The president stood up and walked back toward Mack and me. He, too, glanced over at Mandy, Jonathan, and Tanner. A smile crossed his face. He looked truly relaxed, and I hoped his time in Road’s End would prove to be at least a little bit of a respite from the stress and strain of his office—Senator Gilbert Austin notwithstanding.
He reached out and thumped me on the arm when he returned. “Sorry about that, Hugh. Just couldn’t stand to see that precious little boy treated like that. What’s the matter with that man?”
I didn’t know if he really wanted an answer or not, so I shook my head and shrugged. “God only knows, I guess, Mr. President.”
“Well, I’m glad Someone does,” STR said with an even bigger grin. “Maybe He’ll straighten him out. Nobody else seems to have been able to. Not even my sister. And believe me, if Irene can’t do it, it can’t be done. By humans, at least.”
“Mack,” he said, turning to his agent. “I think Pastor Foster and I have a conversation to finish. Mind if I go indoors for a while?”
“Sir, you do anything you like,” Mack said, “but I’m going to have to insist that an agent accompany you.” He scanned the crowd. Sure enough, there was Arthur a few feet away. He looked rather glum standing there by his lonesome; maybe Mack wasn’t paying enough attention to him. At any rate, he perked up when Mack motioned him over to us.
“Artie, the president and Pastor Foster are going inside for a while. Take good care of them, okay?”
“Yes sir, Agent MacElroy, sir. Will do. You can count on me.”
Mack shook his head almost imperceptibly, as if to say This guy’s gonna put me in my grave, but rallied enough to say, “I trust you, Artie. Now go do your job.”
Artie excused himself when he stepped in front of us to walk to the back door of the inn. Once inside, he spoke to Reynolds—Old Eagle Eye—who frowned but stepped aside and let us pass into the kitchen. He nodded at the president, but ignored me.
I don’t trust that guy. Where did that come from? Reynolds hadn’t done anything but look cranky. If I used that as a measuring stick for liking someone, I’d be on the outs with every single person in Road’s End, other than my family members, and even they’d been a touch on the grouchy side lately. Me, too, for that matter. Still, there was something I couldn’t put my finger on. But if Mack trusted him, who was I to worry about his dark eyes and ornery demeanor? Basically, he was the male version of Sadie Simms. Now that was scary.
“Where would you like to sit, sir? Here or the living room?”
STR pulled out a chair, its legs scraping across the brick floor, and said, “Let’s just hunker down here, Hugh. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to sit down at a kitchen table without worrying about pesky agents or aides or some other person bent on keeping me safe, informed, or worried.” He noticed Artie standing against the sink with his arms crossed in front of him. “Sorry about that, Artie. No offense meant.”
Artie grinned about as wide as his skull would allow. This was something he’d tell his grandchildren. The President of the United States once insulted me, but didn’t mean it! Doesn’t get much better than that, does it, Arthur, my man?
“None taken, sir. None at all. Nope.” He looked flummoxed. “Uh, sir.”
“Good. Why don’t you step over there into the dining room, Artie? The back door is guarded outside, and Reynolds is around here somewhere, too. We’ll be fine.”
Artie saluted, walked into the dining room, and sauntered over to the front windows. Just beyond, the town of Road’s End was having the time of its life. I could hear music, laughter, and lots of cackling. I wasn’t sure if that meant Sadie’s lead mobster—I mean chicken, Francine—and her band of merry chicken thugs were loose again, or if Sadie was just in a good mood.
“Can I get you something to eat or drink, sir?”
He waved his hand and patted his stomach with the other. “Nothing to eat, Hugh. I’ve had enough food in the last couple of days to feed a third world country. Too bad we can’t send a few of them over here for a weekend once in a while. Sadie and the ladies would take good care of ’em, wouldn’t they?”
I thought about that for a second. Strangely enough, the thought of hordes of third world country dwellers roaming the streets of Road’s End didn’t seem all that odd, and as an added bonus, if their dictatorial leaders came with them, Sadie and the others could whip them into shape. “That they would, sir. That they would.”
