At first, Elizabeth thought the arrangement would break her. Not that she'd had even an amicable relationship with her youngest daughter in the few days that Emma had been home – every other conversation had ended in tears or screams. The frustration as they'd talk past each other, angry and hurt, - it had gripped Elizabeth with guilt at being unable to say the right words to make Emma know that she just wanted the best.
But coexisting without any conversation, interactions, or even just eye contact was unbearable. The first morning, Elizabeth went to get coffee from the kitchen as Emma had been making breakfast at the island. The minute Elizabeth had walked into the kitchen, she could sense the temperature drop. Emma had turned away from her, leaving her breakfast on the island and walked from the room. Elizabeth had leaned against the doorframe, willing herself to keep standing.
One good thing about her job was the intensity. Which often kept Elizabeth on one side of the White House and Emma kept to the other. The first night that Elizabeth had made it home for dinner at a reasonable time, the place for Emma at the table was empty.
For the first few weeks, Elizabeth felt she was drowning in the absence. She'd just gotten her daughter back from the dead, back after four years, a miracle in all senses of the word. And now, she was forced to keep away from the child that she just wanted to take in her arms and hold as long as possible – to make up for the years apart. The emptiness had threatened to overwhelm her many times at first. She'd been able to keep herself calm, but she felt she was grieving for someone sleeping three doors down from her bedroom.
That first night, when she'd agreed to the arrangement, Henry had practically carried her to bed. And she could see from his eyes that he saw it as a huge mistake, but he wasn't going to tell her that as he'd tucked her in, whispering that she would be ok. Reminding her to breathe. Holding her until she drifted off.
And he had tried his best to keep out of the whole thing. But she could read him. Like a book.
"Would you stop, Henry?" Elizabeth asked from the bathroom, her words pointed but cloudy as she gargled after brushing her teeth.
Quizzically, he asked, "Stop what?"
She popped her head out of the door, giving him a look of frustration and irritation. "You know."
He looked at her from where he sat, propped against pillows with a book in his hand, "Elizabeth, what are you talking about?"
She wiped her mouth and tossed the towel onto the sink while she stood against the doorframe. "You're judging me."
"I think you're taking my reading of St. Augustine completely out of context, babe."
His attempt at levity didn't land.
She walked to her side of the bed and sat down, her back to him. And she quietly said, "You think I made a mistake, don't you?"
Silence had become her constant enemy yet closest companion lately.
She heard him huff. Then, as if she was waterboarding him with her illogical approach, he said, "I'm not judging you." She heard the book close. "I think you did what you thought was right in the moment."
Elizabeth leaned back, falling next to him. "But you think it was a mistake." Then she questioned herself, "I mean, what if it was?"
"Babe, do you remember, when everything happened with Dimitri?"
She looked up at him and nodded.
"I told you that it hurt to see you because it reminded me of… how I'd failed."
She didn't need to agree to that.
"I just worry that if you'd left me alone, and not fought for us, we might not be us."
Elizabeth grabbed her pillow and set it over her face, knowing he might just be right. And, although the pillow muffled her words, she said, "I just didn't know what else to do."
Then Henry had leaned down and pulled the corner of the pillow up just a bit, and said, "But, you do have one thing going for you." She looked at him for hope while he smiled and said, "Unlike with me, you have the secret service at your disposal and she's still a minor. So… you do have the upper hand. At least for two years."
She rolled her eyes, and then wacked him with the pillow. "Thanks for that. Forcing my child to have a relationship by not talking or being in the same room but in the same house…"
"Bitches be crazy." He joked, which earned him a punch in the thigh and a small giggle from her.
They'd developed a sort of bizarre routine in the parenting realm. She was kept out of the loop of things unless they were major things. Like, when they had to determine the best path for Emma's education. Elizabeth had insisted that Emma couldn't just do whatever all day long. And they'd both agreed that she couldn't go to school, not until she was caught up to a closer level for kids her age. A tutor had been hired. And Henry had the conversation with Emma about how that whole thing would work. After some arguing, Emma had agreed. Elizabeth still was updated by the tutor as far as progress, but if there were any problems, Henry had the privilege of talking with Emma.
