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“It’s tough not to be cynical.”
“That’s laziness talking. Pure laziness.”
“Interesting theory.” He smiled. “It’s hard to figure out how such a confirmed do-gooder has survived in Washington for so long.”
“I love Washington. Most of it, anyway.”
“What don’t you love?”
Old habits of privacy began to close around her, but she was tired of her own caution. “I ran away because I burned out. Being First Lady is the worst job in the country. There’s no job description, and everybody has a different idea of what you should be doing. It’s a no-win situation.”
“You seem to have won. Barbara Bush is the only First Lady with approval ratings as high as yours.”
“She got them honestly. I got them by pretending to be some
thing I’m not. But just because I’ve grown to hate being First Lady doesn’t mean I hate politics.” Now that she’d started, she didn’t want to stop. “I know you may find it hard to believe, but I’ve always loved the intrinsic honor of a political life.”
“Honor and politics aren’t words you hear in the same sentence very often.”
She met his skepticism head-on. “It’s an honor to be given the people’s trust. An honor to serve. Every once in a while, I even think about—” Appalled, she broke off.
“Tell me.”
“There’s nothing more to say.”
“Come on. I’ve seen you naked.” He gave her a crooked smile.
“That doesn’t mean you’re going to see into my head.”
He’d always been too perceptive where she was concerned, and a strange alertness came over him. “I’ll be damned. Hillary Clinton’s not the only one. You’re thinking about running for office yourself, aren’t you?”
She nearly knocked over her wine goblet. How could a person she’d known for such a short time understand something she hadn’t completely articulated even to herself? “No. I’m not thinking about it at all. I’ve . . . well, I’ve thought about it, but . . . not really.”
“Tell me.”
His intensity made her wish she’d never started this.
“Chicken.”
She was so tired of always being cautious, and she wanted to talk, damn it! Maybe it was time to give these vague ideas a little fresh air. “Well . . . I’m not serious about this, but I’ve thought about it a little.”
“More than a little, I’ll bet.”
“Just these past few months.” She met those penetrating gray eyes. “I’ve been an inside observer for most of my life—living right at the heart of power, but not having any real power myself. I’ve had influence, sure, but no real authority to fix things. Still, there are some advantages to being an observer.”
“Such as?”
“I’ve watched the very best and worst we have. I’ve seen their successes and failures, and I’ve learned from them.”
“What have you learned?”
“That this country is in crisis. That we don’t have enough politicians who are either willing or able to make the hard calls.”
“But you are?”
She considered it, then nodded. “Yes. Yes, I think I am.”
He regarded her thoughtfully. “Where would you start?”
