The Governor's Lady (29 page)

“Miz Mickey,” Estelle said, “you’re not worth bludgeoning. For a
worn-out little old lady, you are a royal pain.”

When Cooper returned in a half-hour, Mickey was parked in a wheelchair, telephone in one hand, cigarette in the other, while Estelle bustled about the room changing sheets, checking monitors, hooking up a fresh oxygen supply, and then taking the cigarette from Mickey.

“Sit up,” Estelle ordered. “You’re slumped over like you’re on a three-week drunk.”

“I wish,” Mickey said. “Estelle, you have no respect for your elders.”

“If you didn’t have me around to get you straightened up, you’d be a puddle.”

“I love you, too, Estelle,” Mickey said. “If not for you, they would have plowed me under days ago.”

“Estelle,” Cooper said, “you need to go home and rest, or else my mother will drive you stark, raving nuts.”

“I am,” Dubose said. “Another nurse is on the way. I’ll be back in the morning. Nobody else can put up with her for long.”

When Estelle was gone, Cooper unplugged the telephone. “This is going out of here.”

“How the hell am I gonna know what’s going on without a telephone?”

“Ask
me
,” Cooper said. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been kicked in the nuts.”

“You don’t have nuts.”

“If I did, that’s what I’d feel like. But I still have about a quarter-tank of piss and vinegar.”

Cooper collapsed into a chair.

“And how are you?” Mickey asked.

“Kicked in the nuts, but I’m all out of piss and vinegar.”

“I talked to Wheeler. He said you did okay. He said you fired Doster.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Good for you.”

“Pickett’s furious. He says Doster knows too much. He’s trying to get me to change my mind.”

“Don’t,” Mickey said.

Cooper smiled. “No chance. Firing that asshole was the highlight of my day.”

They fell silent. Cooper took a minute to close her eyes, rub her temples, focus.

“All right,” she said, “talk to me. What Pickett said last night. ‘I told her this wouldn’t work.’ ”

Mickey made a tent of her hands, cupped them over her mouth and nose, snorted, lowered her hands. “Pickett came to me last year, told me you had come up with this cockeyed idea of running. I told him that if he didn’t find a way to get one of his people in office to hold down the home front, he’d be stuck with Woodrow, and Woodrow hates his guts. So he’d better damn well figure out how to sandbag Woodrow. Two weeks later, Pickett came back. Woodrow had decided not to run, he said. But why should he let you? Could you win, and if you did, would you be a good little girl? I put a sales job on him. With Woodrow out of the way, you’d have a good chance—the pedigree, name recognition, all that business. And you’d be safe. He didn’t think so. He said you were too goddamn stubborn and independent. But then he went off and thought about it some more, and the next thing I heard was your announcement.”

“Why did Woodrow drop out?”

“I don’t know, but I didn’t buy what he was selling. Yes, his wife was sick, that much was real. But a politician with his ambition would walk over his invalid grandmother to stay in the game.”

“Plato called Woodrow this morning, and Woodrow showed up to help.”

“Wheeler told me.”

“But later, we had this absolutely weird conversation. I said I looked forward to working with him, and he said, ‘For now.’ When I asked him what he meant, he gave me an incredulous look and said something like, ‘You really don’t know, do you?’ And then he said, ‘You and Pickett owe me.’ ”

Mickey frowned, looked away, lost in thought. Then: “There’s some kind of deal.”

“What kind?”

“I’m not going to speculate. But I do know you’d damn well better find out.”

They sat in silence while Cooper worked it over in her mind.

“Pickett’s coming home tomorrow to take a helicopter tour of the state. And deal with Doster.”

“And you’re going to ask him about Woodrow.”

“I’ll play it by ear.”

Mickey nodded. “Your father was a master at that. He was like Jack, nimble and quick.”

“I’ve thought about Daddy a lot today.”

“I think he’d be proud of you.” That lingered for a bit. Then she added, “I am.”

“Thank you,” Cooper said, and meant it. “Now, I’m going to go put my weary fanny to bed, and you’re going to do the same, and I’m taking the damn telephone with me.” She picked it up, started for the door.

“Do you know why I wanted you to run for governor?”

Cooper turned back. “To help Pickett, of course.”

“I couldn’t care less about Pickett.”

“Is that because he doesn’t need you anymore?”

Mickey’s eyes narrowed. “I helped Pickett get where he wanted to go. We used each other, because that’s what politicians do. But we’re even, and neither one of us owes the other anything.”

“Then why?”

“Because I wanted something for you.”

“After all these years.”

“Cooper, hear me: I am old and sick, and I don’t have a damn bit of time to fart around with anything less than honesty. I have been a piss-poor mother. I just didn’t know how, and once we got to a certain point, I guess I gave up.” Her voice cracked, and she bit off the words, eyes flashing. “I am all hard edges and rough spots and don’t have much milk of human kindness in me, and not enough patience with people to fill up a thimble. You and I are who we are, and we can’t change that. But right now, I’m looking at you and thinking,
By God, she’s got the stuff
. You’re in a tough spot, and you’ve caused a helluva ruckus already, and I hope you’ll let me help you make sure the bastards don’t wear you down.”

