Sarah took the call from Bryce as she was picking up Alyssa from soccer practice—he wanted to meet for dinner at Demetrio’s, their favorite hole-in-the-wall Italian joint. She didn’t argue, happy to not have to rush home and cook. Even more, she was ready for a little normalcy after the mayhem of recent days.
The restaurant had an authentic feel, a disjointed warren of rooms in a hundred-year-old building beside a cobblestone street. Neon beer signs hovered over tables with red-and-white checked tablecloths, and red-leather booths lined the walls, each with its own unique stained-glass lamp. The smells were straight from Italy, oven-baked dough and roasting garlic.
Sarah didn’t see Bryce in the first two rooms, so she kept moving toward the back. Alyssa was right behind, her cleats clacking over the waxed tile floor. She found Bryce sitting at an isolated corner table—over the years, probably the only one they’d never occupied. The parents kissed while their daughter went to the restroom, ostensibly to clean up after miring around for ninety minutes on a muddy field.
“Never sat here before,” Sarah said, sliding into the booth across from him.
“I thought a little privacy might be nice.”
She looked around, saw an elderly woman in a green jacket staring. Bryce, an anonymous congressman two days ago, was suddenly one of the most recognized faces in the country. “I feel like we should be wearing baseball caps and sunglasses.”
“I know. I’ve got interviews scheduled a month out. If Mandy had her way I’d be—”
“Bryce,” she said, cutting him off. “While it’s just you and I … I had a talk with Alyssa.”
“What about?”
Sarah felt the green jacket watching. She tried to tune it out. “I didn’t mention it last night, but she’s upset. Your heroics have been getting a lot of attention at school.”
“Can’t say that I’m surprised.”
“The thing is, she’s having trouble dealing with it.”
“In what way?”
“Those videos that went viral. To the other kids, it’s like a clip from an action movie or something. But to her … she’s watching her father nearly get killed.”
He nodded understandingly.
“When you were in the Army, we did our best to be honest with her. She understood you were in danger during deployments. But she was young then, so it was all kind of academic.”
“And this is more real.”
“Right there on YouTube from five different angles.”
He cast a glance toward the restroom. “How do you want to handle it?”
“I don’t know. I just wanted you to know she’s struggling with this.”
“Okay, noted.” Then a hesitation.
“What?”
“We need to talk about something, the three of us.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“No, it’s all good. But—” He gave her a sideways nod. Alyssa came bounding to the table and slid onto the bench seat next to Sarah. A familiar waitress buzzed up right behind her, delivered their usual drinks, then hovered like a hummingbird in front of a flower.
“Same as always?” Alyssa asked.
“Sure,” replied Bryce.
Sarah placed the order. “Large pizza, half cheese for the girls, half sausage and anchovies for the cavemen.”
The waitress scrawled the order on her pad and was gone. They bantered for a time about school and soccer, no mention of recent events. Sarah suspected it was intentional on everyone’s part—concentrating on the sunshine while storm clouds were brewing. She felt more relaxed than she had in days. The woman in the green jacket had even gone back to her calzone.
Finally, after Alyssa’s account of a goal scored in today’s scrimmage, Bryce took on a more serious tone. “I had a meeting today.” He paused there, adding weight to what was coming—congressmen had meetings every day. “It was with the top Republican in the House and the Senate majority leader.”
“Wow,” said Alyssa. “Even I know who they are.”
Sarah glanced at her daughter curiously—Alyssa had never shown a whit of interest in politics.
“There was one other person,” Bryce continued. “Henry Arbogast, head of the Republican National Committee.” Another hesitation.
It felt like a held breath, and Sarah sensed a twinge of something foreign.
“They want me to run for president.”
The twinge went to full-on numbness.
Alyssa, who’d been sucking Coke through a straw, coughed and sputtered, caramel liquid dripping from her nose. She looked at him as she recovered, then shot a glance at her mother. “Are you serious?”
“It seems they are. I said I wouldn’t commit until I’d discussed it with my family.”
“Oh my God!” Alyssa gushed. “President?”
Bryce made a calming motion: both hands, palms-down. “Not so loud. They’re asking me to run, but that’s a long way from the White House.”
“Everyone I know would vote for you!” Alyssa said in a barely lower voice.
“Everyone you know is too young to vote,” he countered.
“No, I know some seniors. This is so cool! I’d be like instantly popular.”
Sarah could almost see the grandiose visions spinning in her daughter’s head.
Alyssa asked, “Would we actually live in the White House?”
“Baby, there’s a lot to this decision. We need to think about it rationally. It would change our lives, even if I don’t win.”
“But if you did … would I like have Secret Service guys following me everywhere?”
“If I got elected, yes, that’s part of the bargain.”
And with good reason, Sarah thought, but didn’t say. Indeed, she hadn’t said a word since Bryce had dropped the mother of all bombs. He looked at her tentatively. “Your thoughts?”
“I … I don’t know what to say.” And truly she didn’t.
Sarah had always considered herself a supportive wife. In the Army she’d gone to the wives’ club meetings, the baby showers—at least, when she hadn’t been up against a deadline. She might not have been a standard-issue Army spouse, but she’d done her part for Bryce. When he turned to politics the landscape shifted, high-end dinners and fundraisers, yet still she’d done her bit. But this … this had never been on her radar.
“You’re right,” she finally said. “It would definitely change our lives.”
He said, “Look, I know how you feel. This took me by surprise too. But let me explain my thinking. This country is in trouble—I know better than most because I’ve had an inside view for the last year. It’s run by professional politicians, most of them millionaires going in, all of them millionaires going out.”
“And you can fix that?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know. But to find out, I have to get my foot in the door.”
“Of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.”
“That would be such a lit address!” Alyssa beamed.
Sarah’s focus on Bryce never wavered. “I’ve heard a lot of men and women start out with platforms like that. ‘Time for a change. A better America.’ I’ve never seen one that didn’t become part of the problem. The backroom dealing, the lobbyists. Do you really think you’d be different?” Her gaze was level, strong. Demanding an answer.
“What do you think?” he countered.
Sarah knew there could be only one response. But still she hesitated. “Yes … I think you might have a chance.”
Bryce smiled.
Sarah said, “It’s too bad your father can’t be here. This was his dream.”
“He told me as much once—as I remember it, he was trying to talk me out of joining the Army.” Bryce went on to explain things much as Arbogast had: the weak field of candidates, the RNC’s desire to find a younger, fresher face to lead the new generation. He told them how his recent heroics had vaulted him into consideration by the party.
“We don’t have to decide immediately, but there is some urgency. The filing deadlines are getting close for a number of state primaries. I’d need to work fast to get a ground game in place. Let’s sleep on it and talk again in the morning. Until then, not a word to anyone.” He looked squarely at Alyssa. She was positively giddy but nodded to say she understood.
Sarah felt as if she were on top of a mountain, only one she hadn’t climbed herself. More like she’d been dropped by a helicopter, left scrambling for purchase on loose stones. Primary deadlines, ground game. She knew Bryce better than anyone, and so she knew his decision had been made.
“You’d be such an awesome First Lady!” Alyssa said.
Sarah looked at her daughter, thunderstruck by the transformation.
The pizza came five minutes later. Alyssa was first in line, famished from either two hours of soccer or the prospect of being First Daughter. Bryce slid a cheesy triangle onto Sarah’s plate, using a fork to spin away the connecting strands of cheese. He then took a slice of the other half and began picking off anchovies.
Sarah watched him distractedly. “What are you doing? You’ve always loved those.”
He shrugged it off. “Guess I’m losing my taste for them. But the sausage is great.”