Page 61 of The Truth of Us

“Mom’s made you sound insufferable.”

“She was also correct.”

I laughed. Small, but real. His hand paused briefly on my hair, like he noticed. Like he was grateful. Then his gaze drifted to the fire, and the smile on his face softened into something I had seen my entire life. A man looking at a ghost and finding love there instead of fear.

“I was twenty-four,” he began, voice low, “And completely unbearable.”

“Still are sometimes.” I added, snuggling in closer.

“Cruel, but deserved.”

I smiled into his shoulder.

“I had just finished law school,” he continued. “Your grandfather had already decided my future for me. A congressional seat first, then the Senate. Governor if I behaved, President if I married correctly and didn’t embarrass the family before forty.”

I had heard this part a hundred times. It still made something cold move through me. The Montgomerys did not raise children; they built heirs. My father had been the favorite because he was beautiful, brilliant, controlled, and obedient enough to be useful.

Until he wasn’t.

“There was a fundraiser in Boston,” he said. “Boring. Expensive. Full of people congratulating themselves for caring about education while ignoring every actual educator in the room.”

“That sounds familiar.”

His mouth curved. “Your mother was there with a nonprofit literacy group. She had been invited to speak for three minutes between donors who would never remember her name.”

“But you did.”

His eyes softened. “I did.”

The fire popped quietly.

“She wore a yellow dress,” he said, as if the memory were painted somewhere behind his eyes. “Not fashionable or expensive. She had ink on her fingers and a run in her stocking, and she looked at me like I was the least impressive man she had ever met.”

I smiled. “She hated you.”

“She absolutely hated me,” he agreed.

“Why?” I asked, even though I knew exactly how he would answer.

“Because I deserved it.”

I laughed again.

“She asked me what I actually planned to do about literacy funding after I gave a very polished speech someone else had written for me.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.” His smile grew. “In front of donors. Board members. Your grandfather.”

I lifted my head slightly. “Grandfather must have loved that.”

“He nearly swallowed his tongue.”

“And you?”

My father’s eyes stayed on the fire.

“I was outraged.” he said in the same voice he used when I was little and asked him for this story all the time.