First Lady

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

  “That’s not our problem.”

  Her frustration boiled over, and she rounded on him. “What’s so great about that manly, solitary life you’re trying so hard to get back to? Tell me, Mat. What’s so great about a life that doesn’t include them?” And me, she wanted to cry. What’s so great about a life without me?

  “You’re not being fair,” he said steadily.

  “I don’t care! I saw Lucy’s face, and fair doesn’t do it for me right now.”

  “I don’t have to justify my life to you.”

  She turned away from him, busied herself with the bed. “No, you don’t.”

  “Listen to me, Nealy. I didn’t make this situation. It was forced on me.”

  “Yes, I believe you’ve mentioned that before.” The sharpness in her voice came from pain. Maybe they’d only been together for a week, but during that time, they’d been a family. While that bond was a burden to him, it meant everything to her.

  “Is this about the kids or is it about us?”

  He didn’t have a high tolerance for subtlety, and she should have known he’d plunge right in.

  “There isn’t any us,” she managed, praying he’d disagree. “We both know that. Not beyond what exists right now.”

  “Do you want there to be?”

  Oh, no. She wouldn’t let him do this to her. “How can there be? I’m female, remember? Part of the evil empire. Not to mention a national institution.”

  “You’re really pissing me off.”

  “And you know what? I don’t care.”

  Everything was out of control—her emotions, her life, her love for this man who didn’t love her back. They couldn’t even rationally discuss all the reasons that a marriage between them was impossible because his feelings for her didn’t run that deep.

  She waited for him to stomp away, but he didn’t. Instead, he came closer, extended those long arms, and pulled her into them. “You’re being a brat,” he said gruffly.

  That wonderful kindness. She felt his big hands in her hair, and a sob caught in her throat. She swallowed it and pressed her cheek against his chest. “I know.”

  His lips brushed her hair. “Will it make you feel better if I fight with you?”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay. Take off your clothes.”

  If only it were that easy. She sighed. “We can’t solve this with sex.”

  “Take ’em off anyway. I need to be serviced.”

  “Serviced? Is that any way to talk to the First Lady?”

  “You’re my First Lady, and I’m just getting started.” He reached under her top. One of the ties ripped as he pulled off her pillow. “Damn, I hate this thing.”

  “Of course you do. You hate everything that has to do with children.”

  “You’re not playing fair.”

  “Sue me.”

  “I’ve got a better idea.” Her eyes flew open as he told her, in very earthy language, exactly what he had in mind.

  Desire, as powerful as her pain, rushed through her. “Are you sure you can keep up with me?”

  “I’ll try my best.”

  Their clothes flew off and, within moments, they were in bed. He rolled on top of her and ravished her with his mouth. She opened herself to his hands, his big body, and, inevitably, welcomed the hard, deep thrust.

  Their lovemaking was fierce and reckless, with neither of them holding anything back . . . except the love words she couldn’t say and he didn’t feel.

  After it was over, he caressed her as if she were small and delicate. He kissed her forehead, the corners of her eyes, the tip of her nose. Kissed her as if he were memorizing her face.

  She dipped her thumb into the hollow beneath his collarbone, pressed her lips to his chest.

  He stroked her shoulder, buried his face in her hair. Gradually, she felt him tensing again, and she trailed her fingers over his flat stomach to encourage him.

  His voice was the barest whisper. “I have something I need to tell you.”

  He sounded so grave, and time had become her enemy. She let her fingers move lower. “Later.”

  His breath caught as she touched him. He closed his palm over her wandering hand. “It has to be now. I’ve already put it off too long.”

  “The girls will be back soon. One last time.”

  He rolled on his side so that he was facing her. His mood was so sober that she felt her first trickle of foreboding.

  “I should have told you last night—even before—but I kept chickening out. You’re not going to like it.”

  Her sexual lassitude disappeared. She waited, and when he hesitated, she began to feel sick. “You’re married.”

