First Lady by Susan Elizabeth Phillips
Nealy tried to clear the knot of emotion from her throat. “You should have told him about your grandmother right away. And you shouldn’t have forged that letter.” “Yeah, right. Then Button wouldn’t have had any chance at all. They’d have taken her away from me that same day.”
It occurred to Nealy that this teenager already knew more about courage than most people learned in a lifetime. She spoke as gently as she could. “What did you hope to accomplish by making Mat believe your grandmother was still alive?”
“When something bad happened, Sandy used to say, ‘It ain’t over till it’s over.’ And I thought that, if the trip took long enough, something good might happen on the way.”
“Mat might decide to keep you.”
Lucy didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
“I’m sorry, Luce. You know there are lots of great foster homes. And Mat will check up on you.” Mat had never said anything of the kind, but Nealy knew he would. “I will, too.”
“There won’t be any reason to check up on me because I can take care of myself,” Lucy said stubbornly, “and I won’t go to a foster home. ” Her bravado faded. “You guys both like Button a lot, I know you do. She’s really a great baby. She’s cute and smart, and she’s hardly any trouble. Well, maybe a little, but she’ll grow out of it real soon, probably next month or something.” Lucy gave up on subtlety. “I don’t see why you and Mat can’t get married and adopt her.”
Nealy regarded her with dismay. “Lucy, we’re not going to—”
“That’s bullshit, man!” Nico’s angry voice cut in. “Those kids don’t have anything to do with me!” The door flew open and he shot out carrying his duffel and a guitar, with Mat following. “Look, I’m taking off. If you guys want to crash here for a while, that’s fine with me. But that’s it.”
He tossed a set of house keys at Mat, then vaulted off the steps without looking at either Lucy or Button. A few moments later, he shot down the narrow drive on his motorcycle.
Grim-faced, Mat pointed a finger at Lucy. “You. Get in the Winnebago. The two of us are going to have a talk.”
She wasn’t stupid. She immediately snatched up Button as a human shield.
“Alone!” Mat boomed.
She set Button down, narrowed her eyes, lifted her chin, and marched toward the motor home.
Nealy watched her go and shook her head in admiration. “Are you sure she’s not your daughter?”
Mat ignored her and set out after the teenager, his lips compressed in a taut line. Worried, Nealy grabbed Button and began to follow him, only to stop herself. He looked like he was going to commit violence, but she knew better. Mat had some bite behind his bark, but she didn’t believe it was lethal.
And bark he did, until she expected the walls of the Winnebago to bulge. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she carried Button inside to explore. They would be spending at least one night here, and she wanted to see the house.
In the back, a roomy, light-filled kitchen opened onto a wonderful sunporch. Cozy brown wicker furniture clustered around a worn Oriental rug, and a collection of mismatched tables held scholarly journals, back issues of Rolling Stone, and junk food refuse. Clay saucers that looked as if they’d once contained houseplants sat here and there, along with some pottery lamps. Through the windows, she caught sight of a small backyard defined by shrubs and a little grape arbor. The weedy flower bed contained several old rosebushes full of blossoms.
The upstairs held a bath and three bedrooms, the smallest of which had been converted into a storage room. A portable CD player, some scattered clothes, and an open book on Zen indicated that Nico occupied the master bedroom. In the guest room, an India cotton throw printed in blues and lavenders was tossed over the double bed, and simple woven curtains hung at the window. The bathroom was old-fashioned, charming, and in need of a good cleaning. Tiled in gray and white, the room held a clawfoot tub with a spray attachment, a wicker basket overflowing with out-of-date magazines, and an open window of honeycombed glass that looked out over the backyard and, in the distance, a sliver of the Iowa River.
She heard the side door slam and went downstairs to see that Mat had sealed himself behind the French doors of Joanne Pressman’s abandoned office, which looked as if it had once been the dining room. Through the glass, she saw him pick up the phone. Her spirits sank. He was beginning the process of divesting himself of the children.
“He didn’t hit me or anything.”
Lucy’s soft voice came from behind her, and Nealy turned to see her standing in the kitchen. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sad. She looked defeated, but determined not to show it.
“I didn’t think he would.”
“He was really mad, though.” Her voice cracked. “Because I disappointed him and everything.”
Nealy wanted to hug her, but Lucy was working too hard at holding on to her pride. “Let’s see if we can find someplace to order pizza for dinner. And Button’s out of clean clothes. Can you show me how to use the washer?”
“You don’t know how to use a washer?”
“I had servants.”
Lucy shook her head at Nealy’s utter lameness, then patiently demonstrated the basics of doing laundry.
By the time the pizza arrived, Mat had disappeared. She found him outside with his head under Mabel’s hood. He grunted that he would eat later. She suspected he needed some time alone, and she was more than happy to give it to him.
After dinner, Nealy scrubbed the tub, undressed the baby, and set her in the water. She gave a gleeful shriek, then began splashing with the plastic measuring cups Nealy’d brought up from the kitchen. “You certainly do know how to have a good time,” she said with a laugh.
