All of the Above

by Timothy Scott Bennett

  Cole smiled. “Yeah.”

  The President lay back down, closing her eyes. “I guess you got the right.”

  Cole tried again. “Where did you escape from?”

  “West Virginia. Up in the north. Near Mount Olive.”

  Cole had heard of Mount Olive. The President had a vacation place around there somewhere, some old family farm. Ground Zero Ranch, the press called it. “So that part of the story is true, eh? You were at your retreat. But there must have been Secret Service there. How did you get away?”

  Linda sat silent for a full minute. Cole watched as her eyes moved beneath their lids, as if she were dreaming. At last she frowned and opened her eyes. “It’s weird, Cole,” she said. “I don’t really remember. I was walking the trail to the falls. Regular security, three agents. It was getting dark. And then … I was running through the forest. And it was fully dark at that point. And I came out behind this house, and there in the drive was that old Cutlass. The keys in the ignition. And that gun,” she indicated the pistol in her bag with a nod of her head, “was on the front seat. Inside that green bag.”

  “Lucky you,” said Cole.

  Linda flashed him a puzzled smile. “I hadn’t even planned it, you know? It’s like … the opportunity arose.” Linda closed her eyes again, as if hoping to access a clear memory. “I guess I just lost my security detail in the dark woods and ran for it.”

  Cole nodded. “And you drove all night to get here. And that’s what, like, thirteen, fourteen hours? You made pretty good time.”

  The President frowned. “I don’t know. I guess. I took a lot of back roads. And I got lost once. Had to backtrack.” She raised a hand to cover a cough. “I don’t know how I got here so quickly.”

  Cole shook his head, as if he didn’t know either. “So you stole that car?” he asked.

  Linda did not respond, as if she hadn’t heard.

  “So how come nobody saw you?” Cole asked. “Didn’t you have to stop for gas or a bathroom or anything?”

  Linda stifled another yawn. For a long time she said nothing.

  Cole wondered if she was asleep. “Didn’t—”

  Linda raised her hand to cut Cole off. “I stopped for gas and a pee just like anybody else. Had a hat on and wore my jacket collar up. That was enough. Nobody expects to see the President driving alone in the middle of the night on the back roads of Pennsylvania. I was invisible.” She stopped to adjust the small sofa pillow under her neck. “I can feel the pills,” she said.

  Cole rose to place the quilt he’d grabbed from the closet over the President’s legs and stomach, then returned to his seat. “So you can sleep now, with the pills?”

  “Strong pills, Cole.”

  Cole didn’t answer.

  “Make my head all cloudy. Nobody can find me.”

  Cole watched the President fall gently toward sleep. Linda’s face had regained some of its color and her eyes, in rest, seemed peaceful at last. The gray sweatpants and blue t-shirt and hoodie she now wore, found in a box of winter clothes Ruth had left stored in the barn loft, gave the President a cozy look, and Cole was struck by how young she seemed. The fingers of her right hand fluttered lightly on her stomach. Cole sat in silence and watched.

  “Cole?” The President’s voice was low and shallow.

  “Yes, ma’am?” Cole rose and walked around the coffee table, knelt beside the sofa again.

  The President’s breathing was soft, easy. “I need your help, Cole,” she whispered.

  Cole patted the President’s knee lightly. “Okay,” he said.

  After a while, Cole retrieved his tea.

  Chapter Three

  3.1

  “Spud says of course they know where she is.” Mary closed the door and walked into Bob’s room, taking a seat on the edge of her bed.

  Bob was leaning against her headboard, three fluffy pillows wedged behind her back. She put aside her knitting and hugged her knees to her chin. “Will he tell us?”

  “No. He says that’s not his job.”

  “Fucker. How about Mork?”

  Mary absently smoothed the blankets that were bunched at Bob’s feet. “Mork won’t say a thing. She hardly ever does anymore.”

  Bob hunched her shoulders and pulled the covers up over her knees. “I don’t know why they can’t keep it any warmer down here,” she said. She shivered.

  Mary reached out and took Bob’s hand. “Yeah, I know.”

