Page 166 of Jackie

“That is what I mean.”

“You mean he’s a danger for you.”

“No,” he says. “It’s more than that.” But I struck a nerve. I can hear it in his voice. Does he really believe he’s protecting me? That he still needs to? I feel a rush of tenderness toward him, then it tightens.

…

He wins California. I stay up late on the night of June 4 to watch the final results come in. Then I go to bed. I’m tired, and he won’t give his speech until midnight West Coast time.

—

When the phone rings, I’m sure it’s him. The sound is sudden. I feel across the nightstand for the phone, lift the receiver.

“Hello,” I say.

“How’s Bobby?” a voice asks.

“Stas, is that you?”

“How is he?”

“He won!”

Good Lord, it’s four in the morning—couldn’t he have just flipped on the TV?

“No, I mean how is he?”

“He won California, Stas. Isn’t it wonderful?”

I’m still half asleep, shaken by the jolt of the ringing phone. I’m not quite caught up. Loud noises still tear into me. Stas knows this, and I wonder again why he’s calling when he could have just switched on the TV.

I can feel the silence on the line. Like something has been disconnected. The receiver is cool in my hand, the mouthpiece against my cheek. I watch the city lights play down the edge of the curtain. Like mercury falling. I wish I’d turned on the lamp before picking up. I wish there was no sign of that beautiful dancing light—its promise and its heart.

—

Don’t say anything. Don’t ask. Keep holding the receiver and the silence.

—

“Stas,” I say finally.

He tells me then.

…

Later, I’ll piece the details together—how that night, walking through the kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel, Bobby was shot, once in the head, twice in the back; he just kind of slipped to the floor, the ground pulled out underneath him. Shouts, screaming, cries. Blood pooled from his head. Ethel fought through the crowd to reach him and, when she did, she pushed them all back to give him space and air.

Learning this particular detail, I do not want to imagine Ethel’s face.

—

I fly to L.A.

Chuck Spalding and Richard Goodwin meet me at the airport.

“I want it straight,” I say.

—

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