White House Autumn

by Ellen Emerson White

  “Hi,” Meg said, and Steven nodded.

  “We were just talking about what to have for dinner,” their mother said, all propped up, her eyes looking too shiny—and probably feverish.

  “Whatever,” Meg said, and Steven shrugged.

  “Here.” Their father leaned over with a sparse menu written in ornate calligraphy. “Why don’t you guys take a look at this?” He touched Steven’s shoulder, but Steven moved away, shrugging his hand off.

  Meg pretended to read the menu, which, because her mother’s diet was still restricted, was pretty dull, although the hospital was at least making a huge effort to serve the food beautifully. She sat back and closed her eyes, her head starting to hurt. If her mother wasn’t talking or asking direct questions, no one really said anything during their visits.

  Christ, what a mess.

  “I thought maybe Killington,” her mother said. “Or Sugarbush.”

  Meg opened her eyes. “Killington?” She must have missed something.

  Her mother nodded. “I thought, for a change, we might want to go there at Christmas. Unless you all would rather be at Stowe.”

  Meg looked at her doubtfully. Skiing? In less than two months? This, from the woman who couldn’t even walk down the corridor and back?

  “I’ll be fine,” her mother said. “I thought it might be nice to be in New England for a while.”

  “You mean, go home,” Steven said.

  Their mother nodded. “For a few days.”

  So, they talked about skiing, and every silence, no matter how brief, made Meg very uncomfortable. She’d always thought that the expression about air being thick enough to cut with a knife was stupid—except that, unfortunately, it was also accurate. Everyone talked about bland, meaningless things, while emotions flew around the room and smashed into each other. For a family of people she thought of as non-stop talkers, they sure were having trouble keeping a conversation going. And it was easy—too easy—to let her mother do all of the work.

  It was like chess, sort of. Everyone watching everyone else, trying to figure out what moves people were going to make next, so they could set up the proper defenses. For that matter, it was like stupid politics. Even her mother, who was famous for her ability to manipulate—and charm—audiences, couldn’t make any of them relax or let down.

  But, they weren’t much good as a family if they could only handle it when things were going well. Which seemed like such an appropriate sentiment that she almost said it aloud. But, why make things worse?

  “You’re awfully quiet tonight,” her mother said.

  “What?” Meg asked, startled. She looked around and saw that they were the only two in the room. “Where is everyone?”

  “They’ll be right back.” Her mother frowned. “You didn’t eat much again.”

  “I had a big lunch,” Meg said. High tea, even.

  “It was good for you to have Beth here,” her mother said.

  Meg nodded, and it was quiet again.

  “I’m sorry,” her mother said in a low voice.

  Meg looked over. “About what?”

  “That I can’t make it easier. I’m trying, but—” She shook her head, her face the scary light grey color. “It’ll be easier when I’m home.”

  And became a target again.

  “You all must be so angry at me,” her mother said.

  Meg waited for her to go on.

  “You must feel as though I—” She swallowed, and Meg watched the tendons in her neck move. “I don’t know. Asked for it.”

  The uncertainty in her expression made Meg feel guilty, and she shifted in her chair. “No, I—I mean, we—I mean, just because you’re President—well, you shouldn’t have to worry about stuff like this. That’s what’s wrong.”

  Her mother touched her bandages unhappily. “I never dreamed it would really happen. I never thought anyone—” She shook her head.

  Meg couldn’t think of anything to say, so she picked at some cat fur on her sweater cuff.

  “I hated my mother for dying,” her mother said, softly.

  Meg blinked, not having expected that particular remark. It had happened when her mother was five—a riding accident at the Connecticut estate her mother’s family used in the summer. A farm Meg’s grandfather had, as far as she knew, immediately sold after his wife’s death. It had been like something out of Gone with the Wind, a case of a person taking a jump that was beyond her abilities.

  “I really resented her for it,” her mother said, speaking in such a low voice that Meg had to lean forward to hear her. “Leaving me like that.”

