The President's Daughter (16 page)

Waylon barked at the back door to go out, and Jude moved like a zombie to the kitchen. She unlatched the door and stepped out onto the porch, then curled up in the far corner of the porch swing. She’d never felt so alone or so empty. Not since the night that Miles Kendall had called to tell her that Blythe—her best friend, her dearest friend in the whole world—had been run down on a Washington street and had been killed instantly.

That night Jude had sought a dark haven, driving out to the desert and turning off the car lights, Blythe’s baby girl asleep in the basket on the car seat behind her. Jude had gotten out of the car and walked just far enough from it so that her sobs would not awaken the infant and sat in the sand, her face in her arms, and wept until she was hoarse and exhausted.

Jude had stared up at the stars that night and relived every moment of the past year, from the afternoon she’d arrived back at her apartment to find Blythe sleeping on her sofa. Blythe had charmed the superintendent into letting her in, she told Jude with a grin. Blythe’s sister, Betsy, always said that she’d never met anyone who was immune to Blythe’s charm. Certainly Jude’s super wasn’t going to be the first.

“So. To what do I owe the honor?” Jude had asked over dinner—takeout from a fine restaurant that normally only did dine-in, but Blythe had worked her magic on the maître d’ and had returned armed with brown bags from which wonderful aromas wafted.

“I needed a little vacation,” Blythe said.

“The Riviera too crowded this month?”

Blythe grinned. “Yes. Actually, it is.” Then, “Actually, I was thinking about staying for a bit.”

“Here? In Phoenix? I thought you loved Washington.”

“Oh, I do. I do love Washington,” Blythe sighed. “There’s simply no place like it in the world, Jude.”

“Especially if one travels in such heady company.”

“It’s the heady company I need to distance myself from for a while.”

Jude left her fork on the side of her plate. “Okay, out with it.”

“I’m in love,” Blythe had told her, her eyes glistening. “Absolutely, totally head-over-heels, once-in-a-lifetime in love.”

“And I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that the lucky fella is equally smitten.”

Blythe nodded. “I can barely believe it myself. But he is.”

“What’s not to believe? I’ve yet to meet the man who hasn’t been grateful just for an opportunity to kiss your feet.”

“This man is different.” Blythe’s expression was un-characteristically solemn.

“Now, are we talking about the White House aide you mentioned?”

Blythe shook her head slowly.

“Someone else? Someone new?”

Blythe seemed to struggle for long moment.

“Actually . . . no.” Blythe bit her bottom lip, then said, “I haven’t exactly told you the truth about something.”

Jude’s eyebrows lifted. Not because her friend had kept something from her—everyone was entitled to their secrets—but because Blythe’s eyes had gone so dark.

“The man I told you about on the phone—Miles Kendall—I haven’t really been seeing him. I mean, yes, I’ve been going to parties and dinners and things with him, but not to be with him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I went with Miles so that I could see the man I’m really seeing, but I can’t see him publicly, so . . .”

“So Miles is the ‘beard,’ as the saying goes?”

“Exactly.”

“So, let me guess, the man you’re in love with is married.”

Blythe nodded slowly.

“Oh, sweetie, that usually doesn’t work out very well.”

“There’s a little more to it, Jude,” Blythe said softly.

“I was afraid there might be.” Jude reached behind her for the tissue box and brought it to the table just as the first of Blythe’s tears began to fall. “Go ahead, sweetie. Get it all out.”

“He’s not only married, but he’s . . . he’s . . .” Blythe struggled, the words caught in her throat.

“He’s . . . what? Much older?”

Blythe nodded.

“Has kids?”

Another nod.

“This is not good, Blythe.”

“You haven’t heard the worst of it yet.”

“What could be worse than an older married man who has children?”

“An older married man who has children and happens to be the President.”

“The President of what?” Jude frowned.

“Of the United States.”

It was a long moment before Jude could react.

When she did, it was to laugh. “Blythe, that’s ridic . . .” Her laughter caught in her throat. Blythe’s face was white and drawn, and it was obvious to Jude that her friend was not joking. “Graham Hayward?” Jude all but fell into her dinner plate. “You’re having an affair with
Graham Hayward
?”

