White House Autumn (9 page)

“What is it?” Steven asked. “Is something happening?”

“I don’t know. I’ll go find out.” She followed the exodus of aides and agents to the hall, so dizzy that she wasn’t sure she could walk. She met a grinning Preston on his way in to see them.

“It’s okay, Meg,” he said. “She came through it okay.”

Meg started to speak, then realized that she had to sit down. Quickly. She lowered herself into a chair, while Preston continued over to her brothers. People were talking at her, but she didn’t answer, too dizzy to even sit up straight.

“I know how you feel,” Preston said, by her chair suddenly.

Meg lifted her face out of her hands, managing to smile. “When can we see them?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “We’re going to move the three of you upstairs, though. At least get you on the same floor.”

Preston and a bunch of agents led them through some offices, to a back hallway and staircase, up to the floor where the recovery room apparently was. The new waiting room was more comfortable, with easy chairs and an overstuffed couch, and the three of them were finally allowed to be by themselves, away from all of the aides and agents, although the room was heavily guarded.

“Your father will be down later,” Preston said, glancing at Meg. “In the meantime, can we get you guys anything?”

“Yeah,” Steven said, his grin huge. “You got some food around this place?”

A LOT OF
people stopped by to visit them in the next couple of hours—Vice-President Kruger and his wife, the Secretary of State and a bunch of other Cabinet members, the Speaker of the House and
his
wife—both of whom Meg knew pretty well, the Senate Majority and Minority Leaders, all kinds of people. Meg did most of the talking, while her brothers sat around and looked happy.

All she knew now was that her mother was in serious, but stable condition, and still in the recovery room. So, she was probably resting, but not necessarily comfortably. But
resting
at all was enough of a miracle, in and of itself.

Meg was very polite, making small talk with all of the visitors, none of whom stayed long—but most of the time, she kept her eyes on the door, waiting for her father to come.

Right after eight, he did.

“Daddy!” Neal scrambled off the couch, running over to meet him.

Their father hugged him, and Meg noticed that he was wearing a different outfit from the one he’d had on at breakfast. He was
smiling, but his eyes were dark and his face looked like newspaper someone had crumpled up and then tried to smooth out again. His hands were shaking, too, in a way that she usually associated with his having too much caffeine.

“I’m sorry,” he said, hugging Steven now, as Neal hung onto his jacket. “I had to be with your mother.”

“Is she okay?” Steven asked. “She’s going to be okay, right?”

Their father nodded, somewhat mechanically.

“Can we see her?” Neal asked.

“Probably in the morning,” he said. “She’s really not awake yet.” He hugged Meg, and she saw how bloodshot his eyes were, from strain probably, but it looked more as if he had been crying—and so, she hugged him extra-hard.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He nodded, and she could hear him swallow before he broke away. Then, he cleared his throat. “What I think you all ought to do, is go back to the house for the night.”

“Why can’t we stay with you?” Steven asked. “I mean, like, they’ve got plenty of beds.”

“Because there isn’t anything you can do here,” their father said. “And I’d feel better knowing that the three of you were all safe at home, and I didn’t have to worry about you.”

Jesus, he couldn’t be thinking that someone was going to
shoot
them, could he? Maybe he just meant he’d rather see them sleeping in their own rooms, instead of being cooped up in a hospital waiting room with a bunch of Secret Service agents.

She wanted to stay behind—because, that way, she could at least keep him company, but if she even brought it up, Steven and Neal would have a fit. She looked from her father, to the agents he was giving terse instructions—at length, to her hands. Maybe she could go home with her brothers, and then come back once they were in bed, or—

“Aren’t you coming, too?” Neal asked their father.

He shook his head. “I’ll be spending the night here. You all can come back in the morning, when your mother’s feeling a little better.”

When her brothers were distracted for a minute, Meg moved closer to her father. “Do I have to go?” she asked.

“It would be a lot easier,” he said, looking at Steven and Neal.

She nodded, careful not to seem reluctant.

He put his hand on her shoulder. “I know how you feel. But right now, the most important thing for you to do is to take care of your brothers. That’s what I need right now.”

She nodded.

“I’m counting on you,” he said.

She nodded again.