  “No!” His eyes flared with outrage. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

  Limp with relief, she sank back onto the pillow. Nothing he could tell her would be as bad as that.

  “Nealy, I don’t work in a steel mill.”

  She turned her head, gazed up at him. He looked so upset. So serious. She wanted to comfort him, tell him that whatever was bothering him didn’t matter.

  “I’m a journalist.”

  Her world tilted on its axis.

  “I tried to tell you at the restaurant last night, but I was selfish. I wanted another night together.”

  A long silent scream built inside her.

  He began talking. Explaining. “. . . working in L.A. . . . tabloid television . . . hated my job . . .”

  She was flying apart.

  “. . . looking for a big story so I could hold my head up again, but—”

  “A big story?” His words finally penetrated.

  “I’d sold out, Nealy. And I discovered the hard way that money doesn’t mean anything if you don’t respect yourself.”

  Her voice seemed to be coming from a faraway place. “That’s what I am? Your big story? Your ticket to self-respect?”

  “No! Please don’t look at me like that.”

  This was too cruel. Her most private moments hadn’t been private at all. She’d been sleeping with the enemy.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

  “You won’t write about me?”

  His hesitation lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough. She sprang from the bed, reached for her clothes. “I’m leaving as soon as I tell Lucy good-bye.”

  “Wait. Let me explain.”

  And she did. She waited . . . watched him rise from the bed . . . struggle for words, but the ones he finally came up with weren’t nearly good enough. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  She needed to get to the bathroom before she was sick in front of him. She thought of what she’d told him about Dennis and hated herself. Even though she hadn’t confirmed it, she’d let him make love with her, and he knew.

  “Nealy,” he said softly, “I give you my word that I won’t betray you.”

  Her throat felt dry and rusty. “It’s too late. You already have.” She rushed blindly for the bathroom and closed herself in.

  Afterward, Mat came up with a dozen better ways he could have told her. He should have eased up on it instead of just blurting it out. He should have been more gentle, done whatever he needed to so that porcelain skin wouldn’t go pale, so those patriot-blue eyes wouldn‘t look so stricken.

  The frail world they’d built together had toppled, and it was his fault. He turned away from the bathroom door and slowly made his way downstairs. There was nothing he could say to make it better, no excuse he could offer.

  The dark blue Taurus was parked across the street. They might still not be absolutely certain who she was, but they weren’t taking any chances.

  Knowing she’d be safe, he grabbed the keys to the Explorer and stalked outside. He had to be by himself for just a little while. Maybe that would clear his head enough so he could figure out what to do next.

  Button curled her fingers in a tired bye-bye wave as Charlie drove away from the house. Then she snuggled against Lucy and whimpered. Lucy remembered how much Button w
as starting to like snuggling up with Nell when she was tired.

  Not Nell. Mrs. Case. Cornelia Case.

  Lucy hadn’t told Charlie and Bertis who Nell really was. She hadn’t told them that Nell would be going away soon, going back to Washington and being the First Lady.

  It was all Lucy’s fault. If she hadn’t dragged Nell into that lookalike contest, nobody would have found out and everything could have gone on like it was, with just the four of them and Button snuggling in Nell’s lap when she got cranky.

  But Lucy knew she was lying to herself. Nell still wouldn’t have married Mat. She was Mrs. Case. If she ever got married again, she’d marry somebody famous. And even if she did decide to adopt some kids, they’d be polite, smart kids, not poor, beat-up kids like her and Button.

  As for Mat . . . he hadn’t wanted them from the beginning.

  She pulled the baby closer over the hurt in her stomach and tried to tell herself she wasn’t scared, but she was. The whole time she’d been with Bertis and Charlie, she’d been thinking about what she had to do. She knew if she didn’t act right away, her baby sister would end up with strangers. And no matter how scared she was, she couldn’t let that happen, so she reached in the pocket of her shorts and pulled out the key to Mabel that she’d stuck there before she’d left. No strangers were going to take her baby sister away from her.

