April 24, 2019
An excited, nervous energy rolls around the farmhouse. These final moments before her official campaign announcement are organized chaos. Henry watches as Elizabeth takes her final moments alone in the kitchen, reading her speech aloud out of the journal she wrote it in. He's always found it interesting that she writes all of her important ideas by taking pen to paper in a literal sense. He's read her words over more than once—each time she's asked.
Elizabeth turns to him with a small smile, "It's good? No final edits?"
"It's perfect," he says, walking toward her and kissing her softly on the lips. "I'm so proud of you."
She gives a soft exhale as they part, "You're sure? I feel like it's missing something... I don't know what, though. A punch?"
"No, it's perfect. So are you," he says, recalling their week in Cuba a few years ago.
Her head tilts and her brow raises. She exhales a slow, controlled breath, "Can you believe I'm actually doing this?"
He swallows as he remembers the woman—girl—he met in college. She was young, service-minded, driven, and politically engaged. She didn't just talk about wanting the world to change. She had solid, well-thought-out, actionable ideas to do it. Her words always had a way of captivating him. Even back then, he saw her as the type of person who could truly make the world a better place through her passion and unwavering love for humanity and democracy.
"I think a part of me always knew you were always going to work your way here. You have always been incredibly smart, capable, and tenacious. It does not surprise me that you're here. You are going to be an incredible president, and every day, I continue to be proud to call you my wife."
She leans into him, wrapping her arms around his middle to savor this small moment on this monumental day. He knows the weight of what this day represents for her. She has worked hard to grow and evolve into the woman she is today, still optimistic, but pragmatic when needed and willing to push back when it's necessary. He has had the pleasure of being her partner and watching her become the leader she is today.
"I love you, Henry. Thank you for not hesitating to go on this wild ride with me,"
He smiles, "I would never dream of getting in the way of you becoming everything you're supposed to be. I am so proud to be a part of this journey with you."
The sound of a throat clearing brings their attention back to the farmhouse's kitchen, which is now filled with the various people working for Elizabeth's campaign.
"We're ready for you, Madam Secretary," Blake says.
Henry watches her give a short nod and take a deep breath, "You got this, babe,"
She gives him a small smirk, "You know I do,"
She finds it nearly surreal to step outside and step behind a podium bearing the "McCord for America" signage. Speaking to a crowd of the press is not new to her; the crowd of unabashed supporters holding up signs that contain the workshopped and focus-grouped campaign slogan is, though. For a moment, she wonders if it's an organic crowd of people or a planned one. She doesn't get a chance to consider this for long because her focus shifts to the teleprompter in front of her. She begins, her voice steady, with her eyes scanning the crowd.
She takes a breath and focuses on the ghost of the feeling Peter's RFK campaign pin and Henry's good luck rosary in her pocket. She became inspired by the faith Peter Harriman put in her before his murder two weeks ago, so much so that she reworked this speech with his beliefs on RFK and the presidency in mind. She catches Henry's eye from where he stands off to the side, and he gives her a slight nod.
"On the night Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated, Robert Kennedy consoled a stunned, heartbroken crowd in Indianapolis with the words of a Greek poet. 'Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until alone in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.' 35 years ago, on a road, not far from here, a driver lost control of his car, and crashed into a car belonging to Ben and Suzanne Adams. My parents were my sun and moon. I was 15. My brother Will was 13."
Her eyes land on Will for a moment, his expression more proud than she's ever seen it directed at her while he holds Annie close. She gives her niece a small smile meant just for her.
"And suddenly, we were alone in the world with no one to light our way. But here's the wisdom that came from that day. We weren't alone. We had aunts and uncles, cousins, friends, teachers and coaches, members of our church. That hard-won wisdom is what Abraham Lincoln called 'the better angels of our nature.' Empathy, compassion, family, friends, community. It's not about me. It's about us. And it's the idea that brings me before you today."
She pauses for a moment to look out over the crowd again, noticing the genuine support. It is both encouraging and humbling. She feels her hands shake slightly as she turns her eyes back to the prompter.