THE WHITE HOUSE
was somber. Somber and solicitous, everyone looking at them with sad eyes, and waiting on them hand and foot. Meg got her brothers settled in the West Sitting Hall, where the butlers brought them cheeseburgers and French fries and chocolate milkshakes. Meg wasn’t at all hungry, but she pretended to eat, so that her brothers would. After their—mostly full—dinner plates were cleared away, and they were served dessert, Meg decided that the two of them seemed to be pretty well occupied by the ice cream and cake, and took advantage of the chance to go down to her room and be
alone
for a few minutes. It felt as though it had been about a year and a half since she’d had any privacy—and she needed some, to decompress, a little.

Or, possibly, cry.

Vanessa was asleep on the bottom of her bed and Meg picked her up, hugging her to her chest. For once, Vanessa just purred, instead of also scratching her, and Meg held her closer, concentrating on not bursting into tears. Felix had told her that there were dozens and dozens of messages, but she didn’t feel like looking at them—and she wasn’t exactly in the mood to sit down and stare at email, either.

Vanessa flexed her paws, digging them in Meg’s chamois shirt, and Meg extricated them, looking at the delicate shape of her cat’s leg, soft grey fading into white, with tiny clean claws and barely scarred pads. The white and grey made her think of her mother’s dress, that beautiful pinstriped flannel. She pictured her mother getting out of the car: tall, thin, elegant. Smiling at the crowd—there was always a crowd—and then—then—

“Meggie?” Steven asked from the door.

She sat all the way up, releasing Vanessa. “What?”

He shrugged unhappily. “Will you come watch TV with us?”

“What’s on?” she asked cautiously.

“I don’t know, movies and stuff.” He shifted his weight. “Please, Meg?”

She nodded, and they went up to the solarium, Steven and Neal sitting on either side of her on the couch. Sitting very
close
to her. The movie turned out to be a police drama that might have violence, so she put on a situation comedy that they hated. There was a news update right before the show started, and she had to flick away from the channel right away, before her brothers could hear anything more than “Tonight President—”

Since there wasn’t likely to be any news coverage there, she turned on the Cartoon Network, and they watched a few cartoons, none of them laughing—even at the parts which were sort of funny.

“I’m tired,” Neal said.

Meg nodded. “Yeah, it’s late. You should get some sleep.”

“Will you come with me?” he asked.

“Sure.” She looked at Steven. “Will you be okay up here?”

“I’m coming, too,” he said.

So, they went down the small staircase which ended near the Queen’s Bedroom and East Sitting Hall, and Meg sent them into their bedrooms to put on their pajamas. Steven didn’t argue—which had possibly never happened before in his entire life.

“May we bring you anything?” Felix asked, as she stood in the Center Hall, waiting for them.

Meg shook her head. “I’m fine, but thank you.”

“I hope you know how very sorry all of us are,” he said.

Meg nodded. “Thank you.”

“Would you like me to have your messages brought to your room?” he asked. “There are—”

She didn’t want to know how many there were. “No, thank you,” she said. “I’ll look at them in the morning. I’m too tired to think right now.”

Felix nodded. “Of course. I’ll have them put on your desk. But Mrs. Donovan wanted us to be sure and tell you that she’ll be on the first plane she can get.”

Meg looked up. “Really? Do you think she’ll be here tonight?”

“I know she’s going to try,” he said.

Mrs. Donovan was Trudy, and although Meg was pretty sure her parents had hoped that she might want to accompany them to the White House, she had moved to Florida to live near her son, who had four-year-old twins. Meg hadn’t seen her since July, when she had visited for two weeks, which had been wonderful. Almost like being home again.

Neal came out of his bedroom, wearing light blue pajamas.

“Did you brush your teeth?” Meg asked.

He shook his head.

“Go brush your teeth,” she said. “Then I’ll come in and keep you company.”

He nodded, leaving just as Steven appeared, wearing old grey sweatpants and a ratty long underwear shirt.

“Did you brush your teeth?” Meg asked.

He made a face, and sat down at the shiny mahogany table where they sometimes had fast, casual meals, and where her parents usually sat, and drank coffee, and read the
Times
on Sundays.

