Fonduing Fathers (5 page)

I put an arm around her. “I’m glad. He’s a keeper, Mom.”

Mom smiled. “He’s good for you, Ollie. Be kind to him. Try to stay out of trouble. For his sake.”

“I always do.”

She waved her bacon-flipper at me. “Don’t fib. You’re talking to your mother, remember.”

I was about to protest when Nana interjected. “Does he have any nice grandfathers you can introduce me to?”

When Gav finally emerged from the bathroom, hair damp, in a fresh T-shirt and jeans, my heart gave a happy little lurch. “You look great,” I said.

“And I smell bacon.” He came around behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Mom and Nana exchanged a look of admiration Gav couldn’t have missed, even if he weren’t a highly trained observer. “Everything’s ready. Have a seat.”

After breakfast, Mom took her turn in the shower. The moment we heard the water stream on, Nana clasped both hands around her coffee mug and leaned forward, whispering. “I’m glad she finally told you.” With a quick acknowledgment of Gav, she added, “You too. It’s been a lot for her to bear alone all these years, and I know she thought she was protecting you, Ollie, but facing the truth is always best. Your mom needed to unburden herself. She waited far too long, if you ask me, but nobody’s asking me, are they?”

I leaned across the table to pat her skinny arm. “You can spout off anytime you want,” I said in a whisper, then added in a more normal tone, “I don’t think we need to keep our voices down. There’s no way to hear conversations going on in the kitchen with the water running.” I winked. “Believe me, I tried lots of times when I was a kid.”

Gav’s eyes twinkled. “Some things never change.”

OUR FLIGHT ATTENDANT SET A WOBBLY GLASS of water in front of me and another in front of Gav. “Sorry about the turbulence,” she said with a wide smile. “The pilot says we’ll be above it momentarily.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I smiled and went back to paging through the in-flight magazine I’d pulled from the seat pocket, my mind barely registering all the unusual and expensive gadgets available to order. “When are we going to get to the good part?” Gav asked.

I turned. “Good part?”

“When you tell me precisely what you have planned,” he said, pointing a finger toward my carry-on, where I’d stowed the shoe box. “You’ve been too quiet for too long.”

I closed the magazine. “My first step will be to visit Eugene Vaughn, I suppose. That is, if he’s still alive. I was able to find a couple mentions of him online, but they were
from a few years back. There’s no telling…” I sighed. “This could be an enormous waste of time and effort.”

“And emotion,” he said.

Although we were the only two people in our row and were talking quietly, I didn’t want to get too specific when others might overhear. Gav knew that about me. It was one of my quirks he really appreciated. I smiled. Who was I kidding? He seemed to like all my quirks. He was so different from the arrogant man I’d assumed him to be when we’d first met.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked. “Your face completely transformed from a second ago.”

I laughed. “You.”

I could tell that my answer made him happy.

“I’ll do whatever I can to help,” he said. “Don’t be afraid to ask.”

“You know I won’t.”

“There’s not much you can look into right away, is there?” he asked. Carefully avoiding any mention of the White House in case of eavesdroppers, he added, “I’m surprised they’re asking you to come in to work this week. You deserve time off.”

I waved his concern away. “If it weren’t for their son,” I said, avoiding Josh’s name, “I wouldn’t have agreed to come in during my vacation.” I snugged an arm through his. “But he’s tough to resist.”

Gav shook his head. “You’re a good person. They’re lucky to have you there.”

“It’s nothing really. Just a few hours over a couple of days. Besides, if you and I had a whole week to ourselves with no interruptions, you might get bored with me.”

He pulled my arm closer. “Not a chance, kiddo.”

A thought occurred to me. I looked up at him. “You’re eligible to be buried at Arlington, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “I may not have ever known your father, but I can understand why that was important to him. For what
it’s worth, I believe in what you’re doing—what you’re about to do. No matter how I turn this situation, no matter how I look at it, it feels as though pieces are missing. Big pieces. I’ve never heard of anyone being ‘snuck’ into that cemetery. We’re not getting the whole story. I’d bet on that much.”

“Dietary supplements,” I said, shaking my head. “My dad went from being a decorated hero to heading information systems at a dietary supplement company.”

“A man with a family needs to put food on the table first. You don’t know what Pluto offered him, what kind of pay or benefits. They may have been the best game in town.”

“For a dishonorably discharged veteran.”

He sighed. “Let’s take one thing at a time.” I liked his use of the word “Let’s.”

“What do you suggest?” I asked.

He glanced at his watch. “You have to be in at…your job…early tomorrow, right?”

“About nine. Not too bad.”

“By the time we land, it’s going to be too late to do anything tonight. I have a couple of errands I need to run tomorrow, so how about we agree to tackle all these big questions on Wednesday? We’ll come up with a plan and get started first thing.”

“I appreciate you, you know that?” I asked.

“Your mom thinks you need to appreciate me more.”

“What do you mean?”

“While you were in the shower this morning, she and your nana asked me to keep an eye on you. Make sure you don’t get into trouble the way you usually do. They were quite vocal about how they think you ought to heed my advice.”

“You three talked about me behind my back?”

“Uh-huh. And if you remember, you, your nana, and I talked about your mother behind her back while
she
was in the shower.” He gave me a very pointed stare and gestured “come on” with his free hand.

“What?” I asked.

