I think, too, of another walk, one Barbara and I took with him on a brilliantly sunny day in Maine when we were both twenty-three and out of college. The night before, we had celebrated the wedding of one of our cousins, where the guests, including us, grew raucous with hours of open bar and champagne. My dad called us the next morning and asked us to go on a walk, something that had become far more rare now that he was in the White House. Above the sound of the waves and the ocean wind, my dad talked to us about alcoholism. He talked about himself, saying that when he was drinking, he didn’t
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