The Divide

by J. L. Brown

  “You’d better find a way.”

  “I hate lying to her.”

  Why would you lie to me?

  “It can’t be helped.”

  A sob. “What if she never comes out of the coma? What if she dies?”

  “She won’t.”

  “If she does, Paine won’t be happy.”

  “Don’t ever say that name in public again.”

  Jade was falling away from them. She could no longer hear their voices.

  Paine?

  Darkness enveloped her again.

  *

  She was treading water. It felt warm and embracing. Above her she saw a glimmer of light. She knew she must swim toward it.

  If she didn’t, she would die.

  She’d never backed away from a challenge. A fight. Her dad used to say, “For many are called, but few are chosen.” A passage from the Bible. Although he wasn’t a religious man, it was the code he lived by. The way he wanted her to live.

  He would want her to fight.

  Did they fight when they were trapped in a car at the bottom of a ravine off the Pacific Coast Highway? Did they try to come back to her? For her?

  When Jade was a child, her mom would sometimes take her to the convenience store and allow her to buy a bag of M&M’s. But she would let Jade eat only one M&M a day, no matter how much she begged for more. Her mother wanted Jade to learn self-control.

  When her mom wasn’t looking, her dad would sneak the rest of the bag to her.

  Jade wanted to be with them. But she wasn’t ready. Yet.

  She started to swim.

  Fifty yards. Twenty yards. Ten. Five. Three. Two. One. She broke through the water’s surface.

  And opened her eyes.

  “Blimey!” a voice with a British accent said. “She’s awake!”

  Hazy. Everything hazy. Thankfully it wasn’t too bright. She tried to say something, but her mouth wasn’t working. It felt as if it were stuffed with cotton balls.

  The person who’d spoken dashed out of the room. A moment later, a woman in a white coat stood in his place.

  “Welcome back,” said the woman. She had a friendly voice, and her English was precise with a slight Indian accent. “I am Dr. Sati Sangha, the president’s personal physician. And now, it seems, yours as well. You’re in the George Washington University Hospital.”

  “Wa—”

  The doctor reached toward the bedside table and produced a clear plastic cup. She bent the straw to Jade’s lips. The water burned her throat on the way down.

  Jade swallowed. “The president?”

  “She’s fine. Thanks to you. She’s been by to see you. She’s quite worried.”

  “How long?” Jade croaked.

  “You’ve been out for a few days.”

  “Damage?”

  “Nothing permanent. You won’t be working for a while. Or playing basketball.” The doctor patted her arm. “I want you to rest now. You’ve had a lot of visitors.”

  “Who?”

  Jade couldn’t wait for the answer. She fell back asleep.

  Chapter Ninety

  Washington, DC

  “I thought you were angry at me.”

  “I was,” Zoe said. “I am. But you almost died, so I forgive you. Besides, you’re a hero. Again. It’s hard sometimes, being best friends with all this greatness. May I have some of that?”

  Jade was sitting up in bed. Bandages were wrapped around her chest and left arm. She shifted the bowl of Jell-O away from Zoe. “No.”

  The room resembled a living room from a TV sitcom. There was a recliner near the bed, a couch, and a small round table with four chairs. The beeping and hissing noises from the medical equipment were muted.

  “You were lucky. The bullet barely missed your heart.”

  Jade spooned some Jell-O into her mouth.

  “Kyle was there,” Zoe continued. “How was that?”

  Jade stared at her snack as if it were a work of art, while Zoe examined her face for any sign of interest in Kyle.

  “I don’t really remember.”

  Zoe frowned. “That’s too bad. I wanted to hear how it went with Brittney.”

  She regaled Jade of the press coverage from her exploits, how Jade had trended on Twitter for almost an entire day, with people of all ages posting videos of themselves diving into the air and landing on the floor or the ground (“Jading”), and that she had been named one of People magazine’s Most Beautiful People.

