The Right Maneuver, page 24
“That isn’t why she worked for Parker,” Will said as he quickly rose from his chair. “She’s not like that. She wasn’t trying to get back at you. She didn’t even know you were her father, Vincent. Her mother told her that her father was dead. She said that you…you died in a car crash before she was even born.”
Dupré frowned. “A car crash?” he mumbled as if in a daze. He suddenly turned to Will. “Wait, how do you know all this? How do you know what her mother said?”
Will cleared his throat. “Because…because she told me.”
“She told you?” Dupré’s tossed his newspaper aside. His frown intensified. “Well, what else did she tell you?”
Will sighed. “That she missed you. She missed never having a father around and always wondered what you were like, what you looked like. She wished she knew more about you.”
Dupré tilted his head as he searched Will’s face. “You seem to have gotten to know her very well.”
“Yes.” Will cleared his throat again. He figured he might as well share his own secret. “Yes, we became…friends,” he mumbled.
“Friends?” Dupré repeated, his stare now unwavering. “Rather close friends, I should say, if she told you all that.”
Will lowered his eyes. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yes, we were.”
“Were? You mean you aren’t anymore?”
“No,” Will said tersely as he turned his back toward Dupré, hoping that Dupré would change the subject. Wasn’t it obvious that talking about his relationship with Keisha made him uncomfortable? Couldn’t Dupré see the hurt on his face? Because Will felt it. The hurt weighed on him like a leaden shroud.
“Why not?” Dupré persisted. “What happened? If you two were such close friends—”
“Vincent, just like there are things that are painful for you to talk about, I have things that are painful for me to talk about, too, okay?” he said loudly, his nostrils flaring. “So can we just drop it? I’m telling you that she’s not angry at you. She’s not trying to get back at you. So let’s just leave it at that!”
Dupré’s eyes widened as he gazed at Will in surprise. Even Will was taken aback. He had never raised his voice to Dupré before, nor could he have ever imagined a circumstance when he would do so. But here he was, glaring down the older man, yelling at him to back off.
“Well, well,” Dupré remarked as a smile slowly crept to his face. “I guess my daughter must be one extraordinary woman.” Dupré slowly walked over to Will and rested his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “She’d have to be for you to fall in love with her.”
Will frowned.
The older man shook his head as his smile widened. “You had me worried for a second there with that whole ‘friends’ baloney.” Dupré snorted and rolled his eyes. “I may be old but I’m not in a coma. I know what that means. I’ve always known that you’ve had your share of friends, Will, being the ladies’ man that you are. But I’m glad to know that my daughter wasn’t one of them. It sounds like she meant a lot more to you.”
Will didn’t respond.
“So you really don’t want to tell me what happened?”
Will gritted his teeth and shrugged. “It’s an election and we’re playing for different teams so…things got complicated.”
“And you both decided to go your separate ways?”
“Yes,” Will said succinctly.
“Sounds familiar,” Dupré said with a grimace as he crossed his arms over his chest. “It also sounds like Keisha inherited a lot more from her mother than good looks.”
Will slowly nodded his head, giving a forlorn smile. “Your daughter is a very stubborn, very argumentative, and very proud young woman, Vincent. Once she gets fixated on something, it’s hard to convince her any differently.”
“But you love her, don’t you?”
“Yes, I did.”
“You did…but not anymore?”
Will gritted his teeth. “I don’t know. I think…I might…still love her.”
“There’s no think, son,” Dupré said flatly. “Either you do or you don’t.”
Will contemplated for several seconds before slowly nodding his head. “I do.”
Dupré frowned. “So why let history repeat itself?” he exclaimed. “So what if she’s stubborn? Shout her down if you have to! You don’t want to be like me, son,” Dupré urged, furrowing his brows. “An old man left always wondering what could have been. What could have happened if I’d fought Lena harder that night? What could have happened if I hadn’t left her alone in the apartment the next day? I should have stayed. I should have stayed and talked to her, but I was so angry and disappointed and…” He closed his eyes. “Look, don’t get me wrong. I love my wife. I love my children, Will. But I will always regret the way I handled that day. I will always regret that Keisha had to grow up without a father. Don’t let regret plague you for the rest of your life, son,” he said quietly. “It will make you bitter and old before your time.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do, Vincent? Knock her over the head with a rock and kidnap her? Tie her up and make her listen to me?” he asked, raising his hands helplessly. “She is set in her ways!”
“Just go to her,” Dupré said softly. “Not call her or email her. Just go to her and…I’ll go with you.”
This time, Will frowned in confusion. “You’ll go with me?” he repeated, wondering if he had heard Dupré correctly. “You’re serious?”
“Yes, I am,” Dupré said firmly, vehemently nodding his head. “Why wouldn’t I be? I didn’t get to meet her properly the first time we spoke and I don’t have another thirty years to waste hoping that the opportunity will come again.”
The two stood in silence for several seconds as Will considered the older man. “Well, if I am going to take you over to her apartment, you’re going to need to change your look a bit.”
Dupré’s hands instantly reached for his face. “Yes,” he said, running his hands over his stubbly, unshaven chin and then glancing down at his T-shirt and pajama pants. He gave a sheepish smile. “I don’t look very presentable, do I? It’s been a hard week. I will need to shave and change clothes, I suppose.”
