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Stanton bent down and kissed his mother’s cheek, covered in foundation, before moving on to Amy, seated around their regular table at their country club in Hyde Park.
“You look fantastic,” Amy murmured as she buried her face in his shoulder for a fierce hug. “I missed you terribly, you know.”
“I know, sweetheart. I missed you, too.” Amy was one of the few unadulterated joys of his life. A talented fashion designer who lived in New York City, she opened a store in Poughkeepsie and came up on a regular basis. He’d had a hard and protracted battle with his father to procure her the freedom to follow her dream instead of going into politics or pursuing an academic legal career. Public service or academia were the only appropriate choices. Their family was filthy rich but working on Wall