  “Must be a down year,” Jade said.

  “You’re really famous now!”

  Jade eventually tuned her friend out. Something tugged at her. Something about Kyle. And Zoe.

  What was it?

  A few minutes after Zoe left, there was a knock at her hospital room door.

  Kyle Madison popped her head in. “Up for another visitor?”

  “Of course.”

  At least Zoe had left. What a disaster that would’ve been.

  Kyle entered with a dozen roses.

  The clack of Kyle’s high heels stopped as she looked around the room. “Oh my.”

  Most of the horizontal surfaces were covered with get-well cards and flower arrangements from friends, coworkers, former teammates, other students from the tae kwon do school, and the president of the United States of America.

  Shifting some vases from other well-wishers, Kyle placed hers in a prominent position on the table.

  She sat in the chair next to the bed and leaned forward, hands clasped, arms resting on her legs. She wore a gray shirt with black pants. Her makeup and hair were impeccable.

  “I finally saw you in action,” Kyle said. “You saved her life. All our lives.” She touched Jade’s hand. The skin on Kyle’s finger was lighter where the engagement ring had been. “I, for one, will be forever grateful. Thank you.”

  “I was only doing my job,” Jade said.

  Kyle tilted her head. “I thought that was the Secret Service’s job.”

  “Yeah… well,” Jade said.

  “When in Rome?”

  “Something like that.” Jade paused. “Did you know her?”

  “Who?”

  “Brooklyn.”

  “Who?”

  “The secret service agent.”

  Kyle pulled her hand away. “No.”

  “You yelled at her.”

  “Everyone was yelling.”

  They were silent for a moment.

  “In town on business?” Jade said.

  Kyle didn’t answer at first, turning instead to gaze out the window. She turned back to Jade. “I haven’t gone home. I’ve been here since… the assassination attempt.”

  “Why?” Jade said. “What about your businesses?”

  “That’s what technology is for.”

  “I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

  “Because of you, silly.”

  Jade wasn’t sure what to say, so she did what she did best: deflected. “Is Summers here too?”

  Kyle crossed her legs, resting her elbow on her thigh, chin in hand. “I wouldn’t know.”

  Silence again.

  Jade said, “I enjoyed the time we spent together in Seattle, but—”

  “When I saw you lying there,” Kyle said, “I didn’t know whether you were alive or dead. Whether you would live or die. Things suddenly became clear to me. My feelings became clear.” She gazed at Jade, her eyes as blue as a perfect sea. “I told Brittney about my feelings for you.”

  Jade was speechless.

  “Don’t say a word. We’ll talk about this later. I’ve realized tomorrow isn’t promised.”

  Jade looked at Kyle. She felt… nothing.

  “I—”

  They both turned at the knock on the door. Kyle was agitated at the interruption. Jade was relieved.

  At the threshold stood Professor Alaia Bennett, carrying a stack of books.

  Jade smiled. “Hi.”

  Mouth parted, Kyle looked from Alaia to Jade. “Did I realize it too late
?”

  Chapter Ninety-One

  The White House, Washington, DC

  Whitney knocked on Emma’s bedroom door.

  “Hello?” said a female voice that was not her daughter’s.

  She frowned. “Emma?”

  Talking to Cole the night before had made her think of mistakes she’d made with her own children. Chandler had been avoiding her, staying in his room and leaving it only for work. They still hadn’t spoken. She should have made more of an effort. How could she bring a divided country together if she couldn’t do the same for her family? She was a mother first. Other mothers found the time.

  The door cracked open, revealing half of Megan’s face. Emma had insisted that Megan come with her to the White House. “Are you looking for Em?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Hold on a minute, Madam President. She’s just getting out of the shower.”

  Whitney debated whether to leave but remained where she was.

  Megan called out to Emma. “It’s your mom!”

  A moment later, Emma emerged from her room, closing the door behind her. Her hair was dry. “Mom.”

