Primary Storm by Brendan DuBois Page B

smiled at the name of the old pub back at Indiana University, where we had spent long hours drinking cheap beer and solving the problems of the world, and she said, "You look good, too."
    "Now you're the one who's lying," I said. "Face not as smooth, hair not as thick"
    The smile was still there. "I like your face. It's got character.
    It's got life to it. Are you all right ... with everything else?"
    I nodded. "I am. I had nothing to do with the shooting."
    "Of course. My staff tried to brief me last night and I told them not to bother. I knew you could have never done anything like that."
    "Thanks. And was it your staff who delivered your note this morning?"
    She nodded, the smile ... oh, that smile. "Yes, an eager intern who knows how to keep her mouth shut, and who loved pretending to be a reporter, begging you for an interview by sliding that envelope under your door."
    I looked around the nearly empty bookstore. "Speaking of staff ... how in hell did you get here without a media mob following you?"
    The smile took on an icy edge I had never seen before. "One of the advantages of being the wife of the senator, and a possible first lady. The staff have their demands, but they also know I have a long memory, a memory of who's been helpful and who's been a pain in the ass, a memory I'll bring with me to the East Wing. And if I need a chunk of time here and there for personal time, without handlers, without staff, even without Secret Service protection, then that's the way it's going to be."
    "I see."
    Then the ice disappeared from the smile, and the old Barbara was sitting there before me. "Listen to me, a cranky and confident bitch on wheels. When I get to the East Wing. If I get to the East Wing, my old friend. There's a lot ahead, and New Hampshire's just the second step."
    "How's the senator doing?"
    "With the shooting? Jack's shrugging it off. That's one of his many admirable qualities. When he is focused on a goal, on something he desires so much, he won't let anything get in his way. His opponents in Georgia. Members of his own party who thought he should sit this one out. Or one deranged shooter."
    "I saw you at the rally. You must have been scared."
    The barest of shrugs. "It happened so fast ... I don't think I had time to think about anything. The first shot sounded like a firecracker going off, but the Secret Service ... they move very, very fast. I have bruises on my arms where they grabbed me. They don't fool around."
    "I'm glad."
    She shifted her legs in the chair. "What I found amazing was that I saw you in the audience. That was a surprise and a half. How did you end up in New Hampshire?"
    "Long story," I said. "Quick version is that I ended up here after working for a while at the Department of Defense. I had some old memories about being a kid here on the coast, before my mom and dad moved us out to Indiana. And now I'm a columnist for a magazine."
    " Shoreline ."
    "That's right."
    Barbara reached out, touched the back of my wrist. "Congratulations to you, at least. You and I, back at school, we were going to be great writers. Journalists who make a difference. To report from D.C., from conflicts in Asia and Africa. Struggle and fight to bring out the truth, to change the world."
    "Not much change comes from a monthly column."
    "Maybe, but at least you're still writing. Me ... I'm lucky if I get to edit some of Jack's speeches. When he's in a good mood, that is."
    I put my coffee cup down on the table between us. "Last I knew, back at school, you went out to D.C. on an internship."
    Her voice was flat. "And never came back to Indiana. And never wrote or called you. I know. It's been a long time. I hope you've forgiven me since then."
    I looked at her. "I have."
    "Thanks. I mean that, Lewis. Thanks." She sighed. "Such a story. Went out there, just for a semester. Interning at Congressman Reisinger's office. Not supposed to do much of anything but answer phones and sort mail ... but there was a vicious flu