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didn’t match the formal décor. The room was filled with antique end tables and a couch that looked custom made to match the regal drapes. It seemed like a room right out of the White House, and I imagined my father holding high-powered meetings here.
    My father entered the room and extended his hand to me. “Hi, Bruce Sundlun.” Wow, Mom got it exactly right .
    “Hi, Kara Hewes, nice to meet you,” I said, giving him my best firm handshake. I was too nervous to make real eye contact.
    “Nice to see you. Sit down,” he said motioning to the fancy couch as if to welcome me.
    Breathe, Kara, just breathe.
    I tried to look at him without making it seem like I was staring. He was old enough be my grandfather, but looked much younger than seventy-two since he didn’t have the wrinkles I expected. Instead, he was tall and handsome, and walked with the intensity of a soldier with his shoulder blades pinched back in his navy blazer as if he was squeezing an apple between them. He was buttoned up in his striped tie, and I could tell he wasn’t about to let his guard down. He had a full head of thick, grey-white wavy hair that he slicked back to reveal an intimidating widow’s peak. Like a real life Daddy Warbucks, he was powerful, polished, and intense. I couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated, but I refused to show it.
    The first few moments were awkward. I couldn’t remove my reflexive pasted-on smile as he spoke with long pregnant pauses about things I knew nothing about, like the banking crisis in Rhode Island, and how he was fixing it.
    “What’s that pin for?” I said, trying to break the ice by noticing a green “M” on his lapel.
    “This is for my wife, Marjorie. She nearly died a year ago when she was hit by a car in upstate New York.”
    The pin was for the one-year anniversary of the accident, and celebrated her triumphant recovery. She had fought to walk and talk again, even though doctors said she never would.
    “Wow, she must be a strong lady,” I said, trying to make conversation.
    It was strange to think of him having a wife, since I had only pictured him alone in all of my daydreams.
    I knew Marjorie was his fourth wife, and I wondered what happened to the third wife, the one he cheated on with my mom. He talked about how much Rhode Island loved its First Lady for her warm personality, joking that she was much more likeable than he was. I could see the pain behind his eyes. Even though he looked like the tough guy Mom described, my intuition told me there was more to this warrior underneath his rough exterior. Problem was, I wasn’t sure how to get to it.
    This was new territory for both of us. He didn’t know how to talk to a seventeen-year-old girl, and I wasn’t sure what to say to a governor. Thankfully, our photo albums were worth way more than a thousand words. He showed me pictures of himself as a young runner and told me he discovered his speed while running away from other kids who wanted to beat him up for being Jewish.
    “It taught me that if you have a disability, make use of it,” he said with a smile, uttering the piece of advice I would later hear a hundred times more in my life.
    He mentioned that he’d have probably gone to the Olympics in 1944 if they hadn’t been cancelled for the war. Instead, he dropped bombs over Germany from his B-17 Flying Fortress. I reminded myself again that I was sitting next to a real life hero. Wow.
    His fierce energy may have scared others, but it was exactly what I needed in my life to feel safe. Like a guard dog, his bark could instill fear in outsiders with just a look, but I wanted to be an insider, so his growl could protect me.
    He spoke to me in a kind, but formal tone, as if he was giving a lecture. I know now that he felt comfortable in the role of leader and teacher. He loved to hold court like a king, and being in charge allowed him to build a protective moat around his heart.
    I looked at his photos, trying to see the man