First Lady

by Blayne Cooper

  “Anywhere else but the center of the universe… or the pits of hell. After eight years, I still can’t decide which one Washington is.”

  They both smiled.

  “Besides,” David began again. “You’re going back into the real world and you won’t need me there.”

  “Hey,” Dev turned sideways to face David, her forehead creasing. “You’re my best friend. I’ve always needed you. And I always will.” The lines on her face smoothed as she watched her words sink in. “We are a damn fine team, David.”

  “The best,” he agreed, his jaw lifting a little with the admission. “But this is where I need to be to make things happen, and it’s time I stepped out from behind your ‘skirt-tails’ and made my own mark. For once, I want to speak for myself and have somebody know it’s me who’s talking.”

  “You’re going to be great, but I’m going to miss my right hand.”

  David gave her a quietly devoted look. “Not as much as I’m going to miss being it. But I think you can use your own hands on the lecture circuit. And besides, you got to keep Liza. And she’ll help keep things on track.”

  “I can’t believe Jane talked her into taking maternity leave. I was seriously worried that if the baby wasn’t born when Liza scheduled it—”

  “On Sunday morning between 3 and 5 a.m.—” David broke in with a smile.

  “The least busy time, statistically speaking,” Dev laughed, “that the poor woman would have a nervous breakdown.”

  “Knowing Liza, that’s probably exactly when the baby will come.”

  Dev chuckled. “Very true.”

  David slapped his knee. “I hope you know I’m going to be calling my old friend and asking her to go stumping for the party's brightest and best.”

  Dev flashed him a brilliant smile. “I should hope so. But not for the first six months or so. I intend to go home, plant a garden, sit by the fire, and make love to my wife constantly.”

  “All at the same time? Wouldn’t that be dirty and hot?”

  Dev grinned. “If I’m lucky.”

  “And you’re going to do this for six months straight?”

  Dev actually blushed. “Well, I imagine I won’t make it the full six months. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  David gazed at her knowingly. “And the chances of you being content sitting around by some fire and gardening your time away are about as good as me becoming Miss America. You, Madam President, are not the sort of woman who will be happy with a life of leisure.”

  “No,” she smiled a little. “I guess I’m not. But I am going to become reacquainted with my kids and parents. And try to make up for some of the many, many late nights I should have spent in bed with my wife but spent behind this desk instead.” She nudged him with her foot. “I owe it to them and to myself to at least try.”

  David nodded. “Understood. So…” He decided on a change of subjects. “Have you and Lauren settled on one of the houses you were looking at?”

  “I think so. We’re flying down to look at our final two choices in Powell over the New Year’s weekend. They’re both in good locations and close to Mom and Dad. My folks have been wanting to spend more time with the kids for years. And they aren’t getting any younger.”

  “Speaking of someone young, do you know that Aaron asked me when he could get a tattoo?”

  “What?” Dev screeched.

  David shook his head and laughed. “Oh, yeah. Apparently, he mentioned it to Lauren, and she told him when hell freezes over, and over her dead body, and a bunch of other things that made him understand that she was not the person to ask to get around going to you.”

  “Smart woman.” Dev nodded. “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him that if it were my choice, which it’s not,” he emphasized that part, knowing that his role with the children was still a somewhat touchy spot between them, “that the answer would be never. But that once he’s over 18 it's up to him to decide.”

  “David!”

  “Well, it’s true, Dev.”

  A dark eyebrow lifted. “Then you’d better manage to get some legislation raising the age from 18 to 21 before Chris gets that old. Hell, 25 sounds like a little better age of consent, now that I think about it.”

  David almost laughed until he realized she was being serious. “Dev,” he whined. “That’s a state, not federal, issue. You know how I hate state politics.” Dev just glared at him, so he tried another tack. “My hands are tied.”

  She gave him a firm poke in the belly. “Well, Mr. Big Shot Party Chairman.” Another poke. “You’ve got six years before Aaron is 18 to untie them.”

