The Secret of Rover (37 page)

At last it loomed before them. On day trips to the city they had often peered between those gates for a glimpse of the stately and gracious home of the president. It was thrilling now to see the gates part and to enter the green and well-tended grounds.

Then everything became a blur.

The car stopped on a circular driveway; gloved hands opened the door; they passed through an arched entryway. It was bright and cool. Katie noticed through a haze of excitement that the place seemed half office, half house; David noticed with disappointment how small it all was.

Where were their mom and dad?

Smiling men and women were offering them drinks.
Soldiers were everywhere, in splendid uniforms with polished rifles held stiffly at their sides.

Katie and David and their uncle were all asked to sit and wait, and they did. Phones rang. Yet more people came and went and smiled.

Where were their mom and dad?

Now they were asked to pass through carpeted, narrow corridors. In offices along the way people seemed to be working. A gloved soldier was ushering them into yet another room.

Mom and Dad? Their hearts lifted, but inside this new room there were yet more chairs and again they sat.

David, suddenly inspired, reached into Alex's pocket, removed a cell phone, and began dialing.

“Hey,” said Alex, too distracted to protest for real.

“I'm calling Mom and Dad,” said David.

“Calling them where?” demanded Katie.

“On their cell,” replied David. “Maybe they got it back.”

“Good luck,” she said crossly, and she sat back in her chair.

David finished dialing and put the phone to his ear. And suddenly—very, very loud and very, very near—rang the notes of a now quite familiar song.

You are my sunshine
. . .

But they did not hear it through David's phone. They heard it through the wall.

All three of them leaped up. The guard, startled, tightened his grip on his weapon.

“Where are they?” Katie's voice trembled. “They must be right here! Mom? Dad?
Mom and Dad!!!
”

And then they
were
there, hurrying in from the hall, wild-eyed and clutching their ringing phone. They were there in the living flesh, laughing and crying and hugging and kissing until all four of them nearly tumbled to the ground.

Four?

“Careful!” warned Mr. Bowden. “Careful! We'll crush her!”

David and Katie both gasped. For there in their father's arms, barely visible within her many layers of soft wrappings, was a tiny fifth Bowden. Gently, their dad tilted the bundle and their mom lifted the blankets away from her face. Theo gazed at her brother and sister with bright and knowing black eyes, but they could barely see her for the tears that filled their own.

“She's a beauty,” boomed a familiar voice. And when they looked up, right behind their parents, Katie and David saw the president: the president of the United States. Beside him was Alicia, and both of them were smiling from ear to ear.

The president wanted to meet Theo, too, but she cried when he tried to hold her, which made everyone laugh. Then Alicia tried to hold her and it worked, and everyone
tried not to stare at Alex, who looked as if he might explode from pure pride.

But the president had words for Katie and David. “I've been wanting to meet the heroes who helped us defeat the Katkajanian insurgency,” he said, shaking their hands. “Thank you for coming to see me today. This celebration wouldn't be complete without you.”

“Happy to help, sir,” said David, then he blushed to the roots of his hair.
Happy to help, sir. Yuck!

But the president tactfully changed the subject. “I understand the two of you took quite a road trip,” he said.

“We did,” said Katie. “And oh, Mom and Dad, we did some bad stuff, too. We stole,” she said.

“Flashlights and crackers,” said David airily, his blush fading. “We needed 'em.” His face clouded slightly. “And I guess some money, too, and some other stuff . . .”

“It's OK,” said their mother. “We'll go over all of it later and we'll pay it back.”

The president did not seem concerned. “What did you think of our War Room?” he asked. “That's quite an operation, isn't it? You know, you're pretty unusual kids, getting to see that. Most people don't even know it's there.” He chuckled. “It's pretty well tucked away.”

Katie coughed politely. “South on Sixteenth Street,” she said. “Left by the brick hotel with the columns. Three blocks and then another left, then a quick right at the—”

But then she had to stop because Alex looked so
annoyed, the president looked so shocked, and everyone was laughing so hard.

“Gonna have to move it now,” the president muttered. “Well.” He coughed and moved on. “I know you had some help from some heroic police officers,” he said. “I'd like both of you to know that a Mr. Tyrone Jackson will be receiving an award for special service.”

That was excellent. Tyrone had been great. David wanted to tell how the cruiser had leaped over that front lawn. “Mr. President, he was fantastic. He—”

But David did not finish, because everyone's eyes had turned to the door, where an escort had just arrived with another couple: a nervous-looking woman whom they did not know and an enormous man who was bursting the buttons of a shiny blue suit.

“Mike!”
Katie and David launched themselves at the taxi driver, who never even swayed when both of them landed on him at once. Then they had to meet the woman, whose name was Betty and who was Mike's wife, and they had to introduce Mike to their parents and their sister and Alicia, and everyone needed to shake hands all around.

