Behold, I shew you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.
Corinthians 1, 15:51, 52
The rain cleared towards the end of the morning. I closed the Bible, rose from my bed, pulled my hair into approximate shape. Tad was still snoring in his room; I slipped quietly from the house, and walked rapidly uphill to the White House. Mary-Beth answered the door herself; I sensed she had been waiting.
She smiled uncertainly: ‘Friends?’
‘Of course.’
Her smile widened, relieved; she took my arm and walked me inside. We sat on a cast-iron bench in a small side conservatory, amid orchids and ferns. No coffee was offered; she had too much on her mind.
‘I’ve been trying to ring you,’ she said. ‘I wanted to talk to you before anyone else does. And clear the air. I want you to know that I’m very happy.’
Bullshit, I thought. But said instead: ‘You don’t blame me?’
‘I don’t blame anyone. Especially you.’
Heaven hath no forgiveness like women, deceived.
‘You must have been angry. If not with me, with the men.’
‘I didn’t feel anything for a time. It’s hard to explain, Mara. They woke me in the middle of the night. It was like a dream. I felt I wasn’t me, I felt I was outside me. A step behind me, watching myself. Everything was so … unreal. I thought I was going crazy.’
‘I wouldn’t blame you.’
She laughed, but uncertainly again.
‘It’s a great privilege, of course,’ she said. ‘I guess.’
She looked up into my eyes, and asked the question I had been dreading, the question I knew she would ask her Best Friend: ‘What do you think, Mara?’
‘I think they should have asked you. I think it should have been discussed. I think that is unforgivable.’
‘I know. They used me, I suppose. I should be angry. But I can’t seem to be.’
‘They used all of us.’
Her speech was a little too loud, too rapid: ‘Hollis says there was no other way. He wants to talk to you, Mara. To explain. Could you come to dinner tonight? Please? I need you to be friends. It was too important to take any risks, he says. It had to be a total secret. Poor honey, he’s so excited. I can’t bring myself to be angry at him. Does that make sense?’
I kept my mouth shut; she wasn’t, I sensed, seeking my opinion, only confirmation of hers.
‘It’s all too strange and amazing and confusing. There doesn’t seem to be any room for anger. I don’t seem to have any time to feel anger. I’m not sure what to feel.’
She reached her hand across the table, and clutched mine. She was smiling, but it was not the grip of a smiling woman. It was the grip of someone drowning, someone clutching desperately for help — and not even realising it.
Her face had a wistful softness to it.
‘Pregnancy suits you,’ I said, struggling for things to say. ‘You look wonderful.’
‘You’ll come tonight?’
‘Of course.’
‘I need you, Mara. Please don’t leave.’