"In the very first line of the Constitution, 'We the People...' When these words were written, the idea that a country could be governed by its citizens seemed revolutionary. Impossible. But for almost 250 years, the United States has done just that, the impossible. I know we face problems so big that solving them seems like a moonshot. But we're the country that sent men to the Moon. We are the envy of our rivals, the hope of the oppressed, the sword and shield of free people everywhere. We the People. It's up to us, all of us. "
She swallows. Her palms are sweating, and her throat is dry. This is the biggest speech she has ever given, and she knows it. She can feel the weight of it, and yet she knows she can bear it.
"So join me, America, in achieving the impossible together. This is at the very heart of this great American experiment. And that is why today I am officially announcing my candidacy to be the President of the United States."
The cheering takes her off guard. This is a moment she thought she'd never be. She came of age right on the tail of second-wave feminism. She was lucky enough to have parents who believed in the power and potential of a daughter as much as a son. Yet, even after having the opportunity to serve her country in so many unexpected ways, this is a moment she could never have imagined for herself.
As the crowd cheers and the cameras flash, she turns to find Henry's eye. He is beaming at her, his pride obvious. She takes a moment to peck his lips and then hugs her children before stepping into the crowd with two Secret Service agents close to her side.
Her eyes scan the crowd and see the familiar faces of the people she loves and is grateful for, as well as the unknown ones. She shakes hands and hugs children, even holds a baby. Mike B and Blake stay close, she assumes, to keep her on target and words filtered, respectively. She has the chance to say a few words here and there, but her attention is mostly focused on her fellow Americans.
She's a half hour into her first grassroots rally, finally realizing there are a lot more people here than Mike had thought there'd be, considering they are on her family farm. It's an organic outpouring of initial excitement she hadn't expected, though it's the kind of response she would love to have in every state.
"Madam Secretary!"
She looks around for the male voice, expecting another supporter and getting a twenty-something holding a lapel mic clipped onto a literal stick and another twenty-something filming with a cell phone. She was warned heavily by Daisy about the danger of influencers: 'They are not journalists, but they're also not not journalists, ma'am. Virality controls the youth vote. Be careful.' so she puts on her best smile.
"Hi," she says in her friendliest way trying to 'remain authentic but maintain control of the message,' as instructed by Allison of all people.
"I'm Ty Bush. I run a TikTok account called PoliTyCool. Would it be okay if we did a quick interview?"
Her eyes flash to Mike B, who gives her a small shrug mixed with a slight nod.
"Yeah. Of course," she says, turning her attention back to the man with the mic and phone.
"Okay, cool," he says, his tone a little too excited and too reminiscent of gotcha journalism. She braces herself. "Madam Secretary, is it true that you're a survivor of sexual assault?"
She doesn't allow her smile to falter, though her entire body stiffens. She should have expected this question, but she didn't. Not today. She figured it would come at some point, that Tom Kincaid would come for her eventually, but one day, one? An attempted viral moment of her reaction is not how she foresaw it. She thought it would come from the traditional media and not from an up-and-coming kid who runs a TikTok account.
She has less than half a moment before her silence becomes a blunder, and she prays her words don't become one, either.
"I don't believe that has a bearing on what we're doing here today," she says, her noncommittal answer in a friendly, measured tone. Her eyes seek Mike's reassurance on her answer. He gives her a tiny okay sign with a head shake, signaling to get out quickly. "I have so much more I want to say on policy and—"
"So it's true. It's been confirmed. Why are you ashamed of this, Madam Secretary? Are you afraid it makes you look weak?"
Elizabeth blinks, her brain not able to process what's happening. The TikTok kid is talking over her and cutting her off. This is not how she anticipated her day going.
"What would be weak about being a survivor of a violent crime?" she counters once again, looking at Mike, whose expression has gone from calm to tense, but he gives her a slow nod, approving of her answer.
"Shouldn't you want to share your story to prove you aren't too weak to be the President of our great nation?"
