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“Not really. I’m sorry to call with a crisis.”

  “Don’t be,” Cassidy said.

  “Any ideas on how I should frame my comments?”

  “Honestly.”

  Candace sighed audibly.

  “Candace, that is your strength. Be honest. Stay away from details unless you know them. I am not telling you anything you don’t know.”

  “No, but I need to hear it. And, not from Dana.”

  “Want to talk about it?” Cassidy asked.

  “Yes. I wish I had time. I have a meeting in twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll draft something and have it to you by then.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Listen, I know this move has been a big adjustment.”

  “It has. I’m so out of balance, Cassidy.”

  “What does JD say?”

  “I don’t think Jameson knows what to say some days. I can’t say that I blame her. I need to find my footing.”

  “Fancy a visit?”

  “From you?”

  “Well, it would give me an excuse to peek in on Dylan.”

  “Ah, the plot unfolds.”

  Cassidy chuckled. “And, I could use to find my footing too.”

  “I would love for you to visit. What about the kids?”

  “Helen and my mother will be happy to spend a weekend with the kids.”

  “Why don’t you bring the twins?”

  “Candace, my twins are not going to help either of us find any kind of footing.”

  Candace laughed. “I thought they might have fun with Cooper.”

  “And keep JD and Alex busy.”

  “That’s a bonus,” Cassidy admitted.

  “Are you sure you have time?”

  “Me? I think the question is whether you have the time.”

  “I’ll make the time,” Candace said flatly.

  “Then we have a date—away from our wives.”

  Candace snorted. “We sound like old men.”

  “Probably because we feel like old men.”

  Candace’s laughter continued earnestly. She loved to have her family visit. Cassidy had become her closest friend. Right now, she needed someone she could say anything to, and that included confiding her concerns and frustration with family. “Friday night?”

  “We’ll be there. I’ll get you my draft before that meeting ends.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Call me if you need to,” Cassidy offered.

  “I will.”

  ***

  “I’m sorry, Candace,” Dana said. “I know this is not what you needed today.”

  Candace shrugged lightly as they made their way to the Briefing Room. “No one needs this any day.”

  “True. I know this strikes close to home.”

  Candace stopped in the hallway and looked at her friend. “It all hits close to home,” she said.

  Dana nodded. “Ready?”

  “As anyone can be.”

  Candace took a deep breath and stepped into view of the press corps. She made her way to the podium solemnly, adjusted the microphone, and looked out at a sea of expectant faces. Cassidy had helped her craft a statement that she believed hit all the notes required. Her brief exchange with Dana left Candace with a deeper understanding of why she was standing in this place. She took a deep breath, nodded to the assembled crowd, and began her remarks.

  “Early this morning, an attack on innocent Ukrainian civilians occurred. This act of violence was a cowardly act of callousness. A small group of women had assembled to prepare for the Lesbian Political Alliance gathering later this month in Belgium. Five women were killed, three others injured, along with a male security officer and an elderly man visiting the building.” Candace took a deep breath and shook her head. “This type of targeted bigotry cannot be tolerated—not in any corner of our globe. The right of people to express their views freely and to live their lives authentically without fear of aggression or oppression is a basic human right. At this time, we do not know the party or parties responsible for the attack. Our State Department, Justice Department, and Department of Defense will continue to investigate and monitor the situation. As a country, we offer our heartfelt sympathy to the families and friends effected by this unnecessary tragedy, and we assure our brothers and sisters around the world that the United States will always stand against bigotry, oppression, and suppression.”

  Candace pushed aside her notes and looked directly at the room. “As a woman,” she began. “A woman who shares her life with another woman—a woman who is the mother to a lesbian daughter, my heart breaks. Today reminds me that as far as we have come, we have miles yet to travel in our endeavor for equality—not just for the LGBTQ community, but across racial, religious, and ethnic lines. We must reaffirm our commitment to lifting all rather than mitigating many. A couple of questions.” Candace chose the first reporter, Dahlia Gray from The Washington Post.

  “Madame President. Does this in any way raise concerns for your safety and that of your family?”

  Candace smiled. “No. Not specifically. If you are asking whether or not our family receives threats based on my sexual orientation, the answer is yes.”

  “How do you handle that?” Gray inquired.

  “If it wasn’t my sexuality, it would be my gender or my political affiliation. I’m not mitigating the significance. I am saying that bigotry takes many forms.” Candace pointed to a young journalist at the back of the room.

  “Madame President. Fred Evans with Al Jazeera.”

  Candace smiled. She liked to call on young reporters and had increased the press pool to allow for fresh faces. “Go ahead.”

  “How do you respond to these types of attacks in parts of the world that have not progressed as far as the United States?”

  “Excellent question. Can I get back to you?”

  Soft laughter filled the room.

