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“Um, that’s the thing. I’m at the White House.”
Elizabeth dropped the phone. And hastily picked it up. “The White House? Why are you at the White House?” She froze with her jeans halfway up her legs.
“Bing invited me to a dinner at the Residence. Just the president and a couple of his friends and their wives. Then I fell and hurt my back. I thought it would be okay, but then…it wasn’t.” The slight slurring of Jane’s words told Elizabeth how much pain her sister was experiencing.
Elizabeth took a deep, centering breath. “Tell me where the prescription is, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Hold on.” There was a pause and some muffled voices.
Despite Jane’s relationship with Bing, Elizabeth never expected to have an occasion to return to the White House. And she’d been content with that thought. In fact, she had planned to avoid President Darcy for the rest of her life. The last man in the world Elizabeth wanted to see, and Jane was stuck at his house. But it was Jane. And Elizabeth would do anything for her sister.
Then Jane was back. “You’ll also have to give Bing your Social Security number. The Secret Service needs to do a quick background check even though you were at the White House before.”
Bing makes Jane happy. This is worth the trouble. “No problem.” She kept her voice as positive as possible.
“I’m sorry,” Jane said somberly. “Maybe Bing could go to my apartment instead—”
“No, that would take a lot longer,” Elizabeth said. She would not leave her sister in pain and vulnerable in a strange place. “I’m coming. Just tell me where the medicine is, and then I’ll talk to Bing.”
***
An hour later Elizabeth was riding in an elevator with a Secret Service agent whose expressions ranged from blank to grim. Jane had assured Elizabeth that she could simply drop off the medicine, but Elizabeth needed to see Jane herself. Bing was a nice guy, but Elizabeth knew nothing about his nursing skills.
The elevator doors slid open, revealing a small vestibule and front door that might lead to an ordinary apartment in a rather old-fashioned building. The agent knocked, and the door was quickly opened by Bing. He usually was immaculately dressed and collected, but his wrinkled shirtsleeves and disheveled hair suggested that he’d been caring for Jane.
His smile for Elizabeth came and went in a flash. “Thank goodness you’re here!” As he opened the door wider for Elizabeth, the agent returned to the elevator. Bing closed the door behind them with a decisive click.
They were in the entrance hall of what Elizabeth assumed was the Residence, the part of the White House where the president actually lived. The hall was decorated with gray tile flooring and dark wood paneling. The ornately carved furniture dripped historical authenticity, but it was all on a residential scale—not the grand scale of the White House’s public rooms. While this room was still formal, it was far more intimate and livable.
She had no problem envisioning President Darcy in this room. She bet he could give detailed information about the provenance and time period of each piece of furniture. What she couldn’t imagine was someone running around the Residence barefoot in ratty sweatpants or cut-off shorts, but the president probably wouldn’t do that anywhere.
Bing gestured down the hall. “Jane is resting in one of the spare bedrooms.”
“What happened?” Elizabeth asked as they walked.
“Just a freak accident,” Bing said. “One of her high heels caught on a bit of broken tile in the kitchen. She went down like a sack of potatoes.” He shuddered at the memory. “I knew she was in trouble when she didn’t stand up again right away.” He squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his forehead with one hand. “She was wincing at the pain and trying not to cry; it was awful. I wanted to send for the White House doctor, but she swore all she needed was her medicine.”
“She doesn’t like having a fuss made over her,” Elizabeth said. “The medicine makes her sleepy, and she shouldn’t try to walk until she’s rested her back, at least for the night.”
“That’s what I thought, too. Jane said otherwise.”
“She’s trying not to be a burden,” Elizabeth observed.
They stopped outside a closed door. “To hell with that!” Bing said in a low voice. “She can stay all night if she needs to. Nobody else needs the room, and I don’t want her to make it worse.”
Elizabeth heartily approved. Bing had his priorities in place.
When Bing swung open the door, they entered a dimly lit bedroom straight from the colonial era. The dark wooden bed had a white lace canopy and blue covers in a floral pattern. Jane was lying flat on her back in the middle, her face pale and drawn. She turned her head as Elizabeth approached the bed and attempted a smile. But the lines around her eyes suggested the effort it cost her. Just like the last time.
Elizabeth was not pleased with the similarities.
“Lizzy,” Jane moaned. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course.” Elizabeth took her sister’s hand and squeezed it gently. Bing brought in a glass of water from the adjoining bathroom and left the two sisters alone.
Helping Jane into a sitting position provoked gasps of pain, but it allowed her to take the pill. “Thank you, Lizzy,” Jane said after swallowing. “I’m sure I’ll start feeling better soon, and then I can leave. You might need to drive me—”
Elizabeth scowled. “You are in no shape to leave tonight. You can’t walk, and I doubt you can sit in a wheelchair. I’m not even confident you can leave in the morning.”
