Journey

“I assume you're going to stay there tonight,” Jack said pointedly. It was more a directive than a question, but she'd been planning to do that.

“I want to be here if anything happens. They're calling a press conference when he gets out of surgery. They promised us one of the surgeons.”

“Call me if anything big breaks. I'm going home now.” He was still at the office, most of the staff was still there. It had been an endless day and it looked like it was going to be a long night. But the days ahead would be worse, if the President didn't recover. Maddy only hoped for the First Lady's sake that he'd make it. There was nothing any of them could do now but pray. It was in the hands of the gods and the surgeons.

After Jack called, Maddy sat around drinking more coffee for a while. She'd had gallons, and had barely eaten all day. But she felt too heartsick over what had happened to be hungry.

A little while later, she called Bill, and wondered if he was asleep as she let the phone ring. He answered finally, and she was relieved that he didn't sound sleepy.

“Are you sleeping?” she asked hesitantly. He recognized her voice instantly and was pleased she'd called him. He'd seen all her broadcasts from the hospital, and was keeping his TV on, in case she came back on.

“Sorry, I was in the shower. I was hoping you'd call me. How's it going?”

“There's nothing much going on,” she said, sounding tired, but happy to talk to him. “We're just sitting around waiting. He should be out of surgery soon. I keep thinking about Phyllis.” Maddy knew how much she loved her husband. They all knew it. She made no secret of it. They'd been married for nearly fifty years, and Maddy couldn't bear the thought of it ending this way for them.

“I don't suppose you've been able to see her?” Bill inquired, but he hadn't seen the First Lady on any broadcast, on any channel.

“She's upstairs somewhere. I wish I could, not for us, but just to let her know that we're thinking of her,” Maddy answered.

“I'm sure she knows that. God, you wonder how things like this happen. With all the security, it still does from time to time. I saw the original tape in slow motion. The guy just stepped right up and plugged him. How's the injured Secret Service guy doing?”

“They operated on him this afternoon, and they say he's in serious, but stable condition. He was lucky.”

“I hope Jim will be too,” Bill said solemnly. “How are you? You must be exhausted.”

“I'm getting there. We've been standing around here all afternoon, waiting for something to happen.” It reminded them both of Dallas and John Kennedy. It was before she was born, but she had seen all the footage on it, and he'd been in grad school.

“Do you want me to bring you some food?” he asked, sounding concerned about her, and she smiled at the suggestion.

“There must be two thousand doughnuts here, and all the fast food in Washington. But thanks for the offer.” She noticed a cluster of doctors moving toward a microphone, and told him she had to go.

“Call me if anything happens. Don't worry about waking me. I'm here if you need me.” Unlike Jack, who only complained that their broadcast was too boring.

One of the doctors was wearing a surgical cap and paper slippers over his shoes, and green surgical scrubs, and Maddy correctly guessed he had just come from surgery, as he stepped up to the podium they'd set up in the lobby. And instantly, all the news crews were crowded around him.

“We don't have anything dramatic to tell you,” he said, looking serious, as cameras all over the room began focusing on him, “but we have every reason to be optimistic. The President is a strong, healthy man, and from our perspective, the surgery was successful. We've done everything we can right now, and we'll keep you posted with bulletins through the night, as he progresses. He's under heavy sedation right now, but he was regaining consciousness when I left him. And Mrs. Armstrong asked me to thank all of you. She said she's very sorry,” he said with a tired smile, “that you all have to sleep here. She wishes you didn't have to. That's all for now,” he said, and left the podium without further comment. They had been told earlier that there would be no questions. He had told them all the doctors knew themselves. The rest was in God's hands.

Her cell phone rang almost as soon as the doctor left them. It was Jack. “Get an interview with him.”

“I can't, Jack. They already told us he won't do it. The man's been in surgery for twelve hours, and they're telling us everything they know.”

“Like hell they are. They're feeding you press kit crap. For all we know he's brain dead.”

“What do you suggest I do? Crawl into Armstrong's room through the heat vent?” She was tired, and annoyed that he was being so unreasonable and so demanding. They were all in the same boat. They had to wait for whatever announcements were made, and harassing the surgeons wasn't going to get them more information.