White House Autumn (18 page)

“Hi,” she said. “What’s up?”

He stopped, looking at her accusingly. “How come me and Steven had to go to school, and you didn’t?”

“Because I’m the favorite,” Meg said.

He scowled.

“That was a joke,” she said.

He just scowled.

“I’m going to go take a shower and change,” she said. “You and Steven get cleaned up, too, so we can be over at the hospital by five-thirty. And one of you ask Mr. Collins to get some flowers together, okay?”

He nodded sulkily.

“Okay.” She bent down. “Should I hug you, or am I too gross and ugly?”

He squirmed away. “Way too gross.”

“Fine. Your loss.” She walked to her room, pleased to hear him laugh.

“When they arrived at the hospital, their mother was just returning from a brief walk down the hall, surrounded by doctors and aides and agents. Their father had his arm around her waist, and she was leaning heavily on him, exhausted from what had probably only been fifty or sixty feet. But when she saw them, she straightened up, smiling.

“Is it five-thirty already?” she asked.

They nodded.

“How do you feel?” Meg asked.

“Oh, much better.” She had stopped leaning on Meg’s father. “In fact—”

“Madam President, why don’t we go into your room,” Dr. Brooks said, “so I can check you over, and then you all can have some privacy.”

Her mother nodded, and Meg knew she had to be feeling awful as she sank into the wheelchair a doctor rolled over.

“Don’t I look silly?” she asked Neal, who giggled. She looked at the rest of the family, smiling her politician smile—which always made Meg sad, because she would only use her mouth, and her eyes would look terrible. Lonely, angry, depressed—whatever. In this case, fighting pain. “When I come home,” her mother motioned towards the wheelchair, “I’ll see if I can get two of these, and then, we can have races.” Meg’s father was the only one who didn’t smile, and she lifted an eyebrow at him. “The image doesn’t appeal to you?”

“It’s a delightful image,” he said.

“Thank you.” She smiled at Meg and her brothers—which, somehow, wasn’t at all reassuring. “This will only take a minute,” she said, and let the doctors wheel her into the Presidential Suite.

Their father sat on a low couch. “Come here,” he said. “Let’s have some hugs.”

Neal jumped on his lap, and their father hugged him very tightly, Meg and Steven standing with their hands in their pockets. Their father gestured to the couch and they sat on either side of him.

“Beth get off okay?” he asked Meg, and she nodded. “Good.” He turned to Steven. “How about you? How was your math test?”

Steven shrugged. “You know.”

Neal pulled on their father’s tie, and when he nodded, took it off completely. “Can Mom come home now? ‘Cause she’s walking around and everything?”

“Well.” Their father hesitated. “It may be a few more days.”

“This weekend?” Neal asked.

“More like next week, I think. But, we’ll see.” He shifted Neal so that he could see all three of them. “Your mother’s pretty tired today, so let’s all be nice and quiet with her.”

“What,” Steven said, “you mean we have to go home?”

Their father shook his head. “No. I just meant to take it easy. Not to jump around or anything.”

“Why would we do a jerky thing like that?” Steven asked. “You think we’re that stupid?”

“No, I’m sorry,” their father said. “I know you’re not.”

Steven glared at him. “Then, why the hell do you keep telling us all the time?”

“I’m sorry.” He put his arm around Steven’s shoulders.

As far as she could tell, Steven always picked fights at the hospital because he was afraid he would burst into tears. When they were in her mother’s room, he would slouch in a chair, fists clenched, not saying anything, and more than once over the last week, he had had to run out because he was crying.

“Quit looking at me,” he said to Neal.

“I’m not,” Neal said, looking at him.

Steven’s right fist tightened. “Dad, make him quit looking at me!”

“Shhh,” their father said gently. “Everything’s okay.”

“Oh, yeah.” Steven stood up. “So okay she can’t even god-damn walk.” He hurried down the hall, disappearing into the men’s room.

