The First Councel

“I know you’re thinking it’s impossible, but it happens all the time. Didn’t you see the New York Times Magazine a few weeks back? They did a whole piece on kids with mentally retarded parents. When I was younger, we had a support group of six people we met with twice a week-now they have comprehensive therapeutic programs. Other than that, we got some help from my mom’s aunts and uncles, who were some Ohio wealthy-types. Too bad for us, every one of them was a jerk-off-including the ones who live around here. They tried to get her to divorce my dad, but she told them to go scratch themselves. Hearing that, they told her the same. It’s one of the biggest things I respect her for. Born with everything, she went for nothing.”

“And what’s your twist? Born with nothing, you now want everything?”

“It’s better than nothing.”

She takes a long look at me, studying my features. Her short fingernails are picking at the edge of her paper plate. I have no idea what she’s thinking, but I refuse to say anything. I’ve always believed people connect in silence. Mental digestion, someone once called it. What happens between words.

Eventually, Nora stops picking at the plate. Something clicked.

“You alright?” I ask.

She shoots me a look I’ve never seen before. “Do you ever mind taking care of your dad? I mean, do you ever feel like it’s a burden… or that’s it’s… I don’t know, more than you can handle?”

It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her say something’s difficult. Even as a thought, it doesn’t come easy. “My mom used to tell me that there was always someone who had it much worse.”

“I guess,” she says. “It’s just that sometimes… I mean, even coming out here. This place must cost you half your salary.”

“Actually, it’s barely over a quarter-Medicaid picks up the rest. And even if they didn’t, it’s not about the money. Didn’t you see the way he was walking when he gave us the tour of the kitchen? Chest straight out, ear-to-ear smile. He’s proud of himself here.”

“And that’s enough for you?”

I turn toward the swaying corn stalks in the field next door. “Nora, that’s why Caroline pulled my file in the first place.” Now it’s out there. No regrets. Just relief.

“What’re you talking about?”

“My file. We’ve been waiting for the FBI to clear it, but there’s a reason Caroline had it.”

“I thought it was the Medicaid thing-since they pay for your dad to stay here, it was a conflict of interest to let you work on the legislative overhaul.”

“There’s more to it than that,” I say.

She doesn’t flinch. It’s hard to surprise someone who’s seen it all. “Out with it,” she says.

I lean forward and pull my sleeves up to my elbows. “It was right after I first started in the office. I had just relocated to Washington, and I still hadn’t found a place for my dad. You have to understand, I didn’t want to put him just anywhere-in Michigan, he had one of the best places in the state. Like this, he was out on a farm, and they made sure he was safe, and stimulated, and had a job-”

“I get the picture.”

“I don’t think you do. It’s not like finding daycare.”

“What did you do?”

“If I didn’t get him in here, they would’ve sent him to a training center-an institution, Nora. Forget about a normal life-he’d have languished there and died.”

“Tell me what you did, Michael.”

I wedge my fingernails into the grooves of the wooden table. “When I first started in the Counsel’s Office, I used White House stationery to contact the head of Virginia’s residential services program. Three phone calls later, I made it clear that if he accepted my dad into a private group home, he-and the entire mental retardation community-‘would have a friend in the White House.’”

There’s a long pause after I finish. All I can do is focus on the corn stalks.

“That’s it?” she asks with a laugh.

“Nora, it’s a complete abuse of power. I used my position here to-”

“Yeah, you’re a real monster-you cut the cafeteria line to help your mentally retarded father. Big whoop. Find me one person in America who wouldn’t do the same.”

“Caroline,” I say flatly.

“She found out about it?”

“Of course she found out about it. She saw the letter sitting on my desk!”

“Calm down,” Nora says. “She didn’t report you, did she?”

I nervously shake my head. “She called me into her office, asked me a few questions about it, then sent me on my way. Told me to keep it to myself. That’s why she had my file. I swear, that’s the only reason.”

“Michael, it’s okay. You don’t have to worry about-”

“If the press picks up on it-”

“They’re not-”

“All Simon has to do is give Inez my file… that’s all it takes. You know what they’ll do, Nora-he can’t survive in an institu-”

“Michael… ”

“You don’t understand… ”

“Actually, I do.” She leans forward on both elbows and looks me straight in the eye. “If I were in your position, I would’ve done the exact same thing. I don’t care what strings I had to pull, you better bet your ass I’d help my father.”

“But if… ”

“No one’ll ever find out. I keep my secrets-and yours.”