  “It is an excellent question. One, that I’m afraid has no perfect answer.” She took a deep breath. “It’s difficult for me to comprehend some days,” she confessed. “The reality that there are people—people in this country—in your neighborhood and mine whom still look at me as deviant, less deserving of the same rights—less human. That is reality. It isn’t only my reality. It’s true for people of color, for Muslim people, Jewish people—it’s even true for much of rural America. We can’t respond to violence with violence in every instance. We would never stop fighting. We can’t speak to prejudice with hatefulness, even if we feel inclined and justified. The short answer to your question, Mr. Evans is that we have to change perceptions. And, that is something humanity has failed to accomplish despite the growth of civilization, multi-nationalism, and cultural shifts.”

  “So, you can’t change it,” he followed up the president’s remarks.

  “I didn’t say that. It changes every day. We can impose sanctions on governments that institutionalize bigotry. We can pass laws that ensure businesses, schools, landlords, and government cannot discriminate—legally. That does help. It helps because those laws allow for integration and the elevation of marginalized people in our society. But ultimately, it is what we do in our daily lives that will change society. Prejudice is gradually erased by relationships, Mr. Evans. We get to know our neighbors. We stop seeing them as foreigners.”

  “Madame President?”

  Candace looked down at a familiar face. “Katie.”

  Katie Brennan smiled back at her old friend. “What do you see as your role?”

  Candace nodded. She expected the question. She was glad that it came from another public figure who was a lesbian. “Beyond policy making, visibility, and transparency? You know,” Candace said. “When I was about Mr. Evan’s age, there were a total of twenty-four women in the United States Congress. Twenty-four.” Candace noted the slight gasp. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? Of course, I am guessing at Mr. Evan’s age.” She winked. “But if I’m close to correct, that would have been the mid-eighties. There were two—only two Senate seats oc
cupied by women. Today there are twenty-five. Things do change. The courage women had, and the men who advocated for them, to run for office, to step out into an arena where they were not welcome—that mattered. It still matters. What matters equally are the conversations those same women, and women and men all over this country and this world have at the dinner table. It matters how we interact with people who are like us and who differ from us. And, it matters how we react to those who criticize and judge us as individuals. My role? I can never forget that, Katie. Not for one fraction of a second—not when I am with my children and grandchildren, not when I meet with a foreign leader, not when I am on the campaign trail, and not when I stand here before all of you. It’s not just my job as the president to stand up, to speak up, and to address bigotry and violence. It’s my responsibility as a human being, and that doesn’t stop at this podium.”

  Candace smiled at the room again. “I would implore each of you to think about the question Ms. Brennan just posed. We all have a role to play in what our world becomes.” She signaled Dana with a nod and stepped away from the podium.

  “President Reid?” a voice called out.

  “That’s all for today,” Dana said.

  Candace stopped and held up her hand. She looked at the man who’d called out to her. “Go ahead.”

  “Do you worry? That events like this one put your family in greater danger?”

  “Always,” Candace admitted. “That can’t prevent me from living. What would I teach my children?” She took a step forward—unusually closer to the crowd. There were times that connecting to the press as people, rather than professionals mattered. “You know, when Jameson and I adopted Cooper, we experienced a different type of bias. We’ve witnessed racism through his eyes. As he grows—unfortunately, he will learn about the vitriol we sometimes confront as a lesbian couple. What happened today is bigger than one issue,” she told the room. “We have to see ourselves in others. All I can tell you is that I am committed to do everything I can—policy-wise, as well as personally to combat the divisiveness in our world. I don’t expect my administration will eradicate bias. I do hope we alter a few perceptions along the way.” She smiled. “Be aware,” she advised. “Call out injustice. Remember to lift the places we see diversity thrive. If all we ever do is talk about the horrendous things that happen without showing moments of unity, we will forever spiral.” With those words Candace left the room.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jameson rolled over and groaned at the sound of the alarm. She reached for her phone, turned off the annoying sound, and tossed it aside.

  Candace giggled softly beside her. “Not ready to wake up?”

  “Can we stay here today?”

  “In bed?”

  Jameson mumbled into her pillow. “Yes.”

  “Are you feeling all right?”

  Jameson slowly rolled to face her wife.

  “Jameson?”

  “I’m pissed.”

  “About?”

  “I don’t like it, Candace—the way people talk about you.”

  Candace sighed heavily. Some regarded her remarks after the attack in Ukraine as soft. That didn’t surprise her. Much of the criticism had come from LGBTQ groups. That stung. She’d anticipated that as well. “It goes with the territory. You know that.”

  “It doesn’t make it okay.”

  Candace smiled.

  “It’s bullshit, Candace. What are you supposed to do? Bomb every bigot?”

  Candace reached out and stroked Jameson’s cheek. “When people are hurt, they like to punch back. I can’t say that I blame anyone. I don’t have that luxury.”

  “Yeah. And, what the hell is Dana’s problem?”

  “She’s looking out for me—politically.”

  “Fuck that.”

  Candace’s eyes closed and she sighed. Jameson rarely swore. Dana was one of their closest friends. Dana was also Press Secretary. That meant it was her job to tell Candace the truth. “It’s her job.”

  “To chastise you for honesty?”

  “To advise me about the way my remarks are likely to or have been received.”

  “More like manipulated,” Jameson countered.

  Accurate. “Dana isn’t criticizing me; she’s telling me the facts.”

