The sweet lady smiles at me from behind the desk in the living room at the Farm. Her hair is piled in some chignon from decades gone by, her pearls shining in the late morning sunlight.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” she says.
“Oh, I know. I didn’t realize Barrett was back in town.”
“Yes,” Barrett’s personal secretary says. “We came in for the event this evening. Alison was not about to miss it.”
It makes me proud that my sister-in-law, the pregnant wife of the Governor, for heaven’s sake, supports my function to this degree. “She’s awesome.”
“I agree, Camilla. She’s made my job a whole lot easier.”
“I bet she has,” I laugh. “So where are they?”
“They took the golf cart down to the lake so Huxley can fish for a little bit. Alison didn’t feel like walking and Barrett wasn’t leaving her behind.”
“I didn’t see their car.”
“Troy took it to town to run a few errands and grab some lunch. Do you want something, dear? I could have him pick some up for you.”
“No, thank you though. I just came for my dress. Have you seen it today?”
“Yes, actually. It’s in the hall closet by the bathroom.”
“Thanks, Rose!” I meander through the Farm, not going straight to the closet but stopping in the living room first. It’s quiet, unlike most times I’m here.
The walls are sprinkled with pictures of us throughout the years. There are goofy pictures of Lincoln and Sienna at a car wash one summer and of me in my cheerleading outfit from high school. Those are mixed with images of Ford graduating from military school and Barrett taking the oath of office. It’s a wall of memories, one that makes me a little nostalgic.
We’ve spent so many hours, days, years here together celebrating good times and convening for the bad ones. Tears from joy and sadness have been shed, screams for wonderful announcements and terrible declarations have been heard by these walls. No matter what, we’ve done it together. As a family.
My heart twists in my chest, tears dotting my eyes, when I turn to see Graham and Lincoln watching me from the back porch. Turning away, I refuse to let Graham see me weak. But, in typical G fashion, he’s in the door and in front of me before I have a chance to flee.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, any traces of his recent venom gone.
“Nothing,” I sniffle. “I was just thinking about all the things we’ve done in this room. Ford’s wedding, Barrett’s election celebration. Our sixteenth birthday party.”
“I had fun that night!” Lincoln chimes in from the porch. “Taylor Thompson. Wowza.”
Graham and I chuckle . . . until we look at each other. Our grins falter.
“Look, Swink,” he says, clearing his throat. “I want to talk to you for a minute.”
“We’ve been through this.”
“Cam, I’m sorry.”
Squinting, making sure it’s Graham I’m seeing in front of me and not Barrett, I shake my head. “What?”
“Come on,” he chuckles. “Don’t make me say it again. It hurt enough the first time.”
“What are you sorry for?”
“Does it matter?”
“Absolutely.”
Shoving his hand in his pockets, he sighs. “I’m sorry for acting like a dick.”
“Because . . .” I lead him on.