Brad Meltzer - The First Councel

“Shhhhhh,” she whispers, lightly rubbing his back.

Slowly, he stops struggling, even as his body continues shaking. “How come you… ”

“It’s okay, it’s all okay,” she continues, still holding him. “Of course you’re invited.”

“F-For sure?” he sobs.

She lifts his chin and wipes away the tears. “You’re his father, aren’t you? You’re the one who made him.”

“I did,” he says proudly as he tries to catch his breath. “He came from me.” With all five fingers erect, he picks at the edge of his nose with his middle one. Growing more confident, he once again wraps his arms around her. He’s still sobbing, but the gleam in his eyes tells the story. They’re tears of joy. He just wanted to be part of it. Not left out.

In a moment, the whole thing’s over. Still in Nora’s arms, he’s pressing his head against her shoulder, rocking back and forth. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. She’s got it all taken care of, and for the first time, I realize that’s her gift. Identifying with what’s missing. That’s what she knows. A life that’s half-complete.

“Is this your horse?” Nora finally asks, noticing my dad hasn’t let go of the leather strap of the chocolate horse.

“T-This’s Comet,” he whispers. “She belongs next door-to Mrs. Holt. Laura Holt. She’s nice too.”

“She lets you take care of Comet?”

“Clean her, groom her, feed her,” my dad says, his voice rising with excitement. “First the curry comb, then the dandy brush, then the hoof pick. That’s my job. I have a job.”

“Wow-a job and a son. What else do you need?”

He shrugs and looks away. “Nothing, right?”

“That’s it,” she says. “Nothing at all.”

As my car leaves the parking lot and bounces along the path of the dirt road, Nora and I each have a hand out the window. We’re throwing parade-float waves at my father, who’s frantically waving back after us. “Goodbye, Dad!” he shouts at the top of his lungs.

“Goodbye, son!” I reply. He saw the name reversal in an old movie and immediately fell in love with it. Since then, it’s become our customary way to say goodbye.

Pulling back onto the rolling roads of Virginia, I check the rearview mirror. Harry and the tan Suburban are right there.

“Wanna try to lose him again?” Nora asks, following my gaze.

“Funny,” I say as I turn onto Route 54. Over my shoulder, the sun is finally starting to settle into the sky. Nothing left to do but ask. “So what’d you think?”

“What’s to think? He’s wonderful, Michael. And so’s his son.”

She’s not one for compliments, so I take her at her word. “So you’re okay with all of it?”

“Don’t worry-you have nothing to be ashamed about.”

“I’m not ashamed. I just… ”

“You just what?”

“I’m not ashamed,” I repeat.

“Who else have you told about him? Trey? Pam? Anyone?”

“Trey knows-and I told him he could tell Pam, but she and I never had the conversation ourselves.”

“Ooooooh, she must’ve been plenty mad when she found out.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Are you kidding? The love of her life holding back on her? It must’ve broken her little heart.”

“The love of her life?”

“C’mon, handsome, you don’t need X-ray specs to see this one. I saw how she was holding your hand at the funeral. She’s dying to put the smoochie on you.”

“You don’t even know her.”

“Let me tell you something-I’ve met her type a hundred times before. Small town predictable. When you walk into her bedroom, she’s already got her clothes picked out for the next day.”

“First of all, that’s completely wrong. Second, it doesn’t even matter. We’re just friends. And good friends at that, so don’t pick on her.”

“If you’re such good friends, why weren’t you the one to tell her about your dad?”

“It’s just the way I deal with it. Whenever I bring it up, people get self-conscious and they suddenly have to prove they’re sensitive.” Keeping my gaze locked on the power lines along the road, I add, “It’s hard to explain, but there’re times you just want to let it go. Or maybe grab them by the face and shout, ‘Back off, Barnum, it’s not a sideshow.’ I mean, yes, it’s my life, but that doesn’t mean it’s out there for public consumption. I don’t know if that makes any sense, but… ”

Out of the corner of my eye, I get a quick look at Nora. Sometimes I can be such a dumb bastard. I actually forgot who I was talking to. She’s Nora Hartson. Just reading USA Today , you’d know who she was named after, her college major, and the fact that she spent her last birthday climbing Mount Rainier with the Secret Service. Turning my way, she raises a single, trust-me-on-this-one eyebrow. To Nora, it makes perfect sense.

“Hiya, Vance,” Nora says to the guard at the Southeast Gate of the White House.

“Good evening, Ms. Hartson.”

“Nora,” she demands. “Nora, Nora, Nora.”

With a loud click, the black metal gate swings open. He doesn’t need to see my blue pass or my parking permit. He just needs to see Nora. “Thanks, Vance,” she calls out, her voice sounding lighter, more open than I’ve ever heard her.

Pulling up to the South Portico at the base of the mansion, I’m having a hard time containing myself. It’s so different than last time. No panic, no hiding, no posturing. No fear. For a few hours, Simon, Caroline, the money-the whole nightmare lowered its voice from a scream to a momentary whisper. All that’s left is us.

When we reach the awning that covers the South Portico, I hit the brakes.

“What’re you doing?” she asks.

“Aren’t I dropping you off?”

“I guess,” she says, suddenly losing the confidence in her voice. She’s about to get out of the car, but pauses. “Or, if you want, you can come upstairs.”

I look up at the shining white facade of the world’s most famous mansion. “Are you serious?”

“I’m always serious,” she says as the confidence floods back. “You up for it?”

I was wrong before. Questions don’t come any easier than this . “Where do I park?”

She motions to the expansive South Lawn of the White House. “Anywhere you want.”

You ever been in this way?” Nora asks, heading for the south entrance under the awning. We follow the red carpet into the oval-shaped Diplomatic Reception Room, where FDR used to hold his fireside chats.

“I’m not sure-I keep confusing it with my apartment and the red carpet that leads to my futon.”

“That’s cute. Never heard that one before.”

“ Before? How many guys’ve you taken on this tour?”

“What tour’re you talking about?”

“Y’know, this tour. The inside-my-Beltway tour.”

She laughs. “Oh, is that what you think you’re on?”

“You telling me I’m mistaken?”

“No, I’m telling you you’re in full delusion. I’m giving you a cup of coffee and kicking you out on your bee-hind.”

“You do what you want, but idle threats aren’t the way to get lovin’ outta me.”

“We’ll see.”

“Oh, we’ll definitely see.” I do everything in my power to make sure I get the last word. It’s the only time she’s excited-when the outcome’s out of her control.

Passing through the Dip Room, I’m swinging my shoulders with a strut that tells her she doesn’t have a chance. It’s such a bad lie, it’s pathetic. As we leave the room, we make a sharp left into the Ground Floor Corridor. Across the pale red carpet, there’s a guard on the left side of the hallway. I freeze. Nora smiles.