VOLUME | ONC 2023

13. The Motherlode

Harriet...

Three rapt knocks, and I was crossing the room to open the door.

"Ma'am."

I was momentarily surprised to see Roosevelt's secret service detail enter the room with a pensive-looking Roosevelt trailing behind.

The men scoured the suite before saluting the president.

I was glad I'd picked up behind myself after my morning stroll around the property. Walking helped me think.

The one taking lead nodded, "Sir." They exited with their casual stealth. I'd never grow accustomed to having someone follow my every move.

I studied his body language, watching him come to stand behind a chair at the suite's dining table.

"Good morning, Mr. President."

"Good morning, Miss Watson."

I smiled, still unsure of his disposition. Asking him how he was after having digested Nana's passing seemed futile. "Did you prefer to dine at the restaurant, or should I call for room service?"

"I've ordered ahead. They'll be here momentarily."

I nodded, returning to the cup of tea I abandoned on the patio's coffee table. If my mind hadn't been racing in a mental Derby, I would've enjoyed a sunrise coffee on the outdoor lounge set.

"Thank you again for the major upgrade. I feel a little like a princess if I'm honest," I smiled, bringing the mug to my lips.

The old man's eyes stayed trained on me.

"Were you ever going to tell me she was pregnant?"

I swallowed, shifting my weight.

"I thought you might need time to come to terms with her death before I sprung the motherlode on you." Motherlode? "No pun intended."

I watched his unchanging expression, heat rising up the back of my neck like a dragon was licking the length of my spine.

"And the child?" He braced himself against the counter in the kitchenette.

"My mother."

His head dropped, eyes cast to the floor. I watched his chest rise and fall.

Unwilling or unable to look at me, he spoke, "And you know this for a fact?"

"The dates seem to match. She was pregnant before she left. And – Lotty mentioned it. The poor woman is suffering from some form of dementia, but she mentioned it."

"What did she say exactly?"

"Well, for starters, Lotty thought I was Nana. She said she hadn't wanted to upset me but that I needed to tell that man about the baby. Lotty said that she was the one who told Nana that she was pregnant in the first place – she was talking about Nana being sick as a dog after your, uh, night on the town."

I scooted a chair out, needing to sit.

Another quick succession of knocks interrupted the silence.

The door opened just slightly, "Sir, room service."

"Thank you, Christian."

"Sir."

Two servers rolled a cart into the room, setting the table with quiet fanfare.

Plates of food hid under chrome domes.

As if he'd scarcely registered the staff's coming and going, he continued, "I can't believe she never told me. I can't fathom it. Not her."