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a lot of healing to do.”
    The Director gave Jonathan a light tap on the shoulder and a patronizing wink as both he and PD got up and walked out the door. Jonathan knew that he would probably never be in a place of significance to speak with the Director again.
    Once outside the door, PD looked over at the Director. “Is he going to be okay?”
    “What the hell were his kids doing in that building?” snapped the Director.
    Mary came back at about 5 p.m. without Carly. He asked her how Carly was and she said “better” and that the visit seemed to do her good. He asked her to bring her back tomorrow and she agreed. Mary stayed until he went to sleep at about 10 p.m. after reading several of the letters and cards sent to him from people he didn’t know thanking him for trying to save this country from brutality. A few of the cards were from relatives of people who died in the explosion and they were very angry. Mary would scan and put those aside, but Jonathan insisted that she read those to him, too. Mary seemed to have shaken the harsh edge, but would occasionally remind him with a sarcastic remark or a hateful look that she hadn’t forgotten, nor was he off the hook.
    At 6 p.m. the President called to tell him how proud he and all America were of him, but Jonathan didn’t receive any comfort from the call. The President’s words sounded like he was reading from a 6 by 9 index card that he kept in his desk drawer, written for this type of occasion.
    All in all, it had not been a good day and the thought of what had happened to him, to his son, to his wife and his agents created a depression that lay upon him like the physical weight of 1941 Jeff Davis Highway.

 
Chapter 4
    Every day for the next 2 weeks Mary and Carly visited him as he began the long process of rehabilitation. The therapy was difficult, his head ached and his body was sore from the bruises, burns and sores. His swollen arm itched horribly beneath his cast and every time he exerted himself his broken ribs bit into his lungs making him wheeze like a broken accordion. He could see a little more sparkle in Carly’s eyes which seemed to be linked to her realization that her daddy was getting better. She always kept Bruiser very close, whether he was in her Barbie backpack, in her arms or she was dragging him helplessly along by his only arm. She would often put him on her father’s bed, as if to share the magical healing powers that were helping her cope with her confusing little world.
    Jonathan had always been close to his little girl but sensed a deepening spiritual bond that he could only attribute to the sameness of the physical and emotional suffering that they were enduring together. It was to him that she spoke her first words since the explosion. She was always watching him with her big eyes and touching him softly with her gentle hands. She was there when the nurses were helping him out of his bed for his daily therapy. He tried to sit up and twisted his rib cage in an unusual way, causing his torso to contort. He doubled over and gasped for air, but pushed the nurses away when they tried to help. “I’m okay,” he said to them. “I can do this.”
    Carly grimaced as if the pain was her own and blurted out, “Ouch, it hurts!”
    He reached over with his left arm and put his big hand on her tiny shoulder. “Darling, I’m going to be fine once the bones inside me heal.” Jonathan looked over at Mary and winked, but Mary just looked away.
    It was nearly 3 weeks after he awoke that he was set free from his hospital jail and allowed to go home to his cedar-clad contemporary retreat overlooking the Occaquan River. He and Mary loved living among the insects, squirrels and birds in a forest of maples, birch and oaks without all the artificial suburban landscape and middle class pretense. They enjoyed the home’s proximity to the river where they could hear the rushing and splashing of water and catch glimpses of its beauty through the