“I took a shower. I took one every day, in fact. I can’t imagine I escaped without a little ‘shower gossip’ going on behind
my
back.” He narrowed his eyes, but I caught the twinkle of amusement in them. “Time for the truth. Cough it up, Paras. You’re under interrogation.”

“They like you,” I was happy to tell him. “A lot.”

“Really?” he asked, looking far more relieved than I would have expected. “I’m glad. I like them both, very much. You come from a strong family,” he said. “They’re amazing women, and so proud of you. As they should be.”

I pulled away. “Back up a minute. They asked you to keep me out of trouble?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you say?”

All humor left his expression. “I told them the truth. That I will keep you safe, even if it kills me.”

OUR FLIGHT FROM O’HARE WASN’T VERY LONG, but by the time we’d landed at Reagan National Airport, I’d begun to doze. Gav nudged me as we taxied to the gate. “I slept through the pilot’s announcement and landing?” I asked.

“You were up all night trolling the Internet, remember?”

“True enough.”

Gav drove me to my apartment. Yawning, I asked him if he wanted to come up, promising to fix a late-night snack. He declined. “You have to be at the White House tomorrow, don’t forget,” he said. “Besides, I have a few things to do back at my apartment.” He walked me to my door, kissed me good night, and made sure I got in safely.

I was wiped. Whether it had been the emotional toll the trip had taken, the fact that I hadn’t gotten much sleep, or a combination of both, I didn’t know. But whatever it was, I was happy to be home. I tumbled into bed and was sound asleep within minutes.

“HOW WAS THE TRIP?” CYAN ASKED WHEN I arrived the next morning. With her red hair tied back as usual, and purple contacts brightening her wide eyes, Cyan stood next to our giant mixer, watching the massive beater turn as she ladled in what looked like vegetable broth.

Gav and I had decided to keep our relationship under wraps for as long as possible, so my staff believed I’d simply gone home to visit my mom and nana.

“Great,” I said. “How’s the kitchen?”

Bucky had been standing at the stove with his back to me, one hand manipulating a frying pan over a high flame, the other perched on his hip. From behind, with his bald head, he always reminded me of a slim bowling pin. He had a tendency to gesticulate, and though he took pains to hide it, a heart of gold. He turned and grimaced, which for Bucky, was as good as a smile. “Your buddy Virgil has been prancing around here like he’s the king. He’s off right now…” Bucky swirled a hand in the air, “…doing his best to appear useful without actually doing any work.” With a mischievous grin, he asked, “He doesn’t know why you’re back today, does he?”

“Nope,” I said, pointing at them both in turn, “and I prefer to keep it that way.”

Bucky turned the flame off and placed his frying pan on one of the cool burners. He gave his concoction an appraising glance, then turned to me, wiping his hands on his apron. “Why?” he asked. “Virgil never hesitates to rub his familiarity with the First Family in your face. They passed over him because they want
you
working with Josh. This is your chance to gloat. Why not enjoy it?”

“Tempting,” I said, tying on an apron. But it wasn’t, really. Even though Virgil got under my skin, even though I knew the look on his face would be priceless when he realized that I’d garnered some capital with this family,
thereby intruding on what he considered his precious turf, I knew that “rubbing his face in it” wouldn’t give me any true satisfaction. Did I want the First Family to prefer me over Virgil? Darned right I did. But while proclaiming “Nyah, nyah,” might provide a quick giggle, it wouldn’t do me any good in the long run.

I tried to take the high road where Virgil was concerned, convinced that someday it would pay off. Doing so
had
paid off—to a small extent—with Sargeant. After a recent skirmish we’d shared, he’d been better. Tolerable, even. If Peter Sargeant, our persnickety and easily aggravated sensitivity director could be tamed, there was hope for anyone.

“Virgil was uncharacteristically cheerful the entire time you were gone,” Cyan said.

“Figures. He likes it best when he thinks he’s in charge.”

Bucky made a face at his frying pan and I couldn’t tell whether it was because he was disappointed in its contents, or because of our topic of discussion. Ever since the new chef had joined the White House there had been some question as to how the reporting structure actually worked. Bucky had always been my first in command, but now the lines were blurred.

It didn’t help that Paul Vasquez, our beloved chief usher, had recently resigned to deal with family concerns. Doug Lambert had taken over as interim chief usher, resulting in the near-universal consensus that Doug was in over his head. Until his permanent replacement was appointed, the kitchen—and other departments in the White House residence—would operate in a state of flux.

“What do you have planned for Josh today?” Cyan asked.

“Pumpkin cheesecake and a couple of salad variations. He’s a smart kid and he’s eager. Above all else, he enjoys the creative parts. If I can incorporate a few rules as we work, maybe I can make learning fun.”

“You’ll be great,” Cyan said.

I glanced up at the clock. “I still have a few minutes
before I need to be up there. Anything else I need to know? Anything I missed since Thursday?”

“Not much,” Cyan said. “I don’t think—”

Bucky snapped his fingers. “Your tickets came in,” he said. “I knew there was something I meant to tell you.”

“For Saturday’s Food Expo?” I asked. “Excellent. Marcel will be thrilled.” Marcel, the White House pastry chef, known throughout the United States and his native France for his delectable treats, was scheduled to be a guest speaker at the Food Expo. He was nervous, yet delighted to have been invited to present and I’d promised him I’d be there for moral support.

“There’s one problem,” Bucky said.

Cyan held up two fingers. “Not just one.”