  He tried to hold it back, but David couldn’t help but let a slightly melancholy smile overtake his face. He swallowed thickly, and his voice dropped to a rarely used, soft tone. “You have no idea how much I’m going to miss you and your family, Devil.”

  Dev’s eyes widened a little with alarm. “Jesus, David, you make it sound like we’re never going to see each other again.”

  David let out a quick breath. “That will never happen,” he promised.

  She bit the inside of her lip as she tried to keep her voice from cracking. “The hardest part about leaving the job is going to be leaving you here.” She paused and let every bit of the love and gratitude she felt for him show plainly on her face. “I- I wouldn’t be the woman I am today without you, David. I know that most of the country will never realize how much you’ve done and how tirelessly you’ve worked. But I know. And I won’t ever forget. Thank you.”

  Their eyes met, and David realized he didn’t know what to say. He felt her words all the way to the bottom of his heart. Instead of answering, he just took Dev’s hand and cradled it in his larger one, then he threaded their fingers together and squeezed gently as they both turned and gazed out the window at the falling snow. The vision was a blurred one for both friends.

  After a few minutes, Dev sniffed and wiped at her face. “Now that the mushy stuff is out of the way, call Beth, and get her over here, so you can both come have dinner with me and the family.”

  “I’d love to, Madam President.”

  * * *

  Monday, December 25, 2028

  CHRISTMAS DAY

  Video calls had been exchanged with loved ones, the McMillians had come and gone, and Lauren had successfully sneaked over to her office while Devlyn and the children were enjoying their late morning Christmas naps. It was a lazy, cloudy day, and she had her glasses off and was gnawing on their stems as she took this rare quiet time to dictate some notes for Devlyn’s biography.

  As usual, Gremlin lay atop her feet, warming them. He lounged there listlessly, the death of his mate the summer before taking most of the spring from his formerly feisty step. Occasionally, Lauren reached down to scratch his ears, her voice never wavering as she continued with her notes.

  Overview. Last Chapter. General thoughts:

  In less than a month, Geoff and Brenda Vincent will move into the White House, and the Marlowes, my family, will move out. Devlyn made a lot of sense when she asked where all the time had gone. I hardly know myself. I swear to God it was just yesterday that I walked into this place, in utter awe, my mouth hanging open like somebody who was in 10 feet over her head. [chuckling] Which I was. Nowadays, just every now and then, I stop and look around and remember where I am and what the people here are doing, and it’s easy to recall just when I had butterflies the size of bats jumping in my stomach.

  When I look back at my first year in the White House, at how I was concerned that I couldn’t deliver an impartial portrait of this American president, I have to laugh. Impartiality? Lord, that flew out the window the moment I fell in love with her. The moment that her life story became mine, and vice versa. Still, Devlyn is the most honest person I’ve ever met. That honesty bleeds into everything she does and to know her deeds is to, at least for the most part, know her. The good and the bad. The mistakes and the triumphs. I’ve decided to include it all. The hard stuf
f, too, and the stuff that happened behind closed doors and away from the cameras. It won’t be juicy gossip the tabloids crave. Just the real Devlyn.

  All of her.

  The shooting. Not just that it happened, but what it took for her to recover physically and mentally and to put herself back out there again. In harm's way. Every. Single. Day.

  The nights she couldn’t sleep while some operation was taking place halfway across the world, knowing that somebody’s son or daughter wasn’t going to be coming home. Nobody but Jane and I know about the teary phone calls she made to the families the next day. Out of the spotlight. Alone. She did that. Not some aide or soldier. The President.

  The laughter from the White House gym as she, and the willing among the Secret Service Agents, grunted and sweated and formed relationships that went far beyond work. And how she lives with the knowledge that part of these people’s jobs is to take a bullet for her, if necessary.

