safe with us,” she said clearly, in contrast to the brightness in her eyes. “You know that. We’ll get them to Ottawa.”
Caroline grabbed her in a fierce embrace, not wanting to let go. “I love you. Please take care of my children. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I know you will, Punky,” Christine said.
She couldn’t help but smile. “You almost never call me that. Not anymore.”
“Maybe I should have said it more often.”
Caroline tried to tamp down the panic rising in her throat. She didn’t want any of them to leave. She hugged Christine again, burying her face in the cashmere wrapped around her neck. It smelled like Christine’s perfume, and Caroline took a deep breath as her tears dripped onto the expensive scarf. “Be safe,” she said in a muffled voice. “Please, please be safe. We’ll be there soon, I promise.”
Christine pulled back and delicately wiped the tears from Caroline’s face before wiping off her own. “I believe you,” she said. “America’s Political Sweetheart never disappoints.” She cupped Caroline’s face in her hands and kissed her on both cheeks, then leaned in until their foreheads were touching. “I love you, Caroline.”
She kissed Caroline’s forehead a final time before taking a deep breath and turning to Jack. Christine grabbed his shoulder harshly, not making eye contact. Her face was still wet. “Protect my girl,” she said.
And then she was out the door, leaving a burst of winter wind in her wake. Caroline stood in the foyer with her arms crossed, staring at the grand entrance to the Governor’s Mansion. She lingered there for an agonizing amount of time, willing them all to come back long after she and Jack had heard the car pull away.
Jack squeezed her shoulder with a shaking hand and she came apart. Caroline collapsed onto the marble floor and began to hyperventilate, crying deep, racking, unbearable sobs. His strong arms encircled her from behind, lifting her up, pulling her toward him. She grabbed onto his sweater, sobbing hysterically until her throat hurt, holding on to him as tightly as she could. He rocked her back and forth on the cold marble, his tears blending with hers. Together they wept for what seemed like hours until they silently rose and walked up the stairs alone.
Caroline could still smell the sweet flowery fragrance of Sophie’s hair, could feel her shaking as she clutched her hippo and held tightly to her mother’s waist. She could still hear Marguerite’s trembling yet confident voice, wondering how on earth she could have produced such an amazingly strong, mature child, who had held up better than any of them during the past twenty-four hours. She could still feel Christine’s arms wrapped securely around her, closer than she’d ever held Caroline before. In nine years of friendship she couldn’t ever recall Chrissy telling her that she loved her, even though Caroline knew how she felt. She was terrified that she would never hear Christine say it again. They were no longer there. Jack was all she had left.
They were gone.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Fed
I lied. I lied to all of you. I’m so sorry. Please don’t hate me.
She’d been standing on her tiptoes for an eternity, slowly feeling the blood leaving her body, taking whatever shreds of humanity she had along with it. The only thing keeping her knees from buckling was the knowledge that if she allowed herself to sag, the pain in her arms and wrists would be even greater than all the other parts of her that hurt.
Caroline remembered learning about the practicalities of crucifixion in parochial school. How they broke Jesus’ legs to force him to sag on the cross and suffocate. What a terrible, awful lesson that was. She choked out a bitter laugh.
You’re no Christ figure, Gerard. Try again.
She was ready. She recited every prayer she could remember. She begged God for mercy. She wondered if she was good enough to get into heaven. She questioned every policy position. Every press conference. Every statement she ever made on the House floor. Every bit of fluff she recited at campaign rallies. Every conversation she had with God while kneeling in the pew before Mass every Sunday. And she knew that God knew she was a liar and always had been.
I’m so sorry. I should have tried harder. I should have done more.
Her parochial school prayers came rushing back to her. Kyrie eleison, christe eleison, kyrie eleison. Every Mystery of the Rosary she could still recall. The Memorare. Once, twice,