My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

37

Emmie and I spent the next week with Lee and are leaving this afternoon. Mrs. C. is going  to leave today  as well. She could stay longer, but I think she’s  fearful of getting drafted for the role of First Lady, which, historically hasn’t always been a spouse.

During our stay, bittersweet due to the deaths of Melody and her unborn child, we spent some better times with Lee, who endured testing out some of the special teas Emmie loved, shared news about  some of the letters he was still receiving from friend and foe alike.

In fact, he got a letter and drawing today from the same little girl who had sent the first drawing. This time of Lee, Winston, and Missy, with tears and frowns on their faces, but with Melody flying high above them with a halo and wings, smiling. Underneath the child had written, ‘Don’t be sad. She’s even more happy in Heaven now.’

Lee wrote back immediately and had the drawing framed and placed on his desk.

“I think I may make a little visit to thank her personally, as well,” Lee said, “she doesn’t live too far away…I can do it when I have to go visit a new nuclear power plant…”

“Not a good idea, son,” Mrs. C. said. “It would look like an after-thought. Better to invite her here.”

“That’s why you should take the post of First Lady, Mom. To take care of those pesky details I might overlook. I'm serious. I know you want to go home but how about it? And think of all the fun you’d have bossing Ms. Simpson around.”

“Sounds delightful,” Emmie said.

“Like I’ve said, you wouldn’t get a salary,” Lee said, "it’s an unofficial job. But I’d sure appreciate it. And you know I’ve loved having you here…”

“Oh  very well, when have I ever been able to resist those puppy dog eyes of yours…I’ll need to go home and pick up some more clothes and things.”

“And I’ll help,” Emmie said, “I can get a commercial flight home, Harry.”

“You know I’d love both of you to stay too,” Lee said.

“We would, son," I said, "but…”

“Yeah, I know. Not a good idea to be gone from the institute too long. And Angie and even Drew sounded a little frazzled now that Seaview is back in service.  Even Chip says he wished you were aboard Seaview  to tell Dr. Wainwright to shut up. The good Dr. is  hounding everyone about their ineptitude. Chip can’t bring himself to tell the man to shut up himself, captain or not.”

 “Yes,” I chuckled, “and he told me he could hardly wait until you got back  to take care of all of my egghead scientist buddies yourself. "

"You're  planning to resume command, Lee?" Mrs. C. asked.

“Yes, no, maybe…one minute I’m all for it, the next, I think things might be better served if I don’t…Chip deserves command and….”

“We’ve been through this before, son,” I sighed, esasperated. “He doesn’t want it.”

“Yeah, I know, but.…”

“Excuse me,” Joe said from the doorway, “but you have that meeting with Admiral Cartwright.”

“Cartwright?” I asked. “Lee~” I warned about the meeting with the director of ONI.

“He’s next on the list, that's all." Lee said.

“Uh huh,” I said, not quite believing him. My fear was that when Lee returned to NCIMR he might put himself back on the active roster of field agents and there was nothing I could do about it.

Hell, no way. Lee would be an ex-president. Too well known for any undercover operation to succeed. Perhaps it was just a standard meeting after all, about top secret stuff and intel that the president needed to be aware of.

“Well, come along Emmie,” I said, “we better help the new First Lady make a few arrangements.”

“Have a nice meeting, dear,” Mrs. C. kissed Lee on the forehead, and picked up the new picture, “how very very nice. See you at lunch. Cheese Soufflé.”

“Can’t I just have a McDonald’s?”

“Sweetheart, you live in the White House. Let’s just let the chef do his job, all right?”

“But…oh, all right.”

As Emmie and Mrs. C. departed, I gave Lee a sympathetic look. It was one thing for the president’s mother to fuss, and she had, a little. But now as the First Lady? I had to wonder if Lee was going to regret drafting his mother for the job.

After lunch I said my goodbyes to Mrs. C. and to Emmie, Missy, and Winston while my luggage was taken to the sedan to drive me to the dock where the Flying Sub was waiting.

“I’m going to miss you,” Lee told me, “thanks for everything, Harry. I…don’t think I could have handled it all without you.”

“You’d have found a way, son.”

“Take good care of my boat,” Lee said as he usually did. I knew it was not an admission of any decision.

“Take good care of my country,” I said with a mock salute (I wasn’t in uniform), hugged and gave him a kiss on the cheek before I got into the limo accompanied by an agent, and the limo by police escort.

In seconds we were on our way, as Lee, Emmie, Mrs. C. waved.

What was it I’d told Lee, I pondered as we neared the dock, ’‘Take care of my country?’

My God, how he had, as president and as captain of the Seaview.

It remains to be seen if his fellow Americans write him in on the election ballot for another term at the White House. But it’s doubtful as he assured the nation point blank that he wouldn’t accept the job if offered. (Where have I heard that before?)

If it weren’t for the Seaview I might even write him in myself!

I had to stop my musings as the sedan stopped, and I was greeted by Chief Sharkey and Patterson.

“He’s fine,” I said, before they could even ask.

My bags were taken aboard and I said goodbye to the agent, telling him to make sure he and his fellow agents took good care of my son.

My son, I thought proudly as Sharkey piloted us up into the sky and put us on a heading to Seaview.

My son, her once and hopefully future captain; my son, Lee Beauregard Nelson-Crane, the president of the United States.

Harriman Horatio Nelson