  The re-election scandal that nearly cost her a second term in office. God, I still can’t believe that she made sure that “suicide” wasn’t listed as the cause of death on Mama’s death certificate. I should have wondered why the press never picked up on exactly what happened. But so much was happening in my own life then that I didn’t know whether I was coming or going. I guess I thought I just got incredibly lucky when it came to Mama’s death and the press. But it wasn’t luck, and three years after Devlyn did it, it exploded in her face. She risked her entire career for me and did it knowing and believing that it was wrong. It was one of the times she wasn’t the nation’s hero. Just mine.

  The days spent bargaining away little pieces of something she believed in, in exchange for the greater good.

  The endless speeches, negotiations, fundraisers, and legislation that she poured her heart into.

  The pride on her face when she knew she’d done something that was truly special.

 

  Scratch what I said about including it all. Starlight isn’t interested in a 20-volume set. But my editor and I can duke it out over what to include later. For now, I need to focus on the last chapter.

  It won’t be the climax. Or even the wrap-up after the climax. Fiction is so much easier that way.

  I don’t believe the last chapter of a biography of a living person should dwell too much on their past accomplishments. That implies that the deeds that got their picture on the book cover to begin with are the deeds that were the most meaningful. That things are somehow over because the words ‘The End’ are printed at the bottom of the page.

  The story isn’t over! She is only 46 years old. She’s vibrant and healthy and still hell bent on saving the world, even if she pretends she’ll be happy in some house in Ohio with a white picket fence, a hammock, and a good book. She won’t be. And that’s all right. Because I wouldn’t be either. She’s not ready to ride off into the sunset, it’s just time for a different trail. One that will largely be “off camera.”

  My goal is not to leave the reader wondering about anything, but to leave them knowing that, just because the book is over, the story isn’t. I truly believe there are a lot of great things still to come from Devlyn Marlowe. The part that still makes me a little giddy is that I’m going to be there to share them with her.

  Lauren paused and took a sip of tea. Then she chewed on her glasses and picked up a stack of papers that sat next to her computer. She rifled through them until she found the sheet she wanted.

  “I think if I tie Devlyn’s plans for the lecture circuit into some of Chapter Seven, I can show that—”

  Her words were interrupted by a phone call, and Lauren disabled the voice system on her computer and smiled when she saw who was calling.

  * * *

  Lauren was just getting ready to end her video call from Wayne when there was a knock at her office door.

  “It’s me.”

  “C’mon in, Ashley,” Lauren called.

  The dark-haired girl opened the door and poked her head inside what once was Lauren’s White House apartment. “Are you busy?” she asked, then she caught sight of Wayne’s three-dimensional image. “I can come back—”

  “No, no.” Lauren waved her inside. “We were just finishing up.”

  Ashley flashed a brilliant smile as she entered the room and made her way to Lauren, not bothering to close the door behind her. “Hi, Mr. Evenocheck!” She gave the man a little wave.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted, his voice warm. Then he let loose with a wolf whistle. “You are every bit as gorgeous as both your mothers.” He sighed. “What I wouldn’t give to be one of the agents guarding your house and to be not so old that you’re absolutely right in calling me Mr. Evenocheck.”

  Lauren laughed as Ashley blushed becomingly. Fondly, she wrapped an arm around the girl’s slim waist. “Don’t let him embarrass you, sugar.” Lauren’s eyes twinkled. “He enjoys scaring members of the opposite sex.”

  “You wound me, Lauren,” Wayne said in a serious voice, but he winked for Ashley’s benefit.

  “Oh.” Ashley suddenly remembered the book she’d recently finished. She sucked in an excited breath. “Mr. Evenocheck, Mama said you know—”

  Wayne chuckled. “His autograph is in the mail, sweetheart. Just don’t drool on it.” He winked again. “Runs the ink.”

  “Thanks!” Ashley gave an excited little hop.

  “Oops.” Wayne looked down at his phone. “That’s my mother on my other line. This is her annual call to tell me how another Christmas has been ruined because I haven’t given her any grandchildren.” He cringed.

  “Mr. Evenocheck has a mother?” Ashley murmured to Lauren, earning a muffled chuckle from the older woman.

