“I guess we’ll see about that.”
And then he’s gone, the front door slamming behind him, and I’m left trying to rationalize how I can feel both elated and terrified all at the same time. And to what end? Who will pay the price for my dance with the devil? Because if it’s Rachel or even Rick, I know I won’t survive it.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how one looks at it, I wouldn’t have to wait long for the other shoe to drop.
“Rumors of Dissention Among White House Staffers Heat Up”
Chapter 9
I did what you wanted
Taylor Swift’s “I Knew You Were Trouble” blares from my nightstand, making the pulse pounding in my head so much worse. I clench my eyes closed and blindly slap around for the offending piece of metal and glass. Once it’s firmly in my hand, I crack one eye open and hit the button to stop my alarm. I feel hungover, but it’s not alcohol that made me regret my life choices. It was a man and a badly broken heart. And the worst part is? I did the breaking. Again.
I thought the song was ironic, given my tumultuous relationship with Rick, but now it just hurts. Maybe he’s not the one who’s trouble; maybe it’s me.
After Rick slammed my front door behind him, I quickly scooped up my clothing previously discarded in a sex fueled haze and made a break for my room. I can’t imagine anything being more awkward than being caught in a walk of shame by your eight-year-old child. I know I’m not a perfect parent, but that feels like it crosses into bad parenting territory.
I had shut my bedroom door behind me and dumped my clothes into the hamper before pulling on a T-shirt and a clean pair of panties. I pulled the covers back on my bed and climbed in. And only when I was safely tucked in the thick covers did I let the rest of my tears fall. I cried for Rick and for me. I cried for Rachel and the life she should have but will never get to know. I cried for all the friends I’ve made and will have to leave behind. They will never forgive me for what I have to do in the morning.
I swing my legs over the side of my bed and sit up, and then I rub my hands over my eyes and hope the blinding pain behind them will ease if even just a little bit. And then I push up from the down-filled softness that calls to me to stay and sleep away the day, but that’s not fair to Rachel. That’s not being a good mom. Even in the early days before she was born, I never let myself wallow. I always put one foot in front of the other, because it was always for her.
I make my way into the bathroom and turn the taps as hot as I know I can stand it. I strip off my T-shirt and panties and catch the last traces of Rick on my skin before I toss my clothes into the hamper. I step into the shower and let the water and steam envelop me. I’m tempted to cry some more and really feel sorry for myself, but Rachel can’t be late for school, and I can’t be late for my meeting with Grace.
I wash quickly and then shut off the taps. I notice I smell like lavender and vanilla like usual now as I grab a fluffy towel from the rack and wipe the droplets from my body. I make my way into my closet and pull on a matching bra and panty set and then slip my favorite tank dress off the hanger. It’s olive-green with cream stripes, and the best part of all is the hidden pockets. I slide my feet into tan leather ballet flats, the heel of the working mom, and slip a pair of gold hoops onto my ears.
I make my way back into the bathroom and twist my hair up into a messy ballet bun on top of my head and do a five-minute makeup routine of soft pinks and golds. Sometimes, it’s nice being a pro. I know how to look good in less than ten minutes, which is a life-saving skill, because I am always running late.
I quickly head down the hall and knock on Rachel’s door. I push it open and see her blink her eyes against the early-morning sun.
“Morning, sunshine girl.” I smile at her.
“Morning, Mom.”
“Get dressed, and I’ll have breakfast waiting for you downstairs,” I tell her before making my way down the stairs and to the kitchen.
I quickly down more than the suggested amount of Advil and half a pot of coffee before I start making sandwiches and packing lunches. I make sure Rachel’s backpack is packed, with her jacket hanging over her pack on the hook, so it’s all easy for her to see when she’s ready to leave the house.
She rushes down the stairs right as I’m pouring her a bowl of Cheerios, and I smile against the clanging in my head the sound of the cereal filling the bowl causes.
“Yes!” she cheers. “I love that cereal.”
