Empire

But she wanted even more to say no. The last thing Reuben needed right now was a wife with a sixteen- hour-a-day job. It had been her decision to stay home with the kids and she had made the right choice—for her and Reuben, anyway. With Reuben often gone for weeks and months at a time, the kids needed somebody who was an island of stability in their lives.

“We’ve got five kids, Mr. President. You know better than to try to take me away from them.”

“Patriotic pep talk won’t do it?”

“No, sir,” she said.

“Well, I’ll tell you what. The offer’s open for a month. Change your mind before August, and you’re in. Meanwhile, don’t fret about your husband. Major Malich is going to have the full support of the White House and the Army. I guarantee that nothing bad will happen to him.”

That was all she could ask for. And he had a lot to do. No time for mall talk. She thanked him, said good-bye, and hung up.

“He tried to hire you,” said Aunt Margaret.

“You heard my answer.”

“I heard you considering it,” said Aunt Margaret. “Hard thing to turn down, isn’t it? In the White House, when the President knows you and trusts you, you get real power, yes?”

“Yes, I suppose,” said Cecily. “Good thing I get all the power I want from bullying my children.”

“He promised to help your husband, but you still look worried.”

“I am worried,” she said. “Why am I worried?”

“You’re a Croat,” said Margaret. “Nothing’s ever so good but what it can all come crashing down, and Croats never forget that.”

“Yes, what was your toast at our wedding? ‘Every day that ends vith you two still speaking to each other is a triumph over human nature.’ ”

“Or words to that effect,” said Margaret. “And I was right.”

“There’s something. Wrong. It’s… I don’t like the way he promised he could make everything go smoothly for Reuben. If there’s anyone on God’s green earth who knows that Congress cannot be controlled from the White House, it’s LaMonte Nielson.”

“Maybe he thinks he’ll still have clout in Congress.”

“No, he often said that the only President who ever controlled Congress was Johnson, and he did it by being a world-class… erk.”

“A tush flambe,” said Margaret.

“And he can’t control the press, either. They’re going to try to kill Reuben’s reputation and dance on the grave.”

“He just got made President. He’s feeling grandiose.”

“He was never grandiose. But no, he was joking. Cajoling me.”

“And yet you’re still worried.”

“I’m worried because Reuben is off the radar. Is he coming here? Is he going somewhere else to hide? Is he leaving the country? Is he on some kind of assignment? Is he arrested? Is he… ”

The front door slammed open.

“Oh, be gentle with my ancient house!” cried Aunt Margaret.

“Dad’s got a new car!” shouted Mark.

“He’s here,” breathed Cecily.

“Go help your father with his luggage,” called Margaret.

“He doesn’t have any!”

When Cecily got to the front door, carrying J. P., the garage door was already closing with Reuben and whatever car he was driving on the inside. So Cecily went back through the house and intercepted him at the inside garage door. They kissed and Reuben took J. P. into his arms and greeted the girls, who had already run downstairs. “Where’s Nick?” he asked.

“Reading about strong-thewed women and bewitching men,” said Mark.

“In the back yard,” said Cecily.

Reuben gave everybody another hug and then went out into the back yard in search of his second son.

They gathered in the kitchen and Reuben gave them all a blow-by-blow account of his fight with the terrorists. Lettie and Annie were fascinated, but their reaction was most at the level of “Oh, gross,” and “Did you see them after they were dead?” Mark wanted more details, but in reply Reuben reminded him that this story was not to be told outside the family. “If you tell anybody that your dad is Major Reuben Malich, any of your friends, pretty soon there’ll be reporters outside the house and we won’t have any peace.”

Mark was disgusted. “I know that, Dad,” he said.

Nick said nothing. He just watched his father. And listened. And took it all in. He was the one that worried Cecily. Nick built his life around imaginary heroes, even if the fantasy novels were supposed to be funny. And then look at the father he had—the real thing, the strong-thewed warrior, the hero. How could Nick ever measure up to that fantasy?

Nick was the one who would go into the Army, she thought. He’ll think he has to in order to be a real man. Only the Army is not where he belongs. He needs to have time to himself. He needs a regular life. He needs to be surrounded by a gentle reality. Because he’s fragile. Real combat would hurt him. He would get scars that would never heal.

Scars like the ones that gnawed at his father. You don’t kill men without taking damage to your soul. Even when you’re defending yourself and other people. Even when the bad guys are truly evil. And if you ever get to the point where it doesn’t damage you to kill, then you’ve lost your decency. Thank God Reuben had never reached that point, and never would. But Nick—could he bear it, to have those wounds on his soul?

“So I’m on vacation for a few days,” said Reuben. “Maybe longer.”

“Two words,” said Mark. “Atlantic City!”

“You are way too young to scope out babes, Mark,” said Reuben.

“I said that once, Dad. As a joke.”

“I don’t care what you said. I know how I’ve seen you look.”

“Yeah, well, have you seen how they dress?”

“You’re ten. That’s way too young for you even to care.”

And on they went. The war talk was over. But the kids lingered. Dad-time was precious. And it wasn’t often he actually told them about what he did as a soldier. They didn’t need that knowledge. It would only frighten them when he was away. This time, though, Cecily knew that he had to tell them, because they were going to hear the negative stuff, and they had to know the story the way it really happened.

After a while, the girls dragged their father upstairs to look at whatever insane project they were working on together—Lettie always had a project, and Annie always ended up being chief assistant who never, ever got her way on anything, and they ended up yelling and crying and then going right back to the same project because Annie would rather be miserable and oppressed with Lettie than free but alone.

Mark went with them because he was Mark and had to be with people who were doing something. J. R went with them because Reuben was holding him. Which left Cecily alone at the kitchen table with Nick.

“What are you thinking?” she said. “If it involves ice cream, I think the answer is there are still two fudgesicles that J. P. didn’t smear all over his body.”

Nick ignored the offered ice cream—not a surprise. He was mostly indifferent to food. “The king is dead,” he said. “Long live the king.”

“What?”

“You asked what I was thinking,” said Nick. “Somebody killed the President, and all anybody can think about is, How does this benefit me?”

“I’m not thinking that way,” said Cecily.

“No, ’cause you and Dad are thinking about how it’s going to hurt you. They’re saying things that make Dad look like he was maybe part of the assassination instead of the guy who tried to stop it.”

“It’s how they sell papers.”

“That’s what I meant,” said Nick. “See? The President is dead—how can we sell papers? The President is