Protocol had it that those who worked for Charles Thornton would be buried after his funeral, and all the families affected seemed to accept that as appropriate. Air Force One would be carrying me hither and yon to show respect for all those who gave their lives trying to save Charles, Diane, Shirley, and my playmate, little Casey.Things had been almost out of control since I was awakened by the phone with news of the attack on the White House, so flying to funerals would be my first trips on Air Force One. My new staff, gargantuan in size and scope, included a very talented speechwriter that caught on very quickly that I needed notes more than speeches, giving me the flexibility to craft my words to those listening.I walked behind the coffins, out of respect and a desire to have Charles linger a little longer. He, Diane, Shirley, and little Casey were as close as family for me, and more beloved because mine had to be so far away much of the time. As I followed the littlest casket,. As I turned to head home, I noticed a neon sign flashing from the motel lounge—diagonally across the street. It was funny that I had never noticed that motel before. All the funds I had with me was just enough to buy a cheap bottle of wine. Even one drink at a bar might be better than none, I thought to myself. I pushed open the spring loaded entrance door. The place was empty, except for the bartender and an older gentleman in a grey trench coat, sitting at the end of the bar. It was a typical barroom that was sporadically decorated with Christmas lights and a fake tree in the corner. The jukebox was belting out Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas.” I stomped my boots to knock off the snow. "Come on in out of that cold,” said the bartender, wiping the counter. “What are you doing out on a night like this?” “To tell you the truth, I really could use a drink. What can I get for…”—I reached in my pocket and pulled out some waded bills—“… Six dollars and forty three cents?” “Put.
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