  “She’s using some kind of sedative, Mary,” Bob said. “Feels like benzodiazepine, but it’s hard to tell from the outside. All I get is garbled bits and fuzz, wobbly images of a house and some tall guy. Trees all around. She seems to be in a fair amount of physical pain, like she’s broken something. But I can’t get inside.”

  Mary rose and adjusted the thermostat on the wall near the door, then found another blanket in the closet. She spread it out over Bob’s bed, then turned to look through the simwindow.

  “How for fuck’s sake did she get benzos?” asked Bob, her voice sharp with anger.

  Mary flinched but did not turn around.

  Bob pulled all of her covers up to her chin. “This is a Grade-A clusterfuck, Mare. Ma Kettle’s gonna talk if we don’t stop her.” She reached out and touched Mary’s hand, demanding her attention.

  Mary turned back to look down on her colleague. “Yeah,” she said.

  “Don’t they care?” Bob gestured toward the sky with a roll of her eyes.

  Mary tried to rub the fatigue from her face. “Who knows what they think?”

  Bob slid down into the bed, rolling to her side in a fetal position, pulling the covers up over her head. “You should if anyone should,” she said.

  A dark cloud passed over Mary’s face. With a long slow inhale, she softened her features, refusing to fight. She sat back down on the edge of the bed and placed a gentle hand on Bob’s shoulder. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Bob spoke from under the blanket. “They could leave.”

  Mary bowed her head. “Will you try again?” she asked.

  “In a while.”

  Mary rose to leave. “I’ll talk to Spud again. They must have tagged her. That may be why she ran.” She closed the door softly behind her.

  Bob hid under the covers, as she had so often as a child. After a while she fell asleep.

  3.2

  “Is she dead?” whispered Grace, wiggling down from her father’s lap. She moved around the coffee table and squatted to peer more closely into the President’s face, then stood and stepped back, absently sucking on the collar of her flowered blouse.

  Cole pulled her gently into his embrace. “She’s just asleep, hon,” he spoke softly into her ear. “She’s not going to die.” Cole wondered at the truth of his own words. Were the people chasing the President out to kill her? His eyes blinked repeatedly at the thought of it. He knew in that instant that his words to his daughter were not a prediction, but an oath.

  “She looks funny,” Grace said. “Like those wax people.”

  “You mean at Madame Toussaud’s?”

  “Yeah. That.” Grace broke away from her father’s hold and ran off, heading up the stairs to her room.

  Iain and Emily stepped in from the kitchen with their after-school snacks and wedged themselves in on either side of their father, overfilling the blue and white-checkered loveseat that sat kitty-corner from the sofa. They sat in silence and watched as the President slept, the small blue quilt pulled up to her chin. Iain stared down at his fidgeting feet. “This is creepy,” he whispered. He stuffed some cheese balls into his mouth.

  Grace ran back down the stairs. “Here!” she called. In her arms was cradled a tattered Minnie Mouse doll, the black paint peeling from its head, pink plastic exposed underneath. She walked quickly across the room and placed the doll gently on the President’s chest.

  Linda Travis opened her eyes and Grace jumped back with a yelp.

  The President looked around the room; saw Grace huddled in her
father’s arms. A wide smile washed over her face as she withdrew her hands from under the quilt to pick up the doll. She held it out to look at it. “Minnie Mouse!” she said with a laugh, “my old friend!” She leaned up on an elbow, scanned the room with exaggerated motions. “Who brought Minnie here?”

  Grace beamed and raised her hand. Tentatively she stepped away from her father. Linda looked at Grace with joyful surprise. “You did?”

  Grace nodded.

  Linda hugged the doll to her chest. “Thank you. She’s wonderful. Do you want her back or can I hug her for a while?”

  Grace pulled her shoulders up toward her ears and canted her head. “You can keep her. Until I say and then you have to give her back.”

  Linda nodded gravely. “Of course. Thank you.” She threw off the quilt and swung her broken leg out with a sharp inhale, letting it slide slowly from the sofa to the coffee table so that she could sit up. “You must be Grace.”

  Grace walked up to the President’s leg and ran her tiny fingers along the knee-brace. It was quite noticeable beneath the sweats. She looked up at Linda. “Dennis pulled your pants out of the garbage. They got blood on the floor, but Daddy cleaned it up.” She hopped up onto the sofa and sat next to the President. “But you can make messes ‘cause you’re the President, right?”

