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President Cushing was at home in his downstairs office.

He was sitting at his desk, and on his desk in front of him was a thousand-dollar bottle of 1989 Gordon & MacPhail Scotch, considered by some to be the best single malt whiskey in the world.

He usually liked to have a glass at Christmas and on his birthday. He would make a little ritual out of it, using a special, fluted, Scotch-tasting Glencairn glass that Jodi had bought for him a few years before.

But there was no glass tonight.

Cushing winced as he took another slug and went back to staring at the SAT phone.

No, this wasn’t Christmas, was it? And this definitely wasn’t his birthday. Frank had ordered him to stay by the phone, and he was following orders.

“Because that’s what slaves do,” Cushing said to the empty room.

He was still staring at the SAT when his regular home phone rang in the corner by his printer. He took the bottle with him as he stood and answered it.

“Hello?” he said.

“Hi, Dad,” his stepdaughter, Ashley, said.

He closed his eyes.

How? he thought. How was any of this possible?

“Thanks for the save with Lady today,” she said.

“Don’t mention it,” he said.

Even he was shocked at the normalcy and calm in his voice.

“How are you?” he continued as if he wasn’t going to hell. “How’s the new baby coming along? What’s the size now? An avocado?”

“Close to a baseball,” she said. “Hey, did you hear the news about the evacuation of the center of town?”

Cushing glanced back at the SAT phone on his desk.

“No,” he lied. “What’s going on?”

“A truck with toxic material or something crashed on Route 4 and they had to evacuate everyone.”

The material in question was toxic all right, Cushing thought. But it wasn’t in any truck.

“Dad? Are you there?”

“Uh-huh,” Cushing said after another hit of Gordon & MacPhail.

“Isn’t that crazy?” she said.

“Insane,” Cushing agreed.

“No one’s even allowed near the area. Not even the media,” she said.

“Makes sense,” Cushing said.

“Dad, I know this sounds crazy, but the reason I’m calling is that someone on Facebook said mother’s car was there.”

No! Cushing thought, almost dropping the bottle. Dammit. They had the news stations snowed, but in a small town, word traveled at light speed with or without the internet.

“Dad?”

Stall. Say something , he thought.

“That’s preposterous. Your mother’s asleep upstairs. I’m down in my office working.”

“I figured,” his daughter said. “I didn’t think it made any sense. How do these rumors start?”

“Oh, people just like attention, I guess. How’s my little lad, Carter, doing?” Cushing said to change the subject.

“Oh, goofy as usual. Remember he went to the doctor for his shot last week and wasn’t real happy?”

“Yes.”

“Well, one of his new Lego toys has a doctor in it and he’s taken to running the doctor over with Thomas the Tank Engine on his train table.”

“That’s hilarious. Maw Maw will love that,” Cushing said. “I’ll be sure to tell her when she wakes up.”

“Tell Maw Maw Carter misses her,” Ashely said. “And Grampy, too, of course.”

Cushing sipped the whiskey.

“Tell Mother to call in the morning, okay?” Ashley said.

“You got it,” Cushing said as he lifted the bottle again.