The President

by Parker Hudson

  “Tick goes the biological clock, Ryan,” she said, “and the wake-up alarm is about to go off.”

  “All right. All right. Give a guy a break. We’ll talk about it again real soon.”

  “Real soon,” she said, and opened the door.

  THE ADRIATIC SEA—Radioman Manny Figueroa ascended the ladder from the main deck to the landing just outside the admiral’s cabin, a clipboard and a message form in his hand. Just as he knocked on the door, Seaman Joel Simpson suddenly descended the ladder from the landing between the bridge and CIC, where he had been waiting.

  Before the cabin door opened, Simpson moved close to Figueroa and, in an agitated, derisive voice whispered, “A blank form, Manny? Did you forget the message for the lieutenant commander?”

  Just then Thomas Dobbs opened the door and found both of the younger men in a quiet but intense argument.

  “Hey, Mr. Dobbs asked me to bring him a blank form for a message. I’m just doing what he asked, and it’s none of your business, anyway,” Figueroa retorted, also in a whisper.

  “Yeah? I used to bring him blank requisitions from the ship’s store—I know all about it! And don’t give me any bull, because I checked—you’re not even on duty now.”

  Figueroa looked down, knowing he had been caught, but not wanting to admit it. “I’m doing what he told me!”

  “Got a closet you need help coming out of, Manny?” Simpson’s voice dripped with derision.

  Dobbs, his lips pursed in anger, took the clipboard from Figueroa and stepped aside for the young radioman to come into his cabin. “Both of you keep it down if you know what’s good for you. Joel, Figueroa is on official business. Just back off and leave him alone. I’ll deal with you tomorrow.”

  Simpson moved toward the door to come in. “But you said we’d—”

  The operations officer stopped him in the doorway with his hand. “I said tomorrow,” and he closed the door and locked it, leaving Simpson alone in the passageway.

  ATLANTA—Rebecca Harrison answered her page at the nurses’ station that afternoon and picked up the phone.

  “Hello”

  “Hey, it’s me.” She could tell from the tone of his voice that Bruce was depressed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The doctor just called from Boston. Mom hasn’t been feeling well and went in for a check-up. Apparently the tumor is back. He’s afraid it’s real bad.”

  “Oh, Bruce, I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah...” He sighed. “I’ve booked a flight tonight. It’s the same mess all over again. I...I...”

  “What can I do?”

  “Come up tomorrow—I imagine I’ll be mere for several days. I’d like you to meet her—and dad. I doubt your brother feels like bending the rules for another operation, after what I said to him at Camp David.”

  “Let’s don’t worry about that now. I’ll call him if it turns out she needs it.”

  “I doubt I’ll ever ask him for anything again. My blood boils whenever I think about the lie he’s living.”

  “Bruce, William isn’t living a lie. He’s obviously just found, or renewed, his faith.”

  “Yeah? Well, the American people deserve to know who’s controlling this nation now—a total Christian! You can’t imagine how many times I’ve almost picked up the phone and called that Leslie Sloane. What would she say if she found out about him, after what they said about your sister?”

  “Oh, Bruce. William said he wants to choose his own timing on that. Please don’t violate his trust. He was very open with us. And I know he only wishes you the best—and your mom, too.”

  “We’ll see. Anyway, I’ve got to go home and get packed. I’ll call you in the morning when I know something.”

  “Okay. And I’ll try to rearrange my schedule so I can come up. I...I’ll pray for your mother.”

  “Wonderful. I don’t think there’s anyone up there listening, but pray if you want to.”

  Several miles away Eunice Porter put on her coat to leave for her waitress job—her children were at her sister’s—and noticed that the light on her answering machine was flashing. The phone must have rung while I was in the shower, she thought as she pushed the play button.

  “Hey, girl. It’s Sally. Are you with the program yet? I’m gettin’ some heat to get you coming along like me and the others, especially with your advance and all. So give me a call and let me know. See ya.”

  Eunice rewound the tape and left the apartment, locking the door behind her.

  Yes...I’ll ‘get with the program.’ I’ve just got to find the right guy. If it wasn’t so much money I wouldn’t put up with all this trouble.”

  RALEIGH—Sarah Prescott’s emotions were careening wildly that night as she snuggled next to Matthew while he drove her home in his father’s car. She felt scared and confident, happy and sad, as though she had lost something important and wasn’t quite sure yet the nature of what she’d found. While they were supposed to be at a dance, she and Matthew had instead spent the last four hours together in a motel room, and there was no longer anything technical about her loss of virginity.

  “Mmm, that was wonderful,” she said, knowing from soap operas and the computer she was supposed to say so, even though she really felt “it” wasn’t all it was supposed to be. But she was completely honest when she added, “I love you so much, Matthew.”

  “I love you, too, Sarah,” he said, putting his right arm around her and driving with his left hand.

  They drove on, Sarah thinking about how wonderful it would be to be married to Matthew, imagining what sort of job he might have after college, and even trying to imagine the living room of their home. Meanwhile, Matthew was wondering when they could next spend time together at the motel.

