“Not at all,” said Remy.
“Well, you look mad.”
So Remy looked in the mirror and the kid was right. His face at rest was a scowl. He took a deep breath, forced a smile onto his face, but it looked wrong. Crooked.
Not yet, he thought. I need more time.
There is a feeling that comes over a body when it realizes it’s dying. A feeling that has nothing to do with one’s brain. When Hadrian is asleep, Remy finds himself sitting on the bed, sweating, even though there is a sixty-degree difference between the temperature inside the room and outside the building.
On the phone he tells Margot that he thinks Story has left Austin. Maybe he and Hadrian should fly to DC so they can be together.
“I’ll stay if you want,” he says, “but I’m not sure what I’m doing here except harassing people, and, well, given where you are right now, your people can harass the FBI better than me.”
So Margot agrees, and the next morning her husband and son arrive at the hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue. The relief she feels seeing them overwhelms her, the sense that her real allies have finally arrived. She hugs Remy tight. He puts his arms around her.
“I missed you,” he says. “How are you holding up?”
She lets him go, looks around the lobby. “Are you…？” She leans in. “Have you been drinking?”
“What? No.”
“Well, you’re”—she lowers her voice—“you’re slurring a little. Your words.”
Remy puts his hand over his mouth, as if to check his tongue physically. “I’m—no. I’m just tired, I guess.”
And then Hadrian pulls at his mother’s arm, and she turns.
“Mom,” he says, “did you meet the president?”
“I sure did. He’s taller than I thought.”
“Like LeBron?”
“Not that tall,” she says, “and I doubt he can jump.” She checks her watch. “Why don’t you guys get up to the room and settle in. I’ve got a practice session with the team, but there’s a dinner later with a few senators and members of the president’s staff. Sound good?”
Hadrian nods.
“Don’t just play your game, okay? Get out and see the capital. It’s—well, honestly, it takes your breath away.”
Hadrian hugs her.
“I know,” she says, hugging him back. “I miss her, too. But she’s okay. I promise.”
“How do you know?”
“Because God is watching, okay?” She squeezes Remy’s hand. “And he wants only good things for us.”
*
Later, after the dinner and all the toasts, Margot and Remy lie in bed. Hadrian is in the adjoining room watching a movie. He’s at that age where his parents literally can’t stay awake later than him, so now Hadrian is the one turning off their television and tucking them in.
“What’s he watching in there?” Margot asks. They are still in their clothes, lying on top of the covers.
“He’s been on a horror movie binge,” Remy tells her. “He started with haunted houses and then slashers, and then I showed him Alien.”
“That’s awful,” she says. “All the gore and violence.”
“He likes it. Besides, it’s normal for kids his age to wanna scare themselves. It’s part of establishing their independence.”
“And what book is that in?”
Remy pulls his wife on top of him, tickles her. “I’m a good father,” he says. “Say it. Say I’m a good father.”
She laughs, kisses him, softens. “You’re a great father.”
Later, they lie together under the covers with the lights out. It’s after eleven, but they can still see the flickering light of Hadrian’s iPad under the door and hear the occasional screech of horror movie violins. Margot looks out the window at the glowing tower of the Washington Monument.
“Do you remember when Story sang the national anthem?” she says, then—“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. Were you asleep?”
He rolls onto his side, facing her.
“No, I was just—that was at the house on Pineapple Street, right? And she was what—ten?”
“Nine. I don’t know why, it just popped into my head last night. Seeing her up there.”
“Right, wow. I haven’t—everybody stood up, right?”
Margot nods.
Remy’s eyes well up with tears. He tries to speak, but there is a catch in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, his voice shaking.