Her mother came out, bundled up in a heavy cardigan, accompanied by a Navy steward, who was carrying a tray with mugs of cocoa and just-baked cookies.
“Hot chocolate?” she asked.
“Sure,” Meg said. “Thanks.”
After the steward had left, her mother sat in the rustic wooden lawn chair next to hers.
“You warm enough?” she asked.
Meg briefly considered taking umbrage at this—shouting that she was an adult, and bloody well old enough to decide whether she needed a jacket or not—but it was, after all, Christmas. Besides, if her mother hadn’t asked, Meg would have been disappointed in her. So, she just nodded.
“Not much chance of snow with these temperatures,” her mother said.
It probably wasn’t the right time to bring up global warming. Meg stirred her cocoa with the candy cane adorning the mug, and then drank some. “Nice and quiet up here,” she said.
“Good to get away,” her mother agreed.
She kind of liked it when she and her mother spoke in terse, incomplete sentences. It seemed—slangy. Dashing. Macho. “Going back tomorrow?” she asked.
Her mother considered that. “Day after, probably.”
Meg laughed. How brusque, and pithy.
“What?” her mother asked.
“Nothing,” Meg said. She and her brothers were going to stay up here through New Year’s, while her father would probably—it had yet to be determined—go back and forth at least once. “Thanks for all the stuff. I mean, you guys gave me way too much.”
“Well,” her mother said, and left it at that. She had always been a big gift-giver, and the reason was probably some complicated combination of guilt and generosity.
“Anyway, thank you,” Meg said. “They were all really nice.”
Her mother sipped some cocoa. “We’ll have to make a list of whatever else you might need up there.”
Beth, who was supposed to fly down to Washington for a few days before her winter break was over, would, without question, be full of advice. Most of it solicited. “I’m sorry Mrs. Peterson couldn’t come,” she said.
Her mother nodded, and looked worried.
Her mother’s best friend—one of the only people around whom Meg ever saw her come close to relaxing—was in the midst of radiation and chemotherapy for breast cancer, and hadn’t been feeling up to traveling lately. So, her mother had been flying to Boston every month or two—using various transparent, manufactured political excuses—to see her, instead.
Inside the cabin, there was a crash, then sounds of a scuffle, followed by a yelp. Human, not canine.
Meg looked at her mother. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Neither did I,” her mother said.
Being as it was Christmas and all.
There was another crash, and Meg heard her father shout, “Hey!”, and Neal saying, “Steven started it!”
Yes, it was nice to be outdoors. “When’s Trudy going to get here?” Meg asked.
“By the weekend, as far as I know,” her mother said.
They didn’t have any grandparents—hadn’t, for many years—and Trudy had assumed the role by default. In general, since they didn’t have much of an extended family, Trudy—and now, Preston—had always taken on extra importance. Her father’s sister, and somewhat bohemian ne’er-do-well husband, were also supposed to visit for a couple of days later in the week, along with two of her much-older cousins, and some of her parents’ friends would probably be around, too.
She could hear her father saying, patiently, “It isn’t broken, I just think that someone—” “someone” had to be Steven—“took the batteries.” “It’s broken, Dad,” Steven was insisting, “because, you know, it’s foreign.”
Meg looked at her mother. “So. How about that trade deficit?”
Her mother sort of laughed, sort of groaned. “Not on Christmas.”
Right.
“You want to have Beth come down early?” her mother asked. “Be here for New Year’s?”
Meg shook her head. “She probably has real plans.” Which sounded incredibly rude. “I mean, you know, social stuff.”
Her mother looked at her closely. “Do you want to go up there?”
God, no. The idea of having all the people she’d grown up with see her like this was—nope, no way. “I’d kind of rather be quiet,” Meg said.
Her mother nodded. “Me, too, actually.”
There was another loud crash inside, Kirby barked, and her brothers laughed wildly.
“Are you curious?” Meg asked.
Her mother shook her head. “Not even faintly.”
Right.
8
WHEN SHE CALLED Beth the next day, dropping the idea of New Year’s, Beth allowed as how coming to Camp David maybe wasn’t the worst idea she had ever heard. Providing, of course, that there would be plenty of champagne available. But, of course, Meg said, although she had no idea.
Beth arrived right after lunch on New Year’s Eve, a White House car having picked her up at the airport, and whisked her out to the mountains—much as Trudy had shown up a couple of days earlier. Without looking very happy about it, her father had headed back to Washington after breakfast, so that he and her mother could go to a couple of private parties with friends—political and otherwise—before returning to Camp David later that night.
Steven’s friend Vinnie had also come up to visit, and so far—it would appear—he and Steven, with Neal trailing after them, had spent the entire day having a belching contest. Charming. They also went and shot skeet—Camp David had its own little range—which was going to displease her parents, if they found out. Trudy had managed to dissuade them from trying to take the secure elevator down to the bomb shelter beneath the lodge, and the last time Meg had seen them, they were careening along one of the paths through the woods in a golf cart, the usual mode of transportation at Camp David.
Although people normally drove them more cautiously.
She was sitting in the sun porch with Trudy, when a steward came and told her that Beth’s car had just pulled in.
