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MY GUESTBOOK
As Josh got up and I glanced around the place and realized that there was almost no chance that our conversation, emotions and all, had been as private it should have been.
I decided that the safest option for me would be to feign sleep. No one would find it hard to believe that I was exhausted, probably because I really and truly was, and I just prayed that there wasn�t anything pressing enough going on to warrant waking me.
The peace and quiet I so desperately wanted lasted only ten minutes, but when I was woken from my feigned slumber I didn�t mind so much because it was Mallory so I knew it wouldn�t be work related.
�I didn�t mean to wake you,� Mallory said softly.
�I was faking,� I admitted. �How are you doing?� I asked gently.
Mallory shrugged. �Numb� I guess. I was ready for this two years ago� for most of my adult life, really. But the last few months� he had, like, a new purpose. He was going to his doctors, he was taking his medications, he was eating better, Annabeth was making sure he was taking naps when he started getting run down� this wasn�t supposed to happen,� she said, her voice shaky the way it got when she was about to break down. I had only heard her so upset twice before. The first time was when Josh was shot, though I was too upset myself to really worry about what other people were feeling at the time. The second time was the day after the Democratic Convention when she had found out that her father was going to fun for Vice President of the United States despite the fact that his health was less than stable when he didn�t have a Mount Everest sized weight on his shoulders. I�m still not sure why she called me; she knew I was working for Russell and that Josh and I were barely making eye contact since I left the White House.
�He was really happy on the trail, Mallory,� I said soothingly. �He loved the campaign trail.