Lucy rolls her eyes. “Taylor, come on. I’m the daughter of a former leader. There’s no way anyone will take me seriously.”
“Who better to unite the nation than someone who embodies the spirit of what we hope to achieve? Total unification?” I ask, gazing up at her. “The pedigree and education of a leader, but the soul of an everyday citizen. The fierce courage of a soldier, and the gentle altruism of a humanitarian. You have both fought in battle and coordinated them, but also witnessed the actual impact of war and policy on the people. You know how to speak the language of the Upperclass and Underclass. Most importantly, you have the one quality in a leader that most countries do not.” I place my hand in the center of her chest.“The most loving, gorgeous heart. I do not know a single person better for this position, because I do not know a single better person.”
Lucy’s eyes convey multitudes—affection, pride, desire—but the fear grabs me. She chews her lip, glancing to Delilah and Roxana before fixing her gaze back on me. “Look at what happened the last time a Piccolo took power. Years of tyrannical rule and oppression. You know I…I never wanted this.”
“Lucy, you know that we are not the sum of our ancestors. We are not our last names. I mean, I didn’t even have a last name until a couple days ago, and I still don’t know it.”
“It’s Clark,” Roxana interjects quietly.
“See?” Lucy continues to appear reticent and I take both her hands in each of my own. “If you truly do not want this, I will not push you. The choice is absolutely yours and yours alone. I will only say, as certain as the sky is blue, you can do this and you’d be great at it.”
Lucy inhales a deep breath. Here we stand, in the same building we met, a lifetime away from the two women whose lives collided on a crowded dance floor. She, now a leader in her own right, and me, no longer a lonely orphan soldier but someone connected to the world with an ever-growing family. It began here, and it begins again.
“And you’ll be by my side?” she asks, gripping my hands.
There is nowhere in the world I would rather be, so I answer simply.
“Always.”
LUCY
Six Years Later
EPILOGUE
Two children scream at the top of their lungs. If one were to be, say, our neighbor two blocks down, one could easily have the bone-chilling thought that the children were being murdered. Instead, they chase each other around an extremely long dining room table.
Our youngest, a tan little boy with black hair and dark eyes, chases his older sister, a red-haired, freckle-faced girl with legs half the length of her body. They are both, for some reason, naked and soaked from head to toe, splashing water and soap across the hardwood floors. Under normal circumstances, this would be extremely cute.
The issue is, as adorable as it may be to hear the pitter-patter of happy children, I’m on a holo-call with the region leaders, who’ve now seen both of my children nude, wet, and screaming.
Taylor bursts into the room, covered in soap bubbles, frantically searching for the damp culprits. When she finds the kids huddled in the corner giggling to themselves, she puts her hands on her hips and wordlessly beckons them. They don’t comply, because, well, they’re our children and it appears the DNA for being incredibly stubborn is strong. The formerlieutenant general who used to command hundreds of troops currently cannot corral two rambunctious children.
“Madame President, do you need a minute?” Delilah inquires over the call, barely stifling her laughter. “It would appear you have some runaways to attend to.”
I motion for Taylor to come in. “I think animal control is here. Sorry everyone.”
“Don’t be,” Hunter says. Though not required to be on these calls, she frequently sits in. We only visit once or twice a year, so I think she uses these opportunities to glimpse into Taylor’s life. It’s sweet, and Patricia is patient enough to share her screen space. “How are my darling niece and nephew?”
I glance at them. “Incorrigible, but well.”
Taylor scoops up each child, one in each arm, and walks over to my chair to peek into the call. “Hey, everyone. Sorry about that.”
“Hi, Aunt Hunter!” Katy practically screams, desperately trying to squirm out of Taylor’s grasp. “Are you and Uncle ’Hote coming to Thanksgiving? Uncle Mason and Tía Maria are coming.”
Lucas wriggles, but he, too, stays put under the firm grasp of his mother. “And Reggie.”
“Duh, kiddo! We will be there and we’ll have tons of gifts for the three of you.”
“Tía Lilah, are you coming?” Katy bats her big brown eyes at the camera. “Grammy is already here staying with us.”
“Yes, darling, I will be there, I promise. Now, go on, finish your bath.”
“We are leaving. Again, sorry. Carry on.” Taylor hefts the two kids out of the dining room and closes the door. More screaming erupts from the hall, but the slap of naked feet against the floor gets quieter as they move to the other side of the house.
The call ends about an hour later, each leader signs off and leaves me alone in the virtual conference room, staring at my face. Behind me, we hung the flag of our new nation and it imbues me with a sense a pride for country I’ve never had. I close my computer and glance around the office. It was my father’s office, but we did a hefty renovation a couple years ago. Wood-paneled walls replaced with drywall painted in forest green. A couple bookshelves, a big table and chairs for in-person meetings, and a desk upon which I have photos of our family, as well as the one relic of my father’s I kept—his diamond ashtray. It sometimes still smells like his cigars, and the useless pomposity of it reminds me of him. I’ve removed all traces of the Piccolo line of power, including the one closest to me, which is represented in a plaque Shea made for me with PRESIDENT L. CLARK engraved on it.
This is not a title I wanted; I actively avoided leadership as much as possible. Piccolos don’t do well in positions of power. But I’m no longer a Piccolo—I’m a Clark. I am my own legacy now, and I intend to leave a good one.
