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“When you come visit me,” she said. “Call your mom.” Then she left.
But when he called for an appointment the next day, she wasn’t in. And the day after, she called him and said, “Look, I was probably wrong. It was just stupid. Come see me and the kids anyway—at home. And I mean really home—the President is moving into the White House now, and I’m taking my kids back home to Virginia.”
Cole could imagine how it might be for her to enter the house she had shared with Rube. “Would you like company when you go back home for the first time?”
“I’ve already been back,” she said. “I’m okay. But thanks for offering.”
He figured that was that. They’d worked well together, even liked each other, but whatever confidence she was going to share, she had changed her mind. And that was fine. Her privilege.
Verus had asked to see Torrent, and Torrent accepted. They did not notify the press. Verus was being held under guard at Andrews Air Force Base; Torrent arrived in a limo and was hustled directly to Verus’s room.
Verus’s arm was in a sling, his hand thickly bandaged.
Torrent sat down without waiting to be asked. “How is your hand?” asked Torrent.
“My own doctor got to examine it and approved of the work they did. As a starting point. There’ll be more surgeries. I’ll probably never get full use of it, but people have suffered worse than that in wars.”
“I thought you hated war.”
“I hate wars that are fought to advance fascism,” said Verus. “I didn’t invite you here to argue with you.”
“Really? Then why am I here?”
“Because you’re the reason I fought this war,” said Verus.
“I didn’t realize I had made you so angry with me. In fact, I thought you enjoyed my seminar.”
“Your lectures spurred me to action,” said Verus. “I realized that it wasn’t enough to lobby against fascists. Bayonets could only be stopped by bayonets.”
“But Aldo,” said Torrent. “If you really believed that, you and General Alton wouldn’t have had to fake up a right-wing coup attempt.”
Verus smiled thinly. “You think I don’t know what you are?”
“We know you’re a traitor, and definitely not a pacifist. What am I?”
“You’re the devil, Torrent,” said Verus. “And we all do your work.”
Torrent rose to his feet. “You could have faxed me that message.”
“I wanted to say it to your face. I just want you to know. This war isn’t over. Even if you kill me or keep me in chains, your side will be brought down in the end.”
“My side?” said Torrent. “I don’t have a side.”
With that, he left the room.
Cecily moved her children home. Aunt Margaret stayed with them for a while, and when she went home to New Jersey, Cecily came home from the White House. “I was just transitional,” she told LaMonte. “My children lost their father. They need me. But I needed the work you gave me to do. So I thank you for that.”
It was hard, especially because many of her friends—most of her friends—seemed to regard the death of her husband as something that made her too sacred to actually talk to. She got notes. There were flowers. A few visits, with the standard words, “Well, if there’s anything we can do.”
But no calls from girlfriends inviting her to dinner or the movies.
Then, about a week after she moved home, Cat and Drew came by right after dinner, bringing ice cream. They sat around the kitchen table with Cecily and the kids, and told stories about Reuben. What he did in the war. What he did in training. What he did when he was on leave with them.
A week later, it was Mingo and Benny. Same thing, with pictures this time. They’d made a scrapbook and they left it with them.
Babe came alone a few days later. He had made a DVD of a slide show about Reuben. It was really funny. And sweet. At the door, as he was leaving, she asked him, “Did you guys draw lots? Take turns?”
“Oh, did the other guys already come? Have we been pestering you?”
