Meanwhile, the citizens of the great state of Florida seem to have their shit together for once—they reelect Susa Evans for a second term as governor, so there is that. We all voted for her—because we’re all legal citizens of Florida. Chris and I have our legal residence listed as the house behind Kev’s, even though we rarely get to go there because of the logistics issues and not wanting to cost the taxpayers the expense.
Kev tells me to ignore his father, but that’s difficult when the guy seems bound and determined to virtually get right in my face as much as possible. He rails against me in long, rambling speeches he delivers to nearly empty chambers late at night, but which still get aired on C-SPAN, and the videos of those speeches are linked to by him and others sharing his skewed and vitriolic political views.
When I don’t tank the economy like he insisted I would, he tries to take credit for our strong growth himself, which even FNB and Fox gives him side-eye over.
Like, dude, you’re not that important. Get over yourself.
The more people ignore him, the louder he gets. One day, Kevin stumbles across an Internet article written by a clinical psychologist and which pegs Kev’s father as a narcissist, with a step-by-step breakdown, including real-world examples and quotes and actions to back him up. Kev shows it to Chris first because, as Chris tells me later, Kev breaks down crying.
Chris takes Kev up to the residence for an hour to de-stress.
I don’t find out about this until later, because I was at a luncheon in New York with union leaders. Kev had stayed behind for a meeting with lawmakers from the Hill to work on defining our agenda for year three.
It heaps more guilt upon me that I wasn’t there for Kev. I should’ve been. I feel like all the energy is flowing to me and I’m not sending enough back to my men despite how they reassure me that’s not the case at all.
Year three starts out with me having to deploy troops to Kharmaria, which has been a persistent pain in America’s ass for decades, but which finally devolved into civil unrest when the authoritarian regime pushed their hand a little too far and massacred a group of one hundred and fifty women and girls protesting the closure of a school in their region.
Reaction was swift and brutal from the citizens, who rose up en masse around the country in an action that made the Arab Spring look like a college die-in from the Sixties.
The dictator was not just overthrown, but arrested and publicly decapitated, along with his army officers.
You don’t want to see the pictures, trust me.
I wish I hadn’t seen the pictures.
Needless to say, the new government requested troops and assistance to root out the stray remnants of the old pro-murdering-assholes regime, so they’re getting them. It’s not only us sending troops—it’s a multinational coalition from the UN, but of course we’re providing a goodly chunk of troops and equipment.
Yet something else for Congressman Markos to try to come after us over. On the one hand, he claims he loves the military. On the other, he’s voted at nearly every turn to try to defund them, or defund the VA, or reduce money earmarked for supporting vets.
The man never served in the military. So I’m not exactly sure where he gets off trying to tout some mythical pro-military voting record that doesn’t exist anywhere except in his own mind. Unfortunately, his die-hard base doesn’t care about the truth, even when he’s caught in bald-faced lies about his voting record. They’re single-issue voters that usually only care about trying to ban abortion.
Fortunately, he’s only one voice out of five hundred and thirty-five—counting both the Senate and the House.
Since I’ve pissed off people on extremes from both sides of the aisle, I assume that means I’m doing something right.
Based on the reactions at the annual White House Correspondents Dinners, they have to stretch to find things to roast me on, and they tend to focus heavily on my marriage to Chris and his non-traditional First Spouse role, his former profession, my top two staffers being former conservative media, my bipartisan relationships with GOP lawmakers, and my justified reputation as a pretty horrible cook, which is fine.
Better that than they come after me for my relationship with Kev.
Or my mother.
Yes, I’m running for re-election. My poll numbers are pretty decent and running on the high side of average, we still have a lot we want to accomplish, and Elliot is already taking on a larger role in preparation to position him for his own run after my second term. If I’m reelected, which we have no reason to think I won’t be.
My own personal nightmares don’t get any better or worse during this time. I have Chris and Kev to help shut off my brain, and that goes a long way.
I try not to think about what happened that night. It’s been over twenty years now, but I can still feel her hand on mine.
I can hear her voice on the clear days when she’d ask me when, how she’d beg me to do it, to remember my promise. Even past those days, when she became mostly nonverbal and I knew I needed to free her.
Because I’d promised.
I remember the way the bed rattled a little as her leg kicked, how I cried and whispered I loved her, my apologies for waiting so long, begging forgiveness from a god I don’t even believe in until she fell still.
If I had to go back and do it again, I wouldn’t. Not like that, for sure. I would have found a better way to do it sooner for her.
She also begged me while she still was mostly coherent to not listen to anything she said if it sounded…wrong.
But isn’t begging your child to kill you…wrong?
How is it not wrong?
Unfortunately, she’d asked me to do that while still clear-minded, and guilt ate at me as I watched her growing fear and her tears, with her knowing there was something wrong with her but not always able to understand or remember what and why.
Until I’d go visit her and my Momma would be in command of her mind for a few precious moments, with her wit mostly intact, and a loving scolding to me that she was still “there” in the first place.
Another load of guilt heaped on me that I’d pray when I visited her the next day she’d be gone a little again, just enough not to ask me ten or twelve times when it’d happen.
