Long May She Reign by Ellen Emerson White Page A

juice, maybe?” he suggested.
    She shook her head. “No, thank you.”
    â€œWell.” He smiled at her again. “Edith will be back in a minute to get rid of all that ice, and then I’ll send Carlotta in, so you can finish up for today.”
    Meg nodded. All she had to do now, was stay awake that long.
    When she finally got back upstairs, she went right to bed. After calling the switchboard and asking them not to put any calls through, and unplugging her phone again, for good measure.
    It was just past seven o’clock when a knock on the door woke her up. She looked around the darkened room, tired and confused, as Vanessa yawned and stretched next to her.
    The knock came again, very quietly.
    â€œWho is it,” she said.
    â€œI just, uh—” Steven cleared his throat. “Dad said to ask if you want dinner.”
    Did she? It seemed like an inordinately complicated decision.
    â€œMeg?” he said through the door.
    She sighed, and reached over to turn on the light. “I don’t know. I mean, you can come in, if you want.”
    He opened the door, walking partway into the room.
    â€œSo, uh,” he stared down at his high-tops, “how you doing?”
    Sometimes she forgot that all of this must be pretty hellish for her brothers, too. Okay, most of the time. Suddenly, she wasn’t really part of their lives anymore. Not the way she had been.
    She sat up, her neck very stiff. “I’m all right. I was just—reading.” Not that there was an open book nearby, but she knew he wouldn’t contradict her. “How was school?”
    Steven shrugged, reaching out to pat Vanessa, who swiped at him and jumped off the bed. “Friendly, that cat,” he said.
    â€œFickle,” Meg said. “How was basketball?”
    â€œOkay.” He glanced at her for a second. “Got a game tomorrow.”
    â€œWell—that should be good,” Meg said, trying to sound enthusiastic. Or, at least, interested .
    He nodded, glancing at her again, and then away.
    Oh, Christ. He never asked any of them—never had—but she knew that he loved it when people came to his games. That he played better. “Steven, I—” She sighed. “I get really tired.”
    â€œHunh?” He looked up. “I mean, yeah, I know. That you need to rest and all.”
    â€œYeah,” she said.
    He shoved his hands into his pockets, still not meeting her eyes. “Do I tell Dad you don’t feel good, or—”
    She sighed again. “I don’t know.” Was she hungry? No. “I should probably eat.”
    He nodded.
    Jesus, if the thought of dinner , just down the hall, safe inside the White House, was daunting, how could he expect her to go to a crowded gymnasium and watch a noisy basketball game?
    He headed for the door. “I’ll tell Dad you’ll be there in a while.”
    Feeling guilty, she took a deep breath. “Steven. I want to go to your game. But—it’s kind of scary.”
    He shrugged. “Hey, no big deal. I just thought—it like, totally doesn’t matter. I only meant if you weren’t busy and all.”
    Busy sleeping. “Is Dad going?” she asked.
    Steven shook his head. “He can’t tomorrow. Mississippi, or something.”
    No point in even asking if their mother was planning to show up. She would always try to make it to at least one game of whatever sport Steven was playing that particular season, but weekday afternoons were the worst possible time.
    â€œNeal’ll be there,” Steven said. “He always comes.”
    Had she known that? In fact, did she have any idea what her brothers did with themselves lately? Probably not. Would it be enough to have Neal with her, or would she still be afraid? Christ, if she couldn’t manage this, how the hell was she going to go away to school? Go anywhere. Ever .
    Steven went out to the hall. “Dad said