Melissa Good: Thicker Than Water

“What’s that?” Dar looked up from a catalog of geek toys.

“My high school.” Kerry opened the envelope and pulled out the contents. After a moment’s perusal, she shrugged. “Just asking for money.” She turned and wandered off. “I’m going to grab a shower and change. Be right back.”

“Join you in a minute.” Dar continued to flip through the catalog and stopped when she spotted a glow in the dark trackball.

“Oo. Now that has possibilities.” She rested her chin on her fist and considered the thought of the cleaning staff entering her darkened office and seeing it floating on her desk. “Heh.”

KERRY SAT DOWN behind the desk in her upstairs office and regarded the note she’d taken with her. Part of what she’d told Dar was true—her high school was always looking for dona-tions, and this was no exception. However, the second part of the card was an invitation to her high school reunion.

“Ugh.” She exhaled. High school had been a tough time for her and going back there wasn’t something she really wanted to put on the table for both of them, though she’d talked Dar into attending her own reunion. It was different for Dar, or so she’d convinced herself.

Dar had gone to public school. Dar had already been a rebel when she’d attended, and Dar strutting back into the circle of her old classmates, as successful as she was, had been a good thing for her. The black sheep had lifted its hind leg and pissed on them all, so to speak.

Kerry hadn’t gone to public school. Her high school was a very conservative, Christian establishment, and while she was there, she’d been under a tremendous amount of pressure to uphold her father’s image of her. It hadn’t been fun, and save for a very scattered few, she had no truly fond memories of the place.

Having had little choice in the matter, she had done well there. She had kept her nose clean and gotten good grades, and joined the appropriate team sports, avoiding the scandalous behaviors of her classmates. Debating had been her one real outlet for expression, and even then she’d been careful when she’d presented her opinions.

The perfect little senator’s daughter. Kerry’s lips curled in reaction and she felt a touch of disgust at her younger self.

She turned the invitation over and studied it. Going back there as the vice president of global operations of ILS wouldn’t be terrible, though she knew she wouldn’t be considered nearly as successful as her classmates who’d married into big money and raised large families. Her professional success would, however, be Thicker Than Water 5

noted and congratulated.

But going back there with Dar—dear God. Exposing their lifestyle to those people would be like rolling in a fire ant hill, and Kerry felt sick to her stomach just thinking about it. When they realized she was gay, the look in her classmate’s eyes would not be anywhere near the bemused, somewhat wary acceptance they had found at Dar’s reunion. Oh no.

Even though she knew many of them would have seen the televised senate hearings where she had been outed, that would have been in the abstract. Seeing her and Dar as a couple up close and in person would be something else entirely.

Kerry wasn’t embarrassed about their relationship, but she had no intention of subjecting herself, much less Dar, to a night of half pitying, half disgusted stares and the cutting remarks of her family’s social circle.

No way.

“Ker?” Dar called from downstairs. “What do you think about a cellular pen?”

Kerry had to smile. “Nerd!” she yelled back, getting up from her desk and heading for the shower. Dar really did get way too into techno toys sometimes. Then she stopped and considered. A cellular pen? “Wait. Does it come in pink?”

THE STUDY WAS mostly wood panel, leather, and the scent of old money. The walls were lined with bookshelves stocked with frequently dusted and never read books, and one end was filled with a huge mahogany desk.

Behind the desk sat a man in his fifties, stocky and gray haired, in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled back two turns. He held a stack of papers, and studied each page carefully before he turned it over and set it on a growing pile on the desk.

The door opened and a gray haired woman entered and closed the door behind her. “Roger, the Millisons are having a dinner party next week, and the Vice President is attending. Will you be available for it?”

Roger Stuart leaned back and pondered. “Do I want to be seen with him this month? What has he done lately that I hate? Oh, hell, why not? Millison at least serves a decent meal, especially when he’s trying to suck up.”

“I’ll confirm for us, then,” Cynthia Stuart replied. She turned, left the room, and closed the door behind her.

The phone rang. Stuart picked it up and listened, then grunted. “What’s the news this time?”

The voice on the other end sounded perkier than was perhaps 6 Melissa Good normal. “Sir, we finally got that hearing you’ve been asking for, the one about ILS. They’re going to schedule it. I’m sure it’ll bring things right out into the open, just like you’ve hoped.”

Stuart hesitated, his eyes going to the stack of papers. “They put it on the listing yet?”

“No, sir, but Jayson promised me it’s just a matter of an hour or so.”

He drummed his thick, knotted fingers on the papers, making a pattering sound. “All right, listen.” He sighed. “Tell him to hold off.”

“Sir?”

“Something’s come up. Just tell him to hold off until he hears from me,” Stuart barked. “Is that understood?”

“Uh…yes, sir.” The voice sounded puzzled, but chastened.

“I’ll tell him.”

Stuart hung up and went back to the report. “God damn it!

Would you just leave it to that…” He paused and made a face. “To find something like this.” He thumped the desk. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

He crinkled the papers under his hands, their damning words in stark black against the creamy white of the quality surface on which they were printed. Idly, he flipped a page over and frowned at the typing on the back.

He leaned closer, examined it, and found nothing more interesting than a weather report, then shook his head as he turned it back over. He snorted. “Recycling. Must be a Democrat.”

He had to give the woman credit, though. The analysis was crisp, to the point, and did not beat around the bush in regards to its findings, which was something he appreciated regardless of the source. Most of the reports he had to read were full of verbose puffwords saying nothing. Reading Dar Roberts’ report was like a breath of fresh air. He could appreciate the content while despis-ing the author, couldn’t he?

Stuart sighed. But damn if it had to be her. Having had little choice, he had grudgingly come to accept Kerrison’s decision, regardless of how stupid and mindless, not to mention embarrassing, he’d considered it. Finding out his daughter thought she was gay had been a shock, but even worse—she’d shamed him by not even having the grace to keep the fact hidden and discreet.

Disgusting. Just the thought of the two of them... His lip curled.

Disgusting.

At least he knew that when it inevitably ended, the woman would make no financial gains from his daughter, and in the meantime the two of them lived in what even he considered acceptable style.

Thicker Than Water 7

There would be no Enquirer stories about Kerrison living in a shack somewhere. The reporters had learned to keep clear of her, especially since her office fended them off and she lived on that private island. At least she’d had the sense to do that much for him.