I suppose I’m lucky I didn’t end up in jail, but none of the staff mentioned it to me if she said that around them, and if anything was going to come out, it certainly would have during my Senate runs, or even my first presidential run.
I don’t know.
I have no answers, only a recommendation that you don’t saddle your child with that kind of burden, no matter what your feelings on the matter.
Kev probably spends three or four nights a week with us in the residence, or close to it. No one’s caught on, Lauren has been amazing at her job, and I consider myself damned lucky. I couldn’t have asked for a better chief of staff if I tried. In public, he’s all business, but when we’re behind closed doors my Sir steps forward and helps keep me calm and focused and makes my job a lot easier than it otherwise might me. Just five minutes curled up in his arms can lower my heart rate and clear my mind so I can think straight.
Could I have done this job without him? Yes, but the stress levels would have been a thousand times worse, I’m sure. Kev doesn’t “control” me, either. Not the President Samuels part of me. But I can’t leave my work at the office and go home.
I live at my freaking office.
I usually take PDBs seven days a week, although Saturdays and Sundays happen closer to noon than first thing in the morning.
What Kevin gives me allows me to balance those stresses in a healthy way without me giving myself an ulcer. And during the times my stress hits a point I’m unable to eat because my body refuses to keep it down—something I’ve been plagued with all my life—Sir is usually the one able to coax me into eating again sooner than my own body would normally give up and allow me food.
Chris the sadist helps balance Kev to keep him mentally and emotionally healthy, and ad
ds an extra boost to me, too.
Can’t say it’s not working. There have been other administrations that have done a hell of a lot worse with their circumstances and the amount of time we’ve been in office.
Except I should’ve known it wouldn’t last.
As we enter January of year four of my first term, something happens to jolt all of us to our core and rattle my family to its very foundation.
Chapter Nine
Year 4—Reelection Campaign
I guess I’d forgotten how grueling campaigning can be. We’ve been on a war-footing since last March, my reelection coffers filling nicely. No GOP or Independent front-runner has distinguished themselves yet, which works to my advantage.
I need to buckle up and ride this bitch, because it’s going to get a lot hairier before November.
As January arrives and we ramp up for Iowa in a few short weeks, Kevin, Leo, and I are ensconced in my office on Air Force One early this bitterly cold Wednesday morning. We’re winging on our way from Andrews to Los Angeles. There, I’m giving the keynote speech to an international meeting of scientists devoted to working on lowering global greenhouse gas emissions.
Because I don’t speak until nearly eight p.m. Pacific time, it means it’ll be a long damn day. I’m looking forward to escaping the icy grip Mother Nature’s had on the Eastern Seaboard for the last couple of weeks. There was an ice storm just north of the DC area last night, which fortunately didn’t impact our travel itinerary. I won’t be spending much time outside on this trip, but it’ll be nice seeing palm trees and sunny skies for a little while.
With the hotel already cleared and prepped by Secret Service, logistically it makes sense for me to go straight upstairs after my speech and spend the night in the large four-bedroom suite that the Secret Service has readied for me, Kev, and Leo. We’ll already be using it as a staging area before my speech.
I didn’t want to overnight there, but I have to be in Seattle on Friday morning for another speech, as well as a campaign appearance early that afternoon in Spokane. Rather than flying me back and forth across the country, I’ll stay out there. We’ll leave LA late tomorrow after I’ve made a few local appearances and give some interviews, I’ll overnight Thursday in Seattle at the same hotel where the speech will be held Friday morning, stop in Spokane on our way east Friday afternoon, and fly home to DC Friday evening after a quick stop in Iowa for a meet-and-greet with campaign donors.
I can’t argue with Kevin’s scheduling, even if he’d let me. It makes the most sense. It looks like we’re trying to be responsible stewards of the country’s tax dollars.
Plus, the whole “wasting money” thing. I mean, I know there will always be someone bitching about me traveling, no matter what the reason, but Kevin carefully manages the optics to keep our spending down in that area, and to make sure the info is released to the public where we do pay for stuff ourselves.
Hey, except for working trips to Camp David, I haven’t had a “vacation” in over two years. I’ve been too busy, have too much to do.
I can never admit Camp David actually works better for us, because I can ban the press during certain times and the three of us can curl up together in a private suite of rooms and pretend the outside world doesn’t exist.
Lauren stays behind for this trip, because there are a couple of key votes upcoming on the Hill, and we’re flying with a lighter-than-usual press contingent as a result. Lauren will most likely have to hold a press briefing or two in our absence, and it’ll be easier for her to do it there. She’s coordinating closely with Kev. Chris isn’t joining us on this trip because he has several appearances scheduled this week in the DC area, which tie in with my reelection campaign.
Which is fine. I’ve spent my entire adult life traveling, most of that alone—well, without a sleeping companion—so it’s nice to at least have Kev sharing my bed.
And without Lauren around, Kevin and I don’t have to be quite as careful as we normally are. Leo knows about us and is sworn to secrecy, actually helps us find time together and run interference for us.