Elizabeth is silent for a moment, her eyes flashing back to the man in front of her. This time, they are full of the anger she feels bubbling under her skin. Her smile turns from a welcoming, warm, friendly one to a polite, thin-lipped one.
"I think the last thirty years I've spent in service to our great nation proves that I am capable of leading her. Thank you, Ty."
She nods her head, hoping her dismissal is clear enough, and turns toward her entourage, her eyes landing on Blake, "Get Daisy on that kid and find the video once posted,"
Blake smiles pulling his phone from his pocket as Mike whispers to her, "You're going to have to come clean with me about whatever that was. Your campaign manager isn't supposed to be surprised,"
She nods, "Later,"
She walks toward a small group of teenagers and tries to push the memory of what happened to her back into the box she has created in her mind. She needs to refocus, and the kids seem happy to see her, so she turns her attention back to the present.
Two hours later, she walks back into her home in an almost haze after too many names and faces for her to keep track of. She has a brief moment to think about her father and how proud he would be—the man who taught pragmatic pacifism and diplomacy. She smiles at the framed photo of her parents and her on the wall, the last one they had together, taken at the Smithsonian two months before they died. Her fingers graze the photo before she moves into the kitchen.
Henry and Stevie are standing in the middle of the kitchen, talking quietly. They both look up at her entrance, and their conversation ends. She looks between them, knowing exactly what they're talking about and knowing they won't say anything if she doesn't ask.
"What is it?" she asks, her voice tired and low.
"Your announcement is viral on Twitter. It was a great speech, Mom." Stevie smiles, but her voice is weak, and her eyes flash to her father.
"That was some speech," Henry's voice pulls her attention away.
She turns, smiling at him, "Yeah?"
"Mhm," he says, taking a few steps closer to her and wrapping her in a tight hug, kissing her temple.
"TikTok kid is already stirring up a fuss," Mike B says in his signature overly alarmed way.
She swallows and nods, looking over at Stevie knowingly, "Is that what you and Dad were talking about?"
Stevie looks away, not meeting her mother's eye. "Something like that. Dad said we weren't allowed to tell you something bad right away. Also, I wasn't lying. So far, Twitter is overly positive, even when commenting on the TikTok interview."
She smiles at her daughter and kisses Henry's cheek before turning to Mike, "Get the staff in the living room. I only want to have this conversation once."
Mike nods and goes about his task. Stevie excuses herself, gives her mother a small squeeze and kiss on the cheek, and leaves her parents alone.
Elizabeth leans into Henry, allowing herself to show a bit of the weariness and fear she's feeling. She sighs heavily and drops her head to his shoulder. He wraps his arms around her and lets her breathe.
"What are you thinking?"
She closes her eyes for a moment and lets her thoughts and fears swirl. She's never liked to dwell, but she can't help herself, "I didn't expect it today. I thought maybe if the polls were going my way as it gets way closer. Trying to knock me out right at the gate is quite the power play,"
Henry nods and kisses her temple, "Do you want validation or advice?"
She smiles, inhaling his cologne and exhaling a sigh, "Both?"
"Your speech was perfect. I have always been proud to call myself your husband, and I am even more proud now. You're an incredible woman, and I love you," he says, his voice steady.
"Thank you," she says, her voice thick.
He leans back to look at her face, serious expression: "And he's actually given you an opportunity. With it out there this early, acknowledge it and move on. People have short memories. They will forget."
"It was such a big secret... For so long,"
He smiles and kisses her lips, "I know what he did to you. I know you still feel shame. Could you try to let that go? If people bring it up, you have a perfectly good answer ready. You are a survivor. That doesn't make you weak. It's quite the opposite. You are strong, Elizabeth. People know that about you. Your reputation has been solidified for years. You are a strong leader—lean into that."
"You have a lot of faith in me, you know?" She says, her eyes cast down for a moment.
He shrugs, "Always have, always will."
She swallows the lump forming in her throat, her emotions getting the better of her. She has a-million-and-one things swirling in her mind, but she knows Henry is right. She is strong, and she will not allow Tom Kincaid to win. She survived. She's thriving. She's not going to let the bastard steal her life.
