But then I thought of Gracie, who’d probably known in utero that politics was her calling. I could still remember the long conversations she’d have with Daddy at the kitchen table, while I’d nod seriously and pretend to understand, trying desperately to think of one clever thing that would make my dad look at me with the same light that he’d shined on Grace.
Then she’d died, and it had broken my heart to think that the light inside my dad would die with her. Except it hadn’t faded, because I’d saved it. Maybe I couldn’t save Gracie. Maybe I couldn’t bring her back. But I’d signed up for student council. I’d joined the debate team. I’d completed a summer internship in Sacramento. I’d gone to Northwestern to major in political science.
And I’d kept that light inside my dad alive.
That was a small price to pay for not following my own dreams, right? Especially when I didn’t know what those dreams were in the first place.
I was walking fast down Michigan Avenue, my feet moving in time with my churning thoughts. I dodged tourists and buskers and forced myself to focus on the faces of passing strangers and the overpriced clothes that filled the shop windows. Anything to turn off my thoughts.
It wasn’t working, and so I walked even faster, so that all my mental energy was bound up by speed and the need to watch where I was going so I didn’t mow down another pedestrian. I needed to get out of my own head. To erase all thoughts of the way Evan bailed on me and the way my father was navigating a path through my life.
A familiar antsy feeling—edgy and raw—pressed hard against me. I told myself that I could handle this. I didn’t need a rush; I just needed to get home. Avoid the stores, keep my focus, and don’t do anything stupid.
By the time I reached the condo lobby, my hair was a frizzy mess, my muscles ached, I felt sticky with sweat, and my stomach was actually rumbling. So much for the staying power of scones and tiny sandwiches. But at least I’d sort of pulled myself together.
Peterson was in the foyer when I stepped off the elevator and into the penthouse. “Mr. Warner is waiting for you on the patio. Shall I make the two of you an early dinner?”
I shook my head, feeling at loose ends all over again. My stomach twisted in knots, and eating was the last thing on my mind. “How long has he been here?”
“About an hour. I told him I wasn’t sure when you’d be back, but he asked to wait. He said he had some reading to catch up on and would enjoy sitting on the patio. I hope that isn’t a problem.”
“It’s fine,” I lied. And then, though I really just wanted to turn around and leave again, I steeled myself and headed for the spiral staircase that led up and to the outside. I pushed through the glass door, then paused. I’d just walked home, so I already knew the weather was crisp and clear. But up here, it seemed even more so. From where I stood, I could see part of the lake through the glass barrier, and the sun was making the surface sparkle and the white sailboats shine. Had it only been last night that I’d looked out upon a field of stars with Evan’s voice in my ear promising to take me there?
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and forcing myself to shake off the memory before I turned to the left and walked to the covered area. I found Kevin on a wrought-iron love seat near the outdoor kitchen area. He had a document in his hand, a folio open beside him, and his laptop on the coffee table. A glass of white wine sat next to the computer, and I had to frown; Kevin didn’t usually drink during working hours.
“Hey,” I said, going to the little fridge and grabbing myself a Diet Coke before sitting in the chair opposite him. He didn’t look up from the document he was reading. I crossed my legs and sat back, then popped the top on my drink. The sound of the carbonation bursting free was like a small explosion and made me jump—and that only pissed me off. I felt edgy and uncomfortable, and considering I lived here and he didn’t, my discomfort was all the more annoying.