by Laura Hayden
“If that happens, then remember that you’re not helping her by protecting her. She’s a big girl. She made this decision against your advice, so she should take the heat herself.”
“It’s not that cut-and-dried.”
Wes stared at her, long and hard, as if looking straight into her soul. To his credit, he wouldn’t judge her, but somehow she knew he could see all the small black stains, all the places where she had taken the wrong road, made the wrong decisions. “No, it’s never that cut-and-dried. And it never will be, not as long as politics are involved.” He paused and gave her a questioning look. “You’ve made a decision about this situation, haven’t you?” he asked softly.
She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes for a moment. She told herself it was because she didn’t want to see his expression. But she knew it was the only way to keep her tears to herself. “What else can I do? I’ve put in my resignation as her campaign manager.”
“Oh, Kate.” He sighed. “If you were doing this because you wanted to change your life, I’d be the first to applaud you. But you’re not. You’re doing this to protect her, aren’t you?”
She nodded.
“No one who knows you will honestly believe that by leaving you’re trying to duck out of the publicity backlash and the resulting firing squad.” His gaze narrowed as he stared at Kate as if trying to read her motive in her eyes. “You really think this is going to draw the fire away from our friend, right?”
She nodded again.
He pulled back and glanced around the room at other customers, who appeared to be paying them no attention. When he leaned forward again, he had a look of conspiracy in his eyes. “Look, it’s okay—admirable even—to stand beside a friend who is in trouble, but in this case, you shouldn’t stand in front of her and take a bullet meant for her. I understand sacrifice as well as, if not better than, the next man, but you’ll only be saving her from that one bullet. You won’t be saving her from herself.” He released her hand and sat back, crossing his arms. “It’s going to take a power higher than you and me to do that.”
“I’m not sure God is the answer here.”
“Of course he is. You and I were both raised to put our faith in God. Our friend was raised to put her faith in only one person—herself.”
“What’s wrong with believing in yourself?”
“Nothing, but if you do that instead of believing in God, then you’re in danger of letting your love for self color or even override all other decisions. When a person is raised to believe she’s the center of the universe, she expects everything and everybody to revolve around her. If she doesn’t like the direction things are going, she doesn’t shift positions—she expects everyone else to shift to accommodate her.” His lips quirked slightly. “Sound like someone we know?”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Two things. First, don’t get all caught up in revolving around her. God should be at the center of your universe, not . . . our friend. You should take your troubles to him and ask for forgiveness and his guidance.”
“I have.”
“Good. Then continue what you’ve been doing—living your beliefs every day in everything you do. Even in politics.”
“But it’s not always so straightforward. Politics is all about winning. In this case, it’s about our friend winning. Assuring that happens is my job. Still there are lines I’m not willing to cross to perform my duties.”
“I understand that. In fact, I applaud it. Our friend counts on you too much sometimes. It’s fine for her to be important in your life, but I’m just reminding you that she’s not the center of everything. Only God is the center of everything. So do your job every day, keeping that in context. And keep God at the center of your life, no matter how much our friend would like to take his place there.”
Kate looked up, surprised.
Wes patted Kate on the back. “Go ahead,” he said. “Smile. That last bit was supposed to be a little joke.”
Kate managed a weak grin.
“You know our friend,” Wes said. “She does tend to believe that the ends justify the means, no matter the situation; but you aren’t so easily misled.”
“I’m a regular GPS.”
Laughter danced in his eyes now and his famous grin threatened to break out again. “There’s hope for you yet, Kathryn Marie Rosen.”
A weight began to lift from her shoulders and her heart. “So what do you think I should do?”
“Don’t resign. She needs you. She needs you to remind her that she’s not the center of the universe. Even more importantly, she needs your conscience to help lead her when she leads the nation. She needs to know when she’s disappointed or disillusioned you because you represent . . .” He hesitated as if having a hard time finding the right words. “You reflect the hearts of the real people. She may not readily accept God as the center of her universe, but she might accept the good of the people as the true center, and that’s a start. And she looks to you to provide that center.”
“Wes—”
“No, think about it. When our friend gets into the Oval Office, she’s going to be bombarded by decisions every day, none of them small. When she becomes president, every decision she makes—perhaps even which Boy Scout troop to let into the Oval Office for a meet and greet—has a huge number of consequences. It’ll be easy for her to see only one aspect of that picture—how the outcome will affect her. You need to be there to remind her to look at the moral and ethical costs of each decision she makes. To help her keep the nation and its people at the center. She’s capable of greatness. But she’ll only achieve it if you’re behind her, providing her with the moral compass she needs. I think our country needs that greatness. The question is, can you work with her after this to provide it?”
“She’s not without a heart and a soul. She’s always got her eye on the big picture. She’s not going to overlook something that critical.”
“No, but she might not value the cost to others for her actions as much without your input.”
“You overestimate my influence. She didn’t listen to me this time.”
