I got out of the car and went to the front door. My hand hovered over it to knock, but I was having a really hard time hitting the wood. I grimaced, took a deep breath, and then knocked. I just had to convince myself I wasn’t ever going to see him again, that I was here for however long and then I’d never come back. I had to see him one more time for . . . well, I didn’t know what for, but I was already here.

A minute later the door opened. My father stood there. He was thinner and his hair was white. The once-prominent mustache had turned gray, and his face drooped with age. His eyes were wide, wet, and red.

“Adam,” I said. “How are you?”

He didn’t say anything for a second. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Just passing through. I won’t be here long, I think.”

He nodded and looked me up and down. “Well, did you need something?”

“Not exactly the welcome I was expecting. Did I run over your cat or something before I left? I feel like I’d remember that.”

“Always the smart-ass.”

“Gee, I wonder where I got that from.”

“Not from me. I show respect to this country and to people. You never had an ounce of respect for anything.”

“Oh, what was I supposed to . . . no. No, it was a mistake to come here. Sorry to bother you.”

I turned and left, and he shut the door. As I was pulling away I saw him peering through the window blinds.

“What a shit-show,” I mumbled to myself as I wondered if I should just leave town right now. But fatigue had suddenly crept over me. Five or six hours of sleep wouldn’t be a bad thing.

I went to the real estate office, signed the paperwork, and bought the condo. If I did leave soon, I’d just hang on to it for a while and sell it for a profit in a few years.

By the time I got back to the condo, it was almost eight. Someone was waiting for me at the front door. A woman in a suit.

My breath caught.

Gates.

I’d pictured her as a mother of four, married to some rough-and-tumble farmer. But the campaign signs I’d seen still reflected her maiden name.

She turned and saw me as I parked and stepped out of the car. Her red hair was straight, exactly as she’d worn it in high school. A thick leather bracelet adorned her left wrist, tattered to the point of almost falling apart.

“Still in a suit?” I said. “I think the workday is over.”

“Actually I just got done.”

“You always were the worker bee. You know what I figured out? I could work harder than anyone else, but if I was working at the wrong things, it didn’t matter.”