White House Autumn

  “His previous convictions include assault with a deadly weapon, assault with intent to kill,” the reporter said, “and various sexual—”

  Not wanting to hear anything else about that, Meg changed to another station, her hand trembling so much that she almost dropped the remote control. This channel was showing film of the presidential motorcade pulling up to the hotel.

  “At exactly eleven-thirteen,” a solemn reporter was saying, “the President stepped out of her limousine, surrounded by—”

  Meg gulped, watching her mother get out of the car, agents everywhere as she smiled at the press and onlookers, and staff members from the other cars began joining the group around her. The film was a little shaky—the cameraperson jostling for position, maybe. Her mother turned slightly as her father got out of the car, and the first shot turned her even more, the sound like a small firecracker. The film was confusing—a blur of blue and grey agents—but the audio stayed on, and Meg heard all of the shouting she had imagined—worse than she had imagined—along with three more shots. She couldn’t see her parents, but agents were piling into the Presidential limousine, which swerved away from the sidewalk, most of the motorcade right behind it.

  She watched the pandemonium of the aftermath, too horrified to move or look away. People were shouting and yelling; agents were clustered around Bert Travis, the agent who had been hit in the leg; still more agents were tearing across the street towards the building from which the shots had come. Her hand was shaking almost convulsively, but she switched the set off, the room instantly dark, and now silent, except for her own breathing.

  Someone had shot her mother. Someone had actually—the man had taken a gun, and—Meg leaned back against her mother’s desk, her legs feeling weak. But she was supposed to be in charge, so she didn’t have the luxury of falling apart right now. Instead of sitting around and being upset, she should go check on her brothers and make sure they were sleeping.

  She took one steadying breath and pushed away from the desk, going next door to Neal’s room, first. His blankets were crumpled at the bottom of the bed, but he didn’t seem to be too restless, so she retucked him in and went to make sure that Steven was okay.

  Opening the door to his room, she heard quiet crying. Damn it. She shouldn’t have waited so long to check. He was on his stomach, face pressed into his long underwear sleeve, his other arm around Kirby. She sat down on the bed, putting her hand on his back.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “Don’t worry, it’s okay.”

  “I’m scared,” he said, trying to stop crying.

  With good reason. “Don’t be,” Meg said. “Everything’s okay.”

  “What if,” he gulped, “what if she—” He took a shuddering breath. “What if she dies?”

  Meg had to gulp, too. “She’s not going to.”

  “But, what if she does?” He turned over, his face so flushed that she was afraid he was sick. “What if that’s why they sent us home?”

  Meg didn’t answer right away, the fear sounding very plausible, one that she had been worrying about inside, too. Not that she could tell him that. So, instead, she came up with a quick rebuttal. “Look, if they thought something was going to happen, they would have kept us there.”

  “How do you know?” he asked.

  She fell back on her most irrefutable answer. “I’m older than you are.”

  He sat up, his arms going around his knees. “Dad looked like he’d been crying. Do you think he was?”

  Yes. “I think it’s just because he was tired,” she said.

  “I’ve never seen him crying,” Steven said uneasily. “Have you?”

  Meg shook her head. His parents had been killed by a drunk driver, and she assumed that he had cried a lot about that, but she had only been about a year old, and couldn’t remember.

  “He looked scared, too.” Steven’s eyes were huge. “I didn’t know he got scared. I didn’t think he was ever afraid.”

  Meg moved her jaw. What could she say to that? In very different ways, her parents had both always seemed to be utterly fearless. “I don’t know.”

  Steven pulled his knees even closer. “It makes me scared, too,” he said, and she brushed hair—damp from tears, perspiration, or both—away from his forehead.

  It was very quiet, except for Kirby, who was snuffling in his sleep.

  “If, uh, you want, you can go to bed,” Steven said finally. “It’s really late and stuff.”

  “Do you want me to?” she asked.

  He shrugged his “I’m thirteen; I’m cool” shrug, even though his eyes were still filled with tears.

