Page 70 of Jackie

“There’s a lunch on Friday,” he says. “I’d like you to be there with me.”

“I was planning to take the children to Glen Ora Friday, but that’s fine, we can leave afterward.”

“Is the house finished?”

“Almost.”

“It’s just a rental, Jackie. Whatever you do there has to be undone before we move out.”

I clap for the dog, who bounds back, the stick in his mouth, muzzle caked in snow.

“What is it, Jack?” I say. “What’s bothering you?”

“Cuba.” He shakes his head. “And I can’t talk about it.”

—

The rambling mansion is just visible in the dusk as we fly in. John is on my lap, Caroline beside me.

“Look,” I say, pointing through the helicopter window. “That’s Glen Ora.”

Stone terraces, stucco walls, old shutters painted white. Our family place away. The helicopter touches down in a cleared field. It’s dark by the time we walk into the house. I squeeze Caroline’s hand.

High-ceilinged rooms, a library, a large kitchen, five bedrooms upstairs. Most of the furniture is from our home in Georgetown.

“We’ll ride every morning we are here,” I say.

“Tomorrow?” Caroline asks.

—

Jack flies in on Saturday, lugging his battered briefcase full of memos, marked Urgent.

It comes up again and again: Cuba. He shares some of the briefs and memos with me. One from Arthur Schlesinger, the tone startling as he argues that, as the president’s first major foreign-policy initiative, an engagement in Cuba could dissipate all the extraordinary good will which has been rising toward the New Administration…

“Surprising, coming from Arthur,” I say. “He reveres you.”

“Not in this case.”

“How will you respond?”

“If it succeeds, I won’t have to.”

—

In March, Lee flies from London to New York. I meet her for dinner and a play.

“You must have things in Washington you’re supposed to be doing, Jacks,” she says.

“There’s some delegating. But look on the bright side, Lee—I didn’t delegate you.”

“Jack doesn’t mind you aren’t there?”

I feel a light flash of anger. My sister knows better.

“He’d rather have me away and happy than underfoot and not.”

I don’t tell Lee about the rumors of the naked swimming parties in the pool while I am away for the weekend in Glen Ora or the scent of other women I sometimes notice on his clothes. As long as I don’t have to watch it play out right in front of me. He’s that kind of man, like my father. I tell myself that. I knew it going in. It means nothing. I am fine.

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