  “Well,” Meg twisted a little in her chair, “she couldn’t help it.”

  “I know that now,” her mother said. “But when I was your age, and younger, I always felt—” She stopped, looking right at Meg. “I guess I thought that if she really loved me, she never would have done something that incautious. That, in a sense, she asked for it.”

  Well, the argument could certainly be made—and convincingly so. Meg avoided her eyes.

  “Meg, I would never hurt any of you intentionally,” her mother said.

  Meg nodded, staring down at her hands.

  Her mother sighed. “Well. I guess it’s too late for that, though, isn’t it?

  Meg looked at the door. Where were her father and brothers? Because—she hated this conversation.

  “Meg,” her mother said. “It’s all right to feel—”

  Meg jumped up. “I’m going to see where Dad and those guys are, okay?”

  Her mother nodded, seeming to crumple into herself.

  “It’s not that—” Meg stopped. “I mean—”

  The door opened, and her father came in, carrying Neal, who was sobbing.

  “It’s okay,” he was saying soothingly. “You’re okay now.”

  Her mother looked at him and he nodded, her mother’s eyes brightening. That meant that Neal had gotten sick to his stomach again—which he had been doing a lot lately. Her mother reached out with her good arm and her father lowered him gently onto the bed. She hugged him close, even though her face had stiffened with pain, whispering to him.

  Steven was leaning against the wall, his posture slumped and unhappy, and Meg went over to lean next to him, her mother’s low voice and Neal’s crying the only sounds in the room.

  WALKING INTO SCHOOL the next day felt strange—as if she had been away for years. People seemed afraid of her, the same way they had been when she had first started the January before: staring, then muttering comments to each other as she passed. Maybe, if she got really lucky, they would start taking sneaky cell phone photos of her, and selling them to the highest tabloid bidders.

  There were Homecoming posters all over the place, which was depressing. Josh had been so cute when he asked her to the dance, making a big deal of it—bowing low, giving her a white rose, even though it was pretty well understood that they would be going together. Or, would have been.

  She looked down the hall, seeing him at his locker. His shoulders looked sad. Slouched. Josh never slouched—he had grown about three inches in the last year, and was pretty pleased about it.

  Oh, hell. Beth was right. She started towards him, but now he was going the other way. Because he had seen her? She stopped. Okay, fine. If that was the way he wanted it. She turned and went to her own locker, irritated at him again.

  She sat in English first period, looking at her book so she wouldn’t have to meet eyes with anyone. She hadn’t slept well the night before and felt like resting with her head on her arms, but her teacher, Mrs. Hayes, probably wouldn’t be too thrilled about that. Christ, though, it would be nice to take a nap for a minute. She leaned her head on her hand, sliding her elbow until her upper arm was flat on the desk. That was probably as close to lying down as she could go without getting in trouble.

  Then, as Mrs. Hayes discussed some of the different journeys serving as metaphors in Heart of Darkness, someone knocked on the door. Meg—and everyone else in the
class—sat straight up.

  Oh, God, not again. Jesus Christ, she couldn’t do this again. Had they gotten into the hospital somehow, or—she hung onto her desk with both hands, waiting for the bad news. Her parents, Steven, Neal—Mrs. Hayes crossed to the door, opening it.

  “Of course, Carol,” she said. “I think you left it in the back.”

  Meg slumped forward, closing her eyes. It wasn’t her family. Thank God it wasn’t her family. She felt, rather than saw, the hard looks the rest of the class was giving the little tenth grader, who grabbed her notebook off the back table and hurried out. Meg took deep breaths, her heart feeling as though it was jumping all around her chest, caroming off her ribs.

  “Well, now,” Mrs. Hayes said. “Where were we?” She returned to the front of the room, passing Meg’s desk, squeezing her shoulder so swiftly that Meg almost didn’t notice. Now, she did rest her head on her arms, trying to calm down. It was just some kid, it wasn’t—but maybe something bad was happening, anyway, or—she had to check.