“I know you do. That’s why I buy it.” My kid is weirdly healthy most of the time, our Chinese takeout and ice cream feast nights notwithstanding. I’m pretty sure she gets that from her father too. Lord knows, I love a good pizza. “Eat quick. We gotta run.”
“Okay,” she says before diving into her breakfast while I sip my coffee.
When she’s done, she races upstairs to brush her teeth and then races back down again. She’s kind of like having a really busy puppy. Her uniform polo is hanging out of her tan shorts in clumps, making me laugh.
“I think you need to fix your shirt,” I tell her.
“Why does it have to be tucked in anyway?” she grumbles. “Uniforms are dumb.”
“Uniforms are supposed to ‘level the playing field,’” I quote the information pamphlet on the private school she attends, making her laugh. “Plus, you love your new teachers and friends.”
“I know,” she concedes. “And I like being near Dad.” My heart pangs. She doesn’t know we’ll be leaving soon. She’s going to hate me for it, but when she’s older, I hope she understands why I’m going to do what I have to.
“Grab your stuff,” I tell her. “We gotta hit the road.”
Rachel slips her jacket on and plucks her backpack from the hook by the door to the garage. I hit the button to open the overhead garage door and lock the door to the house on my way out. We climb into the car, and I pull out of the driveway and head toward the fancy prep school Rick was able to secure midyear for our only daughter.
She’s not a morning person at all. When she was in preschool, Rachel would routinely put herself back to bed when I woke her up in the morning. But this morning, she’s more subdued than normal.
“Mom, are you mad at Dad?” she asks.
“No!” I answer quickly. “Why would you think that?”
“Well, last night, you said he couldn’t come to dinner, and then after, you guys were weird,” she says, shrugging. “I don’t know.”
“We’re just learning how to be parents together,” I explain. “I’ve had you all to myself for eight years now, and Dad just wants to get to be in Rachel’s world too.”
“I like that,” she says as I pull into the drop-off line at her school.
“I thought you would.” I smile back.
“I love you, Mom!” she says just before she throws open the door and jumps out.
“I love you too! Have a good day.” And then one of the teachers smiles at me before shutting the door that my daughter forgot to close when she saw one of her friends and took off.
I spend the rest of my commute wondering how I’m going to tell my best friend I need to leave. I can’t tell them the truth, but I also can’t be cruel. I wish I could tell Grace and Jules what’s really going on, but then Grace would want to involve the president, and involving Jake would mean involving Rick. And that’s a risk I just can’t take.
I park my car in the staff lot and badge in through the marines guarding the staff entrances. I smile and thank them for scanning my purse and then make my way down the hall. I’m almost to my little office amongst the first lady’s staff spaces, when I see Rick stalking down the hall like an angry tiger. I duck back into a little alcove.
“Have you seen Cara?” I hear him ask someone.
“No, I haven’t,” they reply. “I’m sure she’ll be here eventually. Is she supposed to work today?”
I am, but I’ll call in sick if it means avoiding Rick for another day. Although he lives next door, so I’m sure that won’t help matters. Rick w
ill just come over when he’s tired of being avoided.
“She must have hit some traffic,” the other guy says. “I have a meeting. I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah,” Rick says absentmindedly. “I’ll see you around.”
I stay hidden in my spot until I hear footsteps trail away. My heart is beating so loud in my ears that I’m surprised I could hear them over it. My phone buzzes in the oversized hobo bag on my shoulder. Thank God I keep it on silent or it would have given me away. I pull it out of my purse and feel my stomach plummet to my toes.
RICK: Where are you? We need to talk.
I don’t even unlock it. I just read his terse message on the lock screen. I don’t want him to get a Read message and know I know he’s looking for me and I’m hiding somewhere. Unfortunately for me, another message buzzes before I can drop the offending phone back in my bag.
RICK: I know you’re here. The marine on duty told me you checked in.