  “It still pisses me off.”

  “I know.”

  Jameson flopped onto her back with a groan. “Do you know what I would like?”

  “What’s that?”

  “One entire day alone with you.”

  “I know the feeling.” Candace crawled into Jameson’s arms.

  “Do you think we’ll ever get that again—ever?”

  “I’m sorry, Jameson.”

  “What? Why are you sorry?”

  Candace propped herself up. “I know you feel like everything is my priority but you.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  Jameson shook her head. “I don’t think that.”

  Candace was doubtful.

  “I don’t. I think there are a lot of people in your ear that don’t believe you have a family.”

  “I wish I could argue with that.”

  “I know the drill,” Jameson said. “You’re my wife. Don’t ask me not to be angry when people take shots at you.”

  Candace let her head fall onto Jameson’s chest. “I love you.”

  Jameson sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  “No.”

  “I am sorry. I want to be supportive.”

  “You are.”

  Jameson pulled Candace closer. “I thought I would get used to it.”

  “You never get used to cruelty.”

  “I don’t know how you do it—stay calm.”

  Candace chuckled. “Scotch helps. And, this.”

  Jameson closed her eyes and relaxed slightly. “Is this visit from Alex and Cassidy to see Cass, or is it to talk to Alex?”

  “A little of both,” Candace admitted. “I think it will be good for all of us.”

  “It’ll be good for Coop.”

  “That too. And for Pearl. I worry about her.”

  “Why are you worried about Pearl?” Jameson wondered.

  “She’s taken a lot on, Jameson.”

  “I know.”

  “When we get back from Europe, I think we need to spend some time at home.”

  “You mean limit travel?” Jameson asked.

  “No, I mean, take a week and head back to New York.”

  Jameson turned to look at Candace. “Candace, you…”

  “I can work anywhere. We both know that.”

  “Yeah, but we both also know that a trip home won’t be perceived as a working trip.”

  “I can’t change what anyone chooses to think.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Completely,” Candace replied. “I need it too. I need the reminder.”

  “Reminder?”

  “Of why I am living in this monstrosity.”

  “You know why.”

  “I do,” Candace admitted. “There are days I struggle to remember, Jameson. My desk is not the ‘Good News’ desk.”

  “I know.”

  “I can’t solve all of it. In fact, I can’t solve most of it. It’s frustrating.”

  Jameson took a moment to consider Candace’s words. She didn’t need to know all the details about Candace’s days, or the myriad of crises Candace faced as President. She knew Candace. Candace was a problem solver, not a problem manager. She smiled at her wife.

  “What?” Candace asked.

  “Maybe you don’t need to solve things.”

  “That’s good because I can’t.”

  “You know what I mean. You tell me all the time that the kids have to learn how to solve things themselves. We can guide them and advise them; ultimately, they have to make their decisions—sink or swim.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want my job?”

  “Hell no.”

  Candace laughed. Jameson wa
s correct. Jameson’s gentle reminder was a keen observation—something Candace wished she could change. She could enact policies. She could propose legislation. She could implore action with her words. She could negotiate with allies and adversaries. She could not compel anyone to change. Even dictators failed in that regard. They might manage to force people to comply for decades—even centuries. The most powerful authoritarians could never compel a human being to change if that person did not want to change. Perhaps, that was the lesson Candace had lost sight of recently. A constant barrage of opinions and competing agendas filled her days. She witnessed natural catastrophes and faced the reality of man-made atrocity daily. She could effect change. She might even be able to force adherence to a policy, but she would never be able to guarantee sustainable change. People had to desire change before it could become lasting. She leaned in and kissed Jameson gently.

  “Thank you,” Candace said.

  “For what? I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes; you did.”

  ***

  Candace sipped her wine and sighed with contentment. She heard Cassidy giggle. “I don’t care,” Candace said. “I think this is the most relaxed I’ve felt in months.”

  “Months? I was thinking at least a couple of years,” Cassidy quipped.

  “You might be right.”

  “I understand.”

  “I know you do. How are you handling Alex’s absences?”

  Cassidy sighed. She’d never grow accustomed to Alex’s career. She supported her wife fully. She loved Alex for Alex. That would never make the days easier. Some part of Cassidy always wondered when the call would come that Alex had been injured, or worse, killed in the line of duty. She’d enjoyed a few years of what most people deemed ordinary life. Alex had worked as an instructor for the Connecticut State Police and coached track at the local high school. There were moments that Cassidy longed for the simplicity of those years. Life was unpredictable, no matter what profession a person chose. Loss was inevitable in life. Cassidy knew that too.

  “How does anyone handle it?” Cassidy replied rhetorically. “I miss her. The reasons for her travel are what makes it difficult.”

  “You mean the risk.”

  “I do. But, also the reasons. If Alex is away it means that someone, somewhere is in danger—more danger than to her. Or, at least, she believes that the threat posed to innocent people outweighs the risks she might confront.” Cassidy took a sip from her wine glass. She looked at Candace thoughtfully. “In that way, I think you and Alex are more alike than you and me.”