Page 52 of Campaign Season
Candace nodded faintly, her gaze drifting back outside.
“The last few months have been hard,” Jameson said quietly. “Scary. Painful.”
Candace’s chest rose and fell slowly as she tried to steady herself. Jameson recognized the familiar sight—Candace’s body trained not to betray her emotions. Leadership demanded a constant performance: measured anger, measured concern, measured humor. Never too much, never too little.
But their life had been anything but measured lately. Tragedy, violence, loss. It wasn’t the bombing in New York, the attacks abroad, or even the assassination attempt on the UK’s Foreign Minister that threatened to crack Candace’s composure. It was Jonathan’s illness. Watching the father of her children wither under the weight of cancer—that was the fracture point.
“Candace,” Jameson called gently.
“I always thought I could make a difference.”
“You do.”
Candace nodded. “But at what cost?”
“There’s a cost to everything,” Jameson replied. “You can’t do this to yourself.”
“What am I doing?”
“Questioning if serving as president is the best thing for this family.”
Candace shook her head. “I’ve trapped us.”
“That isn’t true.”
“My ambition?—”
“Your commitment?—”
“No, Jameson,” Candace cut in. “I?—”
“No one knows better than me about your ambition,” Jameson said firmly. “Except maybe Pearl. And now you’re going to punish yourself for aspiring to be president?”
“I could have made a difference where I was and?—”
“And what?” Jameson pressed. “That would have prevented Jonathan’s cancer?”
“Of course not!”
“Then what? God only knows what would have happened if you weren’t leading this country. Would you have had more freedom? More time with us? Sure. But at what cost?”
Candace looked away.
“I know there are moments when you want to hold up the white flag of surrender,” Jameson said. “Just walk away. Butthose are only moments, Candace. That isn’t who you are—and it isn’t who we love.”
“I feel unmoored.”
Jameson crossed the room and turned Candace gently to face her. “This is hard. Hell, it’s been brutal. If I think about it, this is the first time we’ve stood still for more than a day. Not even after you were injured. I think today was the longest I’ve seen you go without a call from Luke in six months.”
Candace sighed and collapsed into Jameson’s arms. “I’m tired, Jameson.”
“I know. You need to let your guard down.”
Candace groaned.
“I know you worry that if you fall apart, you won’t have time to put the pieces back together when you’re needed. But if you’re not careful, you’ll implode. You can’t keep holding everything inside.”
“I don’t mean to.”
