The President Is Missing

by Bill Clinton

It was six days I wouldn’t trade for any others in my life. All that mattered was us, our love. We talked about our fears. We talked about Lilly. We talked about God. We read from the Bible and prayed and laughed and cried until our wells of tears had run dry. I’d never known intimacy so raw and cathartic. I’d never felt so inseparable from another human being. “Let me take a picture of you,” I whispered to her. She started to object, but she understood: I wanted to remember this time because, at that moment, I’d never loved her more.

“You got your Ranger coin?” he asks. “What, you’re popping me with a coin check right now?” I pat my pocket. “Never go anywhere without it,” I say. “What about you?” “Can’t say I have mine with me. Guess I owe you a drink. So now you…” His throat catches with emotion. “Now you have to come back.” I hold my stare on Danny, my family not in blood but in every way that matters. “Roger that, brother.”