I tried to sleep in the morning following my meeting with first Haldeman and Ehrlichman, and then Chief Cliff Murray. I was troubled, yet it was too early to get up because my getting up would awaken my wife, and then Julie, both of whom deserved to sleep in because of the worry I usually brought home with me, like a visiting salesman carrying an old tattered and smelly suitcase.

I very gently slipped my right hand under my wife’s left shoulder, as she slept flat on her back. I simply lay there, drawing strength, the way I imagined it, from the tower of reason and power the woman next to me seemed to exude in the face of all threats and danger. I was long-weathered, although my twenty-four years might belie that. I’d been through hell, back again, and then through more hell. It was easy to imagine, as my undetected parasitic hand remained undiscovered, that the mission-driven woman’s power, although not based fully on anything other than my related and transferred experiences, plus the strength of her solid foundations, was re-energizing my own ability to deal with the multi-phased and complicated universe I somehow had something to do with creating.

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