McDonnell took hold of Mighty Chair’s arm with both hands, using it for leverage as she leaned closer. “No one loves this country more than Jenny,” she said. “No one. I get that. That’s why she went into government service. Did she tell you her uncle was killed on 9/11?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

“He sat at his desk waiting to die, Rollie. He called her aunt to say goodbye. That family has made a big investment in this country.” She actually tapped me gently on my arm as she added, “As you well know. But maybe that’s why it’s so hard for her to see what’s really happening.”

I still didn’t believe her. “Oh, please,” I said, waving away the thought. “Give me an example.”

She hesitated, which I took as a small victory. “It isn’t that easy. There isn’t any one thing. But when I ask her opinion about something the president proposes or has done, her response has always been, ‘Go slow, he’s the president, give him a chance.’”

That struck home. I heard her telling me, “Sometimes it’s necessary.”

“Rollie, I don’t know where she stands right now. Today. But we can’t take any chances. She’ll…”

“She would never betray—”

“Absolutely not,” she snapped, not letting me finish. “Of course not. Not in a million years. Jenny is someone who tries to see the good in everyone. So getting to where we are isn’t going to be easy for her. You know that.

“Rollie,” Martha continued, “we’ll understand if you can’t stay.”

I stayed. We had a much longer discussion than I’m reporting here, but that was the heart of it. My feelings were all jumbled—my loyalty, my love for Jenny crashing headlong into my love for the idea of America. Not only was I being asked to join a semi-organized resistance to the government that I hadn’t known existed, I also was being warned that the woman I loved might not be exactly that person I held so tightly in bed. What was racing through my mind wasn’t just thoughts; the whole damn Indianapolis 500 was thundering in there.

Could I really have been that oblivious? I scoured my memory, trying to pinpoint one moment, one word that might make me question Jenny. The military had trained me to pay attention to small cues that created a large picture: a sudden increase in the frequency with which a soldier left the office for a smoke or bathroom break; unexplained wear on the heels of combat boots; any change in an established pattern or habitual behavior. That awareness had become ingrained in me, but Jenny?

Maybe she didn’t rail against Wrightman as strongly as I did, but that was her nature, her inherent kindness. Remember, Jenny the optimist meets Rollie the pessimist? La-la-la and all that, why can’t we all be friends? I didn’t know how to react to all this. Maybe I should have walked out. That certainly would have changed everything, but whether that would have been for better or for worse, I will never know.