  Nealy stared through the window at the Iowa River curling in the distance. But it wasn’t her river. Her river was a thousand miles away, flowing past Arlington National Cemetery into Chesapeake Bay.

  She was dressed again in the clothes she’d worn earlier, and she’d wiped off most of the makeup Lucy had applied. Mat had driven away in the Explorer ten minutes ago, so she wouldn’t have to deal with him. She stepped over the Wal-Mart pillow and began packing her clothes, even though she knew she wouldn’t ever wear any of them again. A noise outside distracted her. The sound of Mabel’s engine.

  She reached the bedroom window in time to see the Winnebago creeping crookedly down the drive, then lurch over the curb and into the street, barely missing the car parked on the other side. Her hand flew to her mouth as she caught a glimpse of Lucy behind the wheel. Then the motor home pulled away.

  Panicked, she raced for the stairs and reached the front porch just in time to see Lucy narrowly miss a stop sign as she turned onto the cross street and then disappeared.

  Let me drive. I know how to drive this thing.

  She was dizzy with fear. Driving the Winnebago was a challenge for someone with experience, let alone a fourteen-year-old without a license. And Lucy wouldn’t be alone. She’d never have left Button behind.

  Nealy clutched the porch railing and forced herself to think. The Explorer was gone, and she didn’t have a car. Maybe a neighbor . . .

  Just then she noticed the dark blue Taurus parked across the street. DeLucca, the female agent, was out of the car on the passenger side, staring in the direction the motor home had taken and reaching for her cell phone.

  Nealy didn’t even hesitate. “Put away the phone!” she cried as she ran toward her.

  De Lucca snapped to attention. Williams jumped from behind the wheel, ready to throw himself between her and a bullet.

  “She’s only fourteen,” Nealy said, “and she’s taken the baby with her.”

  Neither of them asked any questions. DeLucca was already climbing back in the car while Williams pulled open the rear door, then slammed it closed after Nealy.

  She grabbed the back of the seat. “They can’t have gone far. You have to catch up with them.”

  Williams hit the accelerator. DeLucca turned to gaze at Nealy’s now flat stomach, but she didn’t ask any questions. What was the point? She already knew the truth.

  They were on a wider residential street now, but there was no sign of the Winnebago. Nealy guessed Lucy was heading for the highway.

  “Turn right at the intersection.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want the police, Mrs. Case?” Williams asked.

  “No. Lucy might panic.”

  Nealy ignored the glance the agents exchanged. He’d called her by her real name, and she hadn’t denied it. Her glorious adventure had ended the moment Mat had told her how he earned his living.

  They spotted the Winnebago at the edge of town. Lucy was driving under the speed limit, but she was having a hard time steering the cumbersome vehicle, and she kept creeping toward the center line. The blood in Nealy’s veins turned to ice.

  “My daughter took my car once when she was fourteen,” DeLucca said. “It was about the same time my hair started to turn gray.”

  Nealy dug her fingernails into her palms. “Right now I feel like I’m eighty.”

  “Kids’ll do that to you. I’m Toni, by the way. Jason’s driving.”

  She acknowledged the introductions with a distracted nod. “Try to pull up so she can see me, but whatever you do, don’t scare her by putting on a siren.”

  The road was fairly straight and traffic blessedly light. Before long, Jason was able to ease into the other lane. As he drew alongside the Winnebago, Nealy saw Lucy. She was staring straight ahead, and she had what looked like a death grip on the steering wheel.

  “Oh, God, don’t honk!”

  “I’ll pull in front to slow her down,” he said. “Just relax, Mrs. Case. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  She wanted to scream that he had no way of knowing that.

  He slipped in front of the Winnebago and slowed. Nealy twisted around to look out the rear window, but Lucy’s eyes were fixed straight ahead, and she didn’t see her.

  Mabel drew closer, then closer still. Brake! Put on the brakes!

