“Oh, honey,” I call out, and I hug her and kiss her, and hug her some more, and she complains, “Mommy, not so tight!,” and I can’t speak back because my eyes are full and my throat feels like it’s stuffed with cotton.
After some minutes pass, Amelia is gently banished to the spare bedroom that’s temporarily hers, and when she says, “Will you have some chocolate chip cookies later? Me and Aunt Gwen made them!”—and of course we all say yes, including the First Lady who actually has a slight smile on her face.
Gwen brings us all coffee in the living room, and I have my pistol out on the coffee table, and I recall something, then pop out the magazine and put a fresh one in. Three rounds have already been expended, and I want fourteen full rounds available if need be.
My sister watches me and says, “I wouldn’t worry too much. My house is scrubbed.”
The First Lady speaks up. “What does that mean?”
Scotty’s maneuvered his chair so that it’s facing the door. “It means, ma’am, that this house, the utility bills, and everything else are under a different name. Not her own, so she can’t be traced.”
CANARY says, “Are you a spy?”
“Not brave enough,” she says. “Just read and think a lot.”
I finish reloading my pistol and say, “I imagine you’re wondering why I’m here, along with … Mrs. Tucker.”
“Good guess.”
“Best you don’t know much,” I say.
Gwen smirks. “Like need-to-know? You know how many times I’ve heard that?”
“Still,” I say, “it might help out if this all goes to a congressional investigation one of these days.”
She nods. “I see. What can I do?”
“We need to spend the night,” I say.
“Deal.”
“Among other things,” I say.
Gwen nods. “Deal again. Anything else?”
Not being on the run and being in my sister’s warm and comfortable and so far safe home makes me feel like I’m about to fall asleep in the chair.
“We need to get the First Lady someplace safe, which isn’t the White House. Or the Eisenhower Executive Office Building. Or any other government place.”
CANARY speaks up. “I may have a thought or two about that.”
I slowly nod. “I thought you might.”
CHAPTER 79
AFTER SOME HOT tomato soup and French bread, followed by chocolate chip cookies—and Amelia is so proud of how good they are that I have to turn my head to hide my tears—I clean up and find my way, along with Amelia, to her bedroom. CANARY is going to sleep in Gwen’s room, Gwen is going to make do with a pullout couch, and Scotty has a blanket and a foam mattress on the kitchen floor.
Gwen lets me borrow a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt, and I say, “Sis … I owe you so much.”
She gives the two of us a quick hug and kiss and says, “Not another word. Get to sleep, all right?”
She leaves and closes the bedroom door. A small nightlight illuminates part of the bedroom. I snuggle in and move around, and Amelia is there, and I spoon with her and have sweet flashbacks of the many, many times we slept together when she had a nightmare or was scared of thunder or something else. Ben would grumble (poor Ben!) but secretly I just liked the scent and warmth of my little girl. Even the pain in my lower back seems better.
“Mom?” she whispers.
“Yes, hon.”
“I miss Daddy.”
The words just slip out, like truth often does. “Me too, honey. Me too.”
Her shoulders start to shudder and I know she’s crying, and I let it be. She rustles around, and I sense her wiping her nose with the bedsheet.
“He was brave, Mommy, wasn’t he?”
“Your daddy was very, very brave,” I say. “One of the bravest men I know.”
“And he didn’t even have a gun. He went after that bad man, and he didn’t even have a gun.”
“That’s right. He wanted to protect you, like a brave daddy does, and that’s what he did.”
She snuggles up against me and I can’t quite believe it, but I’m drifting off. So much to think about, so much to do, but after the last forty-eight hours, my body is surrendering.
“You’re brave too, Mom.”
“No, no I’m not.”
“That nice lady downstairs. The one with the hurt hand. She told me you were brave.”
I rest there, thinking, and say, “Are you sure?”
“Uh-huh,” Amelia says. “That nice lady told me … that I should be proud. That my mother was the bravest woman that lady ever knew.” And Amelia raises her voice just a bit. “And who is she, Mom? She looks familiar. And how did she hurt her hand?”
I brush her hair with my hand. “Go to sleep, hon. Go to sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
No pushback from my little girl.
Thank God for small miracles.
At some point during the night the bedroom door slides open, and someone comes into the bedroom, and from underneath my pillow I grab my pistol and roll over to cover Amelia’s body, and Gwen whispers, “Boy, always on the job, huh?”
I get off Amelia so as not to wake her, and my younger sister comes around the foot of the bed and kneels on the carpeted floor next to me. “You doing all right?”
“I think I am,” I say, yawning. “What’s up?”
I see she has some sheets of paper in her hand. “Sorry to say this, Sally, but you guys need to leave. Now.”
CHAPTER 80
THERE’S HUSTLE AND bustle, and soon enough, I’m in the living room with Scotty and the First Lady, and we’re dressed and ready to go. Gwen passes a lumpy envelope over to me that I slide into my coat while no one is looking, and while we’re all yawning and rubbing our eyes, Scotty is as sharp as ever.
My lower back still aches.
“Are you sure we need to do this?” he asks.
“Very sure,” I say, looking to my sister, who says, “Amelia’s still sleeping.”
I choke up. “You tell her … you tell her …”
Gwen comes to me, squeezes my hand.
“I’m going to tell her that she can have scrambled eggs or pancakes. That’s what I’m going to tell her.”
I squeeze her hand back. “That sounds fine.”
Scotty is next to CANARY, who says, “Why are we going so early? And where are we going?”
“I’ll tell you in a moment, ma’am,” I say. “But first things first … Scotty. Will you do a sweep of the parking lot and come back with the Suburban?”
“On it, boss,” he says, and he unlocks the door, and then slips out. I give him a few seconds, and motioning to the First Lady, we follow him.
We step outside on the small sidewalk. The sun is up, but it’s still damn early. The First Lady holds her bandaged left hand awkwardly, but I’m not in the mood for interrogating her.
I’m in the mood for my primary job.
Off in the distance among the parked cars I see the form of Scotty, looking around, making sure that there’s no one out there with bad intent, waiting.