Sam was appalled to hear that. “Tell them I’m sorry for the added workload and to deny all interviews on my behalf. I’ll never understand why the media thinks they should have unfettered access to my every move.”
“You don’t understand that? Really?”
“Well, I do, but I hate it. Right now, I need to go be with Nick as he handles a massive tragedy.”
“Go do that. We’ll hold down the fort here.”
“Thanks, Cap.” Sam headed for the morgue exit and ran into Chief Medical Examiner Dr. Lindsey McNamara, who was in tears.
“It’s the most awful thing,” Lindsey said, hugging Sam.
“It is.”
“Are you going to the White House?”
“I am. I figured Nick could use the support.”
“Terry texted me that everyone there is a mess.” Lindsey’s fiancé, Terry O’Connor, was Nick’s chief of staff. “And right before Christmas. I just can’t handle it.”
“I know. It’s horrific. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“I’ll be here, and I’ll be praying for you both as you lead the country through this.”
“We need all the prayers we can get.”
“You’ll do it beautifully. I have no doubt.”
“Thank you.” Sam left her friend with a sad smile as she headed out into the blustery cold, wishing she had as much confidence in herself as Lindsey did. The eyes of the entire world would be on Nick, and her by extension, as they tried to console a grieving city and nation. No life experience or education could prepare anyone to deal with something like this.
Vernon and Jimmy were in the black SUV that accompanied Sam everywhere she went these days. When Vernon saw her coming, he rolled down the driver’s side window. “I assume you’ve heard the news about the shooting.”
“Yes, I have, and I’m heading to the White House to be with Nick.”
“We’ll be right behind you.”
When she’d agreed to have a detail trailing her, she’d insisted on continuing to drive herself. As she navigated the short distance “home” to the White House, she tried to muster the courage it would take to get through the next few hours and days. People would be looking to them for solace and compassion, and they’d do their best to provide whatever was needed even as their own hearts ached for the victims and their families.
This is what it will be like, she thought. For the next three years, anytime something awful or tragic happened in the country or the world, people would look to Nick—and her—for guidance on how to handle it.
She swallowed hard, hoping she, and they, had the fortitude to provide the kind of leadership that would be needed to guide the country through such a senseless tragedy.
When she arrived at the White House and was waved through the gate, she parked at the door to the East Wing, where her offices were located. She went right to the office of her chief of staff, Lilia Van Nostrand, who dabbed at tears with a tissue as she watched the coverage from Des Moines.
“Hey,” Sam said, startling the other woman.
“Oh, you’re here.” She stood and came around the desk.
Sam hugged her. “I’m here.”
“It’s so awful.”
“Yes, it is. I’m going to find my husband.”
Lilia nodded. “It’ll be good for him to have you here.”
“That’s what I figured. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“I’ll be here.”
Sam headed from the East Wing to the West, realizing at some point over the last few weeks that the massive White House campus had become more familiar and less daunting.
Nick’s vice presidential reception team had moved to the lobby of the Oval Office and waved her right through when she arrived. They, too, looked as if they’d been crying. Hell, the whole country was probably crying today.
Nick was seated at the Resolute desk, surrounded by aides, all of whom seemed to be talking as he kept half an eye on a television that had been brought in. Only when he glanced away from the TV did he see her in the doorway, a faint smile lighting up his weary face.
“Excuse me,” he said to the others as he stood and came to greet her with the kind of hug he specialized in. “Thanks for coming.”
“I figured you might need this,” she said, holding on even tighter, her arms around his waist inside his suit coat.
“You figured absolutely right.”
“What’s the latest?”
“Forty-two confirmed dead, thirty of them children under the age of ten. The gunman, who is among the dead, was a disgruntled former employee of one of the families attending the event. The five of them are among the dead.”
“Dear God,” she said, blinking back tears. She saw and heard a lot of horrible things in the course of her work, but this was on a whole other level. “What can I do?”
“It helps that you’re here. How long can you stay?”
“As long as you need me.”
He linked her hand with his and brought her with him to rejoin his team as they worked to manage the unfolding crisis.
Sam stood by his side later that afternoon as he again addressed the nation to express their profound sorrow and disbelief at the nightmare unfolding in Iowa.
“These were babies,” he said, his voice breaking, “going to see Santa, full of excitement for Christmas. The person who perpetrated this cowardly act did so out of vengeance toward a former employer. He was known to have had significant mental health challenges, but had refused any form of treatment. I took an oath to preserve and protect the Constitution of the United States, and I shall do so with every fiber of my being, including protecting the right to bear arms afforded by the Second Amendment. But we must find a way to keep assault weapons out of the hands of people who shouldn’t have them. I promise you here and now that finding a way to make that happen will be a cornerstone of my administration. I ask people of goodwill who have watched this tragedy unfold today to join me in this effort to come together as a nation to work toward solutions that would make this country safer for all of us, especially our children. Sam and I send our deepest condolences to the families whose lives were shattered today and to the people of Des Moines and Iowa who are coping with this unspeakable tragedy. We will keep you in our prayers during the difficult days and weeks to come.”
He didn’t take any questions because he didn’t want to debate sensible gun control measures. Not tonight. There’d be time for that later.
“I need to see my own kids,” Nick said after he and Sam left the press room.
“Me, too.”
Chapter Four
They climbed the stairs to the residence where they found the kids in the kitchen under the supervision of Sam’s stepmother, Celia, who’d moved into the White House to help with the children. After the recent loss of her husband, Skip, Celia had welcomed the distraction that came with being part of their chaotic life. As she hugged Sam and Nick, she, too, looked as if she’d been crying.
Their fourteen-year-old son, Scotty, was subdued as he stroked Skippy’s soft fur while the twins chattered on, blissfully unaware of the tragedy that had occurred in Des Moines. Sam hoped to keep them unaware. Her phone rang, and she stepped out of the kitchen to take the call from Archie. “Hey,” she said. “What’s up?”