Long May She Reign (59 page)

Preston laughed. “That was her precise reaction.”

Seemed like a reasonable response.

“How is it?” he asked, indicating the brace.

She just shook her head, although if she were by herself, she might burst into tears.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and rested a light hand on her shoulder for a second. Then, he picked up the hammer, and carefully pounded the picture hangar into place on a blank space of wall. “You know, a funny thing happened. A few days ago, the President took a last-minute jaunt, which involved a stopover in Philadelphia, and unexpectedly had a visitor fly back with her, and even set up a little formal ceremony downstairs.”

Preston was from Philadelphia, originally. “That was nice of her,” Meg said.

Preston nodded. “Of course, later on, Mom ended up marching right out to the Metro and taking it to Union Station. I couldn't even get her into a cab, forget the plane ticket and car to the airport they'd set up for her.”

A formidable woman, indeed.

Preston looked at her. “It
mattered
, though. In case it comes up in conversation.”

“You know it won't,” Meg said. And even if it did, her mother would instantly change the subject, or maybe even leave the room.

Preston nodded again. “I know. I guess I just wanted to be sure that
you
knew.”

Duly noted.

He hung the photograph, and then stepped back to check its position. He frowned, straightened one side, checked again, and pushed it back to where it had been originally. “What do you think?”

Was he being so boyishly proud in front of everyone, or had she caught him at a weak moment? “Looks great,” she said.

*   *   *

WHEN SHE FINALLY
made it up to the family quarters, her father and Neal were nowhere in sight, but there seemed to be more noise than usual coming from the second-floor kitchen—which was unusual in the ever-silent White House. Some pot-banging and the like, which reminded her of the way the kitchen would sound when she came home from school back in Chestnut Hill.

She sometimes felt shy about interrupting the Cast of Thousands—since they were all far too eager to wait on her—but she peeked in, and saw Trudy, slamming cheerfully away at the stove, while Neal sat at the table with a plate of cookies and a large glass of milk.

“Hey, wow, you didn't tell me you were coming,” Meg said.

Trudy turned, and beamed. “Well, look at you,” she said, and came over to hug her.

“Was this a surprise for me?” Meg asked.

“Yes,” Trudy said. “Are you surprised?”

Very pleasantly. Meg nodded.

Trudy looked her over with a critical frown. “Katharine's right—you're not eating at all up there, are you?”

It was impossible to lie to Trudy. “Mostly, I'm too tired,” Meg said. “And other times, it feels like too many people are watching me.”

“Well, then, we'll have to make up for that while you're home,” Trudy said, and guided her over to the table.

Vanessa must have heard her voice, because she ambled in, sat several feet away, and stared at her with unblinking yellow eyes.

Two could play at that game. Instead of snapping her fingers and trying to coax her to come over, Meg just ate a cookie and ignored her completely.

Vanessa reacted with nearly audible outrage, and then, with some combination of resignation and great dudgeon, jumped up onto her lap and stuck a paw in her glass of milk.

“It's going to be gross if you drink that anyway,” Neal said.

Then, he should prepare to be grossed out.

She was about to go down to her room and rest before dinner when Steven showed up, home from baseball practice, still wearing dirt- and grass-stained sweatpants, turf shoes, and a very old and beat-up red compression jersey.

“Hey,” he said, briefly, when he saw her.

She waited for more, then realized that that was all she was going to get from him. “Hi,” she said, just as briefly.

Trudy was frowning at him, and he paused on his way to the refrigerator.

“Uh, when you get back?” he asked.

Jesus, was that really the best he could do? “While ago,” she said.

He nodded, and started filling his shoulder wrap bag with ice-packs. None of them had ever been completely sure whether he did that after pitching as a precaution, because he thought it was figuratively—and literally—cool, or because his arm hurt like hell. She and her parents suspected the latter, but he always vociferously denied it.

“Is your arm bothering you, Steven?” Trudy asked, her voice casual.

So, she must be suspicious, too.

He shook his head. “Nope. Just, you know, being careful.” He used the Velcro straps to fasten the wrap in place, grabbed a couple of cookies, and headed for the door. “Later.”

Okay. She wasn't going to take it personally.

Much.

“I think he's just tired, Meg,” Trudy said. “And that his arm
does
hurt.”

Yeah. Whatever. Meg sat for another minute, and then reached for her cane. “What time is dinner?”

“I'm planning for seven-thirty,” Trudy said.

“Okay.” She hoisted herself up, much to Vanessa's disgust. “I'm going to go take it easy for a while, then.”

Trudy was maybe going to say something else, but she nodded, instead, and Meg limped out to the hall. Steven's door was firmly closed, and she made a point of shutting hers, too.
Firmly
.

Naturally, the minute she stretched out on her bed, she fell asleep, and her father had to come in and wake her up for supper. At first, she didn't recognize where she was, but then, when she figured out that it was her real room, and not her dorm room, she wasn't sure whether she was happy about that—or disappointed.

“Would you rather have a tray?” her father asked.

What, and live up to Steven's low expectations? She shook her head, and forced herself to sit up. “No, thanks. I'll be right there.”

By the time she'd gulped some ibuprofen, washed her face, brushed her hair, and made it down to the dining room, everyone else was already at the table, and her brothers had started eating without her.

She wasn't even remotely hungry, but she told Trudy how good everything looked, and made an effort to appear to be eating heartily.

Trudy had just come back from a visit to Massachusetts, where she had seen a number of people they knew, and her parents asked questions about this and that, while Neal talked about how
fun
it would be if they could spend a bunch of time up there during the summer—and Steven plowed through about three helpings of everything, his conversational gambits erring on the side of being short, and mostly monosyllabic. And, of course, her mother left the room several times to take phone calls or speak to one of her seniors aides out in the West Sitting Hall.

