Page 70 of Solo

“Keeping tabs on me, are you?”

He sits back with an officious smile.

“I always keep tabs on my investments.”

I suck in a breath and try not to let my rage ratchet up any further.

“Yeah. You take care of yourself, Daddy,” I say as I turn to leave.

“Please sit down.” He sighs. “Let’s have dinner.”

I shake my head.

“No sir. Thank you, I’ve lost my appetite. I just want to go home.”

“To your ramshackle little apartment in the seedy part of town, right?”

“Oh God! Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I like my apartment. Not to mention, it’s what I can afford.”

He leans forward across the table, folding his hands in front of him. His negotiating stance, as I recall from my teenage days.

“Perhaps we can do something about that, Katherine. For instance, I might be willing to purchase a little condo for you in exchange for you accompanying me on a few campaign trips in the coming months. We might even be able to work out a stipend for your living expenses.”

All at once, I find my anger has been replaced by exhaustion. And resignation. I sink down into the chair next to him.

“Just tell me.”

He looks perplexed.

“Tell you what, Katherine?”

“Please, just tell me what it is that you want. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? Because you want something?”

He holds my gaze for a long instant before he speaks.

“I’m going to run for president.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Ah, yes, well. It’s all about optics, how things look. Being a widower doesn’t look as good as being married. But it does look better than being single. Especially if I happen to have a daughter by my side, supporting me, on the road with me.”

I’m surprised to find myself surprised. Just when I thought I’d heard it all.

“That’s why you wanted to see me?”

“Well, yes. Why, what did you think I wanted?”

I want to suppress the laugh that bubbles up from deep inside of my chest, but I just can’t seem to manage it. It comes out sounding a little like a cackle and my father does not look amused.

“Oh, I don’t know, I guess I thought… No, I guess I’d hoped that you wanted to tell me that you love me. That you’ve missed me. Maybe even that you’re sorry. But I could have even given you a pass on that last one if I thought the first two were true. But I see now that they’re not.”

“I’m not here to apologize for anything, Katherine,” he informs me. “Quite the opposite, actually. I think it’s you who owes me an apology. Your antics made me look weak and foolish in front of my colleagues—in front of my opponents.”

On impulse, I reach across the table and take his hand in mine. It’s big, warm, and soft, just the way I remember from when I was a little girl and he’d hold my hand.

“I’m so tired, Daddy,” I say in my sincerest tone. “I work really hard and I’m very proud of what I’ve accomplished. And maybe you had something to do with that. Maybe you pushing me out like that is what gave me the courage to fight for what I want. And maybe it’s what kept me from becoming an entitled, obnoxious socialite. But what you’re asking for? I’m sorry, I just can’t. I won’t pretend to be your daughter. Not in exchange for your money. And certainly not in exchange for your love.”

Before he can say anything else, I get up again, lean down to kiss his cheek, and walk out of the private dining room. I barely notice the cameras flashing around me as I exit the restaurant.