Chapter 2

Jay

Leaning forward on the sofa, elbows propped against his knees, he watched as Elizabeth crossed the room to the desk in the corner. Oh, thank God. Lifting the decanter, she poured three fingers worth of scotch into two glasses. After spending the last three hours in the Situation Room, Jay was grateful that she'd lied about not keeping alcohol in the office.

"To compose yourself," she said, handing off one of the glasses to him.

"Ma'am?"

"I've been there." With a sigh, Elizabeth sunk down into one of the chairs positioned by the couch. "I've gone home and taken my anger out on my husband." Slowly, she sipped her drink. "Going home and switching off is hard."

"It is," he agreed. "Especially after a day like today."

Some evenings, Jay struggled to be fully present with his wife because of his dedication to his work— thinking up solutions to seal a deal, using spycraft tactics to smooth over foreign relations, and making phone calls during the middle of the night in the name of diplomacy. Ever since college, he'd been go, go, go! It's why he'd thrived on Governor Lockwood's campaign team. Ultimately, his go-getter attitude was how he was surviving in politics. Before they'd had a baby, his inability to choose a nice dinner out with Abby over a late night at the office had always been met with a playful eye roll. "You show 'em, Babe," she'd said, sending him off with a kiss. Now, with Abby's postpartum depression, she and Chloe needed his undivided attention.

"No one could have known."

Nodding, he tried to understand. Deep down, Jay knew that the operation going sideways was on no one's shoulders. Well, to an extent— nowadays, the United States always seemed to have blood on their hands. Not even the CIA, with their intercepted radio chatter, had seen what had happened in Lebanon tonight coming.

"I can still see his face," Jay admitted.

Two scenes, past and present, began to play out behind his eyes.

Staring down at the coffee table, he tried to distract himself. All of the major newspapers were still neatly lined up from this morning. Given how busy they were today, he wondered whether she'd even had a chance to read through the headlines.

"I lost someone close to me while I was in the service," he whispered. "His name was Dylan." Needing to do something with his hands, Jay tilted his cup, swirling the scotch around the bottom of the glass. "He was killed in a car bomb attack."

"I'm sorry, Jay."

For more than a minute, they sat in silence.

"I— I still have nightmares from my time in Iraq," Elizabeth told him. Leaning back, she tapped the tip of her index finger against the wooden arm of her chair. "I stayed on our base most of the time, but…" She shrugged. "One day, while we were surveilling a square in downtown Baghdad, we had to kill a boy." Pausing, she shook her head. "He couldn't have been much older than ten."

"What happened?" He asked.

If she didn't want to share any more details, Jay wouldn't push, but he knew that she typically only offered up a personal story if she wanted to talk about it.

"A scout sniper and I were on the roof of a building, watching our task team, when we spotted the boy running toward one of our vehicles," Elizabeth explained. "He was wearing a backpack. I wasn't even supposed to be there and suddenly it was our call… My call," she said.

Reaching toward the table, Jay set his cup down before he clasped his hands together in his lap.

"Did he have an IED?"

"Yes, but it didn't make living with the decision much easier."

"That must have been hard."

He could only imagine.

Downing the rest of the scotch in her glass, Elizabeth muttered, "I learned to live with it." After she turned her head, she looked up, meeting his eyes. "Just like we'll learn to live with what happened tonight."

Sitting in the dim light of her office, his thoughts quickly turned to his daughter— her tiny fingers, her big smile, and her innocent eyes. Suddenly, he needed to hold her in his arms.

"We should get home," he said as he stood from the sofa.

A moment later, Elizabeth followed his lead, pushing up from her chair, and began to collect their cups.

Once they gathered their belongings, they started the trek to the elevator. Pushing the button, Jay contemplated whether to bring up what he'd been meaning to ask her all week. On Monday morning, he'd pulled her aside, but chickened out. That afternoon, he'd turned to Google instead.

"Ma'am, can I ask you something personal?"

Standing side by side, she said, "You can certainly ask, but I can't promise that I'll provide an answer."

"Did you ever struggle after having any of your children?" Swallowing, he added, "Mentally, I mean."

When the door to the elevator slid open, they both stepped on.

"Is Abby struggling?"

She would kill him for discussing her mental health with someone else, but he only wanted to help.

"Yes," Jay said. "And I was hoping for some advice."