I nod, fighting back tears once again threatening to sting my eyes.
I’m Kevin’s friend, his boss.
To them, I’m not family. They probably didn’t even vote for me.
I offer him a hug, which he accepts.
I try not to think of the optics, because it makes me feel like shit to do so.
Meanwhile, Kev is now standing next to her coffin, his hand on it, head bowed as Leo keeps an arm around him.
That should be me and Chris there flanking him.
He’sours.
Once we step apart, her father speaks again. “I hope you don’t mind that we don’t ask you back to our house,ma’am. But we wanted to have a small—”
“Oh, no, it’s all right. I completely understand. It’s okay. You need privacy.”
Kevin cries. This will probably end up on the news, the picture of the grieving ex-husband.
Thank god he was with us in the White House and isn’t a suspect.
“She always spoke very highly of you,” Mr. Baltazar says. “She enjoyed working for you. I know our politics are different,but from how she talked, she believed in you and what you were doing. She thought you were a good person. She said she was looking forward to the election and continuing her position with you. She considered you and your husband her friends, and she loved the kids.”
I force a sad smile as Leo, with Kevin heavily leaning on him, helps Kev step away from the coffin and they start after Mrs. Baltazar.
“I consider her a friend, too. Kevin vouched for her in the beginning, told me to trust her, and I did. She was amazing. We consider her part of our family.” It’s hard for me to think of her in past-tense, and I sometimes slip and refer to her as if she’s still alive.
He dabs at his eyes with a tissue. “Well, thank you again, President Samuels. Have a safe trip.”
“Thank you.”
He turns and followsthe others, and I still don’t move.
I wait until they have all disappeared over the slight rise between us and the parking lot.
“Hon,” Chris whispers.
“No.”
I’m not a religious person. I believe in the law, I believe in science.
Even still, I try to seek out better angels, within others, and especially myself.
Chris shadows me, once again in Special Agent mode as I walk over to the coffinand rest my hand on it.
“I’m sorry, Laur,” I whisper. “I promise we’ll take care of him and love him.” I kiss my hand and touch the coffin, as does Chris, and then I finally allow him to lead me back to the motorcade.
* * * *
Chris asksonething of the press corps riding in Air Force One on the way back to DC, and that is they do not film the children, or take pictures of them, or “interview”them. To please, for this one day, to treat them like normal children and just be their friends.
Once we’re wheels-up and reach cruising altitude, and with Yasmine shadowing them, Chris lets the kids roam the cabin, where they can forget for a little while that we were at a funeral for a woman they’d loved as family. They have fun running up and down the main corridor and talking to the crewand press.
I close myself in the office with Chris, locking the door behind us. There, he sits in the big chair behind my desk, and I curl up in his lap and cry.
There is an enormous hole in our lives right now. I know I can’t claim greater suffering than Kev and the Baltazars, but I need some private grieving of my own and don’t want to tie up the front suite when the kids might want to gothere, plus Elliot’s traveling with us.
