Home Free - Fern Michaels [41]
She leaned back on the cozy leather window seat and closed her eyes. Think! And she did think, but her thoughts were on Gus Sullivan and their meeting and how fast her heart beat at that meeting and how dry her throat was. She’d just fallen in love with a man in a wheelchair, and that wasn’t a bad thing. In fact it said a whole lot for her that she could fall in love with a handicapped person. A temporarily handicapped person, who perhaps would regain the use of his legs. And if he didn’t, she’d still love him, anyway. Maggie Spritzer, I am so proud of you.
Maggie tried once again to focus on the task at hand. She made four columns of names before getting up to replenish her coffee. The men from the different security agencies abroad went in one column. The different U.S. officials went into the second column, and the third column was made up of people like herself; Jason Parker; Gus Sullivan; the retired teacher of the year, five years running, from Bangor, Maine; a college boy from Virginia Tech who’d saved two little girls from being abducted, taken them to the police station, and walked away, saying anyone would have done the same thing. The fourth column was for the press. Whom she had yet to see. No red flags there.
No red flags my foot. They’re there. I just can’t spot them.
She struggled to remember what she knew about the U.S. officials who were there. Didn’t they have families? Why would they give up a family Thanksgiving at home to come here to Camp David? Was it a command invitation? And if it was a command invitation, why? Why Thanksgiving weekend? No one would notice? The media wouldn’t care? Unlikely. The media did care.
Maybe since she was the EIC of the Post, she could cozy up to one or more of them to get their take on things. Professional courtesy, that kind of thing. Then again, maybe not since she was a guest. She wondered what kind of spin the media would put on the Camp David guest list.
Maggie doodled in her notebook as she tried to come to terms with the four columns of names. As far as she could tell, all she had was the names of a bunch of people who decided that eating Thanksgiving dinner at Camp David was better than staying home. The security people from abroad were understandable. What wasn’t understandable was the U.S. officials.
Maggie underlined the words command performance. She looked down into her empty coffee cup as she debated whether or not to drink another cup. If she did, she’d be twitching and twanging all over the place and having to pee every ten minutes. She doodled some more before she got up to clean the coffeepot for the next guest.
By the time she had finished with her uncharacteristic cleanup, it was full light. The world outside glistened and sparkled. Before she could change her mind, she took her notebook back to her room, put on her heavy jacket, and walked outside. She was just in time to see a golf cart stop at Gus Sullivan’s cabin. She plowed through the snow lickety-split and came to a bracing stop just as Gus hit the last step. “Mind if I tag along?” she asked breathlessly.
Gus’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “I’d like the company, but you’ll have to walk since they need to put my chair in the back. Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked, waving his arm about. “When I was in Iraq, I used to dream about mornings like this.”
The marine driving the golf cart drove slowly so that Maggie could keep up with them. She was winded from the cold air when they reached the dining hall in Laurel Cabin, but at the same time she felt exhilarated.
The dining room for guests was virtually empty, yet it smelled wonderful. Breakfast was her favorite meal of the day. After lunch and dinner. She wondered if her obsession with food would make a difference to Gus Sullivan.
With two more cups of coffee under her belt along with a gigantic breakfast, Maggie felt on top of the world. “The day after Thanksgiving