Frank used the rest of the ride to go over in his head the most pressing congressional issues. The screwed-up election in Florida was making Washington crazy. Bush was still not confirmed, although he was about to announce his cabinet nominees. The senate was looking at a 50-50 split. The Democrats had vowed to fight John Ashcroft’s confirmation as attorney general. Committee chairs up for grabs. Politics in chaos. On top of that, a gunman had killed seven people in a Philadelphia row house and Mayor Street wanted Frank to join him for a press conference.
As Meredith and Elise chatted and Frank pondered, the car phone rang. The driver answered. “For you, Senator. Mr. Cleveland.”
Matt Cleveland, Frank’s young staffer and confidant, managed his calendar, making all decisions about allocating his time between the unending demands from D.C., and those back home in Pennsylvania.
“Bad weather tonight, Senator,” Matt announced. The copter can’t go. The Lear may make it out, but you’ll have to take off out of Wings Field. Of course, if you’re not in D.C. tomorrow, everybody will understand.”
The car had arrived at the Parnell estate and lingered in the circular drive. “I’d like to get back tonight,” Frank said. “But we just arrived at the house and I have to stay for the will. Call later with more specifics.”
As the driver came around to usher them out, Frank wondered what would happen to this stately mansion. Surely Dad would have willed it to Ashley. She still lived here, commuting to medical school at the University of Pennsylvania. Commuting via chauffeur, that is. Ashley, overprivileged, but so studious. On her way to becoming a doctor, just like her mom. Taking everything in life for granted. Frank doubted if she’d ever paid a single bill. Now she’d end up with the house, the cars, and the Mendoza couple to wait on her. Dad would have figured that no one else needed the house. Dan lived on a farm in Florida. Frank and Meredith had an estate on a horse farm in Bucks County; Rory had her place in Doylestown; Carla stayed at the Parnell apartment in Manhattan. That left Ashley. Too bad, it would have brought a bundle on the market.
With Elise between them, Frank and Meredith headed inside the house where all four of the Parnell children had grown up—not counting Rory, the interloper. The skies were still blue, no sign of the snow that had been predicted.
Once inside the house, Mr. and Mrs. Mendoza, caretakers of the Parnell estate for over thirty years, murmured condolences and took their coats. Meredith turned Elise over to Mrs. M., instructing her to have the child join the Stevens’ kids in the game room. Frank could hear the unruly chaos of kids chasing each other, squealing and giggling. You’d think that just this one day, Rory would insist on a modicum of decorum, but no, she believed in unfettered children at all times.
Frank took inventory of the priceless artwork displayed around the mansion, wondering absently whether he would dispose of Vivian’s favorites, the Monets and Sisilys, and convert them into money. Dad had certainly indulged that woman. His own mother, Kay, had come from money, but Vivian had worked her way through medical school, a single mother and a cardiologist when she’d met Paul. For the millionth time, Frank thanked God that Vivian had died before Dad. He could only imagine the fiasco if she had been left with financial control.
Frank and Meredith entered the living room hand in hand. With a stab of pride, Frank marveled at Meredith’s style: slim designer dress, black stockings, Ferragamo shoes with just enough of a heel to show off her legs. He’d often considered that her nose was a hint too large for her thin, oval face, but her large brown eyes, creamy complexion, and auburn hair swept dramatically off to one side more than compensated for that single imperfection.
Frank assessed those in the room. His brother, Dan, and Chandler Stevens, Rory’s husband, chatted by the fireplace. Although older than Frank by three years, Dan was held in poor regard by his brother. Dan had dropped out of college and dropped out of family affairs, and Frank could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen his reclusive brother in the past ten years. Frank had to admit that both he and Dan were aging well. Tall, slim, wavy sandy-brown hair. Jack and Bobby Kennedy look-alikes, people used to say. But unlike Jack and Bobby, Frank and Dan shared no common interests. Frank supposed that Dan would split as soon as the will was read. Dan had no interest in the family and no interest in the family’s money.