  “I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine. We were studying.”

  Did college students typically study in the shower these days?

  “I’ll let you… study.”

  “That reminds me, Mom, I have something to tell you.”

  Whitney looked at her, questioning.

  Her daughter hesitated. “Megan and I are sort of a couple.”

  “Sort of.”

  “Well, we are a couple.”

  Emma’s secret service detail must know. Who else? Obviously the press hadn’t caught on yet.

  “I see.”

  Emma exhaled. “There you go again.”

  “Forgive me, but my daughter just came out to me.” She glanced around the hall. There was no one there. “Perhaps we should talk about this some other time.”

  “Will there ever be a good time?”

  The news wasn’t a total surprise. The noise that Whitney heard last night—the same noise she’d heard last time Emma and Megan had spent the night in the White House—was Emma sneaking off to the Queens’ Bedroom.

  A mother knew.

  After a moment, Emma said, “I didn’t think so. I thought you would be cool with it, given your politics. Or is tolerance reserved for your base?”

  “I don’t care that you’re gay. I’m upset that you didn’t tell me.” She paused. “We used to be close.”

  “We’re still close, Mom. Just because we don’t talk every day doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

  “Emma,” Whitney said, placing her hands on both of her daughter’s shoulders, “I love you, and I respect who you are. I’m proud to be your mother, and I can’t wait to become better acquainted with Megan.”

  “That’s great, Mom,” Emma said, “because I have something else to tell you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Megan and I… we’re going to live together, after the semester is over.”

  *

  “When you weren’t in your library, I thought I might find you here.”

  Whitney remained in the plank position. “I wanted to be alone.”

  Her husband took a step into the White House Residence gym. “Where’s Nicki?”

  Nicki was her private yoga instructor.

  “As I said, I wanted to be alone.”

  “Even from me?”

  “I will not repeat myself again.”

  Grayson crossed the room and stopped a few feet away from her. He sat cross-legged on the floor.

  Whitney clenched her butt cheeks and sucked in her stomach. Her palms pressed into the yoga mat, a small tremor shooting up her forearms. She had been holding the pose for a while.

  She lowered herself, not wanting him to see her shake. Matching his cross-legged position, she faced him.

  Classical spa music played through the in-wall speakers, the relaxing sounds juxtaposed by the tension between them.

  “While I’ve been here,” he said, “I’ve had time to think. About what’s important.”

  She waited.

  “You. Us. I’m back.”

  “What about… ?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Another mistake?” she said.

  He opened his mouth, then closed it.

  The first time he engaged in an affair with their next-door neighbor in Missouri, he claimed it was a one-night stand. It was a mistake, the result of consuming too much wine.

  Now Grayson’s eyes beseeched hers. “It’s over. For good this time. I’ve learned that I need to keep the politics and our relationship separate. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

  That word. Again.

  She stared at the face of the man she had loved for most of her life. The father of two of her children. Her best friend.

  “No,” she said, “you won’t.”

  He exhaled with relief. “Thank you. I promise to be the husband I should’ve been.”

  “I hope she appreciates that, since you weren’t for me. Every time it got hard, you left, and I had to get through it alone. And now I’ve realized that I don’t need you.” Rising, she walked by him without looking down. “Now get the fuck out of my house.”

  Chapter Ninety-Two

  Washington, DC

  “Hi.”

  Jade looked up from the novel she was reading, Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston.

  She hadn’t seen him in almost six months. His face still showed the aftermath of the Rockefeller Center bombing, although the scars were healing.

  “Hi,” she said, setting the open book facedown beside her on the bed.

  Entering the room, he sat in the chair that Alaia Bennett had vacated an hour ago.

  He took in the books on the nightstand: The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison. Native Son by Richard Wright. Kindred by Octavia Butler.

  “Light reading,” he said. “I detect a theme.”

  “A friend brought them over,” she said. “You look great.”

