“No, no,” she said. “I love you guys for this. Reuben never talked about his work, not with the children.”
“Before he was a martyr,” said Babe, “he was already a hero many times over. I think when kids have lost their dad, they need to know who he was and why it’s important that he did the things that made it so he can’t come home anymore.” He smiled a little. “I know. My dad died in the Gulf War.”
Eventually they all came. And came back. Along with other friends of Reuben’s from the military. And she began to get visits from military wives that she’d known on various assignments.
But Cole didn’t come.
At first she wondered why—was a little hurt, even.
Then she realized that Cole might have fought with these guys, but he didn’t really feel like part of the group. He had been added in.
And then she remembered telling him she wanted to talk to him, and then changing her mind. Maybe he interpreted that as my having changed my mind about wanting to see him.
Or maybe he’s busy.
I’ll call him.
But she knew that he was different from the other guys. Because he had been with Reuben those last three days. When the President died. In New York. And in the Pentagon, when DeeNee shot Reuben down. If he came over, she would tell him. Even though she couldn’t prove anything. She’d tell him because she had to tell somebody.
But not yet.
She watched the news assiduously, as she always had.
All the movements to recognize the Progressive Restoration died with the arrest of Aldo Verus. Vermont’s legislature didn’t bother rescinding their resolution because, as their attorney general assured everybody, it had no binding legal force anyway.
America watched with Cecily and her children as the Progressive Restoration forces in New York surrendered peacefully after two days of dithering—and after the city council voted unanimously to declare them to be traitors and request them to leave their territory.
And more and more evidence came out, exposing Aldo Verus’s network of influence and financial control. Many organizations dissolved themselves; others repudiated the financing they had received from Verus and pretended they hadn’t known where it came from and that it certainly shouldn’t be taken as any link between them and Verus’s abortive revolt.
Verus himself waited in a special prison as his hand underwent repeated reconstructive surgeries and he was kept on continuous suicide watch.
The children lost interest. The war was over.
But Cecily kept watching, with special interest in Averell Torrent.
She wasn’t all that unusual. Torrent was enormously popular. Almost movie-star popular. And he was handling it all so brilliantly. There had been talk right from the start about giving the Republican presidential nomination to Torrent, though there were also grumblings about how nobody even knew where he stood on abortion, on marriage, on taxes, on immigration, on anything except defense.
But whenever reporters asked him if he was seeking the Republican nomination, he’d answer, “I’m not a member of any party. I’m not seeking any nomination.” And then he’d walk away.
Then, in an interview on Fox News, O’Reilly said, “All right, Mr. Vice President, I’m going to ask you point-blank. Remember, this is the no-spin zone.”
“I never forget that, Mr. O’Reilly.”
“If the Republicans nominate you, will you accept the nomination and run for President?”
“No spin,” said Torrent.
“And no evasions, please.”
“Here’s the thing. I believe in democracy. Hard-fought elections. But right now—this country’s been on the brink of war. No, we were over the brink. Shooting had begun. And what was it about? The same divisive, vicious, hate-filled rhetoric that has dominated our elections for the past—what, fifteen, twenty years? I’m sick of it. I don’t want to be part of it.”
“I hear that, Mr. Vice President. But you still haven’t answered my question. Am I being spun, sir?”
“I’m being as clear as I know how,” said Torrent. “The only way I’d run for President is if I were nominated by both parties.”
O’Reilly laughed. “So the only way you’ll run is if you run against yourself?”
“I know I wouldn’t smear my opponent and he wouldn’t smear me,” said Torrent.