He put his finger up. “But, you know, I wouldn’t mind some fresh-brewed coffee. Sitting at the table with a cup of coffee is something I sorely miss. Seems like I’m always at my desk.”
“Coffee it is, sir. It’ll be just a minute.” Thirty seconds later, the coffee was brewing and our mugs were ready for filling. I pulled out a chair across from STR and sat.
The president leaned forward on his elbows and steepled his fingers. “Thanks for taking time out from the party to talk to me, Hugh.”
“No problem, sir. I see these folks every day of my life. I see you ... what? Never?” I grinned, and he returned it.
“As you can imagine, I’ve done some thinking about what we talked about earlier today.”
I nodded but kept silent.
“While I’m not ready yet to understand why God took Caroline away, I will admit that I don’t want to spend eternity without her.” He looked past me to the window over the sink. I imagine he could see candles dangling from the tree branches, twinkling in the dark, but perhaps he wasn’t really seeing anything on the other side of the window. Maybe he wasn’t even thinking of this world. He sighed then turned his gaze back to me. “Any thoughts?”
“May I speak freely, sir?”
He nodded.
I pushed back my chair to reach for the coffeepot. I poured his, then mine, and moved the creamer and sugar containers closer to him. He poured some Half and Half into his mug and stirred.
“Hugh,” he said, setting the spoon on the table, “you may speak as freely as you like. I’m not the president right now. I’m a man seeking help from a pastor. Deal?”
Wow. I’m making deals with the most powerful man in the world. The possibilities were endless.
“Deal.” I nodded my head to punctuate it. “I’m honored, sir.”
“No, Hugh,” he said. “I am. And please speak as freely as you want.”
I took a breath and dived in. “Okay, sir, I will. You said you don’t want to spend an eternity without Caroline. I don’t blame you. She was a wonderful woman.” I leaned forward. “But she’s not the one you need to be worried about spending eternity with. She’s not the One Who makes eternity even possible.” I let that sink in.
“Go on.”
“Sir, I won’t insult your intelligence by explaining just Who I’m talking about. But I worry that you’re looking at eternity in the wrong way.” I squirmed a bit. Chastising the POTUS isn’t something I do every day. I was in unfamiliar territory here. But he said to speak freely, and speak freely I would.
“Mr. President, I know you’re a believer. Lapsed, perhaps, but a believer nonetheless. You know Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior. Once you know Him, you can’t go back to not knowing Him. It’s impossible. He’s changed your heart. The only thing that’s different right now is that you’re angry with Him.” I paused. “More coffee?”
He nodded, and I turned to grab the coffeepot. I refilled both mugs, returned the pot to the warming burner and resumed. “Besides, how can you be angry at Someone you don’t think exists?”
“Well, in my defense,” he said, “I never said I didn’t believe He exists. I just don’t like Him right now. I can’t believe He did what He did. And because of that, I can’t let Him be a part of my life any longer. I regret that because I promised the American people I’d lead them in a Christian manner, putting God back in the government, etc., but circumstances have changed.” He shrugged. “Those promises can no longer be kept.”
“Can’t be, sir?” I tapped the table with my finger. �
��Or won’t be?”
For a moment, I thought I’d overstepped my bounds. He leveled a look at me that should have melted my face, but I don’t think he was looking at me so much as through me. He was quiet for a long time—a lot longer than you want the most powerful man in the world to be in response to something you just said. Believe me.
Finally, he spoke. “Point taken, Hugh.”
I sighed, quietly I hoped.
He focused his eyes on mine and said, “Go on.”
On one hand, I was in an enviable position; on the other, I’d have given anything to be mediating one of Dewey and George’s epic arguments or helping Ruby Mae glue pine trees to one of her hats, anything but do what I knew I had to do. Help me, Lord.
I dived in.
