into a biscuit and looked at him. “What did she want?”
“To see me.”
Not us, Gina thought. “Where?”
“Nantucket.”
“Are you going?”
Dutch hesitated, staring down at his bowl of soup. “Yes,” he said. “I’m still upset with her for opposing our marriage, and doing so publicly, but she’s still my mother.” Gina nodded. “And she says it’s very important that she sees me.”
“What could be so important?”
“I don’t know. But I’m assuming it’s personal.”
“You mean she could be ill or something?”
“She’s sixty-four years old. It’s possible.”
Gina nodded. Then she told him about her day at those victim centers and what happened during her last few minutes at one of them.
“I was just giving my usual spiel, you know,” she said, “about how things will get better and how to look on the bright side and I stayed away from all controversy and focused only on sunshine and happiness. Max would have been proud. I even told a group of teenage victims to forgive their perpetrators, saying that not forgiving only hurts them.”
“You told them right,” Dutch said, reaching for another biscuit to dip into the wonderful pea soup the Chef had prepared.
“I know it was the right thing to say,” Gina replied. “But then one of them, a real skinny kid with little squinty eyes, asked if I had forgiven my brother.”
Dutch looked at her. “Forgiven him?”
“Yeah. For being a drug dealer. For that drive-by he committed and those people died. For disgracing my father’s name. He wanted to know if I forgave him for that.”
“What did you say?”
“I told the truth. I said no. I mean, I haven’t even thought about Marcus Rance, at least not like that. But then the kid says, ‘how can you ask us to forgive, when you can’t even do it?’ That just stunned me, Dutch. Not only was I a fake for even agreeing to go to that center to begin with, just to appease some press that won’t give us credit anyway, but I was being a hypocrite about it too.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.”
Gina hesitated. Then stared at her husband. “I want to see him, Dutch.”
Dutch could hardly believe his ears. “See him? Why?”
“Because he’s my father’s son. Because I need to look him in the eye and I don’t know why. But I want to go and see him. I just think I should see him. He is my brother.”
“He’s your half-brother.”
“He’s my father’s whole son, Dutch. And I loved my father. I feel I should do this.”
Dutch was shaking his head before she finished her sentence. “That’s out of the question, Regina,” he said.
“But why?”
“What do you mean why? The mid-terms are coming up.”
“Not for another two years.”
“But people don’t forget. We’ve got to elect more Democrats. I don’t need a Republican House that I’ll have to fight tooth and nail in the last years of my term. But that’s exactly what will happen if I keep making a mess of things for our party. And if I let you go to some prison in Texas to see that man, it’ll be the very definition of making a mess of things.”
“But I need to see him, Dutch.”
“Because some kid asked you a question? Come on, Gina!”
“Because I need to see him. He’s my flesh and blood.”
“He’s a murderer.”
“He’s my brother who happens to be a murderer. I understand he’s a terrible, despicable human being. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s my flesh and blood and I think I should go and see him.”
“No.”
“Oh, so you can go and see your racist mother but I can’t go and see my brother?”
“Half-brother. And it’s not the same thing.”
“Why isn’t
“To see me.”
Not us, Gina thought. “Where?”
“Nantucket.”
“Are you going?”
Dutch hesitated, staring down at his bowl of soup. “Yes,” he said. “I’m still upset with her for opposing our marriage, and doing so publicly, but she’s still my mother.” Gina nodded. “And she says it’s very important that she sees me.”
“What could be so important?”
“I don’t know. But I’m assuming it’s personal.”
“You mean she could be ill or something?”
“She’s sixty-four years old. It’s possible.”
Gina nodded. Then she told him about her day at those victim centers and what happened during her last few minutes at one of them.
“I was just giving my usual spiel, you know,” she said, “about how things will get better and how to look on the bright side and I stayed away from all controversy and focused only on sunshine and happiness. Max would have been proud. I even told a group of teenage victims to forgive their perpetrators, saying that not forgiving only hurts them.”
“You told them right,” Dutch said, reaching for another biscuit to dip into the wonderful pea soup the Chef had prepared.
“I know it was the right thing to say,” Gina replied. “But then one of them, a real skinny kid with little squinty eyes, asked if I had forgiven my brother.”
Dutch looked at her. “Forgiven him?”
“Yeah. For being a drug dealer. For that drive-by he committed and those people died. For disgracing my father’s name. He wanted to know if I forgave him for that.”
“What did you say?”
“I told the truth. I said no. I mean, I haven’t even thought about Marcus Rance, at least not like that. But then the kid says, ‘how can you ask us to forgive, when you can’t even do it?’ That just stunned me, Dutch. Not only was I a fake for even agreeing to go to that center to begin with, just to appease some press that won’t give us credit anyway, but I was being a hypocrite about it too.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.”
Gina hesitated. Then stared at her husband. “I want to see him, Dutch.”
Dutch could hardly believe his ears. “See him? Why?”
“Because he’s my father’s son. Because I need to look him in the eye and I don’t know why. But I want to go and see him. I just think I should see him. He is my brother.”
“He’s your half-brother.”
“He’s my father’s whole son, Dutch. And I loved my father. I feel I should do this.”
Dutch was shaking his head before she finished her sentence. “That’s out of the question, Regina,” he said.
“But why?”
“What do you mean why? The mid-terms are coming up.”
“Not for another two years.”
“But people don’t forget. We’ve got to elect more Democrats. I don’t need a Republican House that I’ll have to fight tooth and nail in the last years of my term. But that’s exactly what will happen if I keep making a mess of things for our party. And if I let you go to some prison in Texas to see that man, it’ll be the very definition of making a mess of things.”
“But I need to see him, Dutch.”
“Because some kid asked you a question? Come on, Gina!”
“Because I need to see him. He’s my flesh and blood.”
“He’s a murderer.”
“He’s my brother who happens to be a murderer. I understand he’s a terrible, despicable human being. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s my flesh and blood and I think I should go and see him.”
“No.”
“Oh, so you can go and see your racist mother but I can’t go and see my brother?”
“Half-brother. And it’s not the same thing.”
“Why isn’t
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