Page 41 of 107 Days

“I hate my debate team!”

I was on the phone venting to my bestie, Chrisette. Of course I did not hate my debate team. I loved them. But they were killing me. By Sunday afternoon I was fried.

I needed to get away from that podium, from the stage lights, from my bullying nemesis in the droopy red tie. I needed some time alone with Doug, who’d arrived the day before. I needed fresh air. I needed a walk.

In my position, a spur-of-the-moment Sunday-afternoon stroll is no small undertaking. We conferred with my Secret Service detail. The only secure place possible at short notice, they said, was a National Guard air base about half an hour away.

Imagine the scene in The Godfather when Michael Corleone is on a stroll in the Sicilian hills with his fiancée, Apollonia.

It is such an intimate moment. Then, as the couple walks on together, just about the entire village strolls into the frame, following behind them. Well, that’s how our walk felt.

The air base was far from a scenic Sicilian hillside: Doug, me, a row of C-17 warplanes, and our many chaperones.

The motorcade pulled in behind a building.

My assistant Opal described our path. She pointed out that as soon as we turned the corner, we’d be in view of the press pool for the rest of the walk.

And, of course, my Secret Service detail would be right there with us.

It’s impossible to get a moment when I don’t have to be self-aware. If I leave the privacy of my room, someone is always observing me.

Doug and I navigated the perimeter of that treeless tarmac, laughing about how surreal our lives had become.

It was a mild, sunny Sunday afternoon. Like Michael and Apollonia, we made the most of our moment together.