“Da!”
She turned and saw Mat standing in the door. His arms were crossed and one shoulder pressed against the jamb. “I’ll take over,” he said wearily. “I didn’t mean to stick you with her.”
“I don’t feel stuck.” Her words sounded sharper than she’d intended, but she was angry with him. Angry with him for not being the man she wanted him to be—a homebody who would hold on to these girls.
She knew she was being unfair. Mat hadn’t asked for any of this to happen, and it said a lot for his character that he had gone to so much effort on their behalf. But she was still angry with him.
Button slapped both arms into the water and sent up a tidal wave to impress him.
“I just saw Lucy heading downstairs carrying a portable television,” he said. “I hope I don’t have to worry about pawnshops again.”
“Where was she taking it?” She did her best to wash one of Button’s ears, but it was a catch-as-catch-can proposition.
“To the motor home. She said she and Button weren’t going to stay in the guest room no matter what you said.”
Nealy sighed. “There’s a double bed with one side against the wall so Button couldn’t roll out. I thought it would be a good place for them. Obviously Lucy didn’t agree.”
“Lucy’s a brat.”
The pizza must have revived the teenager’s fighting spirit because Nealy would bet anything that she was matchmaking again—making certain Nealy and Mat were going to be alone in the house.
Squid followed Mat into the bathroom and plopped on the tile near the tub. Button shrieked and sent up a splash to welcome him. The dog regarded her balefully, then mustered the energy to crawl beneath the sink where the undertow wouldn’t get him.
“That’s the most pathetic excuse for a dog I’ve ever seen.”
“On the positive side, I made Lucy take him outside and give him a bath, so at least he doesn’t smell anymore. And he certainly has a healthy appetite.”
“Three different neighbors came over to introduce themselves while I was moving the motor home into the driveway. It’s a good thing you’re keeping that damn padding on.”
“People are naturally friendly in the Midwest.”
“Too friendly.” He picked up the rag Lucy’d used to scrub t
She wanted to ask him what he was going to do about the girls, but Button had lost interest in her bath, and she wanted to get her settled first. “I’ll finish up here.”
While Mat got Button’s bottle ready, Nealy dried her off and dressed her in a clean pair of cotton pajamas. Then she carried both Button and the bottle out to the motor home to turn over to Lucy.
When she returned, she found Mat sitting on the back step with a cup of coffee and Squid curled at his feet. She eased down next to him and gazed at the quiet backyard. Fireflies flickered above the peony bushes, and the sweet scent of honeysuckle drifted in the air. Through the back window of a neighbor’s house, she caught the glow of a television set. She wanted to drink it all in so she’d never forget this perfect summer night in the heartland.
Mat took a sip of coffee. “I called Sandy’s lawyer earlier. I told him where the girls were and what had happened. As you might expect, Pennsylvania Child Services isn’t too happy with me.”
“You’re going to take the girls back.” She’d meant to ask a question, but it came out as a statement.
“Of course. As soon as the bloodwork’s taken care of.”
“You’re having the paternity tests done here?”
“There’s a lab in Davenport. I don’t want to deal with all the red tape waiting for me in Pennsylvania.”
“So you’ll have the tests done, and then you’ll be able to wash your hands of them,” she snapped.
“That’s not fair.”
She sighed. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“This isn’t what I want! I put in my time as a family man before I was twenty-one, and I hated it.” He gazed around at the quiet yard. “I’ve worked my whole life to get away from all this.”
It hurt knowing something that meant everything to her was repugnant to him. “Was your childhood so terrible?”
He set his coffee mug on the step. “Not terrible, but you can’t imagine what it was like growing up without any privacy and being responsible for so many females.”
“What about your mother?”
“She’d work fifty, sixty hours a week as a bookkeeper. She had eight kids, and she couldn’t afford to turn down overtime. The girls ran rings around my grandmother, so most of the time it was just me. I couldn’t even leave after I graduated from high school. My grandmother was getting frail, and my mother still needed me, so I lived at home while I went to college.”
“Surely some of your sisters were old enough by that time to take charge of things.”
“They were old enough, but that didn’t mean they were reliable.”
Why should they have been, she thought, when their older brother had such a strong sense of responsibility?
The dog shifted closer to Mat’s feet. Mat rested his arms on his splayed thighs and let his hands drop between them. The dog nuzzled his fingers, but Mat didn’t seem to notice. “Look at me. In less than a week, I’ve acquired two kids, a pregnant woman I’m telling everyone is my wife, and a damned dog. If that isn’t bad enough, now I’m living in a house in Iowa.”
She smiled. “All you need is a station wagon and a mother-in-law.”
He moaned and sagged forward. “When I was on the phone earlier . . . I rented a Ford Explorer. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Explorer?”
“An SUV, today’s station wagon.”
She laughed.
His innate sense of humor surfaced, and he managed a pained smile.
“What about your job?” she asked. “Don’t you have to get back to work?”
“It’ll hold.”
