The First Lady - James Patterson Page 0,87
make it happen.
“Lucian, you’ve got yourself a deal,” Tammy says, smiling.
When she’s done, she goes out to the common area and sees what the fuss is all about. There’s a television set on in the corner, and she pushes her way through to see—
Grace Fuller Tucker, First Lady of the United States.
She’s smiling, laughing, and there are small children around her, hugging and giggling, and on the walls are finger paintings and drawings, and in the crowd near the First Lady, Tammy spots the Secret Service agent who had earlier interviewed her.
“What’s going on?” Tammy asks.
One of her coworkers says, “The First Lady’s alive. Seems like she fell in the river while riding her horse, got knocked out, hurt her hand … managed to crawl to a barn … Secret Service found her this morning.”
Tammy watches the First Lady smile and smile, sees the joy and pleasure in her eyes, standing alone and strong, and proud and defiant, and someone says, “She looks awful.”
“No,” Tammy says. “She looks wonderful.”
CHAPTER 82
EARLIER GRACE FULLER Tucker had been chilled, hungry, and her left hand had been throbbing with slow pangs of pain, but now she’s warm, happy, and feels oh so safe.
She’s back at A Happy Place Forever, the homeless shelter in Anacostia she had visited before leaving the East Wing on the day the scandal broke, and with the children, her staff, and Agent Grissom around her and television crews coming in one after another, she feels invulnerable.
The questions are now coming at her, like fast-pitch softballs back when she was on the softball team at OSU, and like she did back in the day, she’s hammering them.
“Mrs. Tucker, what happened to your hand?”
She holds up her left hand. “I’m not sure. I think when I fell in the stream, I crushed my little finger somehow. It’s doing better, thanks.”
“Mrs. Tucker, who treated it?”
“The Secret Service … they gave me initial care. I’ll be off to George Washington later this morning to have a medical professional look at it.”
“And your head?”
She widens her smile, takes her good hand, rubs the back of her neck. “Despite the best efforts of the Taccanock River and Arapahoe, it seems to be still attached.”
Some laughter from the staff and even some members of the rapidly growing press corps.
“Mrs. Tucker, do you know there’s been an extensive search for you these past few days?”
A little African-American boy is hugging her so tightly, and she just reaches down and squeezes a bony shoulder. “I know … and I’m most grateful for those who took part in the search. You have my deepest gratitude.”
“Mrs. Tucker, why are you here and not at the White House? Or a hospital?”
She says, “I know it sounds odd, but I wanted a little pick-meup before going to the hospital … and this is the perfect place to get that.”
Another hug from the boy at her side, and she wonders if anyone out there is noticing that she’s not saying anything about returning to the White House.
The cameras are flashing, microphones are being extended to her, and the bright lights from the television cameras make the interior of this homeless shelter for children look like it’s in Phoenix at high noon.
But she’s waiting, waiting for that question that’s going to come her way, and sure enough, here it comes.
“Mrs. Tucker … if I may … and I’m sorry to bring this up, but do you have any comment about the apparent relationship your husband is having with a K Street lobbyist?”
One more wide smile, one more squeeze of the homeless boy’s shoulders.
“No, I don’t,” she says.
CHAPTER 83
FOUR DAYS AGO, when I came into the Oval Office the President and the chief of staff had been sitting on a couch, asking me to sit across from them in an inviting and open manner.
Not today.
The President is sitting behind his desk, and Parker Hoyt is standing by his side. They both have grim looks on their faces, like attorneys who’ve just learned the governor has turned down the last chance for clemency for their death-row client.
That’s all right.
This will be my last visit to this office, and if I’m lucky, the last time I talk to either of them.
Parker Hoyt looks to the Man, and I jump right in.
“Mr. President, I know the news has reached you already, but I’m pleased to report that the First Lady has been recovered,” I say. “Save for her little finger and some bumps and scrapes, she’s doing fine.”
President Tucker