“He’s a politician. It’s all about money. The size of his damned war chest. Kissing babies is total BS. It’s all about campaign contributions. Television and radio time. Mass mailings. What’s the biggest issue facing a career politician? The economy? Crime? Unemployment? Illegal immigration? It’s none of those things. It’s getting reelected to another term. Can you believe he has the balls to send me campaign contribution letters?”

“Come on, that’s not fair either. Your dad cares about all those issues.”

“I suppose you’re right. Sorry, I’m just venting.”

“Your father, he really does that?”

“Does what?”

“The fund-raising thing? He sends you letters?”

“Yeah, he does.”

“I’d call it reaching out.”

“I call it reaching for my wallet.”

“Do you send him money?”

He knew he couldn’t lie to Harv and get away with it. “Yeah, I do. The maximum amount allowed for an individual. Every year.”

“No wonder he keeps sending them.”

Nathan grunted.

“It’s no different than any other profession,” Harv continued. “People want to keep their jobs. It’s hard work being a politician, especially on the federal level. They make a lot of personal sacrifices.”

Nathan knew all too well about the great Stonewall McBride’s personal sacrifices because he was one of them. He had an absentee dad during his childhood. Deep down, he’d come to terms with it, but there was still a sliver of resentment left over, like the smell of an extinguished candle. He didn’t hate his father, he just didn’t feel any kind of familial bond with him. How could he? He hardly knew the man. Diane Ortega’s comment was still fresh in his mind. Your father’s a lot like Frank, and you’re a lot like Greg.

“You should cut him some slack,” Harv said, “maybe try to patch things up.”

“You know, you’re the only person in the world I’d let say that to me, besides my mother.”

“Why do you think I said it? You need to hear it. He’s getting up there.”

Nathan said nothing.

“For your mother’s sake.”

They flew in silence for several minutes.

“Harv?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” He turned on the Bell’s landing light a little early as a courtesy to the tower. They were now a bright spot in the sky, easy to see. “You did a great job on the radio through LA’s bravo airspace. You want to make the landing?”

“I do, but stay close to the controls, okay?”

“Will do.” Nathan spotted the airport’s beacon and made a tiny course change to put them on a straight-in final. Even as experienced and seasoned as he was, spotting the green-and-white flashing beacon of their destination airport at night was always a welcome sight. “Okay, she’s yours. You’ve got the controls.”

“I’ve got the controls,” Harv echoed.

“I’m on the radio,” Nathan said.