Across the room, Ashley and Rory were speaking in low tones. Frank couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he did note how horrible Rory looked. Eyes puffy, a frumpy dress that hung like a bag on her body, hair unstyled, no attempt at makeup. As Frank led Meredith toward them, Meredith leaned into whisper, “Rory could use a makeover.”
“She’s in bad shape,” Ashley was saying to Rory. “Her drug habit is out of control.”
They were discussing Carla, Frank’s youngest sister, half sister really. Not wanting to join that conversation, Frank changed course, letting go of Meredith’s hand. The front door opened and he heard the voice of his uncle, Sean Cardinal Parnell. For a moment, Frank felt disoriented. If it weren’t for the black clerical garb and the scarlet sash, the cardinal could have been his dad striding into the room. When they were kids, they’d been mistaken for twins even though Paul was two years older than Sean. Frank had been very close to his father, but his relationship with his uncle was strained, yet cordial. Meredith was Jewish and that hadn’t set well with the cardinal.
“Let’s go tell Carl that everybody’s here.” Meredith had returned to his side. He knew she just wanted to get this over with, go home to her horses, settle in, and start planning their next political move. Carl Schiller was Paul’s best friend, the founding partner of Meredith’s law firm and, to Frank’s chagrin, the executor of his father’s will.
“Frank, before we get started, can I see you for a moment in the library?” Carl said as Frank approached him.
Frank exchanged an annoyed grimace with Meredith, then followed Carl into his dad’s paneled oasis. The smell of old leather and pipe tobacco reassured Frank of his father’s allegiance. Here is where they’d first plotted the course of his political aspirations.
“Frank,” Carl said immediately. “Just so you know, with Paul’s will, I am reading it exactly as he instructed. He left me no latitude. None whatsoever.” Carl extended a frail arm to pat Frank on the arm. “I want you to understand that.”
The old man looked so stooped, much older than seventy-six, and his hands shook with Parkinson’s. But his voice still held that rich baritone and Meredith reported that, in the firm’s infinite wisdom, he was considered mentally competent.
“Certainly Meredith can handle any legal issues,” Frank said, perplexed over Carl’s remark. “She’s perfectly capable and since it’ll all be in your firm—”
Carl’s hands began to move as if he were rolling a pill. When Frank stared, he moved one hand to smooth his shoe-polish black hair. Meredith often made fun of the old man’s ridiculous attempt at vanity. “No, Frank, I’m afraid your father was specific, very specific. After the funeral your father specified that all the children gather here as well as their spouses and any grandchildren over the age of eighteen. And your uncle and myself.”
“Grandchildren?”
“Yes, Dan’s children.”
“Dan’s?” Frank could not suppress a gasp. “What? He hasn’t seen them since they were infants.”
“That concerned your father greatly,” Carl explained, but his normally steady voice shook. “He was very specific that of his eleven grandchildren, only those of age be present.”
“For crying out loud, you mean he’s counting Rory’s kids?” Frank figured Elise to be the only legitimate grandchild. Dan hadn’t seen his two kids in twenty-three years, and Rory’s eight had no legal claim.
“Certainly, Frank, you realize that Paul always considered Rory as his own. Right from the beginning.”
“Come on, Carl, what are you saying? One of his own? Not by blood. Not by adoption. Not by anything.” Frank could smell his father’s cologne, could recap al
l the discussions they’d had in this room.
“By intent, I would say,” Carl paused. “Paul always treated Rory as his daughter.”
Frank needed Meredith by his side right now. Should he call her in?
“We have to go back in now, Frank, but please understand. What happens this afternoon is as Paul insisted. I tried. Let’s go gather everybody up.”
Frank started to object, “This fiasco can’t be legal.” But he stopped as Carl had already turned to go. Frank had a law degree from Yale. That’s where he and Meredith met, but he’d never done civil work. Before going into politics, he’d been a prosecuting attorney in Philadelphia. Civil law was Meredith’s territory. And Meredith would stop this nonsense in its track.
