Karen watched Cam’s touch football game from the shade of a massive magnolia tree that President Andrew Jackson had planted sometime around 1835. Off to her right, White House gardeners were out in force, taking advantage of a dry day to prune the shrubs that lined the west colonnade bridging the Rose Garden and the South Lawn, where Cam’s game took place.
In the days since Lee conducted his physical examination, Cam’s chess game had continued to decline and with it his confidence had sunk to new lows. He hid out in his room and didn’t even want to go to the TPI for chess practice anymore. Ellen, desperate for a breakthrough, arranged the football game as a way of possibly achieving one.
At first, Cam had resisted, calling it a scheduled play date. School was closed because of a teachers’ professional day. Somehow, the first lady had convinced Cam to extend himself, see if a little fun might lift his spirits. She made the plans before he had a chance to change his mind.
Normally, Karen did not have to watch over Cam so diligently inside the compound. The kids could not have been safer. But Karen had promised Ellen she would keep a close eye on him, and her perch by the tree offered a view of the action without making her a presence on the field.
Cam was not the best athlete in the game, but he had a decent enough arm and probably would have been QB even if he were not the president’s kid. To Karen’s surprise, Taylor Gleason was playing. She was glad to see that Cam’s string of losses had not soured their long-standing friendship. It showed great maturity, strength of character, and could mark a turning point in Cam’s steady decline. One could always hope.
Cam dropped back to pass and connected with a boy named Rodger Winchester for a solid gain followed by a series of spirited high-fives. The smile on Cam’s face was a major relief.
Maybe the first lady’s play date would work after all.
Karen had had high hopes that Lee’s exam would reveal some hidden cause for Cam’s issues. Instead, his findings gave Gleason reason to dig his heels in even harder. The president was now thoroughly convinced the best course of action was for Cam to see a psychiatrist right away. That plan would have made perfect sense, except for one small detail: Cam kept insisting his issues were with his body, not his mind. He vehemently opposed any psychiatric help, but Cam had a hard time making his case.
For years, he had essentially lived his life above the busiest store in all of D.C., on display for the public’s endless scrutiny. While the children of presidents were off-limits from muckraking (one of a few unwritten rules in Washington), living in the public eye had to be tremendously difficult. Cam had never asked for this role, and until recently, he had managed it well.
If Lee had done anything, it was to reinforce Cam’s belief that his diminishing chess skills were rooted in something physical. While Ellen supported Gleason because he, not Lee, was the trusted doctor, the first lady’s request that Karen oversee the football game told a different story. Football was a physical game, so perhaps Ellen worried Cam was physically fragile, which would support Lee’s thinking. If Karen was right about that, then Lee had made an impression after all—just not enough of one to trump Gleason.
Karen had learned details of Cam’s exam results from Ellen, not Lee. There were several reasons Ellen placed her trust and confidence in Karen. For one, Karen was older than most of her Secret Service colleagues, only a few years younger than Ellen, in fact. Culturally they shared many of the same reference points. Personally, they had bonded over fertility issues. The first lady had used IVF to get pregnant with Cam, while Karen had given up trying for a second child after a string of devastating miscarriages. Those difficult times might have been long past, but they had left scars, and their shared experiences helped to forge an unusual bond.
At times Karen felt less like Ellen Hilliard’s protector and more like a personal friend. Some in the Secret Service wondered openly if Karen’s rapid career trajectory was based entirely on merit. In addition to her close relationship with FLOTUS, Karen’s father was former Secret Service, and whispers of nepotism followed her.
They could think what they wanted. Karen knew the truth.
From a young age, she had dreamt of following in her father’s footsteps. But woman plans and God laughs. At nineteen, Karen met a dashing young doctor, Lee Blackwood, eight years her senior (scandalous) from her hometown of Beckley, West Virginia. Her job at the bank, followed two years later with the birth of her son Josh, brought her great joy. It was a fulfilling existence until her dad, a vocal proponent for Secret Service reform, had rumpled the wrong suit.
Her father believed the numerous shortcomings of the Secret Service, which he openly discussed with Karen, dated back decades. In his opinion, almost every embarrassing security lapse was the result of poor employee screening, crazy schedules, not enough quality agents, and no time to plan.
