Meg nodded.
Vicky looked pleased. “Okay, then. You should also keep yoghurt and fruit juice and things like that around. Bread, cheese, peanut butter. Skipping meals really isn’t a good strategy, especially when your body’s trying so hard to heal. You desperately need the protein and calories.”
Except that stocking the refrigerator would involve planning, and shopping, and other tasks for which she had no energy. There were times, even when she knew she had several Cokes right there waiting for her, that she was too exhausted to bother getting up and taking one out. Too exhausted to pop the can open.
And, as far as she was concerned, her body wasn’t healing at all.
Apparently deciding that she had bullied her enough for one day, Vicky gave her good knee a light pat. “All right, why don’t you rest, and then I’ll send Cheryl in.”
Since she was only halfway through today’s particular PT nightmare. Meg nodded, covering her eyes with one arm, in an attempt to get a little bit of privacy. She was probably alone for about twenty minutes, but it felt more like twenty seconds when she sensed Cheryl standing nearby, shifting her weight nervously from one practical plain white sneaker to the other. She lowered her arm—and saw that, indeed, that was exactly what her hand therapist was doing.
They exchanged pleasantries, and then Meg just followed instructions, without asking questions or commenting in any way.
Except that, she could feel tears in her eyes, and she swiftly wiped her good hand across them.
“No more with the thumb today, okay?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I don’t think I can stand it.”
Cheryl hesitated, then nodded, and started working with the scarring and the fascia on her two slightly functional fingers, instead.
When the session was finally—thank God—over, Cheryl stayed around, looking more jittery than usual. All Meg wanted to do was go back to the dorm and sleep for the next ten or twelve hours, but she forced herself to smile.
“Is there something you want to ask me?” she said.
“Well, um—” Cheryl shifted her weight. “I have a friend.”
Oh, swell. Some kind of god-damned White House–related favor. What was it going to be, an autographed photo of the President, or something? But, Meg confined herself to a relatively receptive nod.
“Upstairs,” Cheryl elaborated.
If this was the beginning of some supposedly uplifting speech about God, Meg was pretty sure she was going to start screaming. But she nodded, more cautiously this time. Vicky had strolled over in their direction, and Meg had the strong impression that she might be about to intercede.
Cheryl bit her lip, looked away, and shifted her weight some more.
“I’m having trouble following the direction of this conversation,” Meg said, keeping her voice as pleasant as possible.
Cheryl sighed. “My friend Olivia works in Pediatrics, and she—well, they all know you come here regularly, and—well—”
Okay. She wasn’t in the mood, but it was manageable. “In other words,” Meg said, “someone up there’s pretty sick, and your friend was wondering if I would stop by to say hello.” Although why in the hell anyone would want to meet her was a phenomenon Meg had yet to figure out. Regardless of how often it happened.
Cheryl looked at her unhappily. “More than one.”
Right. This was a hospital. “Okay,” Meg said, although the thought of having to go up there and be captivating and witty and encouraging made her feel more like bursting into tears than anything else.
Vicky frowned at Cheryl. “Today’s sessions were a little grueling. Why don’t we think about that for Monday, maybe?”
“Yes,” Cheryl said, instantly. “Of course. Monday would be better. We can just—”
Meg shook her head, slowly taking off the ice packs, and strapping her splint and brace back on. “No, it’s all right. Today is fine.” She would just duck in, smile, shake a couple of hands, sign a cast or two, and then, she could leave. If she’d known in advance, she could have brought along a few of those little Air Force One boxes of M&M’s or something to hand out, but—well, it probably didn’t matter, since they wouldn’t know what they were missing.
Vicky was still glaring at Cheryl, but the truth was, she could pretty much do a Pediatrics ward visit in her sleep. Been there, done that, for years.
Luckily. Or—unfortunately. Depending upon one’s point of view. There were times, when she was little, that it felt as though accompanying her mother on public appearances was practically the only time she ever got to see her.