Meg’s father sighed, starting to move Neal onto Meg’s lap.

“Don’t!” Neal grabbed his arm. “Don’t leave!”

“I’ll go,” Meg said, to avert a possibly noisy crisis. She walked down the hall, frowning at the agents by the restroom door. “Don’t come in here,” she said, then knocked. “Steven? You in there?” Which was a pretty dumb question. “I’m coming in, okay?”

Slowly, she opened the door and saw Steven sitting on the floor, below the paper towel dispenser, arms around his knees.

“You’re not allowed in here,” he said.

“What are they going to do about it?” She sat next to him. Men’s rooms were colder and creepier than ladies’ rooms. At least, this one was. She didn’t think she had been in any others.

He was trying very hard not to cry, but it didn’t work, and he hid his face in his arms.

She rubbed his back. “Come on, it’s okay.”

“She can’t even walk,” he said, his voice choking. “She can’t even stand up.”

Yeah. It was pretty horrifying to see. “It takes a while to get better, that’s all,” she said.

“Oh, right,” he said bitterly. “So she can go outside and have someone else shoot her?”

There wasn’t much she could say in response to that, so Meg just rubbed his back.

“It’s not fair,” he said.

Nope. It wasn’t.

“She should quit,” he said.

It was impossible, but Christ, if only she could. “She’s President,” Meg said. “The President can’t just quit.”

He didn’t say anything.

Meg sighed. “She
can’t
, Steven.”

He nodded grimly. “‘Cause she doesn’t care about us. That’s why.”

It had to be more complicated than that—but sometimes, she wasn’t sure, either. “Steven, come on,” she said. “You know that’s not true.”

He stood up, laboriously washing his face with a paper towel. “You gonna stay here and watch me go to the bathroom?”

She shook her head, also getting up. He kept his back to her and as she left, she heard a small sound, which meant that he was crying again. She kept going, not wanting to disturb his privacy, leaning against the wall outside to wait.

After what felt like a very long time, he finally came out, his eyes
red and his hair wet from having washed his face. She put her arm around him before he could say anything defensive, leading him down the hall to their mother’s room. She released him at the door, and they walked in, Meg with her arms folded across her chest, Steven’s hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Hi,” Meg said, and Steven nodded.

“We were just talking about what to have for dinner,” their mother said, all propped up, her eyes looking too shiny—and probably feverish.

“Whatever,” Meg said, and Steven shrugged.

“Here.” Their father leaned over with a sparse menu written in ornate calligraphy. “Why don’t you guys take a look at this?” He touched Steven’s shoulder, but Steven moved away, shrugging his hand off.

Meg pretended to read the menu, which, because her mother’s diet was still restricted, was pretty dull, although the hospital was at least making a huge effort to
serve
the food beautifully. She sat back and closed her eyes, her head starting to hurt. If her mother wasn’t talking or asking direct questions, no one really said anything during their visits.

Christ, what a mess.

“I thought maybe Killington,” her mother said. “Or Sugarbush.”

Meg opened her eyes. “Killington?” She must have missed something.

Her mother nodded. “I thought, for a change, we might want to go there at Christmas. Unless you all would rather be at Stowe.”

Meg looked at her doubtfully. Skiing? In less than two months? This, from the woman who couldn’t even walk down the corridor and back?

“I’ll be fine,” her mother said. “I thought it might be nice to be in New England for a while.”

“You mean, go home,” Steven said.

Their mother nodded. “For a few days.”

So, they talked about skiing, and every silence, no matter how brief, made Meg very uncomfortable. She’d always thought that the expression about air being thick enough to cut with a knife was stupid—except that, unfortunately, it was also accurate. Everyone talked about bland, meaningless things, while emotions flew around the room and smashed into each other. For a family of people she thought of as non-stop talkers, they sure were having trouble keeping a conversation going. And it was easy—too easy—to let her mother do all of the work.