  “I could have them bring a cot in here,” she said.

  He shrugged again. “I dunno. If you’re lonely or something, you can.”

  She had to smile. “I’m lonely,” she said.

  THEY WENT TO the hospital at nine-thirty, escorted by a veritable phalanx of Secret Service vehicles, and there were dozens and dozens of agents and police officers waiting for them when they arrived—more security than she had ever seen before. It was as though they were all expecting an army of machine-gun-carrying guerillas to appear—which was scary as hell. In fact, Neal almost wouldn’t get out of the car, and she had to hold his hand tightly and remind him that their parents were waiting before she could coax him out.

  Preston met them in the waiting room.

  “Your mother’s feeling much better,” he said. “You’ll be able to go in and see her for a minute.”

  “When?” Steven asked, very neat in a striped tie and his navy blue blazer. Neal was also wearing a tie, and Meg had put on a skirt.

  “In a little while.” Preston glanced at Neal, looked worried, and rested his hand on his shoulder. “We’re just going to wait for your father.”

  “Where is he?” Steven asked suspiciously.

  “Finishing shaving,” Preston said.

  Steven frowned, not convinced, and stood by the door to wait.

  “Late night?” Meg asked in a low voice.

  “All night,” Preston said, just as low. “Try to get him to eat something with the three of you. If he goes much longer, he’s going to collapse.”

  Meg nodded, feeling her fists tighten nervously—which Preston saw, but she shook her head when he reached out a supportive hand, and stood on her own, with her arms folded.

  A few minutes later, her father came in with a crowd of agents and a couple of his aides. He had shaved and changed his clothes, but he looked terrible—grey and exhausted. Drained. Preston was right about them needing to get him to eat.

  He hugged each of them, hanging on much longer than usual.

  “How’s Mommy?” Neal asked.

  “Better,” their father said. “We’re going to go down and see her.” He turned to Preston. “Do me a favor, and clear the room, will you? And make sure no one’s going to bother us on the way down.”

  Preston nodded, crossing to the aides standing on the other side of the room, and a moment later, they all left.

  “Is she really okay?” Steven asked.

  “Well,” their father spoke carefully, sitting on the couch and pulling Neal onto his lap, “you have to remember that she’s hurt. She’s not going to be sitting up or walking around.”

  Steven’s eyes were big again. “Will she be awake?”

  “Yes. But,” he hugged Neal closer, “we all have to be very gentle. We’re only going to stay in there for a minute, and then we’ll leave so she can get some rest. We don’t want to make her talk, either. She has some tubes to help her breathe, and it hurts her throat to talk.”

  “Does she look like TV?” Neal asked.

  “She looks like your mother,” their father said. “Don’t worry.” He reached over to touch Meg’s face. “You, too.”

  Meg nodded. Did Steven want to be young enough to sit on her father’s lap and be comforted as much as she did?

  Their father stood up, holding Neal’s hand. “Come on.”

  Meg wanted to stay
close to him, too, to have him put his hand on her shoulder or back, but since Steven was brave enough to walk by himself, hands jammed into his pockets, then she, as the oldest, should be, too.

  Her mother’s room was large, and full of doctors and nurses. Meg made herself look again, more calmly, and saw that there were only six.

  Only six.

  She followed her father and brothers over to the bed, hearing the various hums and bleeps of medical machines, with little colored lights blinking and flashing on each one, afraid to see what her mother looked like.

  “Hi, Mom,” she heard Steven say, his voice shaking.

  “Mommy.” Neal’s voice was higher, but just as frightened.

  Okay, she had to look up. Meg lifted her head and saw her mother, pale and fragile, her right arm full of tubes, more tubes going through her nose and down her throat. The bed had been propped up to make it seem as if she were sitting, but she was obviously very weak. Her left arm was in a sling, tightly bandaged around her shoulder and neck, and there were more bandages visible through the hospital gown, her entire upper body bulky. Incredibly, she was smiling. A tremulous smile, but one that stayed on.

