the next morning, but Maddy did want to do something about it. It was obvious that Janet was too paralyzed by fear to help herself, which wasn't unusual either.
When Greg and Maddy went on the air at five, they covered the usual assortment of local, political, national, and international stories, and a plane crash at JFK ate up most of the seven-thirty
She went home in Jack's car alone that night, he had another meeting with the President, and she couldn't help wondering what was keeping them both so busy. But she was thinking of Janet again when she got home, and wondered if she should call her. But Maddy was afraid that Paul might be listening to Janet's calls and decided not to.
Maddy read a stack of articles she'd been meaning to get to, and skimmed through a new book about the latest state of the art techniques in dealing with breastcancer, to see if she wanted to interview the author as part of a news story. She did her nails, and went to bed early. And she heard Jack come in around midnight. But she was too tired to talk to him, and she fell back to sleep before he could join her. It was morning before she woke again, and she heard him walk into his bathroom and turn on the shower.
He was in the kitchen reading The Wall Street Journal when she came downstairs, and he looked up at her with a smile. She was wearing jeans, a red sweater, and bright red Gucci loafers. She looked fresh and young and sexy.
“You make me sorry I didn't wake you last night,” he said with a smile, and she laughed at him, as she poured herself a cup of coffee and picked up the paper.
“You and the President must be up to some real mischief these days, with all those meetings. It better turn out to be something more interesting than a cabinet reshuffle.”
“Maybe so,” he said noncommittally as they both turned back to their papers, and suddenly he heard Maddy gasp and glanced over at her. “What is it?” She couldn't speak for a moment as tears filled her eyes and she continued to try to read the article, but she was blinded by tears as she turned to her husband.
“Janet McCutchins committed suicide last night. She slashed her wrists in their house in Georgetown, one of her children found her and called 911, but she was already dead when they got there. They said she had bruises on her arms and legs, and they feared foul play initially, but her husband explained that she had fallen down the stairs the night before, over one of her son's skateboards. The son of a bitch … he killed her….” Shesounded choked and nearly breathless and she could feel her whole body tense as she thought about it.
“He didn't kill her, Maddy,” Jack said quietly “she killed herself. You said so.”
“She thought she didn't have any other way out,” Maddy said in a strangled voice, remembering the feeling all too vividly as she looked at her husband. “I could have done the same thing, if you hadn't gotten me out of Knoxville.”
“That's bullshit and you know it. You'd have killed him first. She was disturbed, she had a history of mental problems. There were probably plenty of other reasons for her to do it.”
“How the hell can you say that? Why don't you want to believe that that fat bastard abused her? Is that so incredible? Does he look all that nice to you? Why isn't it possible she was telling the truth? Because she's a woman?”
It made her furious listening to him, and even Greg had doubted the story when she told him. “Why is the woman always lying?”
“Maybe she wasn't. But the fact that she killed herself supports the theory that she was unbalanced.”
“It supports the theory that she thought she had no other way out and she was desperate. Desperate enough to leave her kids motherless, and even risk having one of them find her.” She was crying openly as she spoke to him, and her breath was coming in little staccato gasps of terror. She knew what it felt like to be so tortured, so terrified, so cornered that
When Greg and Maddy went on the air at five, they covered the usual assortment of local, political, national, and international stories, and a plane crash at JFK ate up most of the seven-thirty
She went home in Jack's car alone that night, he had another meeting with the President, and she couldn't help wondering what was keeping them both so busy. But she was thinking of Janet again when she got home, and wondered if she should call her. But Maddy was afraid that Paul might be listening to Janet's calls and decided not to.
Maddy read a stack of articles she'd been meaning to get to, and skimmed through a new book about the latest state of the art techniques in dealing with breastcancer, to see if she wanted to interview the author as part of a news story. She did her nails, and went to bed early. And she heard Jack come in around midnight. But she was too tired to talk to him, and she fell back to sleep before he could join her. It was morning before she woke again, and she heard him walk into his bathroom and turn on the shower.
He was in the kitchen reading The Wall Street Journal when she came downstairs, and he looked up at her with a smile. She was wearing jeans, a red sweater, and bright red Gucci loafers. She looked fresh and young and sexy.
“You make me sorry I didn't wake you last night,” he said with a smile, and she laughed at him, as she poured herself a cup of coffee and picked up the paper.
“You and the President must be up to some real mischief these days, with all those meetings. It better turn out to be something more interesting than a cabinet reshuffle.”
“Maybe so,” he said noncommittally as they both turned back to their papers, and suddenly he heard Maddy gasp and glanced over at her. “What is it?” She couldn't speak for a moment as tears filled her eyes and she continued to try to read the article, but she was blinded by tears as she turned to her husband.
“Janet McCutchins committed suicide last night. She slashed her wrists in their house in Georgetown, one of her children found her and called 911, but she was already dead when they got there. They said she had bruises on her arms and legs, and they feared foul play initially, but her husband explained that she had fallen down the stairs the night before, over one of her son's skateboards. The son of a bitch … he killed her….” Shesounded choked and nearly breathless and she could feel her whole body tense as she thought about it.
“He didn't kill her, Maddy,” Jack said quietly “she killed herself. You said so.”
“She thought she didn't have any other way out,” Maddy said in a strangled voice, remembering the feeling all too vividly as she looked at her husband. “I could have done the same thing, if you hadn't gotten me out of Knoxville.”
“That's bullshit and you know it. You'd have killed him first. She was disturbed, she had a history of mental problems. There were probably plenty of other reasons for her to do it.”
“How the hell can you say that? Why don't you want to believe that that fat bastard abused her? Is that so incredible? Does he look all that nice to you? Why isn't it possible she was telling the truth? Because she's a woman?”
It made her furious listening to him, and even Greg had doubted the story when she told him. “Why is the woman always lying?”
“Maybe she wasn't. But the fact that she killed herself supports the theory that she was unbalanced.”
“It supports the theory that she thought she had no other way out and she was desperate. Desperate enough to leave her kids motherless, and even risk having one of them find her.” She was crying openly as she spoke to him, and her breath was coming in little staccato gasps of terror. She knew what it felt like to be so tortured, so terrified, so cornered that
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