“Sir, it’s one thing to be unable to do something. It’s quite another to choose not to do it. There’s nothing you cannot do with God’s help. You know that. I know that. If you choose to let God work through you while running this government, while leading this country and its people, you can do it. Who’s going to stop you? The most powerful Being in the universe and beyond? The very One you’re bringing back to our government?” I paused, expecting the ceiling to crash in on me from a nuclear weapon he’d triggered with a flick of his little finger. Nothing. So far, so good.
I continued, keeping a close eye on his little finger. “On the other hand, if you choose not to do something, you have to take responsibility for not doing it—and you can’t blame God. This isn’t His choice. It’s yours. You can either make good on your promises or you can choose not to, but in any event, God is there for You either way.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Hugh.”
“I’m just the messenger, sir.” Please don’t shoot me.
STR smiled as if he read my mind. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all.
And I think we would have talked longer if the lights hadn’t gone out and thrown us into the dark.
Agent Reynolds knew Artie would trip over himself and everything else in his way to get to the president. In fact, he heard it very clearly. A shout, furniture crashing, bodies thumping, a lot of grunting, some kind of dinnerware hitting the brick floor of the kitchen.
While Artie was busy bruising the president, this was Reynolds’ chance to make face-to-face contact with his partner. Stuck inside the inn for the past hour, he’d wondered when he’d have an opening, but losing power provided the perfect opportunity to sneak out. Getting past Artie might’ve been a problem under normal circumstances, but the unexpected chance to slip out unnoticed was almost too good to be true.
But Eager Beaver Artie had to think he was still inside, so Reynolds whispered into his wrist mike. “You there, Artie?”
“Roger that, Reynolds. The president is secure, sir.”
“Keep him there. I’m searching the premises.”
“Roger. You can count on me, sir.”
Reynolds shook his head. That rookie had his uses, but he’d be glad to see the end of him. He told himself to hold on just a little longer. It had to go down tonight. There were so few chances, and this one was almost too good to be true. The approaching storm had at first seemed a problem, but maybe it could be turned to their advantage. Losing power certainly didn’t hurt the cause any. Patience. Just a while longer.
He opened the front door quietly and slipped out. If anyone noticed him, his stoic glare would curb their curiosity. Besides, no one seemed to notice the lack of electricity inside the inn, anyway. Too busy being clueless. He scanned the crowd and made eye contact with the person he needed to talk to. Won’t be long now.
At first, I thought the president had simply fallen out of his chair. But then I heard someone—had to be Artie—hollering at the top of his lungs. “Keep your head down, sir. Down! Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered, man.” A pause. “Uh, sorry, sir! I mean Mr. President. Sir.”
I could hear thrashing, crashing, and general mayhem going on three feet in front of me and about the same distance below me. There were going to be bruises tomorrow. On both of them.
I stood and reached for the candle I saw earlier on the counter. Happily, Mel had left matches right beside it. I lit the match, and in three seconds, the tiny flame pierced the darkness. I held it up and surveyed the room. “You okay, Mr. President?”
“Mph-m-m-m-ph...”
“Is that you, sir?” I held the candle over the table. I could see two men rolling around on the floor—Artie was one of them. I could see the curly cord tucked into his collar, and I assumed the president was the other man on the ground. Hard to tell who was winning the wrestling match, but it was obvious Artie had tackled the president and knocked him and the chair backward.
“Good grief, Artie, get off me!”
“Can’t, sir. It’s my job, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Your job is to smother the President of the United States? ’Cause that’s what you’re doing, man. Hugh, get him off me.”
“Freeze!”
I froze. “Freeze who, Artie? Are you talking to me?”
“You! Freeze! Pastor Foster—or whoever you are. Freeze! I said freeze.”
I could sense some presidential frustration on the brick floor below the table. “If you don’t get off me and stop yelling freeze, I’m going to see you never work another day in your life. Now move it, Artie!”
Never one to give up a good smothering, the agent hesitated and said, “But, sir ...”
“Now!”
By the glow of the candle I held above the table, I could see a gradual untangling of limbs. Slowly, and no doubt grudgingly, Artie stood and held a hand out for the president to grab. STR ignored it and chose instead to move to his knees and use the table to pull himself up. He straightened his clothes and attempted to pull himself together.