“Thanks.” Meg put down her Coke and looked at Trudy, who was peering through her glasses as she crocheted a winter hat for Neal. Trudy made things for everyone she liked, scrupulously taking turns. “I’ll be right back.”
Trudy smiled up at her, plump in just the right way in her green wool dress. “Okay, dear. If you see the boys, tell them to come in and get something to eat.”
“I think they’re off being cretins somewhere,” Meg said.
Trudy smiled again. “I’m sure they are.”
Meg limped after the steward, getting to the door just as Beth came in, wearing a long black coat, red sunglasses, and a red beret.
“Why, hello,” she said, and whipped off the beret, revealing a very short, very punk, very blond haircut.
Meg knew she wanted an explosive reaction, but decided not to give her one. “What, no purple streak?”
Beth took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were still brown. “You know, that’s exactly what my mother said.”
Meg laughed. Apparently, Mrs. Shulman was finally beginning to loosen up. “What did your stepfather say?”
“He just looked disgusted,” Beth said, and thought. “Or maybe, it was appalled.”
Flummoxed, perhaps. Meg squinted at her. “How many earrings are you wearing?”
“Five,” Beth said.
Meg nodded. Not that she couldn’t count, but she’d wanted to hear it for herself. “The feather looks dumb.”
“Thank you, Meg,” Beth said. “You always know just what to say. Besides, you’re still wearing those same damn little hoops.”
Okay, so she wasn’t big on earring variety. Old news.
Beth shrugged off her coat to reveal a grey cashmere sweater, a silver necklace, and black slacks.
“How cutting-edge,” Meg said.
Beth grinned. “My mother insisted. She said I wasn’t going to Camp David looking like
a she-didn’t-know-what.”
As long as Meg had known her, Mrs. Shulman had been endlessly dismayed by the fact that she had given birth to a she-didn’t-know-what. As soon as they walked into the sun porch, Trudy went bustling off to bring them some of the brownies she’d baked that morning, even though Meg pointed out that the stewards would be happy—delighted, even—to do it.
Beth watched her go. “They must all be completely petrified of her.”
A safe assumption. There was a very tough—and exacting—lady hiding behind that round, smiling face. Her foot did its sudden flopping thing, and she had to grab the edge of a table to keep from falling, dropping her cane in the process. She glanced at Beth self-consciously, and then lowered herself—carefully—into an overstuffed chair.
Beth started to say something, then just bit her lip and looked away.
They sat there, in nearly-deafening silence.
“Good Christmas?” Beth asked finally.
Meg nodded. “My parents gave me everything in sight.”
“We, of course, don’t observe those pagan rituals,” Beth said.
Meg shrugged. “Then, I won’t give you the present I got you.”
“No, it’s all right,” Beth said, sighing deeply. “Just this once, I’ll explore your wretched gentile traditions.”
“Thought you might,” Meg said.
Trudy came out with a platter of brownies and sugar cookies, while a steward carried a tray with a pitcher of milk and several glasses.
“Thank you, Brady,” Trudy said, as he set it down on the coffee table. “Please have some brownies.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, but didn’t touch them. He looked at Meg. “Will there be anything else, Miss Powers?”
Surely, he must realize that Trudy was completely running the show here. Meg shook her head. “No, thank you.”
Just as Trudy sat down, her brothers and Vinnie—and Kirby—came noisily in, disheveled and out of breath. Judging from their clothes, they had either had a leaf fight—or the golf cart crashed. Or some combination of the two.
“Hey, excellent,” Steven said, heading straight for the brownies.
Trudy looked very stern. “Not so fast, young man.”
“She wants us to be clean and stuff,” Steven said to Vinnie. “Wash up.” Then, he noticed Beth’s hair. “Yo, look! It’s like—some weird alien!” He grabbed Neal and Vinnie, trying to knock them to the floor. “Take cover!”
Beth laughed, as all three of them flattened behind the couch. “Now, see,” she said to Meg. “That’s the kind of reaction I like.”
“It talks English!” Neal gasped.
“Too weird, though, man,” Vinnie said. “It has like, a feather coming out of its brain.”
All three of them poked their heads up enough to study Beth’s earrings.
Vinnie frowned. “It’s, like, an antenna.”
“No, it’s a death-laser!” Steven said, and they hit the deck again.
“Boys,” Trudy said, obviously no longer in the mood for such foolishness.
They got up, suddenly angelic and polite.
“Sorry, lady,” Steven said. “Don’t know what came over us.” He looked at Neal and Vinnie. “Fall out, men! Double-time!”
“I’ll get there first!” Neal said, and they all raced for the nearest bathroom, trying to shove each other out of the way.
Meg leaned closer to examine Beth’s feather. “It does look like an antenna.”
“It is an antenna,” Beth said, and helped herself to a brownie.
Even after changing their shirts and combing their hair, her brothers and Vinnie’s energy levels were still pretty high, and the rest of the afternoon was on the rambunctious side.
“All right, boys,” Trudy said, when dinner was over. “I think it’s time for you three to start calming down. Why don’t you go watch a movie?”