For her part, she tried to walk the line between being agreeable—and unobtrusive. But then, about halfway through the meal, she felt so exhausted that she was afraid she might have to go down to her room and straight to bed for the rest of the night. And the thought of
not
being able to do so, without everyone getting overly concerned, was enough to set off a jolt of wild panic inside.

Her mother and Steven picked up on it almost instantly—and she could see them both go rigid in a “God, nothing's changed, and we're right back to where we were” way. Her father, Neal, and Trudy picked up on
that
, and then, the conversation which had been flowing along fairly easily slowed down—and ultimately stopped dead.

“Long day,” her mother said.

God, yes. Meg nodded, trying to breathe through the dizzy spell which had predictably come to join the panic. Nausea would be next. “Is it okay if I—” Except that if she fled—limped—to her room, it was only going to confirm their worst suspicions. Reignite the family malaise. Make her, once again, the agent of their collective destruction.

Felix was coming in with more mashed potatoes, and she caught his eye.

“Could I please have a cup of coffee?” she asked.

He was back in less than a minute, pausing to refill her parents' cups on his tactful way out of the room.

“
You
don't like coffee,” Neal said, accusingly.

The hell she didn't. Meg added more sugar than usual for the extra energy burst. “I do now.”

It was very quiet, and she could tell that they were all busily overanalyzing the possible implications of that remark.

“Well, there's the sure sign of a college student,” Trudy said, with a smile.

Which changed the atmosphere in the room, and she could almost literally see everyone else's brains process the concept of her as a
college student
, as opposed to a traumatized, housebound cripple, and calm down somewhat in response.

The conversation kicked back into—balky—gear again, with Neal carrying most of the load, as he asked her if she stayed up all night, every night; whether she had a whole bunch of new friends; and if she got to eat whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. She had to fib, a little, with each of her answers, but none of them seemed to raise any red flags until she said that the food was
great
, and she saw her mother and Trudy exchange glances.

She managed to make it through the rest of the meal without falling apart—drinking two more cups of coffee along the way—and then, Trudy went into the kitchen to order the stewards to let her help clean up, her mother was on her way back downstairs because of the usual flurry of emergencies, large and small, and, since it was dark now and he wouldn't be bothered by anyone, her father took Kirby outside to walk around the South Lawn. Steven had disappeared right after dessert, but she didn't know where he had gone. Or why.

She also wasn't sure if she cared, at the moment.

“Will you watch a movie with me?” Neal asked.

She really just wanted to sleep, but she could tell that he was eager to have her join him—and expecting to be turned down. “Does it have soldiers in it?”

He looked perplexed. “You mean, they
make
movies without soldiers?”

Christ, what a one-track mind. But then, she saw him grinning. Okay. Maybe he was on the verge of becoming just as snarky as she and Steven had always been inclined to be. “All right, smart guy,” she said. “Find a movie without any guns, and I'll be right up.”

While he raced off, she went down to her room and splashed cold water on her face, since she was still so tired that if she got onto her bed, she knew she wouldn't even have enough energy to drag herself underneath the covers before she fell asleep again.

When she got up to the Solarium, she found him in there alone, perched on the couch, waiting for her with great anticipation.

“Dad and Steven aren't going to watch with us?” she asked.

Neal shrugged. “I think maybe Dad's going to come up in a while.”

Which only answered half of her question. She wanted to ask him what the hell Steven's problem was, but he was fooling around with the remote, in an apparent attempt to avoid meeting her eyes.

Swell. It was her first night back, and Steven couldn't be bothered to—just swell. Would it kill him to
pretend
to be happy to see her?

She moved her jaw. “Is he in his room?”

Neal shrugged again. “Maybe. I don't know.”

Terrific. “I'll be right back,” she said, and motioned towards the little side kitchen, which had a refrigerator and a microwave and everything. “Why don't you make some popcorn and stuff, so we'll be ready to go?”

He nodded, but still wouldn't really look at her.

She found Steven lying on his bed, facing the headboard and bouncing a tennis ball off the wall—an activity guaranteed to make the White House curator, and presidential historians everywhere, blanch.

“Hey,” she said.

He nodded, tossing and catching the ball.

“How you doing?” she asked.

He shrugged.

Mr. Communicative. “Neal and I are going to watch a movie,” she said. “And we thought you might want to hang out, too.”

He shrugged again, throwing the ball.

Mr. Enthusiasm, as well. She waited to see if he was going to say anything, and then sighed. “Well, okay. We'll be upstairs.”

He shrugged.

Christ, could he make it any more clear that he liked it better when she was away? It wasn't as though she didn't already know that he hadn't missed her at all.

“Are Mom and Dad going to watch with us, since you're here?” he asked after her.

She paused, off-balance, and had to lean against the wall to catch herself when she didn't get her cane down in time. “What do you mean?”

He threw the ball,
hard
. “Fake like they don't hate each other. You know, so you don't get upset.”

It would be a relief if it turned out that he was actually mad at them—and not at her. She made her way back into the room. “They haven't been faking it in front of you and Neal?”

Steven scowled. “They
think
they have. Or else, they think we're way dumber than you, and maybe can't tell the difference.”

Her knee hurt, a lot, and she sat down at the bottom of the bed. “You mean, the stuff where they don't look at each other, and she leaves the table too soon, because she suddenly has a bunch of work she conveniently forgot she had to do?”

Steven nodded.

“Or,” Meg said, “if you go into their room and she's reading, he's over on the couch, and if
he's
reading, she's at her desk?”

Steven nodded. “If they're both in there in the first place, which, like, they
aren't
, mostly.”

Sometimes she wondered if her parents realized what a rapt little audience of three they had, during every waking hour. “That sucks,” she said.