  Linda’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Well, I’ll try not to do it again.” She looked around the room. “Who’s Dennis?”

  Grace slid off the sofa and started to dig in the pocket of her jeans. “Just the dog. He’s not here right now because he’s afraid of strangers.”

  “I’d like to meet him sometime.”

  “Okay. I got some mermaid Band-Aids Dr. Jim gave me.” With a grunt, Grace pulled a handful of crinkled bandage strips from her pocket.

  “I might need one.”

  Grace raised a finger. “Only one.”

  Linda looked around the room at the rest of the family. Her eyes stopped at Cole. “Hello, Cole. It seems I slept longer than we had planned. You doing okay?”

  Cole’s wrinkling nose betrayed his nervousness. His fingers repeatedly flexed and extended, moving beneath his conscious notice as if his subconscious were signing an SOS to some secret observer. “I’m fine, Mrs. President,” he said. “I was … you were sleeping so peacefully. I couldn’t—” Cole could not explain it. How could he rationalize what he did not himself understand? The moment was too complex. He pointed at Linda’s leg. “How about you?” Already he could see that the President’s color was better, and her mood had certainly improved. Perhaps the worst was over.

  “Good enough. Are you going to introduce me to the rest of your family?”

  “Okay, well, Grace you’ve met.” Linda winced as Grace crawled onto her lap, taking back her Minnie Mouse and dropping it to the floor. “Grace!” Cole was certain his youngest would manage somehow to kick the President’s broken bones.

  “It’s okay.” Linda raised a hand. “She’s fine.” She stroked Grace’s short dark-brown hair. “And these two?” she asked, nodding toward the other children on the loveseat.

  Cole stood, dragging his two older children to their feet beside him. “This is Iain,” he said, hugging his slouching son to his side. “And this is Emily.” Emily shook off her father’s hand and stepped to the side, watching the proceedings like a lawyer. She was dressed in her favorite wool slacks and silk blouse. Iain smiled and flopped a wave. “Hi, uh, Mrs. President. Ma’am.”

  Linda extended a hand to Iain. “It’s nice to meet you, young man,” she said. Iain, in slouching jeans and a baggy UVM T-shirt, stepped around the coffee table and shook her hand. “Yeah.”

  “And Emily,” Linda continued, shifting her gaze, “I’m pleased to meet you, too.” The President offered her hand again, but Emily stared at the floor and pretended not to notice. “Yeah,” she mumbled.

  “Emily,” said Cole slowly, as if calling a preoccupied student to attention.

  Linda raised her hand to stop Cole. “It’s okay, Cole. I understand. I’m not supposed to be here.” She turned to the eight-year-old girl. “Am I, Emily?”

  Emily glared at the President and shook her head, a move of nascent elegance and soft power that barely ruffled the long brown hair that hung limp and straight around her beautiful face. She turned to her father. “Can I go?”

  Cole nodded sternly and Emily rushed out the front door. Cole sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Mrs. President.”

  “Linda.”

  “Okay. Right. Linda.” He ran his hand through his thinning hair. “She’s not usually like that.”

  Linda smiled and shrugged. “I understand,” she said. She hugged Grace’s hair to her face. “And she’s right; I don’t belong here.”

  Cole sat back down, draping a hand over Iain’s knee. His face relaxed. His fingers fell still. There was a sweetness in Linda’s interactions with his children that touched him deeply. She was right there with them. And for no reason he could understand, that give him a tremendous sense of relief.

  3.3

  “Watch out for the President’s leg!” scolded Cole from the kitchen as Iain strode to his seat. Iain swerved like a quarterback avoiding a tackle and fell into his chair next to the President, as if that had been his plan all along. He shot his dad a “gotcha!” grin.

  The President patted him on the shoulder and smiled. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, motioning toward her splinted leg, which stuck out from the table and blocked the path around the round oak dining room table. A zippered bag of ice cubes balanced on her knee and shin. She reached out and grabbed the chair upon which her foot rested, slid it carefully toward the wall to make a bit more room. “I’ll try to keep my big feet out of the way.” Linda winked and Iain smiled.