There were some things that didn’t add up here. “Lucy tells me you drive a Mercedes. Nice car for a steelworker.”
It took a moment for him to respond. “I never said I was a steelworker. I told you I worked in a steel mill.”
“The difference being?”
“I’m management.”
“I see.” She slipped her hands between her thighs. “How long before you go back?”
“It takes two weeks to get the results.”
Hope flared inside her, only to fade as he went on. “I’ll probably fly back with them tomorrow night, maybe the next day. I guess it depends on you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard. That’s why I left in the first place.”
He reached down and absentmindedly scratched behind Squid’s ears. “The President held a press conference this afternoon. You were the main topic of discussion.”
She’d deliberately avoided listening to the news, and she didn’t want to hear this.
The dog propped his muzzle on Mat’s foot. “Vandervort reassured everyone there was no reason to be alarmed about your safety, that you’d spoken with Mrs. Bush just this afternoon.”
“Uhm.”
“Apparently the special task force of agents looking for you has narrowed their search, and they expect to locate you soon.”
She propped her elbows on her knees and sighed. “They probably will.”
“I don’t know. You seem to have covered your tracks pretty well.”
“They’re the best. Sooner or later, they’ll find me.”
“He blamed your disappearance on the nefarious villains that make up the opposition party.” His mouth twisted in a cynical smile. “He said you’d become increasingly distressed watching your husband’s political opponents put their own narrow interests above the best interests of the American people.”
She gave a soft laugh. “He would say that.”
“So which First Lady are you going to call tomorrow?”
She leaned back. “No more First Ladies. All of their phones will be monitored by now. I’ll have to move on to the Supreme Court or the Cabinet.”
He shook his head. “It’s still hard for me to believe.”
“Then don’t think about it.”
“It’s tough not to.” That flinty note had crept back into his voice. “You should have told me.”
“Why?”
“How can you ask something like that?”
“What would you have done if you were me?”
“I guess I’d have taken control of my life before it got this far.”
That made her angry. “Spoken by someone who knows absolutely nothing.”
“You asked.”
She jumped to her feet. “You’re a jerk, you know that, Mat? Lucy’s right.”
He shot up, too. “You led me on!”
“Well, excuse me for not running up to you in that truck stop and announcing that I was Cornelia Case!”
“That’s not what I’m talking about! You had plenty of time after that to tell me the truth.”
“And end up having you either snarl at me or bow and scrape?”
Outrage flashed in his eyes. “I never bowed and scraped in my life!”
“This morning you told me you’d made coffee! As soon as you knew who I was, you treated me like some kind of houseguest!”
“I told you I made coffee? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” His eyes were turning the color of storm clouds, but she didn’t care.
“That’s not all, and you know it!”
“No, I don’t know it! And I never bowed and scraped to anybody in my life!”
“Then tell me why we’re sitting out here instead of finishing what we started two nights ago! This is Iowa, Mat! Iowa!”
The fact that she’d had to remind him—that it mattered who she was—hurt too much. “Forget it. Just forget it.” She yanked open the door to the sunporch and hurried inside.
Mat watched the screen door slam and tried to figure out what had just happened. How had he become the bad guy? Was he supposed to throw the First Lady of the United States
He jerked open the door. “Come back here!”
She didn’t, of course, because when had she ever done anything he’d asked her to?
He heard the side door slam and realized she was running off. Out to the motor home where she could lock herself away from him. Out to the motor home after he’d ordered her to stick like glue to his side. Had she once stopped to consider the crackpots who might be looking for her? Of course not.
He didn’t let the fact that he’d already made a fool of himself today with the backfiring incident keep him from charging through the house to the side door and out into the yard. On the way, he tried to calm himself down, and he’d almost succeeded when he found the door of the Winnebago unlocked. He nearly went catatonic. She was an idiot! And, First Lady or not, he intended to tell her so.
He stomped inside and found her throwing a sheet down on that miserable miniature couch where he’d spent the past four nights. “Are you out of your mind?” he exclaimed.
She whirled around, every inch the Queen of Sheba. “What do you want?”
“You didn’t even lock the damned door!”
“Quiet! You’ll wake up the girls.”
He glanced toward the closed door at the back, lowered his voice, and bore down on her. “As a taxpaying citizen of the United States, I resent like hell what you’re doing.”
“Then write your senator.”
“You think that’s cute? What if I were a terrorist? Exactly where do you think you’d be right now? And where do you think this country would be if some nut decided to take you hostage?”
“If the nut turned out to be as cracked as you, I’d be in big trouble!”
He thrust his hand toward the door. “Get back in that house where I can watch you!”
Those patrician nostrils flared, her aristocratic spine stiffened. “Excuuuse me?” She drew out the syllables like a long line he’d just stepped over. Her expression reminded him that, while his ancestors had been strapped to a plow in Eastern Europe, hers had been sipping martinis on country club verandas. He knew he’d gone too far, but he wanted her so damn bad that he couldn’t seem to stop himself.