Not that she was still angry about it, years later. Hell, no.
She hoisted herself up onto her good leg, feeling dizzy enough to concede—to herself—that she should have gotten a damn sandwich or something at the Grab ’n’ Go before coming over here.
Five minutes. Ten, at the most. No big deal.
She let a couple of her agents go ahead to decide whether her route out to the hall, into the elevator, and up to the ward would be sufficiently secure. While they waited, Cheryl got more and more contrite.
“You, um, you really don’t have to do this today,” she said. “Or ever, for that matter. I mean—”
Meg raised her good hand abruptly to cut off the rest of the sentence before it went any further, and Cheryl subsided.
She couldn’t help hoping that the only patients up there would be rapidly recovering from minor things like tonsillectomies—but, she knew better. Wan, big-eyed children, quietly frantic parents, cheerful nurses with brightly colored scrubs and sad expressions—it was always the same. Only the names were different.
So, she was going to have to steel herself to do this. Figure out a way to look and act engaged, while making sure to keep herself inwardly detached. There’d been times, over the years, at hospices, and nursing homes, and hospitals—and animal shelters—when it had been a terrible struggle to keep from sobbing openly. Once, she had seen her mother start to completely lose it, because something about one particular brave young mother with terminal cancer hit her unexpectedly hard. She regained control immediately—as she always did—but later on, in the limousine, she’d covered her eyes with her hand. Most of the way back to the White House. She’d been in pretty rough shape after they’d made official visits to the sites of former concentration camps in Europe, too—to the degree that later, on Air Force One, the medical people thought she was having trouble getting her breath and clandestinely gave her some oxygen in the private Presidential suite.
Except that Meg had seen her react the exact same way, when she was ten years old and her grandfather died. She had loved him a lot, so it had been very sad, but her strongest memory from that day was her mother’s silent, trembling grief, although she had never cried, and the long, heartfelt eulogy she had given had been flawless, and even made people laugh fondly here and there. When the family was finally alone, back at his rambling apartment on Fifth Avenue—which her parents sold a few months later, a hasty move they now sort of regretted—her mother had gone into the library without a word to any of them, closed the door, and didn’t come out for several hours.
Brian came into the room and made a small “All clear” motion with his hand, and Meg nodded, took a few deep breaths, and lifted herself back up onto her cane.
Her mother, of course, had been gifted with the truly great politician’s trifecta—a photographic memory for names and faces, the ability to make instant personal connections with total strangers, and the underrated skill of being able to convey genuine sincerity. Today, Meg figured she’d be doing well if she remembered to smile the whole time, and was able to hide the fact that she was mostly going through the motions.
Neal always liked talking to people he didn’t know, but Steven hated philanthropic visits even more than she did—both of them were shy as hell, as a rule—and her father wasn’t too crazy about making public appearances, either. He was just better at masking it. Her mother really seemed to enjoy doing it, mo
st of the time, but—strangers were easy. It was only when her mother had to deal with people to whom she was actually close, that she—but Meg wasn’t mad at her. Nope. No way. Never happen.
And not anything to dwell upon, at the moment.
She met a little boy with two broken legs, another boy who had burned his arm badly when he bumped against a wood stove, and a girl recovering from a bout of pneumonia. An incredibly sweet and very small girl with leukemia—Jesus—and a painfully thin bald boy about Steven’s age, who also obviously had some form of cancer.
Which was about the time that her chest started feeling very tight, and her heart seemed to be beating much harder than it should be.
But, she kept going. Met a boy who had sickle-cell anemia, a girl who actually had had a tonsillectomy—and so many others that she had trouble remembering the various diagnoses—and names—once she had left a given room. The kids who were well enough were gathered together in a communal ward, and most of them were out of bed, playing with toys and puzzles, watching television, and so forth. The children who were more seriously ill or injured were in smaller single or double rooms. They were all shockingly pleased to see her, which was flattering—and disconcerting.
