Page 16 of Revisions

Here’s the problem that neither Luke nor Ryan understands: there will always beonestop where opposition borders on threats. The more I avoid those situations, the more they are likely to increase.

“Luke, I need you to listen to me. This isexactlywhat the Brethren want from my administration—from me. They want me to changemycourse.”

Luke is ready to pounce. I hold up my hand.

“Luke,” I warn him. “I cannot hide away because a hate group decides to come out of the shadows. Frankly, I’m glad they have emerged from the shadows.”

“It’s a?—”

“Risk?” I ask. “That’s why we have an advance team that secures event spaces. It’s also why I have the best security in the world. Before you say another word,no one, and I do meanno one,is more aware of the failures at the event in New York than me. I will not be intimidated by a bunch of insecure men wearing twisted crosses on t-shirts and chanting homophobic slurs.”

Luke groans. “Indiana isn’t New York.”

“Your point?” I challenge him.

“It isn’t Reid territory.”

It’s Luke’s job to challenge me—to help me see perspectives I may otherwise avoid considering. But it’s also his responsibility to support my decisions when I make them explicit. He’s not about to win this round.

“I understand your concerns,” I tell Luke. “Listen. Just listen. This was inevitable. I can’t hide from it. Iwon’thide from it.”

“I know you believe the goal is to intimidate you. And I agree. I agree that the group isunlikelyto make any attempt onyourlife. But their presence emboldens others, and it invites altercations.”

Luke’s not wrong.

“You’re right,” I say.

I have to chuckle whenhetries to conceal his gloating. He is correct but doesn’t see the bigger picture or give the issue the context it needs. This reality frustrates me continually—and not only with Luke.

There’s a reason the president has a cabinet of department heads with rooms full of advisers. Context. Leading a large organization of any kind is challenging. The United States government is the world’s largest organization. People are constantly spitting factsatme. The facts mean little unless they’re given context. Someone can tell me they need funding for a program to help kids. That’s terrific. How is it helping kids? Which kids will it help? How much money is required to provide this help? Context.

What Luke shared with me amounts to facts, not revelations.

“We’re not deviating from our plan,” I tell him. He’s ready to pounce. “Listen to me. I said you’re right. I mean that your observations are factual. Whether I speak at the event or not, there will be protesters and counter-protesters. And no one understands the risk involved better than me—no one.”

“I understand that, but?—”

“No. You don’t,” I reply.

It’s unlike me to lose my patience with my close staff. Luke typically knows when to stop. I know everyone means well. I’m tired of being lectured by people about my safety—aboutrisk. Luke was at the White House on the day of the bombing. Hedidn’t experience it the way Dana did—the wayIdid. He can’t understand. Not really. I don’t mean to underplay the fear and pain my family, staff, and the nation felt that day. I know what it’s like to be a spectator to devastation—to watch at a distance while someone I love is in danger. I’ve experienced that more than once. It isn’t the same as experiencing violence firsthand.

“I realize the gravity of the situation politically,” Luke says gently.

I nod. No. He doesn’t. I understandgravity. I felt it in Blake’s body, bearing down on mine. He saved my life. He carried out his oath and his duty in the fullest measure. He acted as my shield, and it cost him his life.

“No, Luke. You don’t understand. Do you think I’ve moved past that day in New York?”

“That’s not?—”

“Do you?” I repeat my question.

“No.”

“Then stop approaching me as if you do.”

“That’s not my intention.”

“I know. Your intention isn’t the point,” I tell him. “There are nights I wake up, and I think the weight beside me is Blake.”

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