“And look what a royal mess she’s made because she took matters into her own hands. If any good comes out of this tragedy whatsoever, it’s the object lesson that she’s learned about the frailties of human nature. In particular, she should have learned to listen to you next time. And maybe she’s learned a little humility, too.”
His tone grew earnest. “Look, this is a big thing, staying with her after this. I think you need to pray about it. But I also think that you have a role to play on the world stage. Our friend can give you a platform for that role. What about that religious initiative we’ve been talking about? Don’t you want to be there to help give religion a more official role in her administration? I can’t think of a more qualified person to make Christian compassion a muscular arm of the federal government. Not just to bring hearts and minds into the fold but to bring peace and a helping hand to those in need.” Wes had been the one to first come up with the concept of a new faith-based initiative. He took it to Kate because he knew she was the only one who could get Emily to agree to it. Kate took it to Emily. Emily had been more than enthusiastic—she’d made it part of the platform she was running on. “She’s not trying to get out of that, is she?”
“No. She’s behind it all the way. If anything, she’s higher on the idea than ever. Maybe this debacle has proven to her that she needs to consider running her ideas, thoughts, and policies through a religious filter as well as a political one.”
“We can hope. But you do realize that if you quit, the religious initiative disappears too?”
“No, it won’t. Maybe I’m cynical, but she likes the way it plays on the campaign trail.”
“But is it just a gimmick to her?” Wes asked.
“Maybe. She always tells me it’ll be my baby. But you could pick up where I left off.”
“Nope. Not going to do it.” He crossed his arms with moc
k sternness. “I’m going to play the guilt card here. Our friend needs you. The religious initiative needs you. Both will flounder aimlessly without you.”
“Oh. Great.” She pulled the lid from her coffee and stared into the cooling liquid. “Kate Rosen. Moral Compass.”
“Exactly. And I think that you’ll be an excellent one when you get into the White House. For all Emily’s flaws, her strengths are in picking her advisers.” Wes’s face lit up. “She does that well, if I do say so myself. Speaking of moral compasses . . .” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small polished stone, and slid it across the table. The cross engraved on it also had the points of the compass—N, E, S, and W.
“Just consider this a little gift to help my favorite moral compass get her bearings and decide which direction to take.”
Kate managed her first real smile of the day.
He grinned back. “That’s much better. Pray about all this. Follow your heart and your conscience. But remember that there’s more than just your life bound up in all of this. What will the world look like with our friend as president? That, I’m almost sure, will happen. And I think it could be a good thing. But you have to ask yourself, what will it look like if you’re not standing behind her?”
Kate traced the engraved lines on the compass with the tip of her forefinger. “So . . . you really think I shouldn’t quit?”
He nodded. “You can do more for her, and more importantly, you can do more in God’s name if you stay with her. If Christians don’t venture out into the world and work to lift it above its troubles, what good are we? Promise me you’ll think about staying on. Seriously.”
“I will.” And she meant it.
“Why don’t we pray about it? Here. Now. Why don’t you ask God for his guidance?”
They bowed their heads together. Kate closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Wes was right, as usual. “Dear Lord, thank you for Wes’s good advice. Help me to remember that you are directing my steps. Help me understand what happened today, and give me the strength to follow your calling for me, whatever it should be. And give me the wisdom to know what you want me to do, whatever path I should follow. My life is in your hands.”
Their soft amens sounded together over the buzz of conversation in the busy coffeehouse.
“Keep your heart open. You’ll know what to do.” He slid a quick glance at his watch.
“Got an appointment?”
“Yes.” His expression changed to a mixture of sheepishness and paternal pride. “I’d forgotten Dani has a well-baby check this morning.” He reached inside his jacket. “She’s growing like a weed. Have I shown you the latest pictures?”
Kate spent the next few minutes oohing and aahing over the latest “first moments” of his baby’s world, immortalized on her doting father’s cell phone camera. After extracting sufficient attention and praise for his daughter, Wes stood, gave Kate a hug, and asked her to give him a weekly update on the campaign. Then he left.
Once again, Kate was left alone with her conscience, but now her worries didn’t feel quite as suffocating as before, thanks to Wes and her prayer. When she gave her cares to God, the burden on her heart always lifted.
Kate sipped her coffee and contemplated her past, her future, and the decision she would soon have to make about her present.
Life would have been so much easier for her had Emily and Wes been able to take their budding romance into something more definitive and permanent. As much as Kate liked Wes’s wife, Anna, she couldn’t help but believe Wes would have been the perfect husband and soul mate for Emily. With Wes’s strong morality and Emily’s political strength, they would have been an amazing power couple in the White House.
Not only could he have helped her be wiser and more thoughtful, Wes would have easily been embraced by the American public as the First Gentleman.
Water under the bridge, she told herself. Deal with what is, not what I wish could be.
She took a last deep draw from her coffee, then capped it and stood.
I guess I better go back and let Emily know my decision.
KATE STAYED.
Actually, Kate left the next day for her parents’ house, but only after assuring Emily that yes, she would remain on as campaign manager. As long as Emily listened to her when it came to issues of morality and conscience. And as long as Emily agreed that the religious initiative she’d promised to support remained a viable program in the planning.
