The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [129]
“Stop it.” Dina glared at him as if he were a mad-man. “That’s the last thing I want.”
“Well, that makes it easy,” he said softly.
“To do what?”
“I’m sure that Simon has mentioned that I’ve been thinking about running for the presidency.”
Dina nodded.
“If I do, my party will expect me to remind the public that my father was the embodiment of morality, just as Simon’s book would do. I haven’t yet decided if I can, in good conscience, do that.” He looked up at the portrait that hung over the mantel. “At the same time, I have to know how you feel about having the truth come out.”
“I don’t want it to,” Dina said bluntly.
“Then I will honor that. You’ve made this decision much easier for me”—he smiled at her—“since I do not believe I can run for that office without being truthful to the voters. I thank you for being honest with me. I know now exactly what I have to do.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“If I run, I will have a very difficult time not telling the truth about my father. He was a wonderful man, a wonderful President, but he was not perfect and he was not a saint. I cannot run for that office and pretend that he was. But at the same time, I cannot make this story public without bringing you into the fray. Since this affects your life, too, I feel you are entitled to decide whether or not you want your privacy invaded. I will respect that at any cost.”
“Are you saying that you would give up an opportunity to be the President of the United States?” Dina’s jaw dropped.
“My father took this secret to his grave. Maybe that’s where it should stay.”
“Gray, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. This is a tremendous sacrifice to make for someone you don’t know.”
“My family owes you much more than our silence, Dina. So much was taken from you.” Gray tried to smile. “And besides, we may not know each other, you and I, but we are flesh and blood. That needs to be honored. We share the same father. Whatever else has come to light over these past few months cannot take away the fact that he was a wonderful father. I loved him very much.”
Gray’s eyes clouded, teared. “I had the privilege of knowing him. You were denied that. I’d like to tell you about him, if you’d care to hear.”
“That’s very, very generous of you,” Dina whispered, touched deeply by Gray’s effort.
“I understand that he loved your mother very much.” Gray stood and looked out the window.
“So they tell me.”
“He loved mine, once, too,” he said softly.
“Then we have that in common.” Tears formed in Dina’s eyes without her realizing it.
“That painting, there over the fireplace, was done only weeks before he died.” Gray turned and pointed to the portrait.
“You look like him.” Dina looked up at the painting of the handsome man with the silver hair and the direct gaze and the smile that tilted the left side of his mouth. So like his son’s.
Gray went to the desk and opened the top drawer, took out a small wrapped package, and offered it to Dina.
“I thought you might like to have this.”
Dina unwrapped the tissue paper and removed the picture frame within, turned it over to find a photograph of the late President. He wore a polo shirt over a plaid bathing suit and looked back over his shoulder from the prow of a handsome sailboat.
“That was taken the first year that my . . . our . . . father was in the White House,” Gray told her. “I figured he would have met your mother around that time. . . .”
“It’s a wonderful picture. He had a wonderful face.” Dina could no longer keep the tears back. “You are a thoughtful man, Gray. I cannot even begin to tell you how much your kindness means to me.”
Dina reached out and took his hand. “Simon tells me that everyone says you are so much like your father. If that’s so, he must have been quite wonderful. History says he was a great President. I think you should think twice before you decide not to follow in his footsteps.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that, but I think it’s best for everyone that I let the