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“No one expects you to drop everything and fly to Connecticut. Just be available to listen. That’s the best you can do for all of them. That’s not the only thing that has you wiped out tonight.”

“I’m worried about the election.”

“This one or the next one?” I ask.

“Both.”

“About losing?”

“That, too,” Candace admits. She shifts to look at me.

“Did you find out more about what happened with the protestors?”

“Nothing specific. I don’t really need the specifics to know we have an issue.”

“What kind of issue?”

“People say they want substance, Jameson—they want solutions. Sometimes, they fall prey to the spectacle. That’s what Klein is counting on. Making me the extremist.”

I sit up. “You? Come on, Candace. The American Brethren are self-proclaimed white supremacists. How on earth is Lawson Klein, or anyone for that matter, going to turnyouinto the extremist.”

Candace groans,

“Candace?”

“They seemeastheextreme.”

“Because you’re married to me?” I ask.

“It’s everything I represent and believe,” Candace replies. “They want to paint themselves as the resistance.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It may be ridiculous. It also may prove effective.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Candace flops back onto the mattress with a sigh.

I want to press the issue, but I won’t. I want to lighten her mood with a fortune cookie or a joke, but that’s not what she needs from me. Not now. I collapse beside her and kiss her softly. “Let it go for now.”

Candace folds herself into my arms and closes her eyes.

“I love you for wanting to take care of everyone. Sometimes, you need to let someone take care of you. Don’t say anything,” I tell her.

“Pot, meet kettle,” she quips.

“Maybe so,” I concede. “I let you cook dinner, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Because I knew you needed to take care of us tonight. I knew you needed to be Coop’s mom and not the president for a few hours.”

“I wish I could escape sometimes,” Candace confesses.

“The White House?”

“No. My brain.”