  She gasped as Lucy swerved toward the shoulder. She seemed to be fighting the wheel, but she got Mabel back in the lane. She looked terrified.

  Jason tapped the horn, and Lucy finally saw Nealy gesturing through the back window.

  She hit the brakes hard.

  Nealy gasped as the motor home fishtailed. Lucy jerked the wheel, and it fishtailed again. The tires hit the shoulder and gravel sprayed. Finally, the vehicle shuddered and jerked to a stop.

  Nealy remembered how to breathe.

  Within seconds, she was out of the car and racing toward the motor home with Toni and Jason following. She lunged for the door handle, but it was locked.

  Nealy pounded with her fist. “Open the door right now!”

  “Go away!”

  “Do what I say. Open up!”

  Through the window she could see that Lucy looked furious and determined, even as tears ran down her cheeks.

  “Lucy, I mean it! If you don’t do what I say, you’re going to be in so much trouble.”

  “I’m already in trouble.”

  She strained to see if Button was all right. “You could have been killed! Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m getting a job! And we’re going to live in Mabel! And you can’t stop me!”

  Button began to cry.

  Toni pushed past Nealy and gave the door a hard rap. “Open up, Lucy. FBI.”

  Lucy bit her fingernails and looked straight ahead.

  Toni raised her voice. “If you don’t open the door, I’m going to instruct Agent Williams to shoot out all the tires, and then shoot you.”

  Jason stared at her. She lowered her voice to Nealy. “Teenagers see so many government conspiracy movies, they always believe the worst.”

  But not this teenager. “What kind of moron do you think I am?”

  Nealy’d had enough. “Open up, Luce, or I’ll shoot you myself! I mean it!”

  There was a long silence. Finally Lucy seemed to realize she wasn’t going anywhere. She bit her fingernails, looked at Nealy through the window. “Promise you won’t tell Mat.”

  “I’m not promising a thing.”

  Button’s screams grew louder.

  Slowly . . . very slowly . . . Lucy dragged herself from behind the wheel and released the door latch.

  Nealy rus
hed in, lifted her hand, and smacked her on the side of the head.

  “Hey!”

  She pulled her hard against her breast. “You scared the life out of me.”

  “MA!” Button squawked.

  As Nealy clutched Lucy and gazed at the irate baby, she knew she’d reached one more crossroad in her life.

  There was no sign of the dark blue Taurus. The space in front of the garage that held the motor home was empty. And Nealy was gone.

  Mat had already searched the house for clues, but what he’d found—Nealy’s satchel partially packed with her clothes—didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.

  His fear was growing by the minute. Something was very wrong. The girls should have been back by now, the motor home should be here, and Nealy—

  He heard a car door slam and raced to the front porch in time to see her emerge from the passenger side of the Taurus. He didn’t mean to yell, but he heard himself do it anyway.

  “Are you all right? Where have you been?” He rounded on the Secret Service agent who was standing next to her. “What happened? Have you been hassling her?” He didn’t wait for the guy to answer, but confronted Nealy again. “Where’s the motor home? Where are the girls?”

  She turned away from him as if he didn’t exist. Just then, the motor home lumbered into the drive with the female agent behind the wheel.

  “The girls are inside Mabel,” she said so coolly she might have been talking to a stranger. Then she gazed at Williams. “How much time can you give me?”

  “Not much, Mrs. Case. We have to report in.”

  Mat’s stomach sank.

  “Not until I say so,” Nealy replied. “I need at least an hour.”

  Williams regarded her unhappily. “I don’t think that will be possible.”

  “Unless you want to be known as the agent who lost Cornelia Case for the second time, you’ll make it possible.”

  He seemed to realize the deck was stacked against him and gave a slow nod. “An hour.”

  DeLucca stepped out of Mabel. Lucy followed, with Button hanging heavily from her arms. Lucy wasn’t in any hurry to get closer to him, which pretty much told Mat everything he needed to know about who was responsible for whatever had happened.