  “Listen, that was so good.” Matthew said. “And we love each other so much. Let’s don’t break this special time together. Tomorrow night, instead of going to that movie, let’s go to the motel again. Can we?”

  Somewhere in a far corner of Sarah’s mind a little warning bell went off, reminding her of something, but she ignored it. We do love each other, and it was the first time for both of us. He’s so sweet. I probably owe it to him for being so kind and gentle—not like that stupid computer thing. But we can’t make a habit of this, it’s not right. There’s more to a relationship...

  “Yes. It was wonderful. Let’s do it again tomorrow. But, Matthew, we can’t do this all the time. I love you, but we can’t just do this.”

  He pulled her closer as he drove, a smile on his face in the dark as he thought about the next night. “No, Sarah, of course not. But this weekend is special.”

  Five minutes later they arrived at Sarah’s house, and Matthew walked her to the door, where he kissed her before she opened the door with her key and went inside.

  There she found her father turning off the light in the den, where he had been reading and waiting up for her.

  “Did you have a good time at the dance, dear?” Graham Prescott smiled.

  “Uh, yes, Dad, it was great,” she lied. I’ve got to be more careful in the future.

  “Well, I’m glad you had a good time. Good night and God bless,” he said and kissed her on the forehead.

  Sarah walked upstairs, her stomach churning. Voices tried to assault her about what she had done, from sleeping with Matthew to lying to her father, but she pushed them all back. What’s done is done. I’m a woman now...and it was wonderful. The last thought she silently repeated several times, trying to convince herself.

  She showered, slipped into bed, and turned out the light. For the first time in a long time she didn’t bother to say her prayers. She didn’t think a lot about it, but it was still a conscious decision. What she had done, she felt, shouldn’t end with a prayer of repentance because she hadn’t done anything wrong. What we did is okay. Ms. Bowers tells us that developing our own feelings is what’s important at our age, and I feel great. I don’t need to be forgiven because I haven’t done anything wrong. And
I plan to do it again, anyway. It’s natural and logical, and we’re in love. It’s okay and I’m fine. She repeated the last sentence in her mind until she finally fell asleep.

  18

  Upon my arrival in the United States, the religious aspect of the country was the first thing that struck my attention; and the longer I stayed there, the more did I perceive the great political consequences resulting from this state of things, to which I was unaccustomed. In France I had almost always seen the spirit of religion and the spirit of freedom pursuing courses diametrically opposed to each other; but in America I found that they were intimately united, and that they reigned in common over the same country.

  ALEXIS DE TOCQUEVILLE

  Sunday, January 27

  Two Weeks Later

  WASHINGTON—It had been a long, hard weekend of work for the first family, punctuated only by meals and a church service. Robert flew in from Chapel Hill on Friday afternoon. On Saturday evening the Harrisons invited in guests for a “movie,” but the guests were the five ministers who had taught them all fall, along with the advisors to whom they had been introduced through that process. They assembled in the White House theater, but instead of watching a movie they first listened to William, then offered their opinions on what he had to say.

  After church on Sunday the family again worked together, with Robert and Katherine acting as proofreaders for the draft speech William had written with Carrie’s help. While his children read, William made marks on a different text prepared by Bob Horan and Chris White of his White House staff.

  By the time they sat down to dinner that evening, the four of them were satisfied that they had done all they could do and that the outcome was now in God’s hands.

  The next morning William met early in the Oval Office with his chief of staff, Jerry Richardson, as was their custom on Mondays.

  As they sat together at his desk, William handed a notebook to his advisor and friend. “Here’s the draft of the State of the Union speech that Bob and Chris put together with the team leaders. I made some notes on this copy. They should have time to make all the changes before the press needs it tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Thanks, Mr. President. We’ll take care of it. Everything seems to be ready for tomorrow night.”

  “Good. I hope I’m not as nervous as last year.”

  “This will be your second one, Mr. President.” Richardson smiled. “It should be old hat.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Can I ask you a question before we start the Mideast briefing?” “Of course.”

  “Mr. President, if you don’t mind me saying so, you seem different than you did a year ago. You’re definitely calmer. But, I don’t know, it’s more than that, like you’ve been aloof these last few months. I don’t mean publicly, but with us. I mean, last year you worried over every i and t in the State of the Union address; this year, you’ve just made some comments. And I’m still waiting for your approval and go-ahead on this year’s domestic program. You’ve been listening, but so far you haven’t given us much direction. Am I missing something?”

  William paused, then said. “Jerry, remember when you told me last spring that your mother always advised you to pray before tackling something important?”

  “Uh...yeah.”

  “Do you think she was right?”

  Jerry shrugged. “I guess so. If it’s really important, then it can’t hurt to have God’s help. I do believe in God—there just hasn’t been much time to attend church the last thirty years.”

  “I know, Jerry, I know. Isn’t that a shame? Anyway, would you mind if we prayed for our domestic program now?”

  “Well, no, I guess not. That’s fine.”

  So William bowed his head and prayed for God’s continued guidance and help with the right programs and priorities for the nation.

  When William finished, Jerry looked up and said, “Mr. President, I didn’t know you could pray like that.”