Vicky must have called ahead to warn the head nurse on the shift, Olivia, because she lingered close by, and kept asking whether she was too tired to continue. The answer was hell, yes, but Meg just smiled, and shook her head, and kept moving from bed to bed, and room to room, with a couple of her agents trailing nearby, but staying out in the corridors the entire time.
Some of the kids were asleep, but one mother actually insisted upon waking her son up, because he would be so disappointed not to have gotten a chance to see her in person.
And how strange was that? Meg, for one, found herself underwhelming, even on her best days.
She didn’t get back to school until after the dining halls had stopped serving, but in the car, Ed had remarked that he was starving, and asked if she would mind if they took a quick detour to the pizza place at the shopping center. It was a transparent ploy, on his part, but she wasn’t about to call him on it, and when he asked, casually, if he could order something for her, too, she thanked him and gave him enough money to get her a meatball grinder.
Which she was too tired to eat, but she stuck it in her refrigerator for later, and then went to bed without checking her email or voice-mail—or doing anything more than taking off her sneakers and dropping her jacket on the floor before she got under the covers.
Since it was Friday night, the dorm was even louder than usual, and she kept waking up every time music unexpectedly starting playing or someone shouted. She would do her best to doze back off—only to have some new noise wake her right back up again. A telephone ringing— her own telephone, two of the times; doors slamming; a bunch of people laughing. Benign sounds, which were getting on every single god-damned nerve she had.
In the morning, before she even opened her eyes, she could hear icy sleet against her window—and decided that there was no chance in hell that she was going to try walking down to the dining hall. So she heated up the meatball sandwich in the microwave, and had that for breakfast, along with a Coke.
She was bored, and feeling very lonely, so she turned on the television to watch C-Span for a while—nothing like watching Congress dither and argue and spout platitudes to brighten up the day. But, since it was the weekend, they were mostly only showing book stuff, and she lost interest almost immediately, and switched to CNN, instead. Somehow, the more homesick she felt, the more she felt a desperate need to get as much current events as possible. Among other things, she really missed reading her mother’s non-classified daily news summaries, to say nothing of being able to request any newspaper or magazine she wanted, pretty much around the clock. Plus, at home, she could watch press briefings, or events in the Rose Garden or wherever, live, on closed-circuit television, which made it easy to keep up.
And, yeah, it made her feel better every time she caught a glimpse of her mother. Got to see how she looked, what she was doing. Knew for sure that she was safe, at least for the moment. Sometimes she got lucky and saw her father, too, generally with Preston standing a few feet away, looking dapper.
It was much less entertaining when she saw herself, but—Thank God for small mercies—that wasn’t happening very often lately.
Her door was partway open, and Susan knocked on the doorjamb.
“How you doing?” she asked.
Time for the obligatory daily JA check-in. Christ. “Fine,” Meg said. “You?”
Susan nodded.
They both glanced at the television, as the lead stories heading into the top of the hour were announced, more than one of them relating to the President, of course.
“It isn’t weird for you to watch that?” Susan asked curiously.
Meg shook her head. “It’s kind of comforting, actually.”
Susan seemed to find that a little hard to fathom, but she nodded. Meg waved her into the room, and she sat down in the desk chair. They watched as there was a sound-clip of the President speaking about what the commentators were characterizing as “bold domestic policy initiatives.” The one they were focusing on involved a detailed new health care reform plan, which already had the apparent, and somewhat surprising, backing of a good percentage of the AMA, although not the insurance companies. Yet. The Administration’s legislative activities had been noticeably enterprising of late, although, as ever, the odds were very much against the prospect of the more humanistic ones succeeding.
“What do you see?” Susan asked. “When you look at that.”
Unfortunately, she saw what she always saw—her mother was very tired and unhappy. Meg sighed. “I see a person who isn’t getting much sleep.” And who was worrying herself sick—possibly literally—about too many things. “What do you see?”
