Sam laughed. “What a terrible nickname.”
“I don’t mind,” Matt said. “It seems to fit.”
Sam extended her hand to Brian. “I’ve heard all about you. I’m Sam Damell.”
Brian fell back on his training as a cadet and shook hands with her. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” He wanted to say something witty, but words escaped him.
Across the room, Maddy spoke to Maura and Dennis. “Who’s the woman with Brian and General Pontowski?”
“She is stunning,” Maura said.
“That would be Samantha Darnell,” Dennis said. “She’s a director with CNC-TV and is here covering the dedication. At one time she was, you might say, the significant other in General Pontowski’s life. But they’ve been separated for some time now.”
“Oh, I see.” Maddy turned to meet more local dignitaries.
Sarah tugged at her grandmother’s hand. “What’s the matter with Mom?”
“Nothing, Little Miss Nosy.”
“Why am I always Little Miss this or that?”
“Because you’re growing up too fast.”
Maura O’Keith was coming out of the ladies’ room when she saw Zeth watching TV in the museum’s visitors’ lounge. The sound of a reporter’s voice carried across the small room describing the dedication ceremony. TV coverage was so much a part of Maura’s life that, normally, she paid it no attention. But judging by Zeth’s reaction, something was wrong. She sat down beside the girl and watched the news clip. It was good coverage and Maddy was at her best. But Zeth was clearly upset. “Did I miss something?” Maura asked.
Zeth shook her head, on the verge of tears. “I saw myself on TV. I am a trog.”
Maura examined the girl’s face and turned her chin from side to side, examining her hair. She loosened Zeth’s French braid and let her hair fall. “Is a trog some new word or just how you feel about yourself?” Zeth didn’t answer. “Stand up. Let me look at you.” Zeth did as she ordered. “Yes,” Maura murmured, examining her uniform and lack of makeup. Then, “Would you like to go shopping with me this afternoon?”
“I don’t have any money,” Zeth answered.
“Not to worry,” Maura answered. “Do you mind if Sarah comes along?”
Brian and Matt were wearing blue blazers and dark gray trousers for the dinner that culminated Saturday’s activities. Since it was a political fund-raiser where the guests paid $500 a plate for the privilege of eating with the president, they were not in uniform. “Hey, Maggot,” Brian asked, “where’s the Trog? I haven’t seen her since lunch.”
“I think she went shopping with your grandmother and Sarah,” Matt replied. They wandered outside to wait for everyone to gather for the trip to the Ruidoso Downs Jockey Club where the dinner would be held.
Pontowski joined them, also wearing a blue blazer and gray slacks. “It looks like we all have the same uniform,” he said. “Wow,” he muttered, looking over their heads. The boys turned and were speechless. Zeth stood in the doorway. Her hair tumbled to her shoulders and shimmered in the soft light. Maura had applied a light makeup so skillfully that it blended perfectly with her smooth complexion and gave her a radiant glow. She was wearing a simple dress with spaghetti straps and full skirt that ended just above her knees. A white shawl was draped over her bare shoulders.
“Trog?” Brian and Matt said in unison, not believing what they were seeing.
“If you snooze, you loose,” Pontowski murmured. He stepped around the boys and extended an arm. “May I?” She took his arm and he escorted her down the walk to the waiting cars.
The boys were still in a confused state when they returned from dinner at the Jockey Club. They had been pushed aside as every young man, and a few not so young, clustered around Zeth at the reception. One young man, a tall cadet from the Air Force Academy, had talked to the boys and quizzed them about her. Then, using his inside knowledge, he moved in. Within a very short time, he had totally captured her attention. She was still glowing from all the attention when she joined them. “Okay, wussies,” she said, deciding to let them back into her good graces. “It’s poker time. I’ll find some cards and chips. Meet me in the kitchen.”
“I don’t know how to play poker,” Matt protested.
“It’s about time you learned,” Pontowski said.
“Great,” Brian moaned. “Now she’s a card shark.”
“Can I play too?” Sarah asked.
“Until your bedtime,” Maura replied, checking her watch. She stood up. “I’ll keep things under control.” She walked after the kids, leaving Pontowski and Maddy alone.
Pontowski settled into a leather easy chair near the fire. “Is it like this every day?” he asked. Maddy gave a little laugh, low and musical, and sank into the chair next to him. She kicked off her shoes and stretched her legs to the fire.
“This was an easy one,” she replied. “Probably because it was something I wanted to do.” She turned to look at him and as before, the way she did it captured him. “I was fifteen when I met Amadis,” she explained. She looked into the fire and remembered. “She had painted a portrait of an old woman. I thought the model had to be at least eighty years old. Amadis said she was only forty-seven. Can you believe that? I’m forty-seven now. That painting really touched me.”
“I think,” Pontowski said very slowly, “that it’s hanging in my room.”
“It can’t be.”
“It’s an easy thing to check.” Without a word, Maddy stood and, without bothering to put on her shoes, they walked into the cool night air.
A Secret Service Agent standing post in the garden spoke into the whisper microphone under the cuff of his black windbreaker. “Magic is moving.” Inside the temporary command post, a light flashed on a control panel, tracing Turner’s path as she moved down the garden. Once she and Pontowski were out of earshot, the agent filled in the details. “Magic is with Pontowski and heading in the direction of his room. She’s not wearing shoes.”
One of the agents on duty in the command post studied the control panel. “Is our commander in chief fraternizing with one of the troops?” he asked, deadpan.
“Don’t go there,” Chuck Sanford ordered.
“I love desert nights,” Maddy said as they approached his room. He held the door open and turned on the light. A fire had been built in the fireplace and the room was too warm. He left the door open. She stood in front of the mantel and gazed at the portrait. “That’s it,” she said. “But I don’t remember it being so small.”
“When you’re young,” Pontowski said, “emotions make things bigger.” He stood beside her, almost touching. On impulse he stepped up to the fireplace and took the painting down, bringing it back to her. “It is small,” he said.
She held the painting and stroked the canvas. “Her brush strokes were so delicate.” She handed it back to him.
“There’s something taped to the back,” Pontowski said. He turned the painting around for her to see. “I think this is for you,” he said, peeling off an envelope. Bold lettering was scrawled across the face.
FOR MADDY TURNER
Turner carefully broke the seal and pulled out a card. On one side was a bill of sale made out to her. She turned it over.
ALWAYS LISTEN WITH YOUR HEART
AMADIS ESCALANTE
“The date,” Maddy said. “It’s when I was fifteen.” She looked at Pontowski. “She knew, even then, she knew.”
Pontowski examined the card and the envelope. “Look at the date on the envelope. It’s the day before you were sworn in as vice president.”
“Why did she backdate the bill of sale?”
“I think,” Pontowski said slowly, “she’s telling you she remembers and she wants you to have the painting. By backdating the bill of sale to before you were vice president, you don’t have to turn it over to the Smithsonian or the Treasury Department.”