  William smiled. “God’s been teaching me a lot of things lately, Jerry. We all ought to listen to him more. And you need to find a way to get to church. Would you like to go with us next Sunday? Bring Diane.”

  “Uh, sounds good. Sure. We’ll see.”

  “Jerry, about your question. I’m deeply aware of the need for leadership. Frankly, I’ve been seeking God’s will for several months. But don’t worry—I’m about to let you know our agenda for the coming year. In fact, I meant to ask you first thing this morning—please get as many of the top staff together as you can on Wednesday morning. I know it’s short notice, but bring in all you can. We’ll go over our agenda then and map out our specific plans.”

  Relieved, Richardson sat back. “Great. We’re ready to go. It’ll probably be another fight with Congress, but this year I think we’ll start out much stronger.”

  “Mm,” William said noncommittally as Richardson rose to let in the foreign policy briefing team. “Jerry.” The chief of staff stopped and turned around. “Whatever happens this week, remember what your mother said, and remember this meeting.”

  A look of confusion crossed his face, but he nodded and said, “Sure. Of course.”

  RALEIGH—Sarah Prescott sat on her bed that afternoon, surrounded by her books, but she couldn’t concentrate on her homework. Her mind went back to Saturday night at the motel, after which she’d again lied, this time to her mother, about going to a movie.

  Matthew had been coming to her church youth group on Sunday nights for several months. The previous evening the program had been on trans-generational faith—honoring your father and mother, so that you would later reap what you had sown with your own children. Sarah had felt sick, thinking about lies to her mom and dad, but Matthew had seemed unfazed.

  She had been shocked when he suggested that they skip their usual pizza afterward and instead stop on the way to her house at a home under construction near hers. Matthew said he had two sleeping bags and a flashlight in the trunk of the car and that they could spend more than an hour together. She had said no, but his disappointment was so great that she had relented and finally agreed. She didn’t want to upset him or lose his love.

  So now she’d made love with Matthew—what, five times? And three times since Friday night—twice in an old motel with stained carpets and once in the cold and dark of an unfinished house. Somehow it wasn’t what she had pictured—or seen on the virtual reality computer. But Matthew was so insistent. He told her last night that their love had reached a new level. But he’d also mentioned that maybe next weekend they could try a hotel downtown.

  Somebody might see us! That’s crazy! This...he... why is sex all we’re doing now? It’s okay, but is this all we’re going to do? That’s not what we said before. I...I don’t know... but I’m sure he loves me a lot.

  BOSTON—At that same hour Bruce was sitting alone in the living room of the two-story home in which he had grown up in a working-class neighborhood of Boston. He had met with the doctors again that morning, and it had been good to have Rebecca there for a second weekend to ask the right questions. Unfortunately, the answers had not been good. It appeared that the new, rapid growth of the tumor meant that his mother had less than six months to live; she could easily lose her motor skills or her memory or both at almost any time. Meanwhile, his father was still battling emphysema. At that moment he was upstairs in their bedroom on oxygen, his mother helping him.

  Bruce had just returned from driving Rebecca to the airport. She hadn’t even asked when he might return to Atlanta; both of them knew it could be quite a while.

  His mother came downstairs and sat next to him. “He’s sleeping now, Bruce. He said to tell you he hopes to be up and around and more help tomorrow. Since he’s sleeping, I think I’ll go to the store to pick up a few things for dinner. And, oh, I’ve really liked Rebecca these two weekends. She seems to be a good person. But, Bruce, isn’t she a little old for you?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. I don’t know much of anything right now. I like her a lot, b
ut who knows? We’ll see. Right now I’m more concerned about you and Dad.”

  “Our time is coming, Bruce, but God will take care of everything.”

  “Mother, God doesn’t ‘take care’ of things. People take care of things. Just like you’ve taken care of Dad. I’m sick of hearing about God doing this and God doing that, like he’s right here in this room!”

  “You’re young, dear. You’ll see. Now I’m going to the store. I’ll be back in thirty minutes to start dinner.”

  After she left, Bruce sat and thought some more about his family and how unfair their lot had been. Then he got up, found the phone book, and looked up the number for the U.S. Network affiliate’s television station in Boston. When the operator answered, he asked, “Can you give me the number for your news bureau in Washington?”

  ATLANTA—Late that night Eunice lay alone in her bed, unable to sleep. Her emotions were on a roller coaster. She lay very still, hoping that by staying perfectly calm her heart would slow down and she’d feel better about herself.

  Ben Candler had been a regular at the restaurant; he apparently had an office nearby. Sometimes he brought in guests, but often he ate alone at the wide bar. Many times he and Eunice had talked, and she had learned that he was divorced. Eunice thought that he was quite handsome, and on several occasions in the past months he had intimated about them getting together. She had always rebuffed him, claiming she was too tired after working so late, but tonight she had encouraged him, and the encouragement had paid off. Just before she left work, he returned to the restaurant, showered and clean shaven.

  They had gone to one of the late-night spots for dessert and coffee. Then she suggested her apartment, to which he readily agreed. She had enjoyed being treated so nicely, and she began to think that perhaps this relationship might actually have a future beyond her duty to fulfill an obligation, which weighed heavily on her.