But while the outside got my imagination humming, it was the inside of The Drake that took my breath away. It didn’t scream elegance. It simply was elegant. A massive staircase leading up to a beautiful floral arrangement that was flanked on either side by stunning chandeliers. That was all you could see until you climbed those stairs and entered the fairyland.
I did that now, pausing at the top of the stairs to turn and face the magnificence of the Palm Court. My parents had first brought Grace and me here when I was seven and she was ten, and I’d been certain that we must secretly be royalty. The entire room glowed white, from the drapes on the columns to the upholstered chairs to the massive wash of flowers that seemed to bloom out of the fountain that was the centerpiece of the room.
I took a moment to push down my memories, then headed toward the hostess stand. “I’m meeting my parents,” I said, even as my mother rose from a table behind the fountain and waved at me.
“The senator’s table. Of course. I’ll take you.”
I followed, amused. He might have been elected by California voters, but even in Illinois, my father was The Senator.
“Sweetheart, you look tired.” My mom engulfed me in a tight hug, then stood back and examined every inch of me.
I shrugged, feeling seven all over again as I smoothed my sundress and straightened the sweater I’d worn to ward off the museum chill. “I’m okay,” I said. “Just not sleeping that great. The funeral and all.”
I still remembered the look of horrified impotence in my mother’s eyes when I’d told her about my nightmares after Gracie’s death. I couldn’t stand knowing that I was adding to what was already a terrible burden, and so the next time she’d asked, I’d lied and told her that the bad dreams had been a passing thing. Her relief had been palpable, and sacrificing the comfort of my mom’s hugs and soothing words had been a small price to pay to see that burden, however small, lifted from her shoulders.
“Where’s Daddy?” I asked in an effort to change the subject.
“We ran into the president of Trycor Transportation.” She nodded across the room, where my father stood by a table chatting amiably with a silver-haired man and two young girls who were obviously his daughters. “He’ll be back in a minute. In the meantime, you and I can order.”
Our table was far enough from the fountain and the harpist that we could easily hear each other. We ordered high tea and Earl Grey for all three of us, and then Mom dived into all the mundane life stuff. I settled back, comfortable with the warm familiarity of the conversation.
“How is Flynn?” she asked. I gave her a run down of his flight and bartending schedule, and she made maternal tsk-tsk noises. “Tell him he needs to seriously consider going to college. He’s too bright to simply ignore his education.”
I bit back a smile, remembering why Flynn had chosen not to join me at The Drake. “I’ll tell him.”
“And why don’t you and I take a trip home soon? We’ll take some time, get a bit of relaxing in. Maybe even drive up the coast and go shopping.”
“La Jolla?” I asked, knowing that had to be what my mom meant by home. Though the Washington lifestyle had fit both she and my father like a glove, they hadn’t moved there full-time. “I’d love it,” I said truthfully. “But I’ve been away from work for more than a week now, and things are going to be crazy when I get back.”
“I’m sure we can work it out,” she said dismissively, as if whatever issues I might have at work weren’t even worth bothering about. She lifted an arm, her smile bright. “Here comes Daddy.”
I stood up and folded myself in my father’s arms, and the comfort I found there was enough to make me forget my mother’s weirdness.
To my parents’ credit, we didn’t talk about Uncle Jahn or the funeral or the will. They seemed to innately know that I needed space. That I just needed them, and so we talked about Mom’s fund-raising and the various charitable organizations she worked with and the most recent legislation that Daddy was pushing and how well his new aide was working out.