  All right, now she had to say something. Anything. “Hi.” Which didn’t come out quite right, so she tried again. “H-hi. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.” Her mother’s voice also rasped, but that was probably because of the tubes.

  “Katie,” Meg’s father said, gently warning, and Meg saw her mother’s eyes glisten for a second as she nodded.

  Neal was hanging on to their father’s hand, staring at their mother in what appeared to be shock, and Steven still had his fists in his pockets, so expressionless that Meg had to look twice before she realized that he was crying.

  No one spoke.

  “Um,” one of the doctors said, “I think—”

  “We just got here!” Meg blinked, surprised by how angry she sounded.

  “No, he’s right,” her father said. “The more rest your mother gets, the sooner she’ll be able to come home. Here.” He lifted Neal up. “Let’s all give your mother a kiss, so she’ll be able to sleep better.”

  “Will it hurt you?” Neal asked anxiously.

  Her mother shook her head and tried to snap the fingers of her right hand, Meg’s father moving a legal pad over, along with a pen. “It will make me feel better,” she wrote, in shaky, but distinguishable handwriting.

  Neal kissed her cheek, pulling away fast.

  “Good job,” her mother wrote. “My arm just healed.” She winked at him, and Neal laughed, Meg staring at her in frank admiration.

  Steven moved in to kiss her, wiping his blazer sleeve across his eyes to get rid of some of the tears. Their mother brought her hand over to his face, holding it there, and he burst into even harder tears.

  “I hate him,” he said, then ran out of the room.

  “Steven,” her mother tried to call after him, her voice sounding terrible.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Meg’s father said. He bent to kiss her cheek and whispered something, her mother nodding. Then, he straightened up and motioned towards the door. “Come on.”

  “Can I—” Meg swallowed. “I mean, just for a minute?”

  He looked at the doctors, then nodded. “Just for a minute.”

  When he and Neal were gone, she looked at her mother.

  “I, uh, I’m really sorry,” she said.

  Her mother nodded, and wrote, “I’m sorry for all of us.”

  “Do you hurt?” Meg asked. Which was a really stupid question.

  Her mother shook her head. “How are your brothers?” she wrote.

  “Okay,” Meg said. “Steven’s having a harder time.”

  Her mother nodded. “What about you?” she wrote.

  Meg started to say that she was fine, but instead, began crying. Her mother reached over for her hand, holding on with surprising strength. Meg gripped back, knowing that she had to be a little kid for a few seconds, let someone else be the strong one. But, it didn’t seem right to be taking strength from someone she should be giving it to, so she let go, getting herself under control with a deep, shaky breath.

  “Meg,” her mother said hoarsely. “It’s okay to—”

  “Madam President.” One of the doctors indicated his throat.

  Her mother looked annoyed, but pulled over her legal pad, turning to a fresh page. “Let yourself get upset,” she wrote. “Don’t try to hold it in.”

  “I’m fine,” Meg said.

  Her mother looked at her, and Meg felt even more power from the concentrated gaze that she had felt from her mother’s hand. She wouldn’t have looked away, but a nurse tapped her shoulder, gesturing towards the door.

  “I have to go,” Meg said. “I mean, they want me to.”

  Her mother nodded, most of the power fading from her eyes, something like vulnerability or loneliness replacing it.

  “I’ll be back as soon as they let me.” Meg bent down, not wanting the doctors and nurses to overhear her. “I really love you,” she whispered, kissed her mother’s cheek, and swiftly left the room. Remembering that she had been crying, she wiped away the last of the tears with her hand, and four agents accompanied her down to the waiting room where her father and brothers were, all three of them looking up when she came in, Steven’s face tear-stained.

  “Hi,” Meg said, and sat in an empty chair, very tired. She hadn’t gotten much sleep. Felix and Gary had helped her move a cot into Steven’s room and once she was settled, Steven had fallen asleep, and she was the one lying alone and afraid in the darkness. Even holding Vanessa hadn’t helped. It must have been almost dawn by the time she dropped off, because she remembered watching the sky change colors through his window.

