“Then perhaps we could ask Tom to join our team,” said Fletcher. “I’m still looking for a campaign organizer.”
“Funnily enough, he offered me that job,” said Jimmy.
Fletcher stared at his friend. “Did he really?”
“Yes,” replied Jimmy.
“Then I’ll have to take him seriously, won’t I?” Fletcher paused, “Perhaps we should start by going over my speech tonight, then you can tell me if…”
“Not possible tonight,” said Jimmy. “Joanna’s invited me over to her place for supper.”
“Ah yes, that reminds me, I can’t make it either. Jackie Kennedy has asked me to accompany her to the Met.”
“Now you mention it, Joanna did wonder if you and Annie would like to join us for a drink next Thursday. I told her that my sister was coming over to New Haven for the debate.”
“Are you serious?” said Fletcher.
“And if you do decide to join us, please tell Annie not to hang around for too long, because Joanna and I like to be tucked up in bed by ten.”
When Nat found Rebecca’s hand-written note slipped under his door, he ran all the way across campus, wondering what could possibly be that urgent.
When he walked into her room she turned away as he tried to kiss her, and without explanation locked the door. Nat sat by the window, while Rebecca perched herself on the edge of the bed. “Nat, I have to tell you something that I’ve been avoiding for the past few days.” Nat just nodded, as he could see that Rebecca was finding it difficult to get the words out. There followed what seemed to him to be an interminable silence.
“Nat, I know you’ll hate me for this…”
“I’m incapable of hating you,” said Nat, now looking directly at her.
She met his gaze but then lowered her head. “I’m not sure you’re the father.”
Nat gripped the sides of his chair. “How’s that possible?” he eventually asked.
“That weekend you went over to Penn for the cross-country meet, I ended up at a party and I’m afraid I drank a little too much.” She paused again. “Ralph Elliot joined us and I don’t remember a great deal after that, except waking up in the morning, and finding him sleeping next to me.”
It was Nat’s turn not to speak for some time. “Have you told him that you’re pregnant?”
“No,” said Rebecca. “What’s the point? He’s hardly spoken to me since.”
“I’ll kill the bastard,” said Nat, rising from his chair.
“I don’t think that will help,” said Rebecca quietly.
“It doesn’t change anything,” said Nat, walking across to take her in his arms, “because I still want to marry you. In any case, the odds are far more likely that it’s my child.”
“But you could never be sure,” said Rebecca.
“That’s not a problem for me,” said Nat.
“But it’s a problem for me,” said Rebecca, “because there’s something else I haven’t told you…”
The moment Fletcher entered the packed Woolsey Hall he regretted not heeding Jimmy’s advice. He took his place on the bench opposite Tom Russell, who greeted him with a warm smile, as a thousand students began to chant, “Hey, hey LBJ, how many kids have you killed today?”
Fletcher looked up at his opponent as he rose from his place to open the debate. Tom was welcomed by the assembled throng with acclamation even before he’d opened his mouth. To Fletcher’s surprise he appeared to be just as nervous as he was, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead.
The crowd fell silent the moment Tom began to speak, but he had only delivered two words when it turned to boos. “Lyndon Johnson,” he waited. “Lyndon Johnson has told us that it is America’s duty to defeat the North Vietnamese and save the world from creeping communism. I say it’s the president’s duty not to sacrifice one American life on the altar of a doctrine that, given time, will defeat itself.”
Once again the throng erupted, this time into cheers, and it was nearly a minute before Tom could continue. In fact the remainder of his words were punctuated with so many interruptions of approval, that he’d barely delivered half his speech before he came to the end of his allotted time.
The cheers turned to boos the moment Fletcher rose from his place. He had already decided that this was the last public speech he would ever make. He waited for a silence that never came, and when someone shouted, “Get on with it,” he delivered his first faltering words.