Trouble in the White House

by Brenda Hampton

  I couldn’t help it that tears welled in my eyes. All he wanted was a picture, when I wanted to offer him so much more than that. I walked around my desk, ignoring my mother, who had tears rolling down her face. That immediately caused Joshua to direct his attention to her.

  “What’s wrong, Grandma? Why are you crying? Did I say something wrong?”

  “No, baby,” she said, wiping her tears. “You said everything right. What I’ve been trying to tell you is, this . . . this is not only the president. He is also your fa—”

  I finished the sentence instead. “I’m your father. Your real father. And I’m sorry that no one told you that sooner.”

  Joshua’s whole face was scrunched up. “My father?” he questioned. “This must be some kind of joke.” He chuckled as if it was. “Grandma, stop joking with me. You know who my father is. Your son. You told me he was in jail for murder.”

  My mother walked closer to Joshua; so did I. I didn’t want him to be upset with her for lying. After all, it seemed as if she had gone to hell and back to make this right and bring us together.

  “I am her son, and thankfully, I wasn’t in jail. And now I’m here. We have a lot to discuss, but for now, son, I’m here.”

  I reached out to hug Joshua—it was a feeling that left me choked up. He seemed reluctant to reciprocate, but it wasn’t long before I felt his arms around me. I lowered my head, closing my eyes. This moment gave me so much hope for the future, but when I opened my eyes and saw Andrew rush through the door, I had a feeling that his breaking news wasn’t going to be good.

  “Mr. President,” he shouted. “There has been an explosion! It occurred at the hotel where the first lady is residing. There have been reports that many people were killed. The whole area is a mess, and I . . . I don’t know when we’ll be able to . . .”

  Andrew paused when he saw me slowly back away from Joshua. I wanted just to fall to the floor and die. This couldn’t be happening right now, and as my heart rate increased, I felt myself about to lose it. All eyes were on me, but before I reacted to the devastating news, I fixed my eyes on the door. There stood Raynetta, with scratches, bruises, blood, and ashes all over her face and trembling body. Her clothes were ripped; her hair was completely disheveled. Tears poured down her face, and as the entire room fell completely silent, we stared at each other without one single blink.

  Thank God she was alive.