Blythe whispered, “Yes.”

“Graham ‘High Road’ Hayward? Graham ‘I’ll never lie to the American people’ Hayward?”

“Stop it, Jude. This is difficult enough.”

Blythe covered her face with her napkin. “There’s more.”

“No. Don’t tell me.” Jude leaned all the way back in her chair.

“I’m due in late September.” The whispered words were thin and formless and hung in the air between them.

“I can’t believe this. How could . . . oh, hell, what’s the difference now?” Jude muttered. “For heaven’s sake, Blythe, what are you going to do?”

“I’ve been trying to work it all out.” Blythe tried to smile. “Want to hear the short version?”

“Sure.”

“I’d like to move out here with you, if you’ll let me. We’ll get a house. I’ll go back to D.C. from time to time, until Graham is finished.”

“Until he’s finished what?”

“His term. He’s thinking about maybe not running again, but of course no one knows that yet.”

Jude’s jaw dropped open. “He’s not going to run for a second term?”

“He’s only
thinking
about not running.”

“Why?”

“Because he wants to leave his wife and marry me.”

If the words had come from the mouth of any other woman, Jude would have laughed in her face. But this was Blythe Pierce speaking and if ever there was a woman for whom a man would be willing to give up his world, Jude suspected it might be Blythe.

“This hasn’t been easy for either of us. Graham has been married for a very long time. His children mean the world to him. He absolutely dotes on his daughter. And the last thing I ever thought I’d do is have an affair with a married man. It sure wasn’t something I was looking for. But there’s this . . . connection between us. It’s stronger than anything I could have imagined. I never intended for any of this to happen, Jude, I swear. But it did, and I have to deal with the consequences. Graham doesn’t want me to deal with it alone, that’s why I think he’s talking about leaving his wife and the office, but I think that’s guilt speaking. Frankly, I don’t want that to happen.”

“What
do
you want to happen?”

“I told Graham that I thought he should go for the second term, follow through the commitment he’s made, and then we’ll see how things are after he leaves office and is out of the public eye. I think it would be best for everyone, especially for his wife and children. By then, both of his kids will be out of college.”

“You know that he’s a shoo-in for a second term. Hayward’s the most popular President we’ve had in years.”

“I do know that. He knows that.” Blythe smiled wryly. “And we both know they’ll never let him
not
run.”

“Christ, just like Prince Edward and Wallis what’sher-name Simpson,” Jude muttered. “Giving up the throne for the woman he loves . . .”

“Except the Prince wasn’t already married with a family and wasn’t the leader of the free world.”

“This is too much.” Jude pushed away from the table. “This sort of thing is way, way out of my league.”

Jude stood up and began to pace. “I never moved in your world, Blythe, and God knows I don’t understand it. You grew up on an estate where diplomats and other important people came and went all the time. I grew up in a rented house in a small town with a mother who waited tables and a father who pumped gas. I don’t even know how to react to something like this.”

Blythe reached out and took Jude’s hand. “Getting you as a roommate was the best thing that ever happened to me. You’re the best friend I ever had. If you don’t want to be involved in this, if it makes you too uncomfortable, it’s okay. I’ll understand.” She tried to make a little joke: “Hell, I’m not so sure I want to be involved. But I can’t walk away from it. You can. I’ll love you anyway. Always. I promise, Jude. No matter what.”

“If you’re asking me if I’m going to turn you away—”

“Not asking you if you’re going to.” Blythe’s smile was slow and sad. “Just making sure you know that you can. No hard feelings. Ever. I wouldn’t think any less of you. I know that I’m asking a lot of our friendship.”

“Whatever I can do, whatever you need me to do . . .” Jude swallowed back the lump in her throat. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to lease a house out here, under your name. I want you to live there with me.”

“What else?”

“Nothing.” Blythe looked away, then back again. “Just that you’ll take care of the baby for me if . . . well, if anything ever happened to me.”

“What do you think is going to happen to you?”