  She caught her teacher’s eye, indicating the door. Mrs. Hayes nodded and Meg jumped up, almost running out of the room. One of her agents—who was posted in a strategic location in the hall—looked startled.

  “Have to make a call,” she said briefly, pulling her phone out of her jeans pocket.

  He followed her down the hall, and they passed one of the patrolling agents on the way, who looked uneasy and also fell into step behind them. She found a relatively private alcove, speed-dialed the number, and asked for her mother, the aide on the other end telling her that she was in a meeting.

  “It’s kind of important,” Meg said, knowing that she had to hear her mother’s voice before she could relax.

  She was put on hold, and then, after a couple of minutes, her mother came on.

  “Meg?” She sounded worried. “Is everything all right? Where are you?”

  “School.” Meg let out her breath. Her mother sounded okay. Tired, maybe, but her voice was strong. As though she was starting to get better, at least. And she was obviously safe. Right now, anyway. “Are you all right?” she asked, to be sure.

  “I’m fine,” her mother said.

  “Is Dad okay?” she asked.

  “He’s fine,” her mother said. “Meg, what’s happening? Are you sure you’re—”

  “Yeah.” She leaned against the side of the alcove, her legs feeling weak from relief. “Steven—” She let out another breath. “Steven and Neal are probably okay, too.”

  “Yes, they are.” Her mother’s voice was gentle.

  Okay. “And you’re sure you are?” Meg asked.

  “Yes,” her mother said. “Meg—”

  “I have to go now,” Meg said quickly. “Sorry I interrupted you and stuff, I just—I wanted to be sure you guys were okay.”

  “I love you,” her mother said.

  “Um, yeah, me, too.” Meg shifted her weight. “See you after school.” She hung up, resting against the wall until she felt under control. Intense fear was exhausting.

  Time to go back to English. She crossed the hall to the water fountain and splashed her face, managing to soak part of her shirt and sweater in the process. Too tired to worry about it, she started down the corridor, stopping abruptly.

  Josh was waiting against some lockers, his expression nervous—and concerned, his arms tense across his chest. They looked at each other, neither moving. Then, Meg walked over, leaning in for a hard, silent hug.

  “Buy you a drink, sailor?” she asked against his ear.

  He laughed, hugging her closer.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been a really terrible person lately.”

  “You’ve been going through some pretty terrible things,” he said.

  “Yeah, but—” She shook her head. “It’s still no excuse. I’m sorry, Josh. I really am.”

  He hugged her even closer, not saying anything. For a minute, it was enough to be touching; then, it wasn’t, and they were kissing about as hard as they had ever kissed, Meg not caring who was around to watch.

  Behind them, someone cleared his throat. They broke just barely apart, turning to look. It was Mr. Carlisle, their physics teacher, his face stern, but also amused.

  “Shouldn’t you two be in class?” he asked.

  They nodded, Meg too happy to blush.

  “Then, maybe you ought to go,” he said.

  They nodded again and he nodded back, continuing on his way.

  “We probably shouldn’t risk him catching us twice,” Meg said.

  “Probably not,” he agreed, much more flushed than she was.

  She leaned up to kiss his cheek, and they walked down the hall, holding hands.

  “Are things any better?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” She sighed. “Not really.”

  “Will you let me help you?” he asked.

  Something which, apparently, did not come naturally to her. “I’ll try,” she said.

  He nodded, tightening his hand.

  When they got to their English classroom, she stopped.

  “Don’t let me hurt your feelings again,” she said, “okay? I mean, if I take stuff out on you.”

  He flexed his muscles. “I’m tough.”

  “Which might come in handy. She smiled. “Good.”

  He opened the door, and it wasn’t until she stepped inside that it occurred to her that their coming back together was going to be pretty obvious. Indeed, the entire class—including Mrs. Hayes—grinned, and someone sang the first few bars of “Reunited.” This time, Meg blushed, and Josh was the one who looked pleased. She sat in her isolated seat, while Josh returned to his regular seat—since she couldn’t really move her books over during the middle of class.

