My Daughter

"I don't give a bloody hell about your security! I want to talk to the President!"

"Take her into custody, she's clearly insane!"

"But Sir, it's Amelia Williams."

"Am I supposed to know who that is?"

"Children's author?" the guard frowned. "She wrote Summer Falls. And Night Thief of Ill-Harbour. My kids love her!"

"I don't care who she is! She can't talk to the President and she's attracting the press!"

"I'll attract all the more press if you arrest me," Amy challenged. She offered her hands. "Go ahead, slap the handcuffs on. And I know you're somewhere up there listening, Tricky Dick, so hear this: you are not taking my son!"

The guard apologetically began to secure his handcuffs on Amy's wrists. "Nobody wants their sons to go to Vietnam, ma'am."

Amy grit her teeth, ignoring the guard. "Jefferson. Adams. Hamilton. April eighth, nineteen-sixty-nine! The Legs."

"Take her out the back way!" the guard's superior snapped. "Crazy, I tell you."

But as the door opened to lead her out, Amy smiled tersely.

"Uh, Sir?"

"What now?!" The superior looked up and nearly fell over in his seat as he rose to salute his Commander-in-Chief. "Mr. President!"

"Excuse us," Nixon announced.

"But Sir–"

"That's an order."

Amy waited patiently until the guards had left. When the door was shut behind them, she moved to lock it.

"Your hands," Nixon noted. He opened his mouth to call the guards back, but Amy waved him off.

"No need," she said, turning over her hand to reveal a silver key. "Churchill would be jealous."

Nixon neared her as she unlocked the cuffs. "It really is you," he breathed. "But…older."

"Yes, well, time will do that to you." She tossed the cuffs onto the desk and bore her eyes into the President's. "Now here's the thing, Mr. Nixon, here's the thing I didn't know last time we met: that little girl? Her name was Melody and she was my daughter. But she's gone now and here we are again and now you're trying to take my son from me too. But he's not going. He's not going to war, Dick. Over my dead body!"

"I don't understand–"

"You don't need to. Redact his draft. I believe you owe us that much."

"But if I do it for you–"

"Don't give me the party line. We both know how well this administration keeps secrets." Silently, she added so far. "Anthony Brian Williams, nineteen-forty-six. He's in college right now, that's where he's going to stay. Do we have an understanding, Mr. President?"

"Yes."

"Good…and I'm sure this conversation will stay under lock and…" She tossed him the small silver key. "I'll let myself out."