“I know you all have a lot of stories to tell,” said the president, “and I've got one to tell, too, to all those reporters who are waiting in our press room. So I won't keep you, though I do hope I get to hear the details someday. And you, sir,” said the president, turning respectfully toward Alex. “Will you be heading back to the Green Mountain State?”

At this everyone looked at Alex. And when they did, they saw that somehow he had slipped over to Alicia's side and had taken her hand. What's more, he was blushing a deep, ruddy red and Alicia's face was shining.

“Not . . . not . . .” Alex was unable to speak. Then he lifted Alicia's hand and, grinning, held it out for all of them to see. Glittering on her finger was an enormous diamond engagement ring.

Mrs. Bowden yelped and the president clapped Alex on the back and kissed Alicia and there was another round of hugs and congratulations. They might never have stopped except that eventually Theo began to cry, which again made all of them laugh.

“That's a heck of a cry!” said the president. “Bet our Rover could find her with that!” Then he sighed. “Duty calls!” he said. And he straightened his tie, saluted, and headed off to the press room.

“I'm starving,” said David, which made the rest of them realize that they had not eaten either. So they all headed out to breakfast together: Alex and Alicia, Mike and Betty, and all five of the Bowdens.

David got to carry his new sister, so he lagged behind. “What a lot of trouble you caused,” he scolded gently, looking into her tiny face. But Theo simply yawned and went to sleep.

The Secret of Rover
is fiction. Many of the places in it are entirely imaginary. Other places in this story are real, but I've changed them for the benefit of my characters, Katie and David.

For instance, Katkajan is my own invention. Vermont is real, but the towns of Melville and Hawthorne are not. I made them up, and I chose to name them for two of my heroes: the great American authors Herman Melville and Nathaniel Hawthorne.

Yonkers is a real place, but the truck stop that I've put in it is, again, fictional. And as for Washington DC, I'm afraid I've invented a couple of places within it—such as the neighborhood of Katie and David's old house—and I've moved a few other places around.

Some of what I say about Washington is true, though. I have seen the office of the Secretary of State. Though the building that houses it is plain, not fancy, this office is indeed ornate and beautiful. I've also been privileged over the years to enter the White House many times, and I can report that the interior is very much as I've described it.

“You've never heard of me, but I've written a novel.” If you want to make publishers and agents disappear, those are your magic words. I'm particularly grateful, therefore, to three people who stuck around. They are Liza Voges of Eden Street, my kind and adroit agent; Howard Reeves, editor at large of Amulet Books, who took a chance on me; and Amulet's Vice President and Publisher, Susan Van Metre, who warmly embraced the project. The rest of the Amulet team confirmed my opinion that my book ended up in the best possible hands.

I'm grateful, too, to the many young readers who agreed to look at my book and tell me what they thought. In alphabetical order, these smart and insightful kids include Miriam Israel, Gabriel Javitt, Joseph Johnson, David Lane, Zachary Moser, Ezra Schwartz, Leah Schwartz, Nathaniel Schwartz, Jenny Shore, Aaron Troy, and Eli Weissler. Abigail Friedland and Francesca Furtchgott shared their thoughts and encouragement about an earlier effort. Publishing takes time, so many of these readers are in high school now, or even beyond.

Kelly Corrigan, who teaches the fifth grade at North Chevy Chase Elementary School in Chevy Chase,
Maryland, graciously read an early draft. Sarah Kass, who teaches seventh grade English at Westland Middle School in Bethesda, Maryland, welcomed me and Rover to her classroom. In the days before I found Liza, Jon and Aliza Lerner generously helped me circulate my manuscript, and Dan Troy patiently explained the meanings of various potential contracts.

My good friend Anne Himmelfarb has been an endlessly tolerant listener and an invaluable critic. I've lost count of the number of times Anne has taken home a manuscript of mine, and I can't quantify the benefit I've derived from her comments on what she has read.

My children, Eva, Aaron, and Saul Wildavsky, are my fiercest critics, but there is no one whose good opinion I value more. Their insistence on the highest possible standards has immeasurably improved this book, and their confidence that it would find its way into print has buoyed me up.

It takes time to write a book—time that must be pried away from other necessities. My husband, Ben, has watched me pry away a lot more of it than either of us expected when the book began, yet somehow he is cheering me on as we cross the finish line. I'm grateful for that and much more. The thought of trying to itemize it overwhelms me.

My debt to my parents, Arnold and Nancy Flick, can't be itemized either. In all my life, their love for me has never faltered. This book is dedicated to them.

RACHEL WILDAVSKY is a former journalist who has written for the
Washington Post
and the
Wall Street Journal
, among many other publications. She has also worked for the White House under two presidents. Today she works for a private educational philanthropy. She lives in a suburb of Washington DC, with her husband and their three children.