The First Lady - James Patterson Page 0,39

fight? Please? For Amelia’s sake?”

“For Amelia’s sake?” I step closer and lower my voice. “You should have thought of Amelia a long, long time ago, before your drinking got out of control and you started humping interns half your age.”

His voice is bleak. “I’m in a program. I’ve stopped the drinking and … I’ve been faithful these past months. Sally, how many times do I have to apologize?”

“I’ll let you know,” I snap back. “And here’s another thing for Amelia’s sake. You’re confusing the hell out of her. We’ve agreed to a visitation schedule, and you coming tonight … okay, she was scared, but I was here before you showed up. It’s tough enough for our daughter without her thinking there’s a chance we’re getting back together.”

His eyes seem to moisten, and I step back and say, “But fair’s fair. You take the couch, get out before she gets up for school.”

He nods. “Thanks, Sally.”

“Don’t be so happy,” I say. “If I get called out during the night, you’re going to have to stay and get her to school by yourself.”

“Not a problem,” Ben says.

I leave the living room. “And either turn that damn thing down or turn it off.”

In my bedroom I hear sudden silence from the living room as Ben switches off the television, like he’s some holy pilgrim somewhere, following his superior’s orders, hoping for redemption.

Sorry, Ben, I think, curled up in my bed. No redemption tonight.

And after a while, I figure, no sleep as well.

Not after the day I’ve had.

So many thoughts are racing around in my mind that it’s hard to keep track of them, and instead of counting sheep, I’m counting all of the problems I’m facing—each problem looking like a rabid wolverine rather than a cuddly sheep—and then the bedroom door creaks open.

I whisper, “Amelia?”

“No,” comes the embarrassed reply. “It’s Ben.”

He comes in, closes the door, and says, “Sally, I’m sorry. I can’t sleep. That couch … it’s got some metal bar in it that digs into my back.”

“Then go home already.”

“Can’t … can’t I just come in here? With you? I promise, I won’t disturb you.”

His shape is outlined by the glow from the bedside clock and other electronics. I don’t want to even glance at the time.

“You could still go home.”

“Sally, please … must you always be angry at me? Always?”

I think of him and I think of my commander in chief, and I wonder where the First Lady might be, and maybe there should be some consolation that even the highest and mightiest of us all can have marital problems, but I’m not seeing it. The First Lady saw her betrayal live on television earlier today. I saw mine about a year ago, when a presidential visit was canceled at the last minute, meaning I got home early to see my drunken husband in bed with an intern from the Department of the Interior, with another one waiting for him in the kitchen, smoking a joint.

“All right,” I say. “You can join me.”

There’s movement and a soft rustle of clothes being removed, and the bed shifts as he stretches out next to me. We both remain silent until Ben says, “Not a day goes by that I don’t regret what I did, Sally. Honest. I’m ashamed, I’m humiliated, and I’m so sad for what I’ve put you through, and Amelia. Especially Amelia, I never meant for it to—”

“Ben?” I ask in the darkened bedroom.

“Yes?”

“Go to sleep,” I say, “and if you touch me or try to come over to this side, I’ll break your fingers.”

CHAPTER 31

MY INTERNAL CLOCK usually gets me up at 6:00 a.m., and it’s rare that it fails me, but this is one of those damnable mornings. I wake up in an empty bed. Good, I think, and glance over at the clock—6:45 a.m., definitely not good—and I jump out of bed and toss on a robe and yell out “Amelia!” as I go down the hallway.

Then I smell coffee and bacon, and I get to the kitchen, and Ben’s there, grinning, standing by the stove, and Amelia is setting plates and says cheerfully, “Look, Mom, Daddy and I made you breakfast!”

Holy crap, I think. I check the time again and say, “Ben … for Christ’s sake, she’s got to be down at the corner in ten minutes to catch the bus.”

Ben’s face colors. “I thought the bus picked her up at seven fifteen.”

Before I caught you, you fool, and when I swore I would never set