  “Liar. I’m supposed to be saying that to you. Thanks for seeing me.”

  “At least I put you on the list,” she said, teasing. Then, “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

  “I know the feeling. I can’t imagine that lying here all day suits you.”

  She smiled. “No. How’s it going?”

  “My doctor said I should make a complete recovery. Additional surgery will take care of the rest.” He surveyed her bandages. “We make quite a pair, don’t we?”

  “I’m glad you came.”

  He shrugged. “I missed you.”

  She should respond in kind, but instead she allowed the silence to drag on too long.

  Finally she asked, “Back at work?”

  “Not yet. But it won’t be long. President Fairchild thinks it’s important to show the public that terrorism didn’t win.” He pointed to his face. “I’m going to need lots of makeup.”

  As the White House press secretary, Blake gave on-camera daily briefings to the American people.

  She decided to trust him. She needed to.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about our discussions,” she said. “About the coincidences. Your conspiracy theories. I think it’s a good thing you’re back at work.”

  “Why?” he said.

  She told him about Zoe’s tattoos, her reaction when Jade confronted her, and her warning. Blake had worked with Zoe on political campaigns.

  Jade stared at him, gauging his reaction to what she was going to say next.

  “I think Fairchild had something to do with Judy Porter’s murder.”

  He looked into her eyes, his tone flat. “I do too.”

  *

  “Hey, Coach.”

  Taking a hesitant step into the room, LaKeisha smiled, but it wasn’t as bright as it once was.

  She glanced around as she sat in the chair next to the hospital bed. “Nicer than my
house.”

  “Mine too.”

  “How can you afford this?”

  “I can’t,” Jade said, looking around the room herself. “Let’s just say our president is grateful.”

  “You’re the best FBI agent ever. You’re friends with the president. You were a great basketball player. And you’re not a bad coach either.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  “Some of my AAU teammates can’t believe you’re my coach. You’re the truth. It means you’re the shit.” LaKeisha grinned. “Oops. Sorry, Coach.”

  Jade smiled. “I know what it means.”

  Jade thought about her plan with Veritas to flush out the killer. It almost worked. Too well.

  “Are you in pain?”

  Jade shook her head. “The nurses are taking care of me.” She felt groggy from the medication; the nurses had administered the drugs before the next round of pain could commence. “Sorry I couldn’t coach the spring league team this year.”

  “No worries. We knew you were busy.”

  “How’s AAU going?”

  “We’re going to nationals next month. New Orleans.”

  “Next time you find yourself in a potentially compromising situation, leave.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Coach.” Subdued, she said, “I learned my lesson.”

  Jade studied her face.

  “What lesson is that?”

  “I need to pick better friends,” LaKeisha said, forcing a laugh.

  “No, really,” Jade said. Although this girl looked tough, she held a lot of things inside. Jade needed to draw her out.

  LaKeisha looked down at her red long-sleeve Adidas T-shirt and black track pants. “That it’s different for me. Because of what I look like. How I dress.” She pulled at a braid. “My hair.”

  “It can be. Yes.”

  LaKeisha’s eyes met hers. “Is it that way for you, Coach?”

  Jade wondered if LaKeisha would ever trust the system again. Jade had been fortunate that she hadn’t suffered much racism during her life, but she wasn’t immune.

  She believed Barringer was a racist, for example.

  “Sometimes. As a black person, your standards must be higher.”

  The girl’s expression was anguished behind her cool facade. “How do you deal with it?”

  Jade thought for a moment, not wanting to give LaKeisha a pat answer. “I try to focus on me. What I’m trying to do. Being the best me I can be.” Jade held her eyes. “Racism isn’t about you. There isn’t anything wrong with you. Or the color of your skin. It’s about them. Something is wrong with them. Their insecurity. Their fear of uncertainty. You need to keep doing you.” She thought about what Alaia had said to her. “You’re descended from kings and queens. You are their wildest dreams.”