  “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?” Lauren whispered back, tickling Ashley’s waist with playful fingers.

  “I heard that,” Wayne complained, but he was smiling. “Merry Christmas to my favorite author and her family.” He met Lauren’s gaze. “We’ll talk again soon, yes?” He lifted his eyebrows in question.

  Thoughtfully, Lauren nodded. “Soon.”

  Wayne disconnected from his end and with a few security codes, Lauren did the same thing. “How was your nap?” she asked Ashley, taking the time to save her file and turn off her machine.

  “Nap?”

  Lauren glanced at her in question.

  Ashley’s mouth formed a tiny O. “Oh, right. My nap.” She yawned dramatically. “It was great.”

  Lauren pursed her lips. Something was up.

  “Hurry up, Ash!” came a voice from outside office. “You’re supposed to get her off the phone, not take all day.”

  Lauren gave Ashley a puzzled look, then rose to her feet, gently moving Gremlin aside so she could stand without tipping over. “Aaron, is that you? You can come in.”

  Then she heard it. The familiar pitter-patter of tiny feet. Four, tiny canine feet, to be precise.

  Aaron pushed open the door to reveal a pug puppy, who was on a long, loosely held, bright red leash and collar. Over Aaron’s shoulder, Lauren could see a smiling Christopher and a sheepish-looking Devlyn peering back at her.

  “What in the world?” Her eyes saucered as a tiny replica of Gremlin scampered in, his paws sliding on the hardwood floors. He ran headfirst into a chair leg and shook his head briskly. He was stunned, and he staggered backwards a few steps before landing squarely on his butt with a tiny thump.

  Gremlin’s ears perked up and with a growl, and at a speed that Lauren hadn’t witnessed in several years, he bolted for the puppy, his feet slipping and sliding as he went.

  “Gremlin!” Lauren cried, afraid of what he might do to the puppy.

  But Gremlin came to a screeching stop just in front of the smaller dog, stopping just as his broad, flat nose bumped gently against the puppy’s smaller one.

  For a tension-filled few seconds both dogs remained stock-still. Then the smaller dog’s entire body started to shake, along with his stumpy tail.

  “Aww…” The kids cooed
in unison, making their way to the floor with the dog.

  Even Devlyn found herself melting a little as Grem tentatively poked out his tongue and greeted the puppy with a sopping, loud lick.

  Lauren blinked as her dog warmed to his new task and began cleaning the puppy’s entire face as the puppy mewed and whimpered in delight. A smile edged its way onto her face, and she glanced up at Dev — who was doing her best to look innocent. “Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “It’s a Christmas present,” Christopher explained, petting both dogs with a gentle touch that was so characteristic of the boy. “Gremlin’s been so sad.”

  Aaron stood up and handed the leash to his brother. “He still misses Princess, I think. We thought he might need a friend,” he grinned, showing off deep dimples, “with breath as bad as his.”

  “How—?” Lauren shook her head in wonder. “How did you get one that looks just like Gremlin? I’m not even sure he’s purebred. We met at the pound!”

  “The puppy is Grem’s grandson,” Ashley told her, her eyes on the puppy. “Uncle David bred his pugly with a purebred pug, and he ended up with one that looks like Gremlin again. We kept it a surprise.”

  Dev stepped around her children and the dogs and approached the younger woman. “Surprised?” she asked, bracing herself in case Lauren reacted badly. She cocked her head to the side and asked in her most sincere voice, “Can we keep him, Mama?” She batted her eyelashes. “Please?”

  Lauren’s jaw sagged a little as she wondered whether she'd heard Devlyn right. “Devlyn Marlowe,” she paused to kiss her in greeting, “you have complained about my dog every single day since I came to the White House and now you want another pug?”

  Dev’s cheeks tinted and she dropped her voice so that only Lauren could hear. “But Grem is lonely by himself.” She gave Lauren a wish-filled look that left her helpless to do anything but smile.

  “You’re such an old softy,” she whispered back, feeling as though she might cry.