Amerika Read Free

smile, and eyes full of mischief and affection. Since the takeover, her sleep had become more fractured—-riddled with uneasy dreams and fears that had left their tracks across her cheeks and brow.
    “What time is it?” she mumbled.
    “Six. Go back to sleep.”
    She nodded, knowing she would not return to sleep but to that middle ground between dreams and wakefulness that was so loathsome to her husband. Peter watched as she repositioned her body, smiled at her, and padded quietly into the bathroom.
    Downstairs, in the kitchen, Jacqueline Bradford poured herself a cup of ersatz coffee and diluted it with powdered milk and molasses. The brew had a grayish color and smelled like resinous sawdust, but Jacqueline, a pretty seventeen-year-old, had no way of knowing that real coffee tasted different. At first glance, Jackie appeared rather delicate, but this impression of vulnerability belied her physical strength as well as her independence and daring. She looked up from the open textbooks she’d strewn over the table as Peter entered. “Morning, Daddy.”
    “What got you up at the crack of dawn?”
    She sat back in her chair for a moment and sighed. “I’ve got a monster day. Can you believe a quarter test, and as if that weren’t enough, today’s the tryouts for the Area Dance Company.”
    Peter smiled at his daughter’s histrionics and moved to the cupboard for a cup. “What about sleep?” Without missing a beat she answered, “Plenty of time for that after I’m dead.”
    He poured himself a cup of mock coffee and faced her, leaning against the counter. “What’s the exam?” “Western civilization.”
    “Which one? Our version or theirs?”
    “How can the famous Milford County administrator be so cynical?”
    “Hey,” said Bradford, “I’m allowed to be a little cynical. I’m only a hired hand. It’s not like the county’s named after me.”
    “No,” said Jackie, trying to maintain the grown-up level of banter and, in her enthusiasm, taking it just a shade too far. “It’s named for Devin Milford’s family— and a lot of good it’s done him or any of them.” “Jackie . . Peter Bradford began rather sharply, then broke off. The reference had stung him, but it wasn’t Jackie’s fault. She had no way of knowing of her father’s boyhood friendship with Devin Milford, nor of their rivalry in everything from baseball to girls, nor of her father’s dim and secret feeling that he was in some way falling short of Milford’s ferociously high standards of behavior. “Never mind.”
    “Well,” said Jackie, “I'm glad I’m a dancer. No cynicism in that. No politics either.”
    Peter shifted his weight to reposition himself. He considered getting into the naivete of her outlook, but decided it was best not to. “How’s your program?” “Fabulous. I’ve been working on this one move where I come off a leap and use my momentum to come up in a handstand. I had trouble with that move for a long time. I couldn’t develop enough momentum.” She smiled proudly. “But I got it.”
    “Great. I’d like to see it.”
    “Come to tryouts this afternoon.”
    Peter looked uncomfortable. “I’ll try, honey. But if it’s a tryout, I don’t want it to look like I’m trying to use my influence for my daughter.”
    “Sure, I understand.” She sighed, looking into her coffee mug as if to be certain he knew she didn’t.
    He walked over to her. “Jackie, I’m not sure you do. I’ve got to be fair, and being fair isn’t just what I may intend something to be—it’s got to look fair as well.” He raised her c hin and smiled into what could have been her mother’s eyes. “I love you—you know that. I’m proud of you and your dancing.”
    She nodded. “I know. It’s just not always easy being the great man’s daughter.”
    He smiled and gave her a quick kiss as he headed for the door. “I’ll tell you a secret. It’s not always easy being the great man.” He buttoned up his heavy