“Soldiers!” Neal said enthusiastically. “They sent us that cool soldier movie.”
“Excellent,” Steven said, and the three of them left the room, wrestling and trying to trip one another the entire way. Kirby barked, and followed them.
“We do have a lot of good stuff,” Meg said to Beth. “All the Christmas movies.”
Beth shrugged. “Sounds like a plan.”
The stewards had already cleared the table, and Meg could tell that Trudy was dying to go into the kitchen and clean up.
“They honestly don’t mind,” Meg said. “I mean, we almost never come up here.” Anymore. “I think they get really bored.”
“I know,” Trudy said, looking fidgety. “I just feel funny about it.”
Meg nodded. She felt funny about it herself. “Well, come watch movies with us.”
“Something without soldiers, please,” Trudy said.
That meant that car chases, cops, street gangs, and spaceships were probably out, too.
Which was going to limit their options.
“Chick flick,” Beth said. “We definitely need a chick flick.”
Yes, they very definitely did.
* * *
MEG’S PARENTS HAD wanted to be back by midnight, and Marine One landed just after eleven. Her father went into Steven’s bedroom suite, where Steven and Vinnie and Neal were mesmerized by yet another action movie, and dragged them out to the living room. At midnight, like most other people in America, they were sitting in front of the television, watching the ball go down in Times Square. The stewards served champagne to everyone—her brothers and Vinnie were elated—and then they all went out to the patio to watch the fireworks display some of the Marines had put together.
“I think this is going to be a good year,” her mother said, which she said every year.
Odds were, it would have to be better than the one that had just ended. Meg sipped her champagne, rather than make a crack to that effect.
“Bound to be an improvement,” Beth muttered, next to her.
Since she was already mentally and physically crippled, yeah. “I hope so,” Meg said quietly.
Once the fireworks were over, her brothers and Vinnie got bored, and went back to their movie. Trudy trailed after them, and Meg figured that she had decided to take on the thankless chore of trying to talk them into going to bed afterwards—and also, possibly, keep a little distance from her mother. Ever since—everything, Meg had noticed that there was a distinct hint of tension between the two of them, although it went without saying that no one ever mentioned it.
“Well.” Her mother got up from her chair. “That was very nice. Thank you, everyone.”
A steward appeared in the doorway. “Can we get you anything, Madam President?”
“I’m all set, thank you, Wilbur,” she said, then looked at the rest of them. “How about all of you?”
“I’m pretty tired,” Meg’s father said. “I think I’ve about had it for tonight.”
Meg nodded. “You’re going to need lots of energy for all that football tomorrow.” Her father, on New Year’s Day, could not in any way, shape or form be blasted away from the television set.
“Right you are.” He bent to give her a kiss on top of the head. “Happy New Year.” He smiled at Beth. “Happy New Year, Beth.” Then, he glanced at her mother. “Are you coming, too?”
Her mother hesitated, then checked her watch—although surely, she must have had some sense that it was shortly after midnight. “In a little while, maybe. I’m just going to go into the study, and—well.”
Study, presumably.
Meg looked down at her splint, so that she wouldn’t have to see whatever expression was on her father’s face.
“Okay,” he said, shortly. “Fine.” He smiled at Meg and Beth again, but less convincingly this time. “Good night.”
When her parents had both gone off, in different directions, Beth let out her breath.
“Damn,” she said.
Meg nodded. “I told you. It’s been—Christ, that was comparatively friendly.”
Beth just shook her head.
Anyway. When it came to parents, and emotional turmoil, Beth had been there, and done that.
“Trudy doesn’t seem to be too happy with her, either,” Beth said.
Nope.
“Must be hard,” Beth said, “when no matter what you do, all day, every day, it still pisses off millions of people.”
Yeah. Regardless of where she stood in the polls at any given point in time, her mother’s life was still pretty much a perpetual no-win situation.
Beth glanced at her. “Worse, though, when it’s your own damn family.”
Not the conversation with which she wanted to begin the New Year. “Yeah,” Meg said, and leaned down to pat Kirby, who wagged his tail, and went back to sleep, his head resting on her right foot. “Um, anyway. What do you want to do now?”
Beth motioned towards the remaining champagne. “Be a shame to let that go to waste.”
A terrible shame.
They were on their third glasses, mostly being quiet, when Beth coughed.
“Um, look,” she said. “I really did appreciate it.”
The pregnancy scare. “I didn’t do anything,” Meg said.
“No, but I know you would have, and—well, thanks,” Beth said, and then looked over. “Did you tell your mother?”
Who would, naturally, have had to be involved with any possible subterfuge of that sort, had it come to pass. “Nothing to tell,” Meg said.
Beth looked relieved, and finished off her champagne. “Good. I wasn’t sure how embarrassed I should be in front of her.”
Meg refilled their glasses. “Were you going to do better stuff tonight? I mean, you know, better than this?”
Beth shook her head. “Anne-Marie Hammersmith’s having a party, and I think there was another one at what’s-his-name, Kurt’s house.”
Neither of which sounded very enticing. “Do you mind missing them?” Meg asked.
Beth shook her head again. “The truth is, I’ve lost touch with a lot of people.”
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