First Lady

by Philips, Susan Elizabeth

  He looked at Nealy. “Bertis and Charlie said they'd keep the girls company tonight so we could go out to dinner without you worrying about them. How about it?”

  She smiled. “Okay.”

  “Good. It's a date.”

  Thinking about the evening ahead, along with the limitations of her wardrobe, kept her from obsessing over the girls. She didn't want to go out on her first date with Mat wearing shorts, but she'd also said she wouldn't leave the house, so she consulted Willow Grove's yellow pages and made some phone calls. Before long, she had a list.

  Bertis agreed to pick up everything for her while Charlie did some maintenance work on the Airstream. By late afternoon, the older woman had bustled back in with the items Nealy had chosen over the phone.

  The straps on the high-heeled shoes pinched, but they were sexy and she didn't regret them. And the short tangerine maternity dress had a deeply scooped neckline, so at least it looked good from the bust up. Her favorite item, however, was a delicate black and gold choker with a tiny beaded heart that rested in the hollow of her throat.

  She put everything away until later and settled in the kitchen with Bertis. They were drinking glasses of the sun tea she'd made earlier when Lucy charged in, extending her arm to display the bandage.

  “It was so gross. You should have been there. The needle was this big, and they took out a ton of blood, and it really hurt, and Mat fainted.”

  “I didn't faint!” Mat was trying to placate a very fussy baby as he came into the kitchen, but his eyes were on Nealy. He seemed to be reassuring himself that she was still safe.

  “Almost,” Lucy retorted. “You got real white and your eyes shut.”

  “I was thinking.”

  “About fainting.”

  Button's matted hair and creased cheek indicated she'd just awakened. She had a bandage on the inside of her small arm, just as Mat and Lucy did. On a baby, however, it looked cruel, and Nealy felt an irrational stab of anger at Mat for having forced her to undergo something so painful.

  The baby squirmed in his arms. Her whimpers turned into sobs, and Lucy went to her. “Come here, Button.” She held out her arms, but the baby batted them away and howled louder.

  Mat shifted her to his shoulder. “I swear she screamed for forty miles. She only fell asleep about ten minutes ago.”

  “If your arm was as small as hers, you'd be crying, too,” Nealy snapped.

  Guilt ruined the scowl he tried to give her. He began to walk the baby around the kitchen, but she refused to settle down, so he took her into the living room. Before long, Nealy heard the faint sound of a cow mooing, but the baby's screams continued unabated.

  “Bring her here and let me try,” Bertis called out. But when he returned, Button only screamed louder and twisted her head until her teary eyes came to rest on Nealy.

  Her bottom lip protruded, and she looked so pitiful that Nealy could hardly bear it. She rose and moved toward the miserable infant, although why she thought Button would come to a second-stringer like herself after she'd already rejected her favorite people, she couldn't imagine.

  To her astonishment, Button reached out. Nealy took her in her arms, and the baby gripped her as if she'd come home. Shaken, Nealy set her to her shoulder. As she stroked her back, her tiny spine shook beneath her palm. Nealy felt like crying herself. She carried her out to the sunporch where they could be alone and settled the two of them in the big wooden rocker.

  The porch was warm from the afternoon heat, but the rocker sat in a corner that was shaded by a maple growing at the side of the house, and the ceiling fan stirred the breeze coming through the screen door. Button curled against her breast as if Nealy were all she had left. Gradually the hiccuping sobs faded as Nealy stroked her, kissed her Band-Aid, and crooned nonsense. She heard the low voices of Lucy and Bertis in the kitchen, but nothing from Mat.

  Button finally looked up into Nealy's eyes, her expression full of trust. As Nealy gazed back, she could almost feel her heart expanding until it filled all the dark, cold spaces that had been carved out inside her. This little baby had absolute confidence in her.

  Nealy heard a rushing in her ears, the sound of great black wings beating a final retreat, and as she looked down at the beautiful little girl curled in her lap, she finally felt free.

  Button gave a triumphant chortle, almost as if she could read Nealy's mind. Nealy laughed and blinked away tears.

  Button was finally ready to address what had happened. She settled herself more comfortably in Nealy's lap, grabbed her toes, and began to talk. Multisyllabic words, long sentences, complex paragraphs of baby chatter, detailing the injury, the insult of her experience.

  Nealy gazed into that small, expressive face and nodded in response. “Yes ... I know ... A terrible thing.”

  Button's chatter grew more adamant.

  “He should be hung.”

  More outrage.

  “You think hanging's too good for him?” Nealy stroked her cheek. “Well, all right. How about torture?”

  A bloodthirsty squeal.

  “All his veins at once? Yes, that sounds about right.”

  “Enjoying yourself?” Mat wandered onto the sun-porch, both hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts.

  Button shot him a look of betrayal and turned her face into Nealy's breast. Nealy felt so blissfully happy that she wanted to sing. “You've got some big making up to do. With both of us.”

  Guilt oozed from him. “Come on, Nealy. She'll recover. And it had to be done.”

  “Button doesn't think so, do you, sweetheart?”

  The baby stuck her fingers in her mouth and glowered at him.

