"How is my … widow?"
As tense and as bad as I felt just then, I was sorry for him.
"Quite well, Mr. Miller. Quite well, considering. It came as a blow to her, naturally-"
"What about the house?" I asked him. "Is she keeping up the payments?"
He had to admit that he didn't know. The President told him to finish the payments, pay for the house. Over and above the pension? Over and above the pension. And I was to get a regular monthly report on how she was getting along.
"Excuse me, Mr. President. I'd rather not get a regular monthly report, or any word at all, unless she-unless anything happens to her."
"No report at all, Pete?" That surprised, him, and he eyed me over the top of his bifocals.
"She's still young, Mr. President," I said, "and she's just as pretty as the day we got married. I don't think I'd want to know if … she got married again."
The quiet was thick enough to slice. If they talked about Helen any more I was going to throw something. The President saw how I felt.
"Now, Mr. Miller-Pete. Let's get back to business. You were saying-?"