VOLUME | ONC 2023

15. White Houses, White Lies

Roosevelt...

I was fastening the last button on my shirt when the familiar rapt of Christian's knuckles signaled me.

The agent poked his head in, "Sir, sitting President Marshall is here to see you."

I glanced at the authoritative man, searching for clues in his inexpressive face, "Hmm. I'll be right down."

I checked my watch, hoping the visit wouldn't interfere with Harriet's arrival. I had invited her to my home, suspecting we needed far more privacy than the hotel allotted.

I walked downstairs and into the foyer, greeted by four secret service agents.

I nodded, "Gentlemen."

They responded in near unison, "Mr. President."

"Dad, you're looking well today."

Flanked by two more agents, Rory strode through the front door with that hubristic politician's confidence. He'd gotten it earnestly from his mother.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the head of state? Not that I don't love seeing this face," I wrapped my arms around my eldest son, squeezing him.

Rory had earned a few more grays since I'd seen him last.

I held his frame away from mine, "I thought you were headed to the G7 Summit ahead of the campaign."

Rory nodded, "I am. I thought I'd make a little pitstop first. Where's mom?"

I fought the shrug that had begun to materialize, gesturing to the sitting room where refreshments awaited my and Harriet's tête-à-tête.

"She's on one of her little adventures. She mentioned something about a conference in Seattle. You know her – she loves to make her rounds."

I hadn't seen Poppy for more than a couple of days at a time in months, but I wouldn't tell him that. She spent more time at our Bellevue condo than she did in Napa. I, too, suspected she was keeping up with some romantic tryst with a retired congressman turned professor in Berkeley. At 65, the woman had the confidence of a model and the persistence of a bulldog.

Rory gave a knowing look, perching in the corner of the couch, "That she does. She called last month to ask if she could pop by."

"She's still pissy about having to move after my second term."

We shared good-natured laughter as the agents nodded their departure. They weren't going far, but I was relieved to have a modicum of privacy. I never missed the sometimes suffocating details that accompanied me for eight years.

"So, what's got your panties in a bunch? You want advice on how to keep Canada and France off your back about greenhouse emissions?"

Rory smirked, "Who said my panties are in a bunch?"

I relaxed in the recliner that I bribed Poppy into letting me put in the sitting room. "You've got the same look on your face you had when you came to be about Billy Gallagher bullying you in the 4th grade. And the same when you were getting ready to marry Ina."

"First, I would appreciate some climate change counsel. Second, my panties aren't in a bunch. They're just a little wrinkly."

I nodded for him to continue, smiling. I didn't know if Rory was so predictable because he was predictable or because he was my child.

Rory's hands clasped in his lap, "I have reason to believe there is a young woman who may or may not be investigating your history. I wanted you to hear it from me first."