Oh good, now he’s using the White House Security Detail to keep tabs on his ex-wife. Real classy, asshole. My heart pangs in my chest even though I’m irritated with him for his invasion into my work life. I still hurt. I want to be near him. I would run to him and tell him everything if I could, but it’s just not safe.
RICK: I have to go into a meeting. Everyone is waiting on me, and the look Jake is giving me now is not making me happy.
Thank God he’s going to be occupied. Hopefully, I can get in and out before he’s done with his meeting. I’d like to be long gone. Hopefully the president is feeling longwinded this morning.
RICK: You better be in your office when I’m done here.
I am not going to be anywhere near my office by the time he’s done. With any luck, my daughter and I will be halfway to Canada by then. Or Aruba.
RICK: If I have to hunt you down, I’m going to be pissed. But I WILL hunt you down.
Good luck with that. I drop my phone back into my purse and make my way to my office, which by another miracle is as far away from Rick’s as it could possibly be. It’ll take him a hot minute to get to me, and I’m going to be gone by the time his meeting is over. Rick can try to find me, but I’ve gone to great lengths before to stay away from him and to protect our daughter. I’d do it again.
I let myself into my office and lock the door behind me. My nerves are too frayed this morning to be bothered by anyone. I’m struggling to keep my mask in place today, and if anyone saw me, they would know that everything is wrong. And then they would tell Rick. In hindsight, the fact that everyone is all too happy to tattle on me to Rick should have been a major red flag.
I push out a frustrated sigh, sit down at my desk, and fire up my computer. Grace has a state dinner, a school visit, and a tour of a new battered women’s shelter she will need to be styled for. She’s so fun to dress, because not only is she gorgeous, but she has incredible taste and a flair for fashion, while being known as accessible and down to earth in her Louboutins. Well, she was until Jake made her give them up the more visibly pregnant she’s become.
I would love making these outfits on a regular day, but today, my heart just isn’t into it. I send links to the outfit pieces I want her to consider in an e-mail. Because she has such a great sense of style and what works for her body type, it doesn’t take her long to make a decision. I chose an emerald-green flowing chiffon gown for the state dinner. It has a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves of the sheer material and a black satin belt that will show off her growing bump to a T. For the school visit, a baby-blue maternity dress with cream-colored polka dots and nude leather ballet flats. And for the shelter tour, a black-and-white polka dot maternity blouse, black jeggings with black leather ballet flats, and a winter-white hip-length coat.
I think she’s going to love them all and they will be a go. The two more casual outfits are ready to wear and already in my online cart in her sizes, but it’s the gown that will be a little more difficult. Not really. It’s by a local designer who loves to dress Grace. All it takes is a quick text message, and he’ll have the dress in a garment bag and halfway here to pin it to her.
But when I pull my phone out of my bag, I see the notification for more text messages. I must not have heard it in my bag. I know Rick is irritated, but not this angry. In time, he will see this is the way it was always meant to be.
Only, when I open my text app to message Xavier about his green dress, I see the latest messages aren’t from Rick at all but from a blocked number. My heart races as I tap the word UNKNOWN, where a number should be. I shouldn’t open it; I know I shouldn’t. Only bad things can come from this message.
UNKNOWN: You should have listened.
My breath saws in and out of my lungs and not in a good way. It feels like I can’t get enough air as I read the warnings and look at the picture that followed.
UNKNOWN: [PICTURE]
It’s a photo of Rick and me on my sofa last night. We’re both naked except for my bralette I was wearing. My eyes are closed and my head is tipped back in ecstasy. You can see all of the tension on display in Rick’s honed muscles. The veins in his neck are exposed, and his teeth are clenched tight.
I quickly type out a reply before it’s too late.
ME: I did what you asked. I ended things.
It feels like my heart seizes in my lungs while I wait for a reply.
UNKNOWN: Not soon enough. You should have listened to my warning. Now it’s too late.
My fingers type furiously. I grab my bag and scoop up my things while I wait for a reply. I have to get to Rachel before it’s too late.
