Chapter 43

Henry

I look out over the Rose Garden whilst waiting for the other members of my cabinet to file in. There’s a smile on my face that hasn’t budged for the past few months and I’m certain that it will ever leave my face.

I’ve got the whole world at my feet, and I’m standing on top of it. I’ve got the best job in the world and I have the love of my life standing right beside me—ready to give birth any day now. If you had asked me a few months ago if I had ever thought this was possible, I would have said no.

How could a man like me have ever gotten so lucky?

Cabinet members begin to shuffle into the room, starting with the secretary of state and continuing through the ranks. We take our seats in the plush leather chairs and look between each other with a shot nod. I still can’t help but smile—these men, after all, are my colleagues and friends.

“So, gentlemen, what’s on the agenda for today?”

Dockets and files are pulled from briefcases, and the secretary hands me one to read over. I give it a quick glance over, but I know that we’ll be going into more detail soon enough.

“Well, the first item on the list the discussion about the pirates from the South China Sea.”

“What about them?”

“Nothing serious, I just thought the cabinet might be interested to know that they face trial in the Federal Courts starting on the coming Monday, and that the hostage witnesses have all been prepped to give statements.”

“Sounds like an open and shut case.”

“It is. I just wanted to congratulate you again, Mr President, on how quickly and efficiently you managed to regain the enriched uranium from their hands.”

I chuckle once, softly, and look away from the table. I know it doesn’t pay for a president to be modest, but I’ve never gotten used to hearing their praise. It’d be lazy if I did—I don’t want men to give me compliments just because I’m the president.

“Thank you, gentlemen. But of course, I couldn’t have done it without you all and the real heroes are the servicemen and women on the Seahawk. Can we see to it that they’re all rewarded for their efforts?”

“Certainly, Mr President,” the secretary of defense nods and writes a note to himself on the top of his file.

“What’s next?”

“Next, we’re looking towards domestic affairs, and we’re going to be analyzing this year’s budget.”

Internally, I groan. The word ‘budget’ is not what any politician wants to hear, no matter how well you manage to balance it. But I don’t let that show to the rest of my cabinet, even though they’re all probably thinking the same thing.

“So, in this fiscal year—”

The secretary of state is cut off as there’s an insistent knock on the door.

“Come in.”

A particularly breathless aide rushes into the cabinet room—I recognize her as being one of Beatrice’s. She ignores the rest of the men in the room and makes a beeline towards me, and whispers into my ear.

“Mr President, it’s the first lady—her water broke.”

My eyes widen to the size of table plates and the rest of the cabinet look at me in concern.

“Well, gentlemen, as much I love a budget,” there’s a few small chuckles around the room. “I have just received some special news, and so I’ll be needing my vice president to head up the meeting in my absence.”

I push out past the chairs, with the aide rushing ahead of me, leading the way. We rush through the corridors, up to the second floor and towards the executive suite. I throw the doors open and see Beatrice standing ahead of me, pacing through the corridor.

Duke is following in her footsteps, pacing up and down the corridor at his mistress’ side, trying to be reassuring.

Hope sits, perched on the edge of a chair, trying to get her to stop moving about so much.

“Bea, is it true? Is it time?” I say as I stride across the hallway, taking her face between my hands and kissing her.

“I really hope so, or I’ve just peed myself in front of my assistant,” Bea jokes at me, but I can hear the tension in her voice.

I look at Hope.

“What the protocol for this?”

“There isn’t one. The first and last presidential baby to be born in the White House was in 1893.”

“What about Jackie Kennedy?”

“She wasn’t in Washington when she gave birth.”

Great.

I look at Beatrice, who seems equally confused as to what to do. I have a personal physician, but he’s no midwife.

“But it’s okay sir, we have been planning for this,” Hope smiles and motions for us to follow her through the building once again. “The helicopter is being prepared to take you both to the Walter Reed Medical center. We’ve called ahead, and a room is being made ready and available so that Beatrice will have the most peaceful, easiest birth known to modern medicine.”

“You make it sound so easy, Hope,” Beatrice says sarcastically.

Hope continues walking until we reach the last doors to the helipad. She turns to us both and smiles widely, “Knowing you, Bea, I know you’ll get through it. I promise you’ll be in the best hands.”

I squeeze Beatrice’s hand reassuringly, and we walk through the doors towards the helicopter. We fly the short trip to Walter Reed, and from the moment we land, a team of physicians in white coats swarm, taking us through the sterile white corridors.

We’re ushered into the Presidential suite. I recognize it from my checkups at the hospital, and my history tells me that this is where the likes of Reagan recovered from multiple surgeries.

I feel reassured, but I’m not sure if Beatrice is the same. It’s her first time giving birth—to twins, no less—and she’s putting on a brave face, but I can tell that she’s nervous.

I stay by Beatrice’s side all through the labor, sitting patiently by the bed. She squeezes my hand through the contractions, and at one point I think she’s going to squeeze me so hard that the wedding band will break through my finger.

I turn on the TV, trying to find something peaceful or funny to help Beatrice relax, but instead all we can find is the news.

Every network is the same as they report about the sudden departure of a helicopter from the lawn of the White House, carrying both the president and the first lady. The trashier news channels are already speculating, and some of things they’re saying begin to make my blood boil, but Beatrice quickly gestures to change the channel.

After an hour or so of speculation from the media, Hope appears on the screen. She’s reciting a carefully crafted statement about the birth, which no doubt she’d planned for weeks ahead of time.

But after that, Beatrice wants the television off. She’s never been a fan of the media spectacle around our lives and I’d have been incredibly surprised if she had changed her mind now.

Nurses come in and out of the room, and eventually Beatrice is given the epidural.

I’m so proud of her; I can’t imagine what it must feel like. But all I can do is be there for her and support her right up until the birth.The labor was surprisingly short. Either that or the time just seemed to fly. One moment Bea and I were surrounded by doctors, and the tension in the air was thick as she was told to push.

“It’s a boy!”

One moment Bea and I were surrounded by doctors, and the tension in the air was thick as she was told to push.

The next moment, a tiny cry cut through all the noise and a red, wriggling baby boy is born into the world. I watch with wide eyes as the doctors cut the umbilical cord and begin to clean him.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Beatrice, the second one will be along soon.”

I hear Beatrice sigh in the bed and I turn to look at her; she’s covered in a sheen of sweat, and her hair is coming loose from it’s bun.

She’s beautiful.

I dab at her forehead with a cool towel.

“You can do this, Bea, I’m so proud of you. You can do this.”

She doesn’t have time to form a coherent reply as another cry of pain tears from her lips. The second baby is coming, and it’s waiting for no one.

Beatrice pushes, her labored breaths adding to the cacophony of life in the room. I squeeze her hand and place one arm around her shoulder, holding her close to me and coaching her through it.

Almost quicker than the last, the second child is a little girl, with a thick head of hair. Like her brother, she too begins to wail and alert the world with her presence. The doctors begin to wash and swaddle her in the towels.

Beatrice collapses back into the bed, and I push the hair out of her face.

“You did it. You did it, Bea. We’re parents now.”

The doctors tidy up the room around us, and then they bring over a pair of carefully swaddled babies, who—for now—are sleeping peacefully.

I let Beatrice take the little boy, and I hold my little girl in my arms, staring down into the beautiful face of my daughter.

Beatrice bounces the little boy in her arms, holding him against her chest. I look at her and smile, and she looks up at me too with a tired grin.

“God, they’re perfect.”

This morning, I thought my life was perfect and couldn’t get any better.

I was so wrong.