“Yes, we’re very disappointed, but we’re going to re-group and come out fighting in the next election.”
“Good to hear it.” Jonathan said. “Is Warner around? You know my feelings about him. I still believe he has a great future in politics, and I’d like to offer my support.”
“No, actually he’s stepped out for the morning.” Carolyn lied. “But let me thank you for him. I’ll be sure to tell Warner you called to offer your support. I know it will mean a lot to him.”
She hung up, validated that her efforts behind the scenes during the previous year had worked. In order to separate herself from her father-in-law’s grasp, she’d concentrated on cultivating relationships at the national level. Obviously, she had succeeded in bringing the right kind of attention to herself and Warner. Despite this debacle of an election, she now had a strategically tight grip on the reins of their future.
In anger she’d threatened divorce, but she knew that would be disastrous to her life – their lives. She would build on Warner’s failure. Prove to him the value of their marriage. Their partnership.
Edmund would make it easy for her. He’d relinquish control and want nothing to do with his son, now that Warner had lost. Carolyn stopped writing and tapped her cheek with the end of the pen. “I can make this work,” she said aloud, heartened that her dreams had not been completely destroyed.
Warner had always done what he wanted. All too often, he ignored her advice. Not any longer, she decided. Carolyn picked up her mug of tea and walked to the window, looking out across the lawn of the old estate. Like her life, the gardens were dormant. Barren branches trembled in the wind and rusted leaves skittered across the yard.
A measure of calm came with her newfound feeling of confidence. She knew that she could get Warner into the White House, but he’d have to agree to her terms. He’d rejected her personally, and that pain would probably never fade, but professionally, he needed her now more than ever. And, just maybe, if she saved his career, she could heal their marriage once he succeeded in the political arena.
She sipped at her now cold herbal tea, enjoying the quiet as her mind raced with thoughts of the future. She was, after all, a survivor.
The sharp report of a gunshot shattered the calm.
Carolyn jumped.
Tea splattered the window, her sweater and the wall. Her mug crashed to the floor.
She stood stock still. Her mind frozen by fear. Her limbs suddenly weak and rubbery.
Warner? Oh, dear God, please don’t take him from me.
She willed herself to move. Heart pounding in her ears, she dashed out of the room and ran down the hallway toward the gunshot.
SIXTEEN
Jack Rudly strode across the tarmac about ten yards behind the president of the United States. The wind whipped at his face, and the crisp morning air sent a shiver through his body. Freshly fallen leaves skipped across the ground. He looked up at the glimmer of yellow light on the horizon as it blended into shades of pale blue and pushed against the navy darkness of the night sky.
Absently, he adjusted his tie. This was his first morning covering the White House in the “tight pool.” Every White House correspondent traveled in the press plane, except the tight pool. Chosen on a rotating basis, this small group spent every moment near the president on catastrophe watch, then reported anything significant to the regular press pool.
Jack boarded Air Force One and found his seat. He had to admit that since joining the
Jack reached for a cigarette, then stopped himself Air Force One had rules about such things. Damn, domestic issues just didn’t hold the charm that life as a foreign correspondent had. This was success, he reminded himself, what his goal had been, a senior position with an excellent news organization.
He remembered his discussion with his father about joining
Having learned the hard way, Jack would no longer subject someone he loved to the nomadic and dangerous life of a foreign correspondent. Thus, after his wife died, he’d remained single and alone. The only exception had been Katherine Seals, and the ruin of that relationship proved his fears.
But high-risk investigative journalism coursed through his veins, the essence of who he’d become as a man. Had he sold out? Or had he grown up? As his father insisted.