  He tried to brazen it out, but he was so obviously upset that Nealy took pity on him. “She'll forgive you soon.”

  “Yeah. I guess.” He didn't sound convinced.

  “How did you manage to get Lucy to go along with you?”

  “Bribery. I promised her we'd stay a couple of extra days if she cooperated.” He looked uncomfortable. “It probably wasn't smart since I'm just postponing the inevitable, but I did it anyway.”

  Her emotions shifted from joy at having a few more stolen days to growing dread over the girls' future.

  If only . . .

  * * *

  The Willow Grove Inn was an old stagecoach stop that had been recently refurbished with lots of warm wood and chintz. Mat cased the place for terrorists and stray lunatics, then decided she'd be safest outside on the enclosed flagstone patio.

  Nealy's frivolous haircut floated in wisps around her face as she walked toward the table, and her dress swirled above her knees, while the little beaded heart tickled the hollow of her throat. Her heels clicked on the flagstones and Armani's newest fragrance drifted from her pulse points. The vaguely stunned look on Mat's face when she'd come downstairs had been her reward.

  She wasn't the only one who had taken special pains with her appearance. He looked devastatingly handsome in light gray slacks and a pale blue shirt. The gold watch at his wrist glimmered against his suntanned arms as he seated her, then picked up the wine list to study. Although the decorative wrought-iron chair was too small for his big body, he settled back into it with perfect ease.

  The waiter gave Nealy a disapproving look when Mat chose an expensive wine. “Doctor's orders,” Mat told him. “She has a hormonal condition that requires alcohol.”

  Nealy smiled and bent her head to study the menu. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been unobserved in a restaurant. Behind them, a treliis holding deep purple clematis and coral roses bloomed, and the nearest table was just far enough away to give them a delicious sense of privacy.

  They chatted about nothing until the waiter returned with the wine, then took their orders. After he left, Mat lifted his glass and touched it to hers. His smile bathed her in sexual promise. “To wonderful food a hot summer night, and my very beautiful, very sexy First Lady.”

  She tried not to drink in Mat along with the wine. It was difficult
when the knowledge of what would happen between them tonight seemed like a third guest at the table. Suddenly she wanted to rush through this meal she'd been anticipating all day. “You steeltown boys sure are smooth talkers.”

  He settled back in the too-small chair. Like her, he seemed to realize that they'd combust before dinner arrived if they didn't steer the subject toward cooler waters. “Only a minor-league smooth talker compared to your crowd.”

  “There's that cynicism I've come to know and adore.”

  “It's amazing how many ways your pals in Washington manage to avoid ever speaking the truth.”

  She instinctively responded to the light of challenge gleaming in his eyes. “You're boring me.”

  “Spoken like a born and bred politician.”

  When politics had come up that night at the campground with Bertis and Charlie, she hadn't been able to participate, but tonight she could. “Cynicism is easy,” she retorted. “Easy and cheap.”

  “It's also democracy's best friend.”

  “And its biggest enemy. My father raised me to believe that cynicism is nothing more than an excuse for underachievement.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that it's easier to criticize others than do your part to fix a tough problem.” She leaned forward, relishing the chance to lock horns with him, especially concerning something she felt so passionately about. “Cynicism gives decent people an out. They can assume a posture of moral superiority without ever getting their hands dirty coming up with real solutions.”

  “It's tough not to be cynical.”

  “That's laziness talking. Pure laziness.”

  “Interesting theory.” He smiled. “It's hard to figure out how such a confirmed do-gooder has survived in Washington for so long.”

  “I love Washington. Most of it, anyway.”

  “What don't you love?”

  Old habits of privacy began to close around her, but she was tired of her own caution. “I ran away because I burned out. Being First Lady is the worst job in the country. There's no job description, and everybody has a different idea of what you should be doing. It's a no-win situation.”

  “You seem to have won. Barbara Bush is the only First Lady with approval ratings as high as yours.”

  “She got them honestly. I got them by pretending to be something I'm not. But just because I've grown to hate being First Lady doesn't mean I hate politics.” Now that she'd started, she didn't want to stop.

  “I know you may find it hard to believe, but I've always loved the intrinsic honor of a political life.”

  “Honor and politics aren't words you hear in the same sentence very often.”

  She met his skepticism head-on. “It's an honor to be given the people's trust. An honor to serve. Every once in a while, I even think about—” Appalled, she broke off.

  “Tell me.”

  “There's nothing more to say.”

  “Come on. I've seen you naked.” He gave her a crooked smile.

  “That doesn't mean you're going to see into my head.”

  He'd always been too perceptive where she was concerned, and a strange alertness came over him. “I'll be damned. Hillary Clinton's not the only one. You're thinking about running for office yourself, aren't you?”

  She nearly knocked over her wine goblet. How could a person she'd known for such a short time understand something she hadn't completely articulated even to herself? “No. I'm not thinking about it at all. I've ... well, I've thought about it, but... not really.”

  “Tell me.”

  His intensity made her wish she'd never started this.

  “Chicken.”

