A perfect afternoon for football.
Even at seven, Stephanie was quite a player. “My daddy used to be quarterback for the Broncos. They called him Air Express because he was so good at passing. I think it was more fun than being president.”
“I’m sure it was,” Bo agreed.
She called her own patterns-hooks, fade-outs, posts. She caught everything that came near her. Her task was made easier by Earl, who defended against her. Mostly, he ran around waving his arms and laughing.
Kate quarterbacked for the other team. She was better at it than Bo, but she got very little help from her brother, who couldn’t have caught a football even if his hands had been soaked in glue. He had a lot of fun whenever he somehow managed to get hold of the ball and Stephanie chased him, trying to make the tag. Kate was careful around Bo, obviously concerned about his injuries. When she tagged him, she did it gently. Even so, for a long time after, he could still feel the touch of her hands on him.
Some of the agents on detail in the Op Center or on FLOTUS detail gathered along the sidelines and cheered them on.
Twenty minutes into the game, Kate called, “Halftime!” and she fell in a heap onto the grass. Bo sat down with her while Stephanie and Earl went into the house to get something cold to drink.
“Are you doing okay?” she asked.
“A little sore, but nothing a couple of aspirin won’t cure.” He waited a moment, then told her, “I got a call this morning from the president.” He was conscious that he’d refrained from sayingyour husband.
“Oh?”
“He invited me to the White House. He says he wants to thank me properly for saving you.”
“When are you going?”
“Tomorrow.”
“So soon?”
“You saw the article in theNational Enquirer?”
She nodded.
“I wondered if maybe he saw it, too, and is planning on having me shot.”
“Not Clay. Something like that, he’d want to do himself. He’d invite you to step outside and put up your dukes.” She looked Bo over appreciatively. “It would be a good match.”
“You’re not angry? About the article?”
She’d begun to pluck at leaves of clover growing among the blades of grass. “That kind of thing goes with the territory. How about you?”
“I took some heat.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Bo swept his own hand idly over the grass. “I can’t imagine anyone believing what they read in those rags.”
“I can’t imagine,” she said. She smiled at him and held out her hand. “Here. For you. A four-leaf clover.”
“For good luck?”
“You’re going to need it in the second half.”
Earl and Stephanie came out the front door and joined them.
“Come on, you guys,” Stephanie said. “Let’s play.”
They got up, but before they could separate to their own ends for the kickoff, Annie shoved open the screen door and came out quickly.
“Kate, I just heard it on the news.” Her face was pinched with concern.
“What is it?”
“Bobby Lee. He’s dead.”
“No. Not Bobby.”
“The radio report said it was a boating accident. He drowned.”
Kate put a hand to her forehead. “Oh no, no. Poor Maggie.”
She was speaking, Bo knew, of Robert Lee’s wife.
“And Clay,” she said, looking stricken. “When did it happen?”
“Yesterday.”
“Oh, Annie, I didn’t call him back last night. He must have known then.” She turned to Bo, and the pain she felt was obvious. “He and Bobby were like brothers. I’ve got to call him. Excuse me, will you?”
“Of course.”
“Uncle Bobby?” Stephanie said. She looked toward Annie.
“Come here, sweetheart.” Annie put her arms around the girl.
“I’d best go,” Bo said. “You’ve got a lot to deal with.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay, Annie. I’ll be in touch.” He reached out and shook Earl’s hand. “It was a pleasure playing against you.”
“Bye, Bo,” Earl said, looking confused.
That afternoon he received a call from the White House with his itinerary, and after that he packed. As the sun dropped behind the trees and the shadows crept up and overtook his windows, he stood looking out at his neighborhood. Tangletown. It was an area of old homes, big trees, green lawns. Most of the houses belonged to families. The backyards had swing sets. In the evening people sat on their porches, husbands and wives, talking quietly of the things that married people shared.
He’d never known his father. He’d mostly seen his mother use or be used. Harold and Nell Thorsen had given him a glimpse of what was possible between a man and a woman, but when he joined the Secret Service, he made a decision about his life. To live that life, he’d willingly isolated himself. Not all agents chose that course. Some, like two of the dead at Wildwood, had married, created families. In the end, they’d left behind them more grief than Bo could imagine.
Not for him, that responsibility. Better, he told himself, to be alone.
The phone rang.
“Bo, it’s Kate.” Her voice on the other end was feathery and sad.
“Hi.”
“I’m sorry about this afternoon. I know I rushed away.”
“That’s okay. Understandable. Are you going out to D.C.?”
“Just for the funeral. I’m coming back the same day. I want to stay here until I’m sure my father’s out of the woods.” She breathed a heavy sigh. “Know what Dad wants to do first thing when he comes home, Bo? He wants us to watch the moon rise over the St. Croix, all of us together. Isn’t that just like him? You’re welcome to be there, you know.”
“Thanks. I’ll think about it.”
The line fell silent. Bo desperately grabbed at something to say.
“Maybe I’ll see you in D.C.”
“Honestly, I doubt it, Bo.”
He’d said all the inane things he could think of. It was time to say good-bye, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of the sound of her voice, couldn’t stop hoping that he could make himself say something that was true.
“I’d better go,” she said.
“Take care,” he said.
“You, too.”
She hung up and left Bo still searching for words that never seemed to come to him when he needed them most.
chapter
thirty-four
