Page 31 of Campaign Season
“Oh.” Jameson widened her eyes theatrically and gestured to Candace. “Here she is—the great and powerful Oz.”
Candace laughed. Jameson was in her element. She crouched to the girl’s level. “The First Lady can be a little silly sometimes.”
Dorothy tilted her head at Jameson. “You fell in the mud.”
Jameson sighed dramatically. “I slipped.”
The girl giggled. Her brother, dressed as the Tin Man, studied Jameson shyly.
“Hello, Tin Man,” Jameson said.
He grinned and blushed.
“Look, Jameson,” Candace said. “A lion.”
“A brave one, I’ll bet.”
The youngest, dressed as the Cowardly Lion, held his pumpkin bucket in one hand and waved timidly with the other.
“All that walking down the Yellow Brick Road must’ve made you hungry,” Jameson said, tossing a generous handful of candy into each bag. Then she pointed toward Michelle, who stood by the doorway, handing out coloring books. “Make sure you see the flying monkey over there—she has something for you, too.”
“She’s not a monkey!” the little boy insisted.
Jameson shot Shell a sidelong glance. “She’s in disguise.”
Candace’s warm laugh filled the room as the White House photographer clicked away, capturing the playful exchange. A few members of the press pool filmed discreetly from the corner, capturing candid smiles and laughter that seemed unscripted and genuine.
As the line dwindled and the last trick-or-treater skipped out the door, Candace leaned close to Jameson. “Monkeys in disguise?”
Jameson brushed a bit of glitter from her sleeve. “Seemed accurate.”
They both laughed, the sound easy and familiar—until Luke stepped past Michelle, his expression taut, his posture stiff. Candace’s smile faded the instant she saw him. She sighed. “Luke.”
“I’m sorry, Madam President.”
“Close the door,” Candace said. “And let’s hear it.”
Michelle started to leave. Luke stopped her. “Stay,” he said. “We’ll need you and Cassidy.”
Candace held her breath.
Luke shook his head. “School shooting,” he said.
Candace exhaled and shook her head.
“Just outside Denver. Two confirmed dead. I don’t have a number yet on injuries.”
Candace nodded.
“I’ll get the governor and mayor on the line.”
“Get me the principal.”
“Madam—”
“Get. Me. The. Principal.”
Candace disconnected her call, the hollowness of a young principal's voice still echoing in her mind. She felt Jameson’s hand on her shoulder. She covered it with her own, grounding herself in the familiar warmth.