  She was so tired of always being cautious, and she wanted to talk, damn it! Maybe it was time to give these vague ideas a little fresh air. “Well... I'm not serious about this, but I've thought about it a little.”

  “More than a little, I'll bet.”

  “Just these past few months.” She met those penetrating gray eyes. “I've been an inside observer for most of my life—living right at the heart of power, but not having any real power myself. I've had influence, sure, but no real authority to fix things. Still, there are some advantages to being an observer.”

  “Such as?”

  “I've watched the very best and worst we have. I've seen their successes and failures, and I've learned from them.”

  “What have you learned?”

  “That this country is in crisis. That we don't have enough politicians who are either willing or able to make the hard calls.”

  “But you are?”

  She considered it, then nodded. “Yes. Yes, I think I am.”

  He regarded her thoughtfully. “Where would you start?”

  So she told him. Not all of her ideas—that would have taken hours—but some of them. The more she talked, the more excited she got, and the more she believed in what she was saying.

  He began to look slightly dazed. “You've got the quirkiest politics of anyone I know. Left wing here, right wing there, then middle of the road. It's a wonder you can walk straight.”

  “I've never believed in labels. I only believe in looking at what's best for the country. Partisan politics have stolen our legislators' backbones.”

  “In Washington, real backbone only comes from personal power.”

  She smiled. “I know.”

  He shook his head. “You're too much of a featherweight. You lead with your heart. The big boys would chomp you up and spit you out.”

  She laughed. “For all your talk, you're incredibly naive. The big boys have watched me grow up. I've sat on their knees and played with their children. They've patted me on the head and danced at my wedding. I'm one of their own.”

  “All that gets you is patronized.”

  “You forget that I hold trump.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She picked up her wineglass, took a slow sip while she thought it over, then set it down. “I'm a national icon.”

  For a long time, he simply stared at her. Then he gradually began to soak in what she wasn't quite ready to put into words. He looked slightly dazed as he leaned back in his chair. “You could really pull it off, couldn't you?”

  She propped her chin on the back of her hand and gazed dreamily off into the distance. “If I set my mind to it, I imagine I could assemble the biggest power base anyone in Washington has ever seen.”

  “And like a fairy godmother, use it only for good deeds.”

  His cynicism was back, but she didn't flinch from it. “Exactly.”

  “That's not the way the game's played.”

  “I may be the only person in the country who doesn't need to play the game. I've already won.”

  “How do you figure?”

  "I'm not ego-driven, and when you take the ego out of the politician, what's left is a public servant.

  I have instant, bone-deep credibility."

  “This past week has put a big dent in that.”

  “Not if I spin it right.”

  “The spin,” he drawled. “I was wondering when we'd get to that.”

  “There's nothing wrong with spin as long as it's honest. People understand job dissatisfaction. I had to escape a job that was strangling me. That's something everybody can identify with.”

  “A lot more is involved than escaping an unsatisfactory job. There's the matter of where you've been and what you've been doing. The press won't give up until they have the whole story.”

  “Believe me, I know more about getting around journalists than you can imagine.”

  He began studying the tablecloth.

  “You have to trust me, Mat. I love the girls. I'd never let any harm come to them.”

  He nodded, but he didn't look at her.

  The waiter arrived with their salads, and she decided it might be best to change the subject. “I've gone on and on about myself, but you've hardly told me anything about your own work.”

  “There's nothing much to tell. Do you want a roll?” H
e picked up the green wicker basket the waiter had brought earlier.

  “No, thanks. Do you like your job?”

  “1 guess I'm going through a career crisis right now.” He shifted his weight and no longer looked so comfortable in the small chair.

  “Maybe I can help.”

  “I don't think so.”

  “Candor only works one way, is that it? I tell you all my secrets, but you hold yours back.”

  “I'm not too proud of some of my secrets.”

  She'd never seen him look so serious.

  He set down his fork and pushed away his salad. “There's something we need to talk about. Something I have to tell you.”

  Her stomach sank. She knew exactly what he was going to say, and she didn't want to hear it.

  First Lady

  18

  Mat had to tell her the truth. He'd known that last night.

  “You don't have to worry,” she said. “I may be naive about some things, but I understand about last night.”

  He frowned as he tried to switch mental gears. His big story had just gotten bigger with the revelation that she was thinking about running for public office, but that made no difference. She needed to hear what he did for a living.

  Just thinking about the way she was going to react made his tongue clumsy. “Last night? That wasn't what I meant. I need to— Exactly what do you think you understand about last night?”

  The waiter chose that moment to appear with their entrees. After they were served, Mat leaned back in his chair. “Go on. I want to hear what you have to say about last night.”

  “Why don't you go first?”

  “You're having second thoughts, aren't you?”

  “And third and fourth,” she said. “What about you?”

  There was a good reason for him to have second thoughts, but it bothered him to know that she was too. “My only thought is that Lucy and that baby had better be asleep when we get back so we can head right for the bedroom.”

  “Just get to it, is that it?”

  “Yes.” He blocked out what he had to tell her. Soon. Before they finished their dinner. “Don't try to pretend you don't want the same thing. Remember that I was there last night. Besides, you've been looking at me all evening as if I'm dessert.”