“Not just that,” Will muttered with a slow shake of the head as he gave him the once-over again. “Do you have a hoodie and sunglasses?”
“A hoodie and sunglasses?” Dupré asked, a little confused.
“Don’t worry,” Will assured. “I’m sure Paul will have them if you don’t.”
Dupré frowned. “Wait, why am I—”
“You’ll need them if you’re going to see her, Vincent. You want your reunion with her to be private, don’t you? If that’s the case, you can’t show up at her apartment door in a suit and tie. All those reporters and photographers hanging around there will know instantly who you are. Why give the media more fodder to gossip about?”
Dupré slowly smiled. “You’re right, Will. I knew I hired you for a reason,” he said. “I should go to her in some type of disguise. I’m sure I have suitable sunglasses, but I’ll have to ask Paul about the hoodie.” He snapped his fingers as his eyes widened. The dullness of each iris had disappeared and the familiar bright gleam of Dupré’s green eyes was coming back. “You know, Will, I think I still have the fake pirate mustache from the Halloween costume party Sara and I went to last year. It’ll be perfect!”
Will cocked an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. “A fake…pirate…mustache?”
Chapter 31
“Do you want mayonnaise on your sandwich, honey?” Lena asked from the kitchen.
Keisha peered up tiredly. She sat on the couch Indian-style in a pink bathrobe and flannel pajamas, reading a book. Her thick hair was pulled into a haphazard ponytail atop her head.
“What did you say, Ma?” she murmured. She then glanced irritably at the ringing phone.
It had been ringing almost constantly for the past three days. She had unplugged it at least eleven times already, when she couldn’t take the steady electronic bleating anymore. Each time she would wait a few hours before plugging it in again, hoping that whoever was trying to call had finally given up. But that was never the case. The annoying bleating would resume and she would ignore it until it finally got to her. She was growing weary of repeating this routine.
“I said, ‘do you want mayonnaise on your sandwich’?” her mother shouted over the ringing.
“Mayonnaise is fine,” Keisha muttered. She then returned to the yellow-tinted pages of the book sitting in her lap.
“You plan to put on some clothes soon, KeKe?” her mother asked, peeping around the edge of the kitchen entryway.
Keisha glanced down at her pajamas and frowned. “I do have on clothes.”
Lena sighed heavily, tossed aside a dish towel, and crossed her arms over her small chest. She leaned against the door frame, cocked an eyebrow, and pursed her lips. “I mean clothes that aren’t pink and shoes that don’t have bunny rabbits on them, baby.”
“What difference does it make?” Keisha muttered. She flipped another page in her book. “I’m not going outside anyway.”
The two women had decided to hang out at Keisha’s place, determining that there was more strength in numbers. They had been hounded by reporters for days and neither one wanted to be cornered alone by a pack of photographers. They felt like prisoners, nay, cellmates, in Keisha’s third floor apartment but they refused to venture outside—at least, not until the media storm calmed down.
Her mother rolled her eyes. “Keisha, you can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“You’ve been acting depressed all week,” Lena exclaimed, flapping her arms helplessly. “You’ve been walking around your apartment in those pajamas for days! Have you even washed your face? Brushed your hair?”
Keisha lay back against the sofa cushion and closed her eyes. “Ma, this has by far been the worst month in my entire life. How would you expect me to behave? Should I throw on a sequined dress and high heels and go clubbing?”
“Keisha, that’s not—”
She stopped when the doorbell rang.
They both looked at one another, exchanging the same expression of panic. The bell rang again, now joining the persistent bleat of the house phone. Lena stirred uneasily in the kitchen doorway.
“Who do you think it is?” Lena asked anxiously.
“Oh, Ma, you know who it is! Who else could it be but one of those reporters,” the younger woman spat, tossing aside her book in frustration as the doorbell rang yet again, this time in quick succession as if someone were holding their index finger on the button and refusing to let go. “I’m getting so tired of this,” she said through clinched teeth. She balled her fists at her sides.
“Keisha, just ignore it, baby,” her mother pleaded as Keisha stomped toward the front door. “Don’t answer it, please!”
“No, Ma! I am fed up to here with this!” Keisha shouted over her shoulder. Her mouth twisted with frustration. “The phone is ringing off the hook every day. Now I have people ringing my doorbell. I may be miserable but I refuse…I refuse to let them drive me crazy, too,” she yelled before turning back to face the door again. “Get away from my door!” she bellowed. When the ringing continued, Keisha’s nostrils flared. “Get away from the door or I will call the police!”
And abruptly, the ringing stopped. For several seconds the living room was filled with nothing but the sound of Keisha’s panting breath. After some time, she finally relaxed her stance. She took a deep breath and looked over her shoulder at her mother.
“Maybe you scared them off,” Lena whispered hesitantly.
“Maybe,” Keisha said. She began to walk back toward the couch but stopped when the doorbell rang again. Her eyes widened.
