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Candace enjoys a few glasses of wine or a glass of scotch. She rarely indulges in opening a bottle of wine or scotch since she became the president. At least she doesn’t indulge in more thana glass or a sip. She can’t risk clouding her focus. My thoughts travel to a conversation I had with Shell recently:

“Maybe I should grab another bottle of wine,” Shell suggested.

“I think one is fine,” I offered.

“I don’t know. You know Mom. After a long day, she likes to relax with a few drinks. Plus, Cass is here.”

“If you intend to have a few glasses, open another bottle. Otherwise, one is enough.”

“Why does Mom have a call later or something?”

“Shell,” I said. “Have you noticedhowyour mother drinks a glass of wine?”

“What? Mom is always saying she’ll grab another bottle.”

“Yes. But she seldom opens it unless someone else is drinking it,” I said.

“JD, I know Mom isn’t an alcoholic.”

I laughed. I’d bet there are many days she wishes she could drown in a bottle.

“Why is that funny?” Michelle asked.

“It’s not—not really.” I sighed. “Shell, I’ve seen your mom drink more than two glasses of wine once since she got elected. That was at Camp David with Cassidy and Jane.”

“I’ve had wine with Mom plenty of times since she became the president.”

“And did you pay attention to how much she consumed?” I asked.

“Not really. But we drank a bottle not long ago.”

“Mm. You mean the night you spent together in the Solarium.”

“Yeah. She’d already poured herself a glass when I got there. And we finished the bottle.”

“Youfinished the bottle.”

“I’m not a drunk, JD.”

“No. You were away from home, had a place to crash, were stressed, and enjoyed the better part of a bottle of wine over a couple of hours. Butyoudrank that bottle, Shell. Your mom hadaglass. She can’t indulge. She’s on the clock twenty-four hours a day. You understand that better than most people because you see it firsthand. She needs a clear head.”

“How did I miss that?”

I smiled. “I think that’s kind of the point.”

“What do you mean?” Shell asked.

“Opening a bottle of wine isnormal. That’s something your mom has done after a long day: kicked off her heels, opened a bottle of wine, ordered some take-out Chinese, and stretched out on the sofa. She tries to make this place feel normal.”

“For us.”

“Sure. But it’s also for her, Shell. I don’t care what anyone says. I’ve read the biographies of presidents and first families. It isn’tnormalhere. Your mom does her best to make it seem that way.”

Dana calls for my attention. “JD?”

“Huh?”

“Where did you disappear to?” Dana asks.