There’s a knock on the office door, which surprises me. It’s rare we receive interruptions when we’ve asked for privacy.
When we are interrupted, it’s usually bad news, or at the very least urgent news.
Leo, Kev, and I all look up at each other at the same time Kev and Leo’s phones go off with a flurry of alerts.
When Kev glances at his, and his face transforms into Prophet’s blank mask as he stands and moves to answer the door, I know whatever it is is really bad. I look to Leo, who now also wears a mask after having checked his phone.
“What?” I ask.
But he ignores me, looking to Kevin, who now has his head stuck out the partially cracked door, listening to one of the Secret Service agents who are traveling aboard Air Force One with us.
When he closes the door and turns after snapping the lock, I need to know.
“Just tell me. What is it, and how bad is it?”
Kev takes a deep breath and walks over to me, setting his phone down on the desk first before he takes my hands and kisses them, pressing them to his chest as he looks me in the eyes.
“Charles and Tory ran off the road last night. Pennsylvania State Police found their car this morning upside down in a river at the bottom of an embankment.”
I…I can’t process this. “Charles and Tory? Are they—”
He shakes his head. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
“I…” Chris.
We have to get to back to Chris.
“He’s just been told,” Kev adds, already anticipating my next statement. “The kids are safe. They were at home. Shawna was with them. Charles and Tory went to a retirement party for Tory’s boss last night and never made it home. Shawna reported them missing to police at three a.m., when she couldn’t reach them by phone. There was rain that turned to ice and delayed the search until dawn. They had to get an emergency court order to ping their phones to track them.”
“We need to go back,” I say, still trying to…process this. “We have to be there for him.”
“I’m going to call him first,” Kev tells me, and when I start to argue, Kev switches into Prophet mode and pulls Sir rank on me. “I will call him first, girl,” he softly says.
He’s never pulled rank on me at “work” before. Never.
Then again, I suppose this isn’t work—it’s personal.
Due to the obvious logistics issues, I haven’t been able to spend much time with Chris’ brother and sister-in-law since I took office. When we got married, he explained to them the reason he didn’t tell them we were seeing each other was he wanted to protect their privacy. Considering he was Secret Service, and Charles had a background in military intelligence, they believed Chris.
We’ve had them, the kids, and Tory’s parents over to the White House for Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas every year since I took office, because it’s easier to bring them in than to take Chris and I elsewhere. We also bring them out for Fourth of July, so they can watch the fireworks with us from the roof of the White House. Little Hudson, especially, loves watching them.
It also means with them around that Kev can be a part of the holiday celebrations without raising eyebrows, even if Lauren isn’t there. We don’t have to leave him behind.
Kev eases me back into my chair and pulls his personal phone out of his pocket. We never use them for work. When we text or talk to each other for personal stuff, we always use Signal to help protect our conversations. Kev stands there next to me, waiting for the call to go through.
“Hey, Sir… She’s right here. They just told us… Yes, Sir. Okay. Love you… Here she is.” He holds the phone out to me.
I take it. “Love you, Sir.”
Chris’ sigh sounds bone-weary, ancient. “Love you, too, sweetheart.” That means he’s not alone and able to freely speak, or he’d be calling me ‘girl.’
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. I’ve got Secret Service en route to their house right now. I want the kids protected.”
“What? Why?”
Another sigh. There’s a pause, then I hear the background noise change, like he’s closed a door.
When he speaks again, his voice is lower, barely audible. “Shae, it wasn’t an accident. This isn’t being released yet, so don’t tell anyone. It looks like they were deliberately run off the road. Troopers said there was paint transfer all along the driver’s side that can’t be accounted for any other way. Maybe it was meant to look like an accident, or maybe it was a hit-and-run, but it wasn’t just an accident. And the roads weren’t icy yet when the crash happened.”
“Oh, no!” Horror fills me. “Does Director Eisenthal need me to put in a request with Homeland Security?” They oversee the Secret Service.
“We’ll need one for continued coverage, yeah. Right now, it’s being treated as an active crime scene and investigation, so he could order agents in immediately.”
“Okay. I’ll call Sasha and have her issue that.”
“Thanks.”
I hate feeling…helpless. “We’ll come back and—”
“No.”
I blink. “What?”
“No, Shae. You need to go give the speech. If you want to fly back tonight after, and cancel Friday’s slate, okay, but do not cancel tonight. Put Kev on. Now.”
I automatically hand the phone over at his order. Kev takes it and steps to the far corner of the room, turned away from me. I can’t hear his side of the conversation other than the occasional, “Yes, Sir.”
When he turns back a moment later, there’s a grim determination on his expression. “We continue to LA. I’ll ask the organizers to move you to the six p.m. time slot. We were flying in anyway on Marine One, so traffic’s not an issue. That’ll get us home two hours earlier.”
I nod, still processing.
Kev slides his phone into his pocket and picks up his work phone, hits the button to silence it. “I’ll go address the press corps.”
“No,” I say, pulling myself to my feet. “I’ll do it.”
Diligence (Determination Trilogy 2) Page 7
