The President's Daughter Read Online Free PDF

“Wonder what Mom and Dad are doing.” Of course, she could probably turn on CNN, or check the Internet, and find out, in due course.
    â€œThey’re probably at a church supper,” Trudy said, washing the salad bowl. “And your mother’s getting ready to make a speech.”
    â€œProbably,” Meg said, and resisted the impulse to put the pan away harder than necessary.

    Which Trudy, predictably, noticed.
    â€œYou know, Meg,” she said, “if you need someone to—”
    Meg shook her head. “I don’t. I mean, thanks, anyway, but I really don’t.” She closed the cupboard. Very quietly. “You think I ought to go see what Steven and Neal are doing?”
    Trudy nodded. “We’re almost finished here, anyway.”
    Hearing the television, Meg went into the den, where Steven was sprawled on the couch, a New England Patriots notebook next to him.
    â€œYou do your homework?” she asked—and immediately regretted it.
    â€œNope,” he said.
    Oh. “Are you going to?” she asked.
    â€œNope,” he said.
    Well, okay. Not much she could do about that. So, she sat down next to him. “What is this?” she asked, as she watched two cars crash, rolling down an embankment and exploding into fire.
    â€œIt’s boring,” he said.
    They sat there quietly for a minute, as two of the police cars responding to the violent crash also slammed into each other, although only one of them blew up.
    â€œWhere’s Neal?” she asked.
    â€œDunno,” he said. “He went upstairs.”
    Hmmm. “Is he okay?” Meg asked.
    Steven shrugged. “Guess so. Didn’t ask.”
    â€œWell, maybe I’ll go see what he’s doing.” She reached over to rumple his hair. “Why don’t you watch something more cheerful?”
    Steven shrugged again.
    Jesus. Did her parents realize that two of their children were spending a good chunk of their time moping around these days? “Okay. Be back in a while,” she said.
    She went upstairs and found Neal’s bedroom door closed—which, since her family was big on privacy, wasn’t shocking, but it
still bothered her, in this particular case. The light was on, so she knocked.
    â€œWhat,” Neal said.
    Make that three children moping. “Can I come in?” she asked.
    He mumbled something, and she opened the door to see him sitting up on the bed, looking very small and very sad.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” she asked. Which was stupid, since she knew quite well what was wrong. “Are you okay?”
    He shook his head.
    â€œAre you sick?” she asked uneasily. When Neal was upset, it tended to have a bad effect on his stomach.
    â€œNo,” he said.
    â€œOkay. I mean, that’s good.” She started to put her hands in her pockets before remembering that she had on sweatpants. “Can I keep you company?”
    He shrugged, and she climbed onto the bed, sitting up next to him.
    â€œYou’ve been pretty quiet tonight,” she said. “You sure you aren’t sick?”
    He nodded.
    â€œIt’s hard, having them away,” she said.
    He nodded, and moved closer, which was a signal for her to put her arm around him—which she did.
    â€œHe’ll be home tomorrow,” Meg said.
    Neal nodded.
    â€œAnd maybe she’ll come home in a few days, too,” she said.
    â€œNo, she won’t.” He burrowed closer. “She never does.”
    It was hard to argue with that. “Well, she can’t help it,” Meg said. “She has to campaign.”
    He shook his head, and she could tell by the trembling in his shoulders that he was crying.
    â€œCome on, Neal, don’t. Please, don’t.” She hated it when he cried—she never knew what to do. “Don’t, okay?”

    â€œHow,” he was trying to stop the tears, but not succeeding very well, “how can she be away if