  “What, you don’t even sit with him?” someone to her left asked.

  “Matt,” Mrs. Hayes said to him, “tell me what you think about the opening to Chapter Three.”

  “Uh, yeah, uh—what page is that?” He picked up his book, fumbling through it, and Meg relaxed. That was two she owed Mrs. Hayes.

  Having Josh nearby made things much easier and, even though she wasn’t hungry, she sat at her normal lunch table—and it was very nice to be with a bunch of people who weren’t wearing suits. Also, people who talked about things like homework, dumb gossip they’d seen on the Internet, and the Redskins. Normal things. She didn’t really participate, but it was soothing to listen.

  After school, she went directly to the hospital. Her mother was in meetings most of the time, and looked even weaker than she had the day before. But, she and Meg’s father were pretty cheerful because the doctors had decided that she could come home on Monday. Meg carefully didn’t allow herself to think about the prospect of her having to go back out in public—and vulnerable to maniacs again.

  Josh was coming over that night, and Meg got home just in time to change. Since she had been so rotten to him, she sort of felt as if she should put out some effort. She wore her one pair of jeans which could never be described as being baggy and a grey cashmere sweater, along with a silver chain and appropriate small hoops. She also put on lip gloss, mascara, some of her mother’s Chanel No.5, and even used some blush to highlight her cheekbones. First-date time.

  She sat on the stairs leading to the Ground Floor Corridor to wait. Josh was right on time, and when she went to meet him in the Diplomatic Reception Room, she wasn’t sure why she felt so shy. He had also taken some care dressing, and was actually wearing a tie underneath his sweater, and his charcoal grey pants—which she personally thought were sexy as hell. His cheeks were red—it had been colder than usual, all week—but instead of a jacket, he had on a maroon tartan scarf. How jaunty.

  “Hi,” he said.

  She smiled nervously, and they walked upstairs, her agents—who, stupidly, had to follow her around the house whenever she left the private quarters—leaving them at the top of the stairs once they got to the second floor.

  “Wait a minute,” Josh said, after they
were gone, and grabbed her in a hug. They kissed until they were out of breath, Meg hoping that neither of her brothers were going to appear unexpectedly—and also hanging onto the railing with one hand, to make sure that they didn’t fall down the stairs.

  Josh moved back, straightening his glasses. “Hi.”

  Meg laughed. “Hi.”

  They ended up on the third floor, where her brothers were playing a subdued game of pool in the Game Room. So, they hung out with them for a little while, until Neal looked more cheerful, and Steven decided he was hungry, and the two of them went downstairs to go find Trudy—or one of the stewards or butlers—and get something to eat.

  She wasn’t supposed to go into bedrooms alone with Josh—even though there almost a dozen empty ones available, and it was tempting—so, they sat on the couch in the Washington Sitting Room, instead, holding hands.

  Meg let out her breath. “This feels kind of like the first time you came over.”

  He smiled. “I was scared to death that night.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” she said.

  He looked surprised. “You were?”

  “Well—yeah. What did he think? “Of course I was.” She picked up his hand, still feeling shy. “I mean, I didn’t really know you, and for all I knew, you were—well, I’m not all that great at trusting people.” With, granted, on many occasions, good reason.

  “Yeah,” he said wryly. “I’ve noticed.”

  She flushed, and dropped his hand. “Are you mad at me?”

  “You were mad at me,” he said.

  “No, I wasn’t. I was just—” She sighed. “Mad, in general.”

  “It didn’t seem that way. I don’t know. Sometimes I wish—” He stopped.

  Was he about to break up with her? It sounded that way. She moved slightly away from him. “What?”

  “I kind of wish I’d had a bunch of other girlfriends,” he said. “Before you, I mean.”

  “To see if I measured up?” Meg asked stiffly.