Read Online First Lady by Susan Elizabeth Phillips - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Elizabeth Phillips
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that the starving Ethiopian baby she’d been holding had died in her arms moments after the photographer had walked away. The memory had never left her.
Although she picked up a lot of healthy, smiling babies for photo ops, those contacts were always brief. Instead, it was the desperately ill babies her job so frequently required her to spend time with. She’d gazed at dozens of crack babies in isolettes, cuddled a hundred HIV babies, cooed to babies suffering from unspeakable diseases, and brushed flies from the empty eyes of those who were starving. In her mind, babies and suffering had become inexorably linked.
“You have to distance yourself,” Dennis had said before their marriage when she’d tried to explain it to him. “If you want to be of any use to those children, you have to detach.”
But how could anyone detach from the tragedy of watching innocents die? Images of their swollen bellies and crippled limbs haunted her dreams. These babies had become both her cross and her crusade, and she’d ordered her staff to look for as many opportunities as possible to showcase their plight. It was the only way she could honor the memory of the Ethiopian baby she hadn’t been able to help.
First Ladies traditionally had a cause. Lady Bird had her wildflowers, Betty Ford fought substance addiction, Nancy Reagan Just Said No, and Barbara Bush wanted everyone to read. Although Cornelia hadn’t planned it that way, she became the guardian angel of the world’s most vulnerable victims.
Now, as Nealy gazed down at this healthy, screaming, golden-haired little girl with bright blue eyes and peas smeared all over her face, she felt only dread. The dark side of her crusade was her panic when she saw a healthy one. What if her touch brought this beautiful child harm? The notion was illogical, but she’d felt like the Angel of Baby Death for so long that she couldn’t help it.
She realized Mat was watching her, and she managed a shrug. “I’m—I’m not good with babies. Maybe you’d better do it.”
“Afraid to get your hands dirty? In case you forgot, helping out is your ticket to ride.”
He had her over a barrel, and he knew it. She took in the messy motor home, the surly teenager, and the fussing infant. Then she gazed at the big, roughneck of a man with his broad shoulders and devil’s smile. Did she want to stay on the run badly enough to put up with all this?
Yes, she did.
With grim determination, she picked up the gooey spoon, dipped it into the jar, and brought it to the baby’s mouth. The baby devoured the peas, then opened up for more, her eyes glued to Nealy’s face. As Nealy brought the next spoonful to her mouth, the baby grabbed her fingers.
Nealy flinched, barely able to resist the urge to shake off her touch. “What’s her name?” she managed.
“You don’t want to know.”
Lucy lifted one earphone. “Her name’s Butt.”
“Butt?” Nealy gazed down at the adorable pea-smeared face with its soft features and healthy skin. Her straight blond hair rose like dandelion fluff around her head. The baby smiled, exhibiting four small teeth, then blew a green-flecked spit bubble.
“I didn’t name her,” Lucy said, “so don’t look at me.”
Nealy looked at Mat instead.
“I didn’t name her, either.”
She quickly fed the baby the last spoonful of peas. “What’s her real name?”
“Got me.” He began folding the map.
“I thought you were a friend of her mother. Why don’t you know her name?” And how had he come to be on the road with two children who weren’t his?
Instead of responding, he turned the key in the ignition.
“I wouldn’t take off yet, Jorik,” Lucy said. “Butt needs a good half hour for her food to settle or she’ll hurl again.”
“Damn it, we’re never going to get out of here.”
Nealy didn’t think he should be using that kind of language in front of a teenager, no matter how foul-mouthed she might be herself. Still, it wasn’t her
Although she picked up a lot of healthy, smiling babies for photo ops, those contacts were always brief. Instead, it was the desperately ill babies her job so frequently required her to spend time with. She’d gazed at dozens of crack babies in isolettes, cuddled a hundred HIV babies, cooed to babies suffering from unspeakable diseases, and brushed flies from the empty eyes of those who were starving. In her mind, babies and suffering had become inexorably linked.
“You have to distance yourself,” Dennis had said before their marriage when she’d tried to explain it to him. “If you want to be of any use to those children, you have to detach.”
But how could anyone detach from the tragedy of watching innocents die? Images of their swollen bellies and crippled limbs haunted her dreams. These babies had become both her cross and her crusade, and she’d ordered her staff to look for as many opportunities as possible to showcase their plight. It was the only way she could honor the memory of the Ethiopian baby she hadn’t been able to help.
First Ladies traditionally had a cause. Lady Bird had her wildflowers, Betty Ford fought substance addiction, Nancy Reagan Just Said No, and Barbara Bush wanted everyone to read. Although Cornelia hadn’t planned it that way, she became the guardian angel of the world’s most vulnerable victims.
Now, as Nealy gazed down at this healthy, screaming, golden-haired little girl with bright blue eyes and peas smeared all over her face, she felt only dread. The dark side of her crusade was her panic when she saw a healthy one. What if her touch brought this beautiful child harm? The notion was illogical, but she’d felt like the Angel of Baby Death for so long that she couldn’t help it.
She realized Mat was watching her, and she managed a shrug. “I’m—I’m not good with babies. Maybe you’d better do it.”
“Afraid to get your hands dirty? In case you forgot, helping out is your ticket to ride.”
He had her over a barrel, and he knew it. She took in the messy motor home, the surly teenager, and the fussing infant. Then she gazed at the big, roughneck of a man with his broad shoulders and devil’s smile. Did she want to stay on the run badly enough to put up with all this?
Yes, she did.
With grim determination, she picked up the gooey spoon, dipped it into the jar, and brought it to the baby’s mouth. The baby devoured the peas, then opened up for more, her eyes glued to Nealy’s face. As Nealy brought the next spoonful to her mouth, the baby grabbed her fingers.
Nealy flinched, barely able to resist the urge to shake off her touch. “What’s her name?” she managed.
“You don’t want to know.”
Lucy lifted one earphone. “Her name’s Butt.”
“Butt?” Nealy gazed down at the adorable pea-smeared face with its soft features and healthy skin. Her straight blond hair rose like dandelion fluff around her head. The baby smiled, exhibiting four small teeth, then blew a green-flecked spit bubble.
“I didn’t name her,” Lucy said, “so don’t look at me.”
Nealy looked at Mat instead.
“I didn’t name her, either.”
She quickly fed the baby the last spoonful of peas. “What’s her real name?”
“Got me.” He began folding the map.
“I thought you were a friend of her mother. Why don’t you know her name?” And how had he come to be on the road with two children who weren’t his?
Instead of responding, he turned the key in the ignition.
“I wouldn’t take off yet, Jorik,” Lucy said. “Butt needs a good half hour for her food to settle or she’ll hurl again.”
“Damn it, we’re never going to get out of here.”
Nealy didn’t think he should be using that kind of language in front of a teenager, no matter how foul-mouthed she might be herself. Still, it wasn’t her
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