It was like chess, sort of. Everyone watching everyone else, trying to figure out what moves people were going to make next, so they could set up the proper defenses. For that matter, it was like stupid
politics
. Even her mother, who was famous for her ability to manipulate—and charm—audiences, couldn’t make any of them relax or let down.

But, they weren’t much good as a family if they could only handle it when things were going
well
. Which seemed like such an appropriate sentiment that she almost said it aloud. But, why make things worse?

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” her mother said.

“What?” Meg asked, startled. She looked around and saw that they were the only two in the room. “Where is everyone?”

“They’ll be right back.” Her mother frowned. “You didn’t eat much again.”

“I had a big lunch,” Meg said. High tea, even.

“It was good for you to have Beth here,” her mother said.

Meg nodded, and it was quiet again.

“I’m sorry,” her mother said in a low voice.

Meg looked over. “About what?”

“That I can’t make it easier. I’m trying, but—” She shook her head, her face the scary light grey color. “It’ll be easier when I’m home.”

And became a target again.

“You all must be so angry at me,” her mother said.

Meg waited for her to go on.

“You must feel as though I—” She swallowed, and Meg watched the tendons in her neck move. “I don’t know. Asked for it.”

The uncertainty in her expression made Meg feel guilty, and she shifted in her chair. “No, I—I mean, we—I mean, just because you’re President—well, you shouldn’t have to worry about stuff like this. That’s what’s wrong.”

Her mother touched her bandages unhappily. “I never dreamed it would really happen. I never thought anyone—” She shook her head.

Meg couldn’t think of anything to say, so she picked at some cat fur on her sweater cuff.

“I hated my mother for dying,” her mother said, softly.

Meg blinked, not having expected that particular remark. It had happened when her mother was five—a riding accident at the Connecticut estate her mother’s family used in the summer. A farm Meg’s grandfather had, as far as she knew, immediately sold after his wife’s death. It had been like something out of
Gone with the Wind
, a case of a person taking a jump that was beyond her abilities.

“I really resented her for it,” her mother said, speaking in such a low voice that Meg had to lean forward to hear her. “Leaving me like that.”

“Well,” Meg twisted a little in her chair, “she couldn’t help it.”

“I know that
now,”
her mother said. “But when I was your age, and younger, I always felt—” She stopped, looking right at Meg. “I guess I thought that if she
really
loved me, she never would have done something that incautious. That, in a sense, she asked for it.”

Well, the argument could certainly be made—and convincingly so. Meg avoided her eyes.

“Meg, I would never hurt any of you intentionally,” her mother said.

Meg nodded, staring down at her hands.

Her mother sighed. “Well. I guess it’s too late for that, though, isn’t it?

Meg looked at the door. Where were her father and brothers? Because—she hated this conversation.

“Meg,” her mother said. “It’s all right to feel—”

Meg jumped up. “I’m going to see where Dad and those guys are, okay?”

Her mother nodded, seeming to crumple into herself.

“It’s not that—” Meg stopped. “I mean—”

The door opened, and her father came in, carrying Neal, who was sobbing.

“It’s okay,” he was saying soothingly. “You’re okay now.”

Her mother looked at him and he nodded, her mother’s eyes brightening. That meant that Neal had gotten sick to his stomach again—which he had been doing a lot lately. Her mother reached out with her good arm and her father lowered him gently onto the bed. She hugged him close, even though her face had stiffened with pain, whispering to him.

Steven was leaning against the wall, his posture slumped and unhappy, and Meg went over to lean next to him, her mother’s low voice and Neal’s crying the only sounds in the room.

WALKING INTO SCHOOL
the next day felt strange—as if she had been away for years. People seemed afraid of her, the same way they had been when she had first started the January before: staring, then muttering comments to each other as she passed. Maybe, if she got
really
lucky, they would start taking sneaky cell phone photos of her, and selling them to the highest tabloid bidders.