ME: NO! It’s not too late. I did listen. Rachel and I are leaving this afternoon. We’re getting out of town and will go far away.
I don’t even bother to shut down my computer or turn off the lights. I’ll send a message to security from the road. I don’t have time to waste on menial tasks. I’ll e-mail Grace from wherever we are tonight and say goodbye. Apologize.
UNKNOWN: It’s too late.
No, it can’t be. I’ll get to her before it’s too late. I have to.
And then the video comes through.
UNKNOWN: [VIDEO]
I press Play, even though I don’t want to. I have to. The thumbnail is a picture of my daughter looking scared and worried.
“Mom,” she says. “Mom. I’m scared. I need you.”
UNKNOWN: You should have done what I told you to.
And then my vision dims and my knees buckle. I hold on but barely. Everything I sacrificed was a waste. Without Rachel, I have nothing.
There’s only one thing left to do. Without knowing it, this monster just changed the rules of the game. I have nothing to hide now.
Checkmate, motherfucker.
“FLOTUS Heads Up Powerful ‘Girl Tribe’ Inspiring Female Friendships”
Chapter 10
Nothing left
Nine years earlier…
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face as I walk through the baby section at Target. In my basket is the cutest little baby blanket with an anchor stitched in the corner and matching little baby socks. Whether it’s a boy or a girl, they’re going to use this blanket no matter what. I am so proud of their daddy, and I will make sure they are too.
This morning when I woke up, I puked my guts up, just like I did yesterday morning, and the one before that. I brushed my teeth, threw on some running shorts and a tank, and headed for the PX that’s around the corner from our apartment. I grabbed the first pregnancy test my fingers could touch and paid for it before jumping in my car and heading back to the apartment to take it.
I didn’t even read the directions. I mean, how hard could it be? Step one: Pee on the stick. Step two: Wait the longest three minutes of your life. I had set my old-fashioned egg timer. I chewed on the cuticle of my thumb nail the entire time it ticked away. But when it finally dinged, I held my breath and looked down to where it rested on the bathroom counter.
Two pink lines peered up at me, and I knew that in a few sho
rt months, it would be Rick’s gorgeous dark-hazel eyes that peered up at me from the face of our child. And I could not wait. Being married to Rick is a dream come true. He is loving and considerate. He even calls as often as he can from overseas. And I know he will be a great dad. This is all a fairy tale come to life for a girl with no family who grew up in foster care. I’ve never had anyone or anything, no people to call my own, so having an amazing husband and a baby on the way—what more could I ask for?
I carry my little red shopping basket over the crook of my arm as I look at baby bottles and pacifiers, onesies and little caps. I let my fingertips glide over a gray wooden crib, and I’m instantly in love. Boy or girl, this is the crib; I know it. I’m excited about it all, and I can’t wait to tell Rick when he calls home tonight.
I decide I should probably pick up some prenatal vitamins and a quart of milk before I check out, because I’m out at home. I walk through the pharmacy section and choose a bottle of vitamins in a happy pink bottle and then head to the dairy section. I’m scanning the aisle for milk and pick up some little cheddar bites in a bag and drop them into my basket when my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number, and I wonder if Rick was able to call sooner than he thought he would.
“Hello?” I answer quickly.
There are a series of pops and clicks before a robotic voice speaks. I’m about to hang up, and then he says my name. “Don’t hang up, Cara.”
“Who is this?” I ask. I’m not playing games with any telemarketers today. Nothing is going to ruin my mood.
“You’re going to get a text in a second,” the voice says. “Look at it. And know that I’m serious.”
“Serious about what?” I snap as I reach for the milk in the cooler. My fingers curl around the handle and I pluck it from the shelf.
“Serious about the fact that I will have your precious husband killed if you don’t do exactly as I say.” The milk slips from my fingers and crashes to the floor, exploding all over. “I see that I have your attention now.”
Caught by the Chief of Staff (A Presidential Affair Book 2) Page 9