  Cole stepped in from the kitchen carrying a large stoneware tray piled high with hamburgers and hot dogs from the grill. “Here we go.” He placed the tray on the table and took his seat. The earthy smell of charcoal smoke filled the room. “Sorry it’s just burgers and dogs,” he said.

  “I’m just some lady from Michigan, Cole, not the Queen of France.” Linda laughed.

  Cole blushed, busying himself with his napkin and silverware. Linda watched, noting how his long, cantilevered arms seemed confused as to where to go, how his slender fingers stretched and danced, how his face revealed an interior discussion that was both passionate and unending. There was a bewilderment in his eyes, an innocence, as if this soul had just arrived on Earth the day before and had yet to find its bearings. Feeling her gaze, Cole looked up, brushing an unruly shock of dark hair out of his eyes. He smiled, and Linda could see that beneath his odd confusion were deeper layers: calm certainty, a profound intellect, even a quiet splendor. Inside this goofy, sometimes awkward, lost-child body lived a good, kind man and loving father, doing his best in a crazy situation.

  The phone rang. Emily excused herself and went to the kitchen to answer it.

  Linda leaned over to whisper to Grace, who sat wiggling impatiently at her right side. “So which do you like best, Grace? Burgers or dogs?”

  “Dogs!” shouted Grace with a laugh.

  Linda nodded decisively, as if this were serious business. “Me too! I’m a dog lady from way back.” She pulled two buns from their plastic bag and stabbed two hot dogs with her fork. “Mustard? No? Ketchup?” Grace shook her head. “Nothing?” Grace nodded.

  Linda laughed again. “Nothing it is then, little lady.” She placed the hot dog on Grace’s plate. Grace grabbed a handful of potato chips from the bowl to her right and stuffed one into her mouth with a grin.

  From the kitchen came the sound of Emily’s markedly mature voice. “Who is this?” Both Cole and Linda looked up to see Emily pull the phone from her head and stare intently at the earpiece. She clicked off the phone with a shudder and tossed it onto the counter as if it were a rattlesnake, then stepped back and watched it closely.

  “Emily?” asked Cole. “Something wrong?”

  Emily’s brow wrinkled a
nd she inhaled deeply, as if finally remembering to breathe. “That was weird.” She looked at her father. “It was like … there was this voice. It was strange, like it had been slowed down or something. And it said ‘pook’ or ‘pooch,’ or something like that. Then there were all these beeps and clicks, like an answering machine or something.”

  “Oops!” Grace had dropped her hot dog on the floor. She slid down to retrieve it from under the table, stuffing it under her arm as she climbed back onto her chair. She examined it carefully, then took another bite.

  “Was there anything else?” Linda’s voice had a hard edge.

  Emily threw the President a sidelong glance, then looked at her father. “I asked who it was and there was like … somebody coughed. Then it went dead.”

  “Probably nothing,” said Cole. “Just some kids or something.”

  Linda felt a nudge at her side. She leaned over so that Grace could whisper in her ear.

  “Can I have a different hot dog?” asked Grace.

  3.4

  “That was great, Cole. Thank you.” Linda pushed her plate back and stretched her arms and shoulders, then ran her fingers through her hair, pulling at the tangles. She motioned toward the table. “You attend enough State Dinners, you start praying for a hot dog.”

  “So why are you here?” Emily broke in, eyeing the President coldly.

  Cole started to protest but Linda waved him off. She smiled at the girl and nodded her agreement. “That’s a good question, Emily. I wondered why you weren’t speaking much during dinner. Now I know why. You’ve been saving the most important questions for last.”

  Emily’s gaze dropped down to her plate, then back to Linda. She nodded briefly and allowed a slight smile to cross her face, as if to accept the President’s recognition of her as a smart and respected ally.

  “I can’t tell you much,” answered Linda after a moment’s thought. “It’s … classified. And I don’t want to get you in trouble. But I’ll tell your father more tonight, after you go to bed.” Linda cleared her throat anxiously, as though fearful to drop even a crumb of the awful truth into this dear family. “There are some very bad people in the world. And … others. And I’ve found out about some of the things they have been doing.”