Canal, until the Italian-American community had unearthed it.
The dream mode would come into its own tomorrow.
She had wanted to spend the anniversary of Jack’s death alone with the children, on Cape Cod or somewhere they had all been happy together, but her husband’s successor had persuaded her that because the assassination had been such a shock, the country needed a day of mourning to heal its soul.
Even though she was not keen about attending, she knew that the hundreds who had worked with him, academics, speechwriters, economic advisors, many of them now stuck in nowhereland—having been thrust into outer darkness and ejected from the center of power—would agree.
To survive the day she began to compartmentalize her emotions. As she left her apartment she began to propel herself into dream mode by putting all her critical faculties on hold.
“Do not question anything,” she told herself as she entered Air Force One, sent especially to New York to collect her. As she entered the cabin she couldn’t help but recall earlier times on this plane, the children’s excitement when taking off, the navy leather she had selected for the seats, the makeshift lift, kept out of the public eye, for when Jack’s back was so bad he couldn’t walk up the stairs. Anything but that last trip back from Dallas with his body in a casket.
“Do not worry about anything,” she repeated to herself as the president’s plane landed.
She had been advised of all the plans weeks before.
As far as she could tell nothing overtly tacky was about to occur.
The technique saw her through the eulogies at Arlington Cemetery, but she lapsed into it fully when once again she was sitting in her old spot, the left-hand back of the presidential limousine. For a few moments she couldn’t stop herself pretending that if she turned from waving to the crowds lining the streets she would be able to look to her right and he would still be there.
As they pulled into the drive of the White House, she almost could make believe it was just over twelve months ago and they were going home. She looked up at the columns of this beautiful building. At least they had really, truly enjoyed their time here. She knew every corner of the place. Her mind filled with the sound of her husband summoning the children into the Oval Office, the memories of Caroline doing handstands on the lawn.
She immediately made herself stop thinking like this. These were dangerously emotional thoughts.
I wonder how they have changed things? Focus on that, focus on that, she told herself angrily.
She knew that she appeared withdrawn and quiet but that was a benefit. Cutting herself off in this way meant that no one dared intrude on her silence. She didn’t have to make small talk.
She remained in dream mode when she was shown up to her suite. She had redecorated this room in elegant white-on-white stripes. Simply replacing the blowsy mismatched chintz had made the sitting room and bedroom look so much larger and lighter.
She started to remember a laughter-filled moment that had taken place in the corridor outside when Jack had started to tease her about some aspect of the White House make over, and for a moment she tried to remember what it was.
“I have to forget about that now. I can afford to have feelings when I go back home. Not before,” she said under her breath.
It was only when ten minutes had passed and no one had come up to escort her downstairs to meet the visiting dignitaries that she wondered if her cool exterior hadn’t been rather too successful. Perhaps the president and his wife thought she wasn’t up to facing all the guests.
Down there were her friends, her allies. It was rude to keep them waiting for her like this. She found the phone and tried to remember how the White House switchboard worked.
When she got an answer, from a new operator, she was quite surprised that when she asked to be put through to the First Lady she was informed that the
The dream mode would come into its own tomorrow.
She had wanted to spend the anniversary of Jack’s death alone with the children, on Cape Cod or somewhere they had all been happy together, but her husband’s successor had persuaded her that because the assassination had been such a shock, the country needed a day of mourning to heal its soul.
Even though she was not keen about attending, she knew that the hundreds who had worked with him, academics, speechwriters, economic advisors, many of them now stuck in nowhereland—having been thrust into outer darkness and ejected from the center of power—would agree.
To survive the day she began to compartmentalize her emotions. As she left her apartment she began to propel herself into dream mode by putting all her critical faculties on hold.
“Do not question anything,” she told herself as she entered Air Force One, sent especially to New York to collect her. As she entered the cabin she couldn’t help but recall earlier times on this plane, the children’s excitement when taking off, the navy leather she had selected for the seats, the makeshift lift, kept out of the public eye, for when Jack’s back was so bad he couldn’t walk up the stairs. Anything but that last trip back from Dallas with his body in a casket.
“Do not worry about anything,” she repeated to herself as the president’s plane landed.
She had been advised of all the plans weeks before.
As far as she could tell nothing overtly tacky was about to occur.
The technique saw her through the eulogies at Arlington Cemetery, but she lapsed into it fully when once again she was sitting in her old spot, the left-hand back of the presidential limousine. For a few moments she couldn’t stop herself pretending that if she turned from waving to the crowds lining the streets she would be able to look to her right and he would still be there.
As they pulled into the drive of the White House, she almost could make believe it was just over twelve months ago and they were going home. She looked up at the columns of this beautiful building. At least they had really, truly enjoyed their time here. She knew every corner of the place. Her mind filled with the sound of her husband summoning the children into the Oval Office, the memories of Caroline doing handstands on the lawn.
She immediately made herself stop thinking like this. These were dangerously emotional thoughts.
I wonder how they have changed things? Focus on that, focus on that, she told herself angrily.
She knew that she appeared withdrawn and quiet but that was a benefit. Cutting herself off in this way meant that no one dared intrude on her silence. She didn’t have to make small talk.
She remained in dream mode when she was shown up to her suite. She had redecorated this room in elegant white-on-white stripes. Simply replacing the blowsy mismatched chintz had made the sitting room and bedroom look so much larger and lighter.
She started to remember a laughter-filled moment that had taken place in the corridor outside when Jack had started to tease her about some aspect of the White House make over, and for a moment she tried to remember what it was.
“I have to forget about that now. I can afford to have feelings when I go back home. Not before,” she said under her breath.
It was only when ten minutes had passed and no one had come up to escort her downstairs to meet the visiting dignitaries that she wondered if her cool exterior hadn’t been rather too successful. Perhaps the president and his wife thought she wasn’t up to facing all the guests.
Down there were her friends, her allies. It was rude to keep them waiting for her like this. She found the phone and tried to remember how the White House switchboard worked.
When she got an answer, from a new operator, she was quite surprised that when she asked to be put through to the First Lady she was informed that the
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