Susan shrugged. “Someone who actually wants the best for the country, and is trying to do something about it. For all I know, there’s stuff going right over my head, but it sure doesn’t come across that way.”
“No, it’s accurate,” Meg said. “I mean, Christ knows she’s a politician, but she can pretty much get away with it, because she doesn’t have any kind of private agenda. I think it really all is for the greater good.” And, on the occasions when she suspected otherwise, it usually only took one glance at her rigidly moral father to realize that the very fact that they were still together, however tenuously, was a strong indication that her mother was pretty close to being exactly who Meg hoped she was. Politically, anyway. On the other hand, her parents were so utterly private, that it was possible that, despite having lived with them her entire life, she had no idea whatsoever about what their marriage was really like.
“Do you think it’ll actually get through Congress?” Susan asked.
Meg shook her head. “Not a chance.” And the obvious reality of that was very annoying, now that she thought about it. Her mother should be too smart for this. “It’s bad timing, and it’s stupid. She’s wasting a lot of perfectly good political capital, when she really just ought to pack her little bags on this one, and come back and fight another day. Aim lower, for now. I mean, you know what huge segments of the country are hearing practically every time she opens her mouth lately? They’re hearing, ‘Guess what, boys? As soon as I finish this, I’m coming after your guns!’”
“Sounds good to me,” Susan said.
True enough. Despite being the ultimate pipe dream. “Yeah, but,” Meg winked at her, “you’re a Northeastern intellectual at a very exclusive college—what the hell do you know?”
Susan smiled. “Not a damned thing,” she said.
But the actual political ramifications of what was going on suddenly made perfect sense—and Meg felt pretty dumb. Which was a relief. If her mother had suddenly lost her impeccable Washingtonian instincts, it would have been immeasurably disappointing. “Except, I’m wrong,” she said. “By making these moves, she can’t lose. Either there
’s some kind of miracle, and most of the stuff gets through somehow, and the country takes a remarkable, positive turn, and she has this wonderful place in history—or she blows herself out of the water, even though it looks as though she’s just trying to push some ambitious new policies.”
Susan looked confused. “But why would she want to—” She stopped. “Oh. The election.”
Meg nodded. There was always a tremendous amount of pressure for any remotely successful incumbent—and, in her probably subjective opinion, her mother was considerably more than that—to run again, but if this specific incumbent’s ambition exceeded her execution, then the Party might be more receptive to the notion of her gracefully stepping aside, in favor of a stronger, presumptively more conservative, candidate.
“It’s a little Machiavellian,” Susan said uneasily.
A little? Meg grinned. “Yeah, but in a real greater-good sort of way.”
In fact, she liked it a lot. A whole lot.
“You know, I’ve never actually seen you look animated before,” Susan said.
Meg flushed. Because, after all, she hated politics. With, you know, a fiery passion.
“I heard you telling Juliana that you’re probably going to major in English,” Susan said.
Meg nodded. “Yep. That’s me.”
Susan looked very amused. “Well, I’d bet my whole tuition that that isn’t what you end up doing at all.”
Political science? No way. Not in a million years.
Except—okay—maybe.
“But, I am going to be an English major,” Meg said, without much conviction. Despite little details like the fact that she really wasn’t enjoying her Shakespeare class at all. “Really.”
Susan looked at her with tremendous amusement. “Yeah,” she said. “Sure you are.”
20
OTHER THAN THE weekly entry gathering for JA-provided snacks—which she almost always blew off, Sunday night was, relatively speaking, the quietest night of the week. So, naturally, that was when her subconscious decided it would be an ideal time to have the worst screaming nightmare she’d had in a couple of weeks. Martin was the upstairs agent on duty, and very mechanically, she let him check her room while she went down the hall to wash her face and try to calm down. Her hallmates must have gotten used to being rudely awakened by shrieking, because none of them rushed out to see what had happened anymore.