”

  He looks down at his hands, which are gnarled with arthritis and wrinkles and tremble for a different reason than mine now do.

  “I knew something was wrong when she married that sonofabitch,” he continues, “but she seemed happy, so none of us said anything. She wanted to be a mom more than anything. Then, about six months in, I hear rumors from people still at the law firm that she’s been missing work, wearing sunglasses and hats, heavy concealer, shit like that.”

  He finally looks at me. “One of the guys at the law firm called me one day and warned me she was out ‘sick’ again. I’d asked them to keep me posted. So I drove over there to confront her. He’d given her a black eye, beat the shit out of her.

  “I said let’s go report it, get the bastard arrested, and she begged me not to, because she was afraid what would happen to her reputation. Apparently, he had taken pictures of her naked. Now, I know that’s not really a big deal now, but back then? It would have ruined her if he’d released them. He swore he would do it, too, if she divorced him or reported him to the cops. She wanted to run for office at some point. Turns out the fight was because he admitted to her that he’d had a vasectomy long before she met him, because he didn’t want kids. Nobody knew that, either. He lied to her when he married her.”

  He takes a deep breath. “She didn’t want to risk going to a doctor to try to get pregnant, because they’d want to talk to him, or it’d leave doctor records. And back then, in the early days, it was so expensive. It wasn’t covered by insurance, and there was no way for her to hide the expense from that worthless bastard. Plus she worried he’d hurt her or a baby if she got pregnant.”

  He sniffles, wiping at his nose with his handkerchief. “Remember, this is a long time ago, honey. And I was young, and stupid, and so damned angry that she’d been hurt. I said look, hell, I’d get her pregnant, if it meant she’d let me take care of the fucker, because he was going to kill her. I’d seen his type before. Then, once we were sure, he could meet with an accident, have him cremated, and she could list him as the father on the birth certificate.”

  My blood chills as I connect the dots.

  Benchley slowly nods. “And that’s what happened,” he quietly says. “It wasn’t an affair, really, because I loved Michelle and wasn’t going to leave her. Your momma didn’t want to do that to her, anyway. She loved Michelle. But we…” He chokes back a sob. “We did it until we were sure she was pregnant, and then I took him out fishing one night, and he didn’t come back.”

  I stare at him, stunned. “He went out alone.”

  “That’s what everyone was told. I sent your momma out in my boat. I got him drunk and drugged him and held him under until he drowned. Then she picked me up and we headed back to shore. It looked like he was drunk and fell overboard and drowned.”

  Which…was exactly what everyone thought had happened.

  Tragic, but a self-inflicted accident. Case closed.

  I remember reading about it once, when I was in high school. I looked up the old newspaper archives. When my father didn’t return from his fishing trip, Momma called Michelle Evans, because they were friends. She and Benchley went over and were with Momma while she talked to a sheriff’s deputy who responded to her call to report him missing. She told police she was worried about him because they’d gotten into a fight about how he was always out on the boat and not spending time with her, plus he’d been drinking. She’d begged him not to go out, but he left anyway.

  And Benchley and Michelle were with Momma the next day when her husband’s body was discovered floating near the Sunshine Skyway Bridge.


  “You were barely a year old when she transferred to Tallahassee and worked out of the law firm’s branch there, before she started running for office. She was afraid someone might think you looked too much like me.”

  He sadly smiles. “Thank goodness you are as beautiful as your mother. By then, Michelle and I had SusieJo. Your mom always felt guilty about that part of things, because Michelle was her friend, and here was a sister you couldn’t even know you had. She couldn’t handle the guilt. She wanted me to focus on my family. It’s not like you were aware there was any difference. Just the two of us.”

  He sighs. “Michelle loved babysitting you. Marlene named us your godparents because she was afraid if something ever happened to her, she wanted us to get custody of you.”

  I knew all that, but it wasn’t something I’d really thought about growing up, or…ever. They sent me birthday and Christmas presents every year, and every year I always made sure to send them thank-you notes.

  “When you were born,” he says, “I promised her that I would never challenge the birth certificate. That I would never tell you the truth, unless I was dead and left a letter for you to read later, or she gave me permission to reveal it. When she gave me that letter, she told me if you became a mom, she wanted you to know. To know that she loved you and wanted you so much that she was willing to do anything. And that’s the kind of mom she wants you to be to those three little ones—a mom who will kill and die for her babies. A mom who will stop at nothing to protect them, even if it means doing the wrong thing for the right reasons.”

  Tears still roll from his eyes, down his cheeks, and I realize I’m crying, too. I’m stunned, shocked, shattered.

  “I wanted to tell you after my heart attack,” he says. “But she said no, absolutely not. She promised that if I died first, she’d tell you. Except by then we already knew about her Alzheimer’s, so we knew she’d pass first.” He looks down at his hands. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he whispers.