The President's Wife - Kathy Myme Page 0,76
not have a choice. Not if you want to stay in the White House.”
I frown. It was one thing when my staff was telling me it, but another when my Vice President is too. The idea seems more grounded, more possible.
“What would you do George? Would you let her name get dragged through the mud to save you if you were in my shoes?”
“Thankfully I’m not in your shoes,” he replies. “This is your decision, I can’t make it for you.”
“Yeah, I know,” I respond. “I feel like no matter what I choose, I lose.”
“We both know you get one shot at this,” George says. “The next press conference you make will go down in history. It’s up to you to decide how you want it to play out.”
He’s right. I have a choice. I have one chance to talk to the American people where they’ll actually be listening. But what should I say?
Can I really ask Veronica to testify on my behalf? Should I just throw her under the bus? Or could I tell the truth?
Is the presidency really worth it if I have to lie to keep it? Perhaps not. Perhaps I should accept my fate and resign. Use this opportunity to make my peace and speak my mind.
But that would mean giving up everything I’d worked my whole life to achieve. It would mean throwing away my chance to make the United States a better country.
“Thanks George,” I reply. “Talk to you again soon.”
“Good luck Mr President.” He hangs up and I sit back down. I have a lot of thinking to do and time is running out.
Veronica
It’s been four days.
Four days of hurt. Four days of agony. Four days of regretting everything, even if I know that I did what was right.
Admittedly, the hours have sort of all blended together in a weird mush of time. So the fact that I know how many days have passed at all is a miracle. At this point, I’m seriously considering abandoning my calendar and using the amount of ice cream I’ve guzzled down to mark the seconds going by.
“Veronica, love,” Dad says, checking up on me for the fifth time that day. “I have to head off to work, but would you like to go outside today? There’s a new cafe down the street.” A beat passes. “We could go for breakfast. Order something greasy.”
If my dad is this concerned about me, I must look awful. Sitting on a couch in your dressing gown for hours and hours and eating nothing but comfort food will do that to you, I suppose.
“No thanks,” I say with a small smile. It comes out more like a grimace. “I’m fine here.”
Dad isn't willing to let this go. I don’t blame him. “Veronica…”
“I’ll be okay,” I tell him for what feels like the millionth time. “I’m just… I’m just thinking.”
That’s a lie. I’m doing anything but thinking. I’ve worked my way through four seasons of some trashy rom-com TV show and today I’m going to watch the fifth. It’s not particularly entertaining, but it’s keeping my mind off things.
Because whenever I let myself focus, there’s only one thing I keep coming back to. Him.
I know that I did the sensible thing. No matter how right and real it felt with David, it was always too good to be true. Our whole relationship has been built on lies, right from the beginning. We were doomed from the start.
“Okay,” Dad says, although it’s obvious he doesn’t really believe me. “Well, I’m going to go now.” He waves a hand. “Just… call me if you need anything. I’ll come home.”
He’s so worried about me. When he leaves, he glances over his shoulder at least four times, as if there’s something he wants to say but can’t. As if there are magic words to fix the mess I’m in and the only problem is that he can’t think of them.
Dad has to use the back entrance to get past the press. They’ve been outside for days now, standing on our lawn and making noise in an attempt to get me to come out. It’s like they don’t sleep. Sometimes I wonder if they’re even human.
When he’s gone, I’m desperate to fill the silence. I want to scream. I throw the couch cushion at a wall, hoping that lashing out will make me feel better. It doesn’t.
Out of everyone in the entire world, why did I have to fall in love with David Shepard?
There’s a reason that