Cooper took a deep breath. “All right.”

Mickey snorted. “But I can’t do that without a goddamn telephone.”

Cooper plugged the phone back in, set it on the bedside table, and left without another word.

She was back the next morning, ready to head for the airport. She had something else she needed to ask Mickey, something that had come to her in the night.

“Mother, did you sabotage Woodrow?”

Mickey’s eyes narrowed. “Did I what?”

“After we broke up.”

“After
we
broke up?”

“All right, after I dumped him. He ran for Congress and got clobbered. Was that your idea?”

“I tried my dead level best to talk him out of it. He was too young,
too eager. But he wouldn’t listen. He got eaten alive, just like I said.”

“Then why did he do it?” Cooper asked.

“To prove something, I imagine. To you, mostly. Maybe to you and Pickett.”

“I’m sorry he did that.”

“It took years for him to recover.”

“Did the two of you stay in touch?”

“No,” Mickey said. “When he decided to run for the legislature, I sent word offering to help, but I never heard back. Give him credit, he climbed out of the hole and almost all the way to the top. Almost, but not quite. Maybe someday he will, and I think he’ll consider that the ultimate vindication. But by God, he has to earn it. Now, about the agenda today.”

“A helicopter ride.”

Mickey nodded. “Pickett’s people will have a crowd lined up somewhere out yonder, far enough from town to give the feel of the boondocks but close enough that the media can get there. He’ll be on all the newscasts.”

“That’s the idea.”

“And what will you be doing while he’s getting his picture taken?”

“I’ll be right there wearing my boots and looking like I know what I’m doing. I make a fairly good picture myself.”

Mickey looked at her appraisingly. Then a corner of her mouth turned up in the beginning of a wry smile. “My daughter the governor.”

A crowd was gathered in the blustery cold at the airport’s private aviation terminal, where a National Guard helicopter sat throbbing as Jake Harbin’s plane taxied in. Wheeler and Rick and the security detail from her office, Burgaw and some of his staff, several state troopers, Plato and some others from Pickett’s operation, reporters, cameras. The
doorway folded out, and Pickett bounded down the steps, looking full of vim, smiling, making a beeline for her. A hug and kiss, then his arm around her, waving to the crowd as they moved toward the helicopter. Shouted questions from the media people. “When we get back!” he called out with a big smile. “Don’t want to keep the governor waiting.”

A crewman helped them get strapped in and don headsets. They flew north, toward the deepest snow. It enveloped everything, a vast white sea. Some main roads were being cleared, utility crews were working on downed lines, and vehicles were crawling. Pickett kept up a running intercom chatter with the pilots. “I’d like to set down for a moment in Graceville,” he said.

“General Burgaw told us,” the pilot came back. “About ten minutes from here.”

Pickett glanced at her. She looked away, out the window.

They landed in the parking lot of Graceville’s National Guard armory, home of the rangers who had pulled off the bus rescue. They were there, along with a scattering of locals, some press. Pickett’s people had been at work.

Pickett climbed out, headed for the gathered throng, caught himself, and waited for her. They worked the crowd—first the rescue team, then the others, handshakes, back pats, encouragement. Lots of pictures. Then Pickett moved toward the press bunch. She stayed a step back while he made the right noises: “Stunning … never imagined anything like this … good people working together … these incredible Guard folks who save lives. I’ve got a call in to the president to see—”

That’s when she interrupted him. “Actually, the president and I spoke this morning. He’s declaring the state a federal disaster area, and we’re assessing the damage to see exactly what we’ll need from him. And about these rangers from the Guard unit. General Burgaw will have them in my office by the end of the week to accept the state’s highest decoration.” She made a point of not looking at Pickett. “We’ve made a lot of progress, but we’ve got a long way to go. The effort
from everybody is magnificent and inspiring. The weather folks say we’ll get some significant warming over the next few days, and that will help.” She took Pickett’s elbow. “I appreciate the former governor coming today. I’d say his heart is still here at home.”

“How’s she doing?” one of the press folks asked Pickett.

He picked it up neatly. “Splendid. I’m so proud.” A glance at his watch. “Fundraiser tonight in Washington. Great to see you all.”

They flew back to the capital in silence.

It was just the two of them in a small terminal room.

“I met with Doster,” he said.

“When?”

“Early this morning at Jake’s house. This”—he waved in the direction of his waiting plane—“was just for show.”

“Of course.”

“You have put me in a big bind, Cooper. He’s mad as hell, threatening to bring everything crashing down. Do you have any idea how much shit that man could stir up?”

“Tell me.”

“Look, this does nobody any good—not you, not me, not the people you and I depend on. You have to reconsider.”

“No.”

He screwed up his face, and the muscles along his jawline rippled. He threw up his hands. “Then I’ll have to—with everything else I’ve got going—try to keep this contained. I’ve offered to make him head of the Secret Service when I get elected.”