"Wha ... criminal element! Are you kidding me!? You're the one who's spent all the time in jail, Mister, not me!", squawked Marilyn.
"At least I had the good sense to not do it on live television! Think that might have screwed up an election or two?"
"Good point, Mister President.", finished Paul.
"Paul, like I said before, it's Carl and Marilyn. I think anybody who can get my wife out of the slammer can call me by my first name."
"Oh, you are in so much trouble!", she protested.
"I was really looking forward to seeing you in one of those orange jumpsuits in shackles. Maybe working on a chain gang somewhere."
She looked at the others. "He is in sooo much trouble! Do you have any idea how many times he's been in jail? I've lost track!"
"Really?", asked Susan.
I sheepishly nodded and said, "Yes, actually that is true." I looked over at Marilyn. "I can't keep track either, now that you mention it."
She gave me a superior look and said, "See? I told you so! When was the first time? That jail in Florida?"
I looked at the other two. "I was in college, and sleeping on the beach is a capital offense in Florida. Some buddies and I ended up spending the night in the tank and paid a fine in the morning, and bugged out of town." I looked back at Marilyn. "No, the first time was my 13th birthday. I spent the day in jail after busting up some guys who wanted my lunch money and the bus driver lied about it. The cops investigated and turned me loose."
"Okay, then there was the time you were arrested in Honduras."
"The charges were dropped."
"We were arrested in the Bahamas, remember?"
"We were in custody, not arrested, and we were simply taken to a clinic for medical treatment."
"You were in jail after shooting your brother."
"Charges were dropped.", I repeated.
"Carl, I've defended mobsters with less time in jail than you!", commented Paul.
I smiled. "Who said crime doesn't pay?!" I looked at my wife. "A few more arrests and you can run for office, too. Just make sure we have a nice booking photo for the campaign posters."
"You are in sooo much trouble!"
After that we got into a few legal issues related to the arrest, and Paul was able to give me an up-to-date status on Marilyn. Good news, there were no criminal charges. Bad news, Fred Phelps and the Westboro Baptist Church had filed several civil lawsuits for millions of dollars against both Marilyn and me. Nothing was going to stick to me, since I wasn't even around when this happened, and they couldn't, by law, sue me for any actions I committed as the President. That was called sovereign immunity, a doctrine based on the legal theory that the King can't go to jail. Marilyn, on the other hand, was fair game. The suits were civil actions based on Marilyn punching Phelps, and also interference with their legally protected protests. Yadda, yadda, yadda.
"Paul, keep an eye on this stuff. They aren't getting a penny out of me without it going to the Supreme Court. In addition, Frank Keating is working with a crew to try and shut them down. First Amendment or not, nobody has the right to be a jackass!"
"Speaking as a lawyer, I must respectfully disagree. Then again, as long as the client's check clears, I can be very flexible on how I interpret the law.", he said as he tipped a wine glass in my direction.
"I can drink to that.", I agreed.
That night, Marilyn and I watched some television mindlessly in our suite, and then stayed up to watch Bill Maher rip the pair of us up on HBO. Nothing like watching a bunch of liberals ripping me a new one. A big part of his semi-serious panel discussion was the obvious incompetence of the Secret Service and how I had begun to throw them to the wolves as I fled across the snowy wastes. Wonderful.
Afterwards, we went to bed. I was looking forward to that, since I had been a bachelor for most of the week. Before I turned the lights out, I asked my wife if she had learned anything new in jail, while being some con's prison bitch. That earned me an outraged squawk, and we had to 'wrestle' around for a bit. Afterwards, I asked if she ended up back in jail, if I could come by some night and watch, and we ended up squawking and wrestling some more. Worth it, though.
Saturday, we slept late and headed over to the hospital mid morning. Megan had come back to the suite while we were still at dinner last night, and she came with us. Once again, I could see Charlie's eyes light up when she came in, and not for when his beloved parental units came in. The boy was about as subtle as a rock. We talked for a bit, and a nurse reviewed his progress. Marilyn took a call from my sister Susie. She wanted to come in from Rochester to see Charlie. He was her godson, and she wanted to bring in a second opinion. She was head of orthopedic nursing at the Mayo Clinic, and wanted to bring down the head of orthopedics as long as we sent up the G-IV.
I shrugged when Marilyn told me this, and agreed to it. She called for the Gulfstream to be warmed up, and I asked a nurse to have Charlie's doctor look us up. I didn't need grief when the pros from Dover showed up unannounced. I simply informed him that I had received an offer of a second opinion from the Mayo Clinic and agreed to it. He didn't bat an eye, and told me that he knew the man who would be coming down.
After that, Charlie did something unusual. He was there laying flat on his back, and he asked, "Mom, Megan, can you do me a favor? I need to speak to Dad alone for a few minutes."
"What's wrong?", they both asked.
"Nothing. I just need to speak to Dad for awhile."
They looked at me, but I just shrugged. I had no more idea what he wanted than they did.
"We'll be right outside.", said Marilyn.
Megan squeezed his hand and stood up. "I'll be right outside." Charlie smiled and nodded.
They left the room, and I waited for the door to close. "Okay, what's up?"
He turned his head to see the door was closed. "It's Megan..."
"Is there a problem?" Was she pregnant or something?
"No, it's just ... remember after Monrovia, when we were talking that time, and you told me that Mom was how you survived?"
I smiled and nodded. I moved around to the side of the bed and sat down where Megan had been sitting. It still felt warm. "I remember. I think I said how she kept me from going crazy."
"Yeah. Dad, uh, Megan, well, she's the one who keeps me from going crazy. Or makes me go crazy. Something like that." He paused for a second. "I talked to her about Monrovia. I've never talked to a woman about that, even when they've asked."
"Yeah, your mom's the only one I talked to about Nicaragua."
"Anyway, she's the one."
"Ah, hah! I thought that might be the case."
"You did?"
I snorted and rolled my eyes. "Charlie, you are about as subtle as a fart in church! I've seen how you look at her, and I've seen how she looks at you! Have you said anything to her yet?"
"Uh, no, not yet. I mean we've talked, but not anything permanent."
"Staying here with your mother isn't permanent? Oh, brother!"
"Dad!", he protested.
"Okay, so, you love her. You want to marry her? Is that your plan?", I asked.
"Uh, I guess."
I rolled my eyes a second time. "You are hopeless. Listen, your mother is never going to put up with you shacking up for the rest of your life. You are going to have to tie the knot anyway if you want to have kids. Believe me, the legal and financial implications are significant. She's not pregnant, is she?"