“Thanks for the lifesaving gesture, Artie, but I’m pretty sure we just had a power outage because of the approaching storm. Am I right, Hugh?”
Taking my candle with me, I walked to the wall switch behind me. I flicked it off then on. Nothing. “Well, I can’t say for sure, sir, but we’ve had outages for less reason than a killer storm. Road’s End is so far off the grid, I’m surprised we have fire, let alone electricity. I wouldn’t worry, Artie. This is nothing new—or unusual, for that matter.”
I hadn’t noticed Artie was pointing his gun at me until the president fairly snarled, “Put that gun away, Agent!” Then in a softer tone, “Artie, I know you’re trying to do the best job you can to protect me, and I appreciate it very much. But you can’t go around pointing guns at pastors—especially when it’s his house, and his daughter’s wedding, and ... well, he’s a pastor, for crying out loud.”
“Sorry, sir. Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”
He holstered his gun under his arm, and the president smiled. “Thank you. Now, why don’t you go outside and find Mack. He’ll want to know what’s going on in here. I’ll be fine. Really.”
Just then, Mack walked in the back door, gun drawn, and saved Artie the trouble of whining his disapproval of STR’s idea.
“Everyone okay in here?”
“Yes, Mack,” STR said. “Come on in. We’re fine. Just a little power outage.”
Mack glanced at the president then holstered his gun, too. “No offense, sir, but what happened to you? You been wrestling?”
STR laughed. “Yes, well, Artie here was diligently protecting me, and in the dark, it got a little ... shall we say, physical? I’m fine. He’s fine. Hugh’s fine.”
“So,” Mack said with a smile, “everybody’s fine?”
“Yep,” Artie said. “We’re just fine, sir.”
Mack held his hand up to stop Artie from embarrassing himself further. “Agent Sandborn?” He cocked his head to indicate he should take himself and his gun outdoors.
I looked around for Agent Sandborn then realized Mack was talking to Artie. The young man’s face fell when he realized he’d be leaving his coveted post, but he nodded his head and headed for the back door. After all, i
t was one thing to back-talk the president; it was an entirely different thing to sass Mack. You think Mack is tough, Artie. Try sassing Sadie.
Speaking of Sadie, I realized no one from outside seemed to notice we were in the dark inside the inn. Of course, standing around outside in the candlelight, eating, drinking, and making merry, there would be no reason to even notice.
“Excuse me, Mack, Mr. President. I’m going to go outside and check on my family and friends. And the weather. I thought I saw a flash of lightning over in the west just now.”
“Go right ahead, Hugh,” STR said. “Thanks for talking with me. Sorry about the flying tackle. Will your chair be all right?”
I looked at the chair Mack was setting back upright. “Sir, that chair has been through the Revolutionary and Civil Wars and a fight with a gang of drug thugs, not to mention the ladies of Road’s End sitting and baking and gossiping in it these past few weeks. If it can’t take a little tumble now and then when the president’s in town, then it’s not worth its salt.” I grinned and gave them a little salute. “See you later.”
The breeze had picked up considerably since I came inside, and I could smell rain on the wind. Memories of summer storms during my childhood ran through my mind; most had been relatively minor. The others weren’t something I wanted to think about. Just one more thing I’m afraid of—thunderstorms. I remembered what Mack told me earlier in the day about the impending storm being a doozy. Dear Lord, I don’t need this right now. Please make it go away.
Looking back on it, I should have welcomed the storm and asked God to take away everything else that was going to happen that night.
Chapter 37
Dewey noticed the roll of thunder and the flashes of lightning that illuminated the thunderclouds from within, clouds rolling in from the west at quite a clip. The breeze had quickened and a feeling of heaviness settled down around him. But since George and Dewey both were skeptical of Titus Shadler’s weather forecasts ever since the volcano fiasco, Dewey knew they didn’t put any stock in his forecast predicting a serious storm that night either.
Faux Pas (A Road's End Mishap Book 2) Page 20