A Song for Julia

the opposite end of the table, my mom, Mrs. Easton and Mrs. Bush chatted about differences in public education between the United States and the United Kingdom. I wasn’t interested in either conversation. So I turned to Alexandra and asked her about school, and how she was adjusting to living in the United States again after being in Moscow. She promptly reported that it was a lot warmer in San Francisco, and that the boys at her school were a lot cuter.
    I felt a pain in my chest. She was only twelve. Way too young to be thinking about boys. I wanted to fold her up in my arms and protect her. I wanted to tell her to stay away from boys and men and their stupid and destructive games. But I knew it wouldn’t be long before they started chasing her. She had those huge green eyes and long, lush hair I’d have killed for, and puberty was already changing the shape of her body.
    No, it wouldn’t be long at all before boys started chasing her. For just a moment, I regretted living in Boston, thousands of miles away. How could I protect her from that distance? I was ten years older than Alexandra. Even older still than the twins or Andrea, who in truth I barely knew. It felt futile. But one thing I knew, is that my mother, no matter what her intentions, wasn’t going to do them any good when it came to protecting them from harm. The only thing she knew how to do was cast blame and hurt.
    Finally, the excruciating dinner came to a close. The President stood and said a few words wishing the two Ambassadors success in their mission. We all rose and shook hands and said our goodbyes, and began the walk back to the van, escorted by a uniformed Secret Service agent. We walked out, and it suddenly hit me, that outside of the crazy emotions evoked in me, Crank and Harry had absolutely nothing in common. Nothing. For weeks I’d associated Crank with Harry … the rush of conflicted emotions, the out of control feelings.
    But Harry had often been cold, superior—almost contemptuous of my younger self. Polished, with exquisite manners, upper class attitudes and an overwhelming need for power; at that age, I’d been no match for him. He’d forced his way into my life and tried to control everything I did. And I let him.
    Crank had been nothing but considerate. Kind. Fiercely protective. Even as I held him at arms’ length, constantly pushing him away, he’d made it clear that his primary concern was me, his brother, his father … never himself.
    And I’d been horrible to him. Over and over again.
    I was broken out of my thoughts the moment we stepped into the darkness outside the White House. Ignoring the Secret Service agent who escorted us, my mother turned on me.
    “How dare you behave that way, Julia? Is it your goal to destroy your father’s life? I knew you shouldn’t have come tonight. I told him that, but he wouldn’t listen.”
    I stopped. I looked back and forth between my father with his pained, sad expression, and my mother, who looked at me with rage.
    I stood up straight and said, “Mother—”
    She interrupted me. “You just tell me, young lady, what did the Eastons ever do to you? What right did you have to make a … a spectacle of yourself in there?”
    I felt so tired. Tired of protecting my mother’s secrets, when she offered me no such courtesy. Tired of being berated, treated like an outcast. Tired of this family. Quietly, I said, “Mother, it’s many years too late for you to be asking what Harry did to me. If you’d asked that years ago, maybe we could have had a different life together.”
    Abruptly, I turned to the Secret Service agent. “Can you escort me to the gate? I’m taking a cab directly to the airport.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” he said.
    Carrie said, “I’ll come with you. I can take a cab back to the condo after.”
    “You will not!” my mother shouted. “Carrie, you’ll go nowhere.”
    My father, who had an intensely sad expression on his face, said, “Adelina, I think …”
    My mother turned on him in a fury, and he faltered. But then he went on, “Adelina, it’s time to stop. I don’t know what this was all about tonight, but we’re going to let Julia go, and Carrie with her. Carrie, I expect you home by midnight. And Julia … please call me. I don’t understand what’s going on here.”
    She started to turn her tongue on him, saying sharply, “I don’t think you’ve got any right to—”
    Gently, he said, “Adelina. Shut up. Let them go. Get in the