“Nothing. I’m sure nothing.” Blythe began to cry. “I just feel scared, Jude. For me and for my baby and for Graham, if anyone should find out about this.”

“Then we’ll just have to make sure that no one finds out.” Jude massaged Blythe’s shoulders. “Who else knows?”

“Just one or two friends of Graham’s, as far as I know.”

“Obviously people he trusts?”

“With his life.”

“And you can trust me with yours. And with the baby’s.”

Jude continued to knead the muscles in Blythe’s neck. “What are you going to tell your family?”

“I don’t know.” Blythe shook her head and wiped at her eyes. “My father’s retiring as Ambassador at the end of next year. It wouldn’t be good for him, certainly, for this to become public while he’s still serving.”

“And Betsy?”

“I trust her. She’ll always do what’s right.”

“You’re going to tell her who the father is?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Sometimes the truth can be a burden, you know?” She wiped her eyes and turned to look up at Jude. “I have everything else planned, though.”

“Okay, then, let’s hear it.” Jude sat back down in her seat, her head reeling.

“As I said, the first thing I’m going to do is find a house. I need something that is somewhat secluded, in the event that Graham can find a way to visit. I don’t know that that will be possible, frankly, what with the Secret Service and all, but I want him to have that option.” Blythe took a deep breath. “Then, I’m going back east for a week or so. I need to talk to my lawyer.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to make certain that if anything does happen to me, my baby is taken care of. I inherited a small estate from my mother.”

Jude smiled to herself, wondering just what constituted a small estate in Blythe’s world.

“And I want to name you as guardian.”

“Of course, sure.”

“I want to set this up so that if something happens to me, you’ll raise my baby. You’ll have full access to the money for housing, schooling, clothing, trips, whatever you want to spend it on. Whatever’s left the baby will inherit on your death.”

“Blythe, I think it’s always wise to look ahead, but . . . well, you just look so serious. What do you think will happen?”

“I don’t know, to tell you the truth.” Blythe’s lavender eyes clouded over. “I just want to know in my heart that if for any reason I can’t be around you’ll raise him or her as your own.”

“Of course I would.”

“You promise, Jude?”

“You have my word.”

The next few months had passed in a surrealistic blur. Blythe had found a house and leased it under Jude’s name. There had been Lamaze classes and late-night phone calls from Washington. Days when Jude returned from her classes and found Blythe floating in the pool on a raft, slick with oil and complaining about the heat. There were shopping trips where baby furniture was purchased and tiny garments oohed and ahhed over. Since Blythe’s only contacts were with other participants in Lamaze, there was no baby shower, a fact that Betsy—once the shock of her sister’s predicament passed—had lamented. She’d flown in two weeks before the baby was due, lugging beautifully wrapped packages from Philadelphia’s best stores and delighting Blythe by arranging for a catered lunch for the three of them so that Blythe could be showered with gifts as tradition dictated.

Jude had had no illusions about how difficult that time had been for Blythe, who, in spite of the situation, had never complained. After Dina’s birth, Jude and Blythe had celebrated with champagne and performed their own private christening, with Miles Kendall arriving to serve as godfather and Jude serving as godmother. All had gone so well. All had been so right. Dina was a darling baby and a joy.

Things should have just kept right on going as they had been.

Then Blythe went back to Washington to see Graham.

And in the blink of an eye, everything changed.

It had happened so fast that even now, years later, Jude wondered how such a thing could have been true.

There had been the call from Blythe, telling Jude how fine everything was. How happy she and Graham were just to see each other again.

Graham’s plans had changed, however. In spite of his protestations to the contrary, he’d been talked into running for that second term. Blythe hadn’t sounded at all surprised, nor was she upset with his decision.

“I knew they’d never let him quit. But I think it made him feel noble to tell me that he’d give it all up for me and for Dina. I don’t mind. We’ll have the rest of our lives to spend together,” she’d told Jude.

Then, two nights later, the second call. The one from Miles, who had had such trouble getting the words out.

It had been incomprehensible.

And Blythe’s death made no more sense to Jude now than it had thirty years earlier. . . .