“Felix says Trudy called and she’s coming,” Meg said.

Steven looked eager. “Tonight?”

Meg shrugged. “I don’t know. If she can. It’s kind of late.”

“Meg?” Neal called from his bedroom.

“Be right there.” She glanced at Steven. “I said I’d keep him company for a while.”

He nodded, following her.

Neal was on his bed and Meg helped him under the covers, tucking him in and then sitting on the edge of the mattress, as Steven slouched in an armchair across the room. The
huge
room, since, in most Administrations, it had been part of the Presidential Suite—which meant that Neal had the biggest bathroom of anyone in the family, including the Leader of the Free World.

About whom she couldn’t bring herself to think right now.

Seeing how tired Neal’s eyes were, she turned off his light, then took his hand.

“Will we see Mom tomorrow?” he asked.

She nodded. “In the morning.”

“Will she come home then?” he asked.

Hours after major cardio-thoracic surgery? Presumably not. “I don’t know,” Meg said. “Probably not tomorrow, but soon.”

He looked worried. “Is she thinking about us?”

“Of course.” She patted his cheek with her free hand. “And Trudy’s coming tomorrow.”

He immediately sat up. “Is she here now?”

“Not yet,” Meg said. “We’ll probably see her in the morning, too.”

He looked a little tearful for a minute, but she got him to lie back down, retucked him in, and then sat there until she was sure he was asleep. She waited a few extra minutes, just to be sure, then extricated her hand from his and stood up, turning to see what Steven was doing.

He was almost asleep himself, and she very gently shook his shoulder, taking him to his room and doing as much tucking in as his thirteen-year-old pride would allow. Satisfied that he was okay,
she went out to the small hallway connecting their bedrooms, so tired herself that she wasn’t sure what to do next.

She found Kirby asleep by the fireplace in the Yellow Oval Room, patted him, and then brought him into Steven’s room. Kirby wagged his tail, then jumped onto the bed, and settled himself on Steven’s legs.

Deciding that Neal needed an animal, too, she wandered around until she found Humphrey, their tiger cat, in the Lincoln Sitting Room and carried him down to Neal’s room, depositing him on the bed.

The house was very quiet. The West Wing was probably full of activity—Vice-President Kruger and all of the senior aides and advisors almost certainly working through the night—but, in the West Sitting Hall, she felt as if she were the only person in the entire building. Lonely, but not tired enough to go to bed yet, she sat down on the couch, rubbing her sleeve across her eyes.

“Miss Powers?” a voice said.

She flinched, but then saw that it was only Felix. “Um, yes?”

“There’s a call for you,” he said. “Miss Shulman, calling from Boston. Would you like to take it?”

Beth. “Very much,” Meg said.

“Should I have it transferred to your room?” he asked.

“No.” Meg indicated the Presidential Bedroom. “I’ll take it in there. Thanks.”

The room seemed strange and empty without her parents, and once she was in there, Meg regretted not having gone down to her own room, instead. But, the phone was already ringing, and she would feel stupid asking them to transfer it
again
. She was going to pick up the phone next to her mother’s side of the bed, but that seemed wrong, so she sat down to use the one at her desk, instead.

“Hello?” she said automatically.

“Are you all right?” Beth asked.

Hearing her voice, Meg relaxed into the chair, coming as close to bursting into tears as she had all day. “Hi.”

“Are you okay?” Beth asked. “I left a couple of messages on your cell, but—are you okay?”

Meg pressed her hand across her eyes, so she wouldn’t cry. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” Beth said. “I mean, I’m
really
sorry.”

Meg nodded, forgetting that Beth was hundreds of miles away and couldn’t see her.

“How is she?” Beth asked.

Meg swallowed. “Pretty bad. I mean, we weren’t allowed to see her or anything. So—I don’t know. I think it’s bad.”

“Is anyone there with you?” Beth asked.

“No, Dad’s at the hospital. I mean, Steven and Neal are here, but—” Meg let out her breath, too tired to finish the sentence. “I don’t know.”

“You sound awful,” Beth said. “You should go sleep for a while.”

Probably, yeah.

“I really am sorry, Meg,” Beth said. “I wish—is there
anything
I can do?”