CHAPTER THREE
Dan Parnell hated the north. Give him the Sunshine State and his palm tree farm, his dogs, his tractor, his beer, and a sports channel on TV. He hated not just the weather but the hustle-bustle, the bullshit. And he hated family affairs. He’d flown up for his father’s funeral, but he had no intention to hang around for the reading of the will. The darkening Philadelphia skies and freezing rain were enough to send him directly to the airport. But at the cemetery, just as he’d ducked behind a tombstone to sneak a smoke, Uncle Carl approached. He wasn’t really their uncle, but the Parnell kids had always called him that. And they called his wife Aunt Phyllis. But when Dan had dropped out of the Parnell family, he’d left the Schillers behind too. Half expecting a lecture, Dan stubbed out the cigarette on the bottom of his shoe. “Busted,” he said.
“Dan, you are coming over to the house afterward. Right?”
“Naw, I’m catching a plane back. Got new plants goin’ in. Besides, I can’t take this weather.” He shivered. Not a fake shiver, a genuine one. “This shit’s gonna turn to sleet.”
“You can stay at the house. With this weather they may close the airport.”
“Whatever. Need be, I’ll camp out on an airport bench. No biggie.”
“Dan, about the will—” Carl seemed like he needed to explain something.
“Look, I don’t want anything. Dad knew that, so no hard feelings. Okay?”
“Your Dad wanted—”
“Face it. I never really knew my father. After my mother died, I figure he’d just given up—forgot he had two sons. I don’t remember much about my mother either. So let’s just forget it.”
“Kay,” Carl put an arm around Dan, “she died so young.”
Katherine was her name, but everyone called her Kay. Dan had been seven when she was killed in a moped accident. She was thirty-five years old—eleven years younger than he was now. Vacationing with her parents in Bermuda. Dan and Frank had been home with a nanny, Paul had been on business in Europe. Kay’s parents died soon after, of grief, everybody said. Dan and Frank were raised for the most part by their paternal grandparents as Paul revved up his career. By the time Paul married Vivian, Dan was seventeen and off to the University of Miami. Now Vivian, too, had been dead for three years. Dan had nothing against Vivian, he’d just never gotten to know the woman.
Dan jerked his head toward the dispersing crowd. “Shouldn’t we be going?”
“Dan, it’s urgent that you come back to the house. Your father insisted that you be there.” Dan heard the pleading tone in the old man’s voice, but he’d be dammed if he’d sit through a greed fest.
“He’s dead, Carl. He can’t ‘insist’ on anything anymore. The rest of the family may give a shit about his money, but not me.”
Then Carl said words that shook Dan to the core. So stunned him that he started to shake.
“Gina will be there,” Carl had said. “And your children, Terrence and Carissa.”
Dan groped in his pocket for his pack of Camels. Carl reached to steady Dan’s hand as he lit a cigarette, but backed off as his own tremor intensified.
For so long—twenty-two years—Dan had lived with his cowardice, his stupidity. It had only been the past few years in Lantana, Florida, working his palm groves, that he had made a sort of peace with himself. He’d gone through every excuse. He’d been young. Insecure. But what remained was the truth. He’d been a fucking coward.
Their love story—Gina’s and Dan’s—came flooding back. He’d been twenty-one and she a year older when they’d married twenty-five years earlier. Both students at the University of Miami. He, from an affluent family, all expenses paid, a generous allowance. She, number eight in a family of nine kids that had emigrated from Puerto Rico, supporting herself with a partial scholarship, the maximum in student loans, and a job in the university hospital’s kitchen.
How many times had he revisited his decision not to tell Dad and Vivian about Gina? Sure, he’d had concerns that they wouldn’t approve of her. But, when he was honest with himself, he blamed his own selfishness. He’d wanted Gina for himself. Free of the Parnell family’s grasp. And so he’d led Gina to believe he, like her, was a struggling student. He’d claimed he was an orphan, and she had believed him. Gina, the most gorgeous woman in the world in his eyes. Dark long hair, black eyes that smiled and teased. Funny and smart. She was all his and he adored her. Even now, looking back, Dan couldn’t believe that he’d ever been so proud and so happy. Until it all fell apart.