  She leaned her head against the hard vinyl back of the chair, studying the ceiling. People in the room were talking, maybe even to her, but she concentrated on the ceiling, too tired to follow a conversation. The fluorescent lights hurt her eyes, so she closed them, not wanting to get an even worse headache than the one she already had. It was nice to rest for a minute. Just for a minute.

  A hand touched her shoulder and she opened her eyes, startled to see Josh sitting in the chair next to hers. She stared at him in confusion, not sure where they were, or why she had a blanket over her, with just the two of them in the room.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he said. “You were having a bad dream.”

  She squinted at him, still not sure what was going on. “Josh?”

  “Hi,” he said, with such a nice smile that she decided that this was Josh, and she was awake. “Are you all right?”

  “Um—” Her face felt damp and she realized that she must have been crying in her sleep. She turned away, embarrassed, wiping the tears with her hand. “How did you get here? Don’t we have school?”

  “Yeah. I, uh,” he looked sheepish, “kind of didn’t go.”

  Oh. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the last of the confusion. “What time is it?”

  “Going on to two.” He stroked her forehead gently, and she was so tired that she sank back against the small pillow on the chair and let him do it.

  “Have you been here a long time?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “They wouldn’t let me in. Then, when Preston got back from the White House, he said it was okay.”

  Meg frowned, lost again. “Preston left?”

  Josh nodded. “Yeah. Trudy got here, and they took Steven and Neal home.”

  “Oh.” She blinked hard, trying to force her eyes to stay open. “Is my father here?”

  “Yeah,” Josh said. “He’s in with your mother.”

  “Oh.” That, at least, made sense, so she let her eyes close.

  “You want to sleep some more?” he asked.

  She did, but she shook her head.

  “You want a hug?” he asked.

  Now, she opened her eyes. “Yeah,” she said. “I do.

  SHE STAYED IN his arms fo
r what seemed like a long time.

  “You should go home and sleep,” he said softly.

  Meg shook her head, since she wasn’t about to leave without seeing her mother again.

  “You’d feel better,” he said.

  “No,” she said. “I wouldn’t.”

  He started to disagree, then nodded. Meg nodded back, too tired to explain.

  Preston showed up and sat with them for a while, and her father was in and out, but none of them talked much. Then, right before six, she got to see her mother again, this time for about ten minutes. The doctors had taken the tubes out of her throat and she was able to speak, making small-voiced jokes and being so damn game that Meg had to struggle not to cry, especially when her face would tighten with pain and she would still try to make jokes.

  After that, her father made her leave, and a huge clump of agents appeared to take her home.

  “You want me to come?” Josh asked.

  She really just wanted to be in her room, by herself, and sleep, but couldn’t figure out how to say so without being rude, so she nodded. The agents steered them through a side exit, but there was still a crowd outside. Police officers, what looked like a National Guard unit, Secret Service agents, reporters, cameras going like crazy, protestors—protestors?—who were pro-NRA, or anti-gun, or—they were yelling for her mother, or against her mother, or waving signs, or—Meg stopped, too scared to go any further. She turned to go back inside, but there seemed to be even more people crowding in behind her, and she stopped again, completely terrified. Josh seemed to be saying something, but her heart was pounding too loudly for her to hear, and suddenly, agents were holding her arms, moving her forcefully through the crowd and into a black car, Josh jumping in behind her. Then, they pulled away from the curb and once she was sure they were out of camera view, she covered her face with her hands.

  “You okay?” Josh asked, looking very worried.

  She nodded, tears too close to trust her voice. He put his hand on her shoulder, and she brushed it off, trying to get control of herself.

  “Meg—” he started.

  She shook her head, moving away from him, taking slow, calming breaths. Then, once they were at the White House, she hurried out of the car, heading straight for the elevator to go upstairs, Josh behind her.