“That’s it,” she muttered. “That is it! Ma, get the phone!” Keisha quickly unlocked her front door, preparing to curse whoever stood on the other side. She angrily swung it open. Her lips were curled and her teeth were bared. A hand rested on her hip. “I warned you!” she yelled. “I told you that if you didn’t get away from my door I would—”
Keisha paused when she saw Will’s sad, dark eyes gazing down at her. Her heart seemed to skid to a halt and she gaped openly.
“Will,” she murmured breathlessly.
“Hi, Keisha.” He gave an awkward smile that looked more like a grimace. “How are you?”
Keisha quickly slammed the door shut.
Her mother frowned in confusion. “Why did you do that?” Lena asked. “Was it a reporter?”
“It’s Will. It was Will!” Keisha exclaimed. Panicked, Keisha instantly reached for the scrunchy atop her head and ripped it off. She lowered her hair and quickly tried to finger-comb her matted locks, but to no avail. She knew she probably looked horrible. She gazed down at her pajamas and bunny slippers, wishing that she had heeded her mother’s advice and changed her clothes. Keisha closed her eyes and took a deep breath before quickly opening the door again, just as Will turned to walk back down the hallway toward the elevator.
“Wait!” she shouted, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket. “Please don’t go! Don’t go!”
He frowned. “But you shut the door. I thought—”
“I’m sorry,” she pled. “I didn’t mean to. I mean…I didn’t mean to slam the door. I…I…” She sighed. “I’m so sorry.”
In so many ways, she thought helplessly. You have no idea how sorry I am, Will.
He quickly shook his head. “No, I’m sorry for laying on your doorbell like that,” he said quietly as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t know if you would answer if I didn’t.”
“It’s okay. I, uh, I-I-I…I didn’t…I didn’t know it was you.” She fought to regain her words but couldn’t.
Might have considered looking through the peephole, she thought to herself.
Part of Keisha was happy to see him, but the other part of her wanted to burst into tears. So much had happened since the last time they had spoken. She had dreamed of one day finding the courage to go to Will and tell him that she was sorry. “Will, you were right,” she had wanted to say and ask for his forgiveness. He had been right about Parker. He had been right about politics. He had been right about everything. And now he was standing at her door, finding her in ratty pajamas with bags under eyes, and she couldn’t formulate a comprehensible sentence because she was so confused, so tongue-tied.
“I’ve brought someone to see you,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.
“To see me?” she asked, surprised. Who else could be out there? Keisha blinked and stared into her apartment hallway in bewilderment.
A man then stepped forward. She could barely see his face under the navy blue hood of a Georgetown sweatshirt and the large aviator sunglasses that were perched on his thin nose. He grinned sheepishly behind a thick, black mustache that looked rather odd on his face, as if it were a little bit too big for his head.
“Hello,” he said softly.
Keisha squinted. The voice sounded vaguely familiar.
“I-I apologize for…my appearance,” he said as he pushed the hood off, revealing salt and pepper hair. “I-I …just wanted…to see you,” he said as he removed his sunglasses and then peeled off the strange-looking mustache. “Will and I thought this would be…the best way…to do it,” he said hesitantly.
Keisha’s breath caught in her throat as Dupré’s smile widened. Her stomach clinched.
She was being assaulted with so many bombshells today that they were leaving her staggered and bemused. She swallowed loudly and licked her lips, desperately thinking of something appropriate to say to him. “C-c-congressman Dupré,” she stuttered awkwardly, extending her hand toward him for a shake, “g-g-good to see you again, sir. Would you please come in?”
Always the politician, Dupré’s face remained firm, but she could tell from the look in his eyes that this was not the greeting he had expected. He stared down at her hand for several seconds before taking it within his own. He then patted it gently. His green eyes seemed to glaze over with tears.
“Good to see you again, too, Keisha,” he said quietly as he stepped through the door. “I am…truly…glad to…” He stopped, then abruptly dragged her into his arms. Keisha’s head landed hard against his shoulder as her eyes widened in shock. She watched as Will gave them a warm smile from the doorway.
“Congressman Dupré?” Keisha whispered.
She listened to Dupré weep softly as he buried his face in her hair, and she instinctively began to rub his back to comfort him. “It’s okay,” she whispered, closing her eyes as she felt them dampen with tears. “It’s okay, really.”
They stood in silence for several minutes, just holding one another. Keisha was amazed. For decades, she had imagined doing this, feeling her father’s arms around her. But, believing that her father was dead, she had assumed that any hope of one day being in his embrace was just a fantasy. But here he was in her living room and she could feel his warmth, smell his aftershave. It was definitely a dream come true.
After some time he finally stood back and cupped her face in his hands. “Such a beautiful girl,” he murmured softly, scanning her features as his thumbs absently rubbed her cheeks.
She smiled bashfully before wiping away an errant tear. Was he kidding? I have to look a total mess, she thought.
Keisha watched as Dupré slowly shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking, but you are,” he said. “You are beautiful. You know that? And when you smile like that, you look just like my mother when she was your age. I swear you do,” he insisted as he squinted his eyes. “I wish I had a picture of her with me,” he said. “It’s just …uncanny how much you look like her.”
“I always thought so, too,” her mother interjected quietly from the other side of the room.