Henry told Elizabeth when Emma was getting her stitches out, but the surgery was out of the question. Least of Elizabeth's worries at the moment. Henry told Elizabeth when Emma had a bad day, but, after a few times, Elizabeth had told him that unless it was a dire situation, she didn't want to know. Didn't want to know that her baby was suffering and there was nothing Elizabeth could do.
As the weeks went by, Elizabeth's emotions began to change. Resentment had begun to set in. She'd found herself rolling her eyes at Emma's absences, the slamming of her door if Elizabeth came home early. Henry told Elizabeth that resentment was still a feeling. And was much better than being numb. But that just made Elizabeth angrier and that just proved his point.
Her staff knew something was up. But both Henry and Elizabeth played it off. She was pretty sure that Blake knew. But. She couldn't worry what they thought.
And eventually, six weeks into the entire arrangement, it became a sick routine that gave some structure to get through their days. And Elizabeth took the little moments as her treasures.
Those moments when she was in the conference room, and a staffer would bring in a big stack of donuts and hot coffee, and through the open door, she'd catch a split second glance as Emma meandered down the hallway.
Russell had informed Elizabeth that her daughter had become affectionately known as the "Ghost of the White House" – due to the fact that she could suddenly show up somewhere and then, seemingly disappear. And no matter when the "sightings" happened, she was never without the black cat that trailed behind her.
And every once in a while, Elizabeth would catch a glimpse of her ghost. Allison had made Emma overalls that went with specially designed shirts that flared at the wrists, and the left sleeve had an invisible strap that secured the sleeve so if Emma didn't want to have her hand out in the open, she didn't need to. Those and the occasional sweatshirt were the only things that Elizabeth had seen from her daughter. In those tiny glimpses.
But this particular morning, the ghost was one of the first things on the docket for the morning meeting with Russell. And even before he walked into her office, she shook her head, "Russell, I told you I'm not going to…"
And in walked Daisy. And Henry.
"Madam President, I'm afraid that we have to have a talk." Daisy said.
She looked at Henry and shook her head, "What has she done now?"
"Surprise." He said. "Nothing."
Now that was a surprise. "Ok." She said, sitting down behind her desk, "Then please, do tell me, what could she possibly need to be on…" Then she looked at Daisy and back to Russell, realization dawning. "Oh no." She sat up, shaking her finger between the two of them. "No press. Absolutely not."
"Ma'am," Daisy said, "It's been two and a half months since she was rescued. And the public deserves to at least be introduced to her other than the minor leaks from staffers about the ghost."
Henry nodded his head in agreement, "I think it's probably time."
"She's not ready." Elizabeth whispered, but realized she had no authority to say that about her daughter that she hadn't spoken to in over a month.
Russell leaned against the couch and shrugged his shoulders, "What if it's something small? Nothing that's putting her in the spotlight."
"Like… what?" Elizabeth said. "There are still tabloids calling her 'America's Lost Princess.' What do you propose for this non-spotlight, small thing with the proverbial princess?"
It was Daisy's turn to take a crack at her. "The non-profit business dinner this weekend."
Of all the events, that might be something. Few press pictures beforehand, no reporters asking questions inside, and a small guest list. She hated how they'd found something that actually sounded doable.
Still, she objected. "And what's the line about the investigation? The one that's stalled?"
Russell said, "It's a crime to comment on an ongoing federal investigation."
Henry shook his head and mouthed to Elizabeth, "I don't think it is."
"Oh come on," Russell rolled his eyes at Henry, "We'll make up some bullshit story about it. If they get some pictures of her in a pretty dress with a smile on once or twice, I think they'll be satisfied."
"Way to make me look like a good mother throwing her daughter to the wolves armed with a pretty dress and a smile."
But as she thought about it, it sounded like a safe first appearance.
The last part of the puzzle. "So who is going to ask her?"
Henry opened his mouth, but Russell beat him to it. "Let me take a swing at it."
Everyone turned at looked at him in amazement. And he objected, "Hey, it's not my fault that she likes my weird sense of humor." As his phone buzzed in his hand, he shrugged and said, "I'll ask."
Elizabeth pushed the prick of jealousy that Russell, her chief of staff and famous asshole, got to speak to her daughter while Elizabeth couldn't.
But she agreed. Contingent on Emma's response. And they'd see soon enough what that would be. Well, some of them would.