“When a president gets shot, maybe then they’ll take me seriously,” he often said.
Her father wrote lengthy e-mails and memos to his superiors, in essence telling them the emperor had no clothes. While management expressed appreciation for the thoughtful feedback, Karen always worried such candor could cost him his job.
Around this time, Karen’s mother had moved from Beckley to Virginia to be closer to her husband, who traveled constantly for work and was seldom home. Aside from his family, the job was her father’s greatest love, which was why Karen’s heart sank when her dad phoned with news that he’d been fired. The defeat in his voice, the absolute sorrow, foreshadowed his rapid decline.
Josh was eight back then, Lee was working in his father’s practice, and Karen had a new mission in life. Without telling her family, she had applied for the Secret Service. A long-simmering passion for the job and a desire to fulfill her father’s reform wishes drove her. She had worried her dad’s controversial legacy would work against her, but to Karen’s surprise she was accepted. Fifteen years later, Karen had a brutal work schedule that had contributed significantly to her failed marriage, and not a single reform idea of her father’s put into practice.
From her hideout by the tree, Karen watched Cam take a snap from Edgar Feldman. Feldman, who inhabited a heavy body with legs and arms like tree stumps, maintained an A average at school, had been in detention only once for tardiness, and had yet to decide if he wanted to be a lawyer like his father or a doctor like his mother. All of Cam’s close friends had full background checks on file.
Cam’s friends were accustomed to the metal detectors, the facial recognition software, the nondisclosure agreements, and other procedural hurdles necessary to get inside the wall. Kids by nature were adaptable, and for the most part, the mystique and magic of the White House had yielded to the more pressing demands of having a good time.
And these kids were certainly doing that.
Cam’s pass was incomplete, though Feldman had put a good block on the rusher, a school chum named Arnold Chang, who happened to study advanced math at the TPI. On the next play, Rodger Winchester ran a buttonhook pattern several yards downfield and was wide open because the defense decided to rush two players instead of one. Feldman moved in front of Chang, leaving Taylor Gleason unblocked. Taylor, who looked like a mini version of his father, slim and athletic, with sandy blond hair and a handsome, albeit boyish face, was hardly an imposing figure, but he was quick on his feet and deceptive with his movements. Dr. Gleason’s competitive drive had pushed Taylor to excel at sports in addition to chess. As far as Karen could tell, Taylor was the only real athlete on the chess circuit.
He charged the quarterback with quick strides and managed to smash into Cam’s left side—the blind side—with a great deal of force. Taylor got the flag, all right, but the impact threw Cam’s legs out from under him. Karen held her breath as Cam went airborne. He seemed to float above the ground for a moment before he came crashing back to the turf with an audible thud.
By the time Karen got there, winded from her sprint, Cam’s buddies were already helping him sit up.
“Are you okay?” Karen tried not to sound like an overprotective parent, but she knew the hit had to have hurt.
“I didn’t mean to hit him that hard,” Taylor said, his voice shaky. “I was going for the flag.”
Maybe Taylor was upset after injuring his friend, or maybe Karen’s hard stare terrified him. Either way, the kid was rattled.
Cam winced in pain as Karen and Taylor helped him to his feet. He kept his hand to the left side of his chest, his breathing shallow. Scouring the ground, Karen checked for any sticks or a stone Cam might have landed on, but the White House landscapers kept the lawn clear as a putting green. Stone or no stone, though, that hit was pretty solid. Karen worried Cam might have fractured a rib.
“Let’s get you to the medical clinic,” Karen said.
“I’m okay,” Cam said, still clutching his left side. He shot Taylor an aggrieved look. “What the hell, Taylor!” he said.
“I was just going for the flag … I’m sorry, Cam. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
To Karen’s ears, Taylor sounded genuinely distraught, and she did not believe there was any malice behind the collision.
“Let’s have Dr. Gleason decide if you’re all right,” Karen said. “You boys wait right here.”
Soon enough, Cam was back inside the White House clinic. Karen called Gleason’s cell phone and explained what had happened.
“Taylor did it, huh?” Gleason sounded oddly proud of his son’s prowess. “I doubt it’s a broken rib,” he added, assuaging Karen’s concern only somewhat, “but I’ll be there in a moment to check him out.”