Carl had been there on that day, and now here was Carl again urging Dan into the limo, telling him that he would today face her, face the depth of his shame. Dan puffed vigorously and hesitated, not sure whether to take the cigarette into the car. Finally he stubbed it out on his shoe bottom and flicked the butt into the bushes. Then he moaned, “Oh God,” suddenly realizing that Gina would not approve. He hadn’t smoked when they’d been together. She’d been such a health nut. What about his breath? Gina would find him repulsive. Fingers shaking, he fumbled in his pocket for one of those mint strips that disappear on the tongue.
“Dan? Are you okay?” Dan hesitated as Ashley met him at the front door. He stood, finger combing his hair, afraid to step inside.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dan mumbled. “Not used to this friggin’ weather.”
“Come in. None of us are really okay today. I can’t imagine living here without Dad. I still can’t believe he’s gone.” Dan knew he should say something comforting to Ashley. Her eyes were so red and puffy and sad. Of all the Parnell siblings, she’d miss Dad the most. She’d always lived at home and it was no secret that she was Daddy’s good little girl. Then Dan saw Carla standing beside Ashley with that faraway, stoned stare. Daddy’s naughty little girl. But Dan ignored both girls as he looked around for Gina.
And there she was, walking toward him, holding a cup of coffee. The cup halted halfway to her lips and lingered there. His first instinct was to run. Run to her? Run away from her? Could she hear his heart pounding? Dan just stood, staring. Gina hadn’t changed at all. Still that luxuriant black hair. Those dancing black eyes. Still so small. Behind Gina appeared a young man. Lighter complexion, but dark hair, cut short and stylish, and with Gina’s black eyes. Following him was a young woman who looked so much like Gina that day he’d met her on the University of Miami campus. Except his daughter’s glossy black hair was short, a blunt, chic cut.
Gina made the first move, guiding the boy and the girl toward Dan as his mind fumbled with the greetings that he’d been rehearsing for twenty-two years. Yet no words would come. He could feel all eyes in the room on him, but he was beyond all ability to react.
“Dan?” The same mellow voice, tinged with a Latin accent. “Dan?” she repeated as he remained motionless, not even accepting the hand she held out to him.
Dan said nothing, petrified that he’d do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing, something that would make her go away again. When Gina withdrew her hand, he realized that she must think this was a rejection. He saw her glance toward the boy, who shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “So what did you expect?” But he watched the young girl inspecting him. Then he felt the shame and embarrassment of tears trickling down his cheeks. He could only blink when the girl reache
d into her purse, pulled out a white embroidered handkerchief and handed it to him with a shy smile.
“Gina, everything okay?” Carl had approached, wringing his thin hands.
“Just fine,” she murmured, taking the handkerchief and patting away the tears on his cheek. The sensuous gesture caused everything in front of him to start to blur.
“Here’s Carrie.” She smiled at Carissa with obvious pride. “And here’s Terry.”
Terry reached out to shake his hand, and this time Dan was able to go through the correct motion.
“Hello,” Terry said simply.
“I think it’s time to sit down,” Gina nodded to the rest of the family. Taking Dan’s arm, she escorted him toward four empty chairs.
From that point Dan remembered nothing. Nothing about what followed; nothing about what was in that will. His mind was consumed with the mistakes of his past.
CHAPTER FOUR
Frank, his face a splotchy mix of pallor and angry red, grabbed Meredith by the arm as the family assembled in the living room. “For crying out loud, you’re never going to believe what Carl’s been up to.”
Meredith faced him, her dark brown eyes flashing a warning that Frank knew meant, “not now.” Then Frank realized that Chan, his nerdy brother-in-law, was moving into his conversational space.
“What’s up in Washington?” Chan asked. “This election fiasco finally over?”
“Looks like it. Congress formally tallied the electoral college.” Frank assumed his political speak, a reflex finely honed. He had no use for Chan, but for now had to put up with him for appearances’ sake. “Let’s hope the flack about butterfly ballots and mutilated chads is put to bed.”
“You never told me what happened at yesterday’s subcommittee meeting,” Meredith said. Frank suspected that she wanted to avoid a rehash of the contested presidential race. “Frank chaired his first subcommittee meeting on Technology, Terrorism, and Government Information. It’s an arm of the Judiciary Committee,” she explained.
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