Emily hated being told what to do. But she knew that Kate had never steered her wrong in the past. And the recent debacle was still fresh in both of their memories.
Emily’d had to agree to several points before Kate promised to remain in her position. Those important points included an agreement that there would be no unapproved deviations from the plan of attack they had carefully constructed when the campaign started and that Emily would make no surprise end runs around Kate’s strategies.
Kate stood in front of Emily’s desk. “If you disagree with me or the course of action we’re taking at any time, then tell me. To my face. Don’t go behind my back. This point is a deal breaker. I’ll never forget how I felt when I saw that video on the news feed. You follow the plan, or you tell me why in advance. You don’t run off the rails and leave me to deal with the consequences.”
“I promise I won’t.” Emily squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Kate knew the action wasn’t for any reason as sentimental as stopping a stray tear or two. Emily didn’t operate like that.
If anything, she was holding back something she’d really rather say—not that Emily specialized in taking a more circumspect tack to a situation.
But this time, Emily surprised her.
“I’m sorry,” Emily said with more honesty than Kate expected. “I guess I lost the vision for a moment there. I promise you. I won’t lose my way again.”
“Good.” Kate waited a moment, fully expecting the earth to stop rotating on its axis. As rare as it was for Bentons to apologize once, twice was . . . unheard of. Bentons explained, they deconstructed, and they sometimes regretted outcomes, but they seldom out-and-out apologized. However, Emily had learned how to do so, begrudgingly, over the years. It had taken quite some time before she realized that, contrary to popular belief, the ground would not swallow her whole for having uttered an apology or acknowledged a weakness. No matter what Big Henry had taught her. . . .
Now that Kate knew she’d driven home the importance of the agreement, she decided it was time to let Emily pull herself off the sharpened stick of guilt. Kate swallowed hard and let the subject at hand go. “Now that the air is clear, you said you had presents you wanted me to take to Mom and Dad. As you recall, you promised me a whole week off at Christmas.”
The look of tension on Emily’s face faded into a guarded but pleasant expression. “Indeed I did. And I’d really appreciate it if you’d take them with you. Oh, I also picked up a couple of things for Brian, Jill, and the kids, too.”
And as easy as that, their world was mended.
Christmas in Washington, D.C., was the same hustle and bustle as any other time of the year but with bright lights and red and green decorations. And more people trying to cram a lot more packages onto the Metro.
Christmas away from the hustle of Washington, D.C., still possessed a sense of bustle but a kind that Kate could actually enjoy. As soon as she got to her parents’ house, her mother put her to work immediately. At least her mother called it work; Kate called it family holiday tradition and she’d been jonesing for it for at least a month.
Over the course of the next six days, they ate too much, gave each other far too many presents, spoiled the kids and animals just a shade shy of rotten, and had a thoroughly Norman Rockwellian holiday, complete with snow and a picture-perfect, heart-lifting Christmas Eve service.
The weather even delayed her trip back to D.C. by one day, but the campaign staff forgave her when she arrived lugging several heavy boxes of assorted goodies that she and her mother had bak
ed during their snowy incarceration.
No pecan had been left behind, unused.
When Kate finally reached her desk, having deposited the goodies in the break room, she had a forest of pink “While You Were Out” notes waiting for her and an insistent light on her voice mail.
Six of the notes were marked simply, “Call DD ASAP.”
Kate fortified herself with a cup of coffee and a piece of divinity before she returned the call.
“Where are you?” Lee sounded both excited and guarded.
“In my office.”
“On your cell or your private line?”
“Private.” Emily had insisted that both she and Kate have private landlines that didn’t go through the switchboard.
“Close and lock the door and sit down. You won’t believe what we found. Sierra’s here as well.”
Kate complied. “Okay . . . give it to me.”
Lee Devlin and Sierra Dudicroft proceeded to tell Kate a horrific tale of a college weekend gone terribly wrong, of unchecked drug use, an accidental death, and a cover-up that had remained intact for thirty-four years and counting. As Kate listened, her mouth hung open in shock and disbelief.
“We wouldn’t have known to look for this without that heads-up you gave us.”
“What next?” Sierra asked.
“In your opinion, would what you found stand up in a court of law?” Kate asked.
“I don’t know. One key link in the chain of evidence is a little iffy, but we have signed affidavits from the folks involved and I think they would testify if it came to trial. If nothing else, even if he beat the rap in a court, he’d be tried and convicted in the media.”
Kate’s mind worked at light speed. Then she stopped thinking and started praying. What would Jesus have her do with this? “Render unto Caesar . . .” It was her duty to let the people know the truth about the candidates they were voting for. Every voter had the right to understand what they were supporting when they cast their ballots—it was the only way democracy functioned effectively. What was the old computer acronym? GIGO—that was it. Garbage in, garbage out. Without truth in politics, the system would fall apart. Getting that truth out there to the voters was one of the reasons Kate was drawn to her career.