She smiles and gives him a deep kiss, "I love you."
"I love you, too. Now, go have a staff meeting," he says, kissing her one last time and releasing her.
She takes a deep breath before walking into her living room, which is now bustling with her senior campaign staff. Telling Henry hadn't been easy, but she was so raw from seeing Kincaid that the details just exploded from her. Telling her kids had been a calculated decision, which she is now glad she made, though it had been hard. Telling her staff had never been on her to-do list, not really. She has yet to fully think out what it means for this part of her history to be public. She is finding out quickly that acknowledging something is possible is not the same as preparing for it to happen.
Having silent eyes on her as if waiting for a command from a leader is not foreign to her. However, having a room full of people she's hired knowing the intimate details of her sexual assault is uncomfortable.
"So, we have our first PR crisis, huh?" she starts, not meeting the eyes of anyone.
"If the far-right TikTok manosphere constitutes a PR crisis. Mainstream media and center-to-left social media have picked it up as more of a blip," Daisy says, scrolling through the dreaded tablet she only ever hands Elizabeth for the bad news.
She looks at Mike, having expected a much bigger problem with his earlier comment, "A blip? Really?"
"So far. The mainstream media has mostly left it alone. Social does have a way of making news out of human-interest stories, and issues of sexual assault are a hot topic so it could take a turn."
She nods, her jaw tense, "So we need to get out ahead of this, then,"
Daisy looks up at her boss, her face softening, "If you're willing to talk about it, now is the time,"
She's silent, her mouth moving without speaking, "I'll think about that. In the meantime, keep an eye on the story. We'll reconvene in the morning before we get on the bus. Thanks, everyone."
Before turning to her most trusted staffer, "Blake," she says, flicking her head toward the kitchen.
She watches him follow her out of the corner of her eye. As soon as they are out of sight, she leans against the counter. Blake stands in front of her with a gentle expression. She can tell he is trying to hold his tongue and allow her a chance to speak. She knows him well enough by now to know that means he has a lot to say, and she needs to be the one to say it first.
"If I were to give you a name, do you think you could very discreetly find out if they are responsible for sending TikTok Ty to the rally today?"
Blake's eyes narrow slightly, but his face is otherwise unreadable, "You can tell me, ma'am,"
Her gaze holds his, her voice low and serious, "Tom Kincaid."
She watches his face shift from neutral to confused. His brows draw together, his eyes narrow, and his lips purse, "Who's that, ma'am?"
She looks at Blake, only a few years older than Stevie. He's been like a son to her for a long time. She considers whether telling him the full truth is a good idea. She's trusted him for years. She knows he won't judge her, and yet she's kept this secret from so many for so long that it's difficult to imagine sharing it.
"My rapist. I trust you'll keep that between us. Even if I decide to speak publicly, I don't know if I'll identify him publicly."
"Of course, ma'am,"
She sighs, her fingers playing with her wedding band and engagement ring, "Thank you, Blake."
He looks at her for a long moment, and she knows he has a question on his tongue, but she can't meet his eyes.
"Ma'am?" Blake says, his voice soft and kind.
She meets his eye, and he has a sad smile on his face. "Yes, Blake?"
"I just wanted to say thank you,"
She tilts her head, her expression perplexed, "For what?"
He's quiet for a moment, his eyes searching hers, "For trusting me with this—with everything over the years. I know that your trust is not easily earned, and I am grateful for yours,"
She smiles, her eyes stinging slightly, "Thank you, Blake,"
"Ma'am, may I ask another question?" Blake asks as he goes over what he knows about her. Iran. Algeria. Andrada.
She chuckles, "You may,"
"What can I do to make this easier for you?"
She smiles softly at the care of the question. Blake has always gone above and beyond. She's not sure how she could ever repay him for his loyalty.
"I'll let you know," she says, giving his arm a slight squeeze, "Good night, Blake,"
"Good night, Madam Secretary,"