Chapter Fourteen
Benchley and I spend the rest of the ride to the White House crying, and then trying to pull ourselves together before we arrive.
There’s nothing elsetotalk about.
Thank god we’ve come from a tragic double funeral for my in-laws, because it means I don’t need to explain why I look like hell when we arrive.
I want Kevin, but I’m not about to call or textand interrupt him right now. Chrisneedshim.
The kids need him.
Besides…this isn’t exactly something for a text thread.
When we roll up to the White House, I try to get Benchley to get out first, but he smiles. “I follow the president, honey. You go first.”
So I do, but I help him out, me and the Secret Service agent who steps in. I once again have Benchley hold my arm and I keep my stepsslow as I lead him inside.
Leo hurries up. “Welcome back, Madam President.”
“Leo, you remember State Senator Benchley Evans.”
“Yes, ma’am, I—”
“Benchley,” he grumbles, back to his old self. “Just call me Benchley, son.”
“Yes, sir.”
The wily old political wolf pats my arm.
We make our way down to the Oval Office, and we stand outside the door for a moment as he studies it.
“Never thoughtI’d ever be here,” he softly says, awestruck.
I wave Leo over and ask him to get the photographer. I want official pics of this day, ones I can frame and hang in the residence. This man isn’t only literally responsible for me being here. Even before the news that rocked my world, I felt this man was one of the key reasons I was here, for the help and advice he gave us in the very beginning ofmy campaign.
Now I understand why he so eagerly helped when, even being Momma’s friend and my godfather, I thought I’d need to sweet-talk him into giving me any crumbs of advice because of our political differences.
In retrospect, it makes sense that he’d produce two driven, intense daughters who are even more politically thirsty than he was. That can’t be a coincidence.
After the officialpictures—including some of him sitting in my chair behind theResoluteDesk—the photographer and Leo leave us alone in the office, where we sit on one of the two sofas to talk.
I hold his hand, because I don’t want to let go.
“Do you have any questions for me?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Not right now. I’m…processing.”
“I’m sorry to drop it on you like this. But I needed to tell you in person.I didn’t want to do this over the phone.”
“Were you really tired back at the funeral?”
He smiles. “Well, Iwas.” His smile fades. “But I knew we’d be alone.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Never change, Dad. Please.”
The tears hit us both at the same time.
I hug him. “Let’s go upstairs to the residence,” I say.
