“How are you going to explain that bandage on your head?” Beth asked. “You can’t tell them you tripped. Voters like to think of their candidates as indestructible.”
Samuel didn’t have to think about long. “I’ll just tell them I was helping the FBI in a hush-hush case.” He looked at Bennett. “Is that all right with you, Special Agent Bennett?”
“It works for me, Senator,” Bennett replied. “It’s going to take me all weekend to finish the paperwork. Of course, I can’t speak for the other law enforcement agencies. Somebody might owe a reporter a favor.”
The room looked at Sara.
“What?” she asked. “My paper’s a weekly. Comes out on Fridays.”
“Today is Thursday,” Beth reminded her.
“I think you should do it, call it in,” Samuel told Sara.
“Are you sure?” Sara asked.
“Just leave out some of the details. You can do a more detailed follow-up for next week’s edition,” Samuel counseled.
“Okay, great,” Sara said excitedly. She rummaged through her purse, pulling out her cell phone. “Damn, the battery’s dead.”
“That’s okay,” Samuel assured her. “Beth’s right. Optics. One picture of me in this hospital, gown and all, and the debate wouldn’t matter. I’d be joining the ranks of the unemployed come January. Why don’t you get it charged up while I change?”
Samuel eased the other foot onto the floor and stood, still clutching the medication.
“Perhaps, we should get you some lunch on the way,” Howard said, taking the pill bottle from Samuel. “And perhaps we should hang onto these. It wouldn’t do for Vermont’s favorite son to appear Rick Perry-like on television.”
“Why Howard,” Sara exclaimed, “that’s the first time I have ever heard you use a contraction.”
“There’s a first time and a second time for everything,” he replied and kissed her.
Samuel smiled at their embrace. It was good to have things out in the open.
“Say,” he said, looking around the cubicle, “anyone know where my clothes are?”
Howard pulled Samuel’s rumpled and muddy suit from the back of a chair. He held them at arm’s length. “Chief, these smell as bad as they look. You should probably take mine.” He dropped Samuel’s jacket and trousers on the bed, then began unbuttoning his own suit coat.
“No,” Samuel stopped him. “I think I’ve earned these.” He pulled the pants on under his hospital gown. “It’ll give me character.” Remind me of what’s really important he thought. He smiled at Sara. He sniffed the jacket. His head recoiled at the odor. “At least for a little while. Besides, they match the bump on the head. You got the shirt?”
Howard handed him a wrinkled rag, missing button, torn sleeve, dried mud and all. “This has enough character to stand on it’s own.”
“So, Mister Mills,” the reporter in Sara asked slyly, “why is it that you never, pardon me, almost never, use contractions?”
Howard blushed. “I am a native Floridian, fourth generation. But my mother was from Boston.”
There was a tiny, feigned-shock gasp from the other native Floridians in the room.
Howard continued, “She wanted to make certain that my siblings and I spoke correct English without a hint of anything southern.”
“And your father didn’t object?” Beth asked.
“I suppose he felt there were compensations to be had in choosing one’s battles,” Howard replied. Then he kissed Sara a second time.
It reminded Samuel that he had an unresolved domestic situation. “Oops,” he said. “Jane. Did anyone call her?”
“I did,” Sara answered, turning toward him but staying within Howard’s grasp, “but she’s expecting your call.” Howard handed Samuel his cell phone.
He held it, thought for a moment, and then said to the group, “Would you give me moment?” They all walked a few steps from bed where they would pretend not to listen. Sara pulled the curtain closed behind them.
Samuel’s hand shook. He pressed each number slowly. The last forty-eight hours had been his most educational since law school. Nothing like facing death to put your priorities in focus, to wipe away fanciful concoctions, he was thinking. What if she … What if … He couldn’t bring himself to finish the thoughts. The idea that his marriage might actually be ending was too terrifying. “Jane?” he queried nervously.
“Thank God you’re all right,” came the reply.
“I’m coming home,” he said tentatively.
“I’ll have a fire burning,” Jane answered resolutely.
Tears of relief rolled down his cheeks as he handed the phone back to Howard. Sara threw her arms around his neck, not clearly understanding the reason for his tears but simply feeling his need and hers to hug.
The End.
Mid-Life Friends and Illusions Page 22