Page 43 of Campaign Season
Brett nodded.
This was the first time Candace had met Brett O’Donnell. He was a thirty-eight-year-old father of two who owned a popular chain of coffee shops, coached baseball, and had served for eight years in the Navy. He had entered the race as an underdog and closed the gap in polling to less than two points. Speaking with him, Candace could see why. He possessed an authenticity that felt more genuine than that of most career politicians.
“There are ugly days, yes. But I’ve never regretted serving. Not once,” Candace said.
Brett exhaled with a half-smile, adjusting his tie as though it had suddenly become too tight. “That’s reassuring. Because right now, with the ads, the mailers, the debates—it feels like I’ve dragged my whole family into a storm they didn’t ask for.”
Candace’s expression softened. “You didn’t drag them, Brett. They walked with you. There’s a difference.”
He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “My daughter asked me last night why anyone would call her dad a liar on television.”
Candace winced in recognition. “Cooper once asked Jameson why people shouted at us when we got out of the car. He couldn’t understand why strangers would be so angry. We told him the truth—that people often fear what they don’t know, and that fear makes them lash out. It doesn’t make it right, but it helps to understand.”
“Did that satisfy him?”
“Not entirely,” Candace admitted. “But he trusts that we’ll keep him safe. That’s what matters to kids—safety and honesty. It’s the same for voters, if you think about it.”
Brett chuckled softly. “You make it sound simple.”
“It isn’t. But people respond to authenticity. You don’t need to have every answer. You just have to tell the truth and listen.”
Brett’s campaign manager, a wiry young woman with a clipboard tucked under her arm, gestured toward the cluster of reporters gathering near the stage.
Candace touched Brett’s sleeve. “You’ve got this. Just remember—every campaign stop is a conversation, not a performance. Talk to them like you’re still on the baseball field with your players.”
Brett’s shoulders relaxed. “You know, I might actually try that.”
“Good,” Candace said with a faint smile. “Now let’s go win you a few more votes.”
The White House
“Have you talked to Mom?” Michelle asked.
“Not since last night. She was up before me.”
Michelle groaned.
“Something wrong?” Jameson asked.
“Not wrong.” Michelle hesitated.
“I know you’re worried about your dad.”
“Sure,” Michelle said. “That’s not it. Mom didn’t say much on Halloween.”
“I think she needed to take a breath, Shell. She’s juggling a lot at once.”
“She usually loves campaign season.”
Jameson nodded. “She enjoys meeting people. But campaigning as the president isn’t the same as campaigningfora president—or for the presidency.”
Michelle smirked. “That was a mouthful.”
Jameson chuckled. “You know how it is. Feels like twenty people need her all at once.”
“I guess.”
Jameson tipped her head. “So, what brings you into my neck of the woods? Slumming in the East Wing?”
