From the Corner of the Oval Office by Beck Dorey-Stein

Author:Beck Dorey-Stein
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Transworld
Published: 2018-07-11T16:00:00+00:00

IF PRAYER WERE MADE OF SOUND

March–June

AS THE WEEKS pass, the press briefings cover the Malaysian Airlines flight that’s disappeared, Ebola in Africa, Russia annexing Crimea, a mudslide in Oso, Washington, and on and on. Either the world was always a depressing place and I was just blissfully unaware, or we are dealing with a tremendous amount of shit.

As summer begins, Sam’s campaign is heating up, which means that when he does have a free weekend, he just sits and stares at his phone. We go to my parents’ beach house as a special getaway retreat, and even my parents, who adore Sam, are annoyed with how he sits there, iPhone in hand. “One more sec,” he says when I ask when he’ll be ready to walk to the beach, and then an hour will pass, and I’ll go to the beach by myself.

One Sunday afternoon while I’m reading just a few feet from the ocean’s edge, I hear Sam’s phone ring. “It’s a reporter,” he says, and picks it up before I can say “So what?” When he hangs up, I ask if he likes talking to reporters on Sunday while he’s sitting on the beach with his girlfriend, and he says yes.

I roll my eyes behind my sunglasses. We could not be more different. I let my phone die as soon as we left D.C. Friday night. Ever since Mexico, Jason has consistently sent out feelers, especially on the weekends when Brooke is away. I’ve ignored them all, which only makes his texts multiply in number and sweetness, but I see through them. Jason doesn’t want me—he just wants what he can’t have. And while Sam may be a campaign junkie who likes talking to reporters on a Sunday at the beach, at least he’s honest about how much he loves his work. At least he’s honest about everything.

“Cookie,” Sam asks, reaching for my hand, “want to go to Louisa’s tonight before we head back?” Despite all the scar tissue we’re trying to work through, Sam still gets me in a way no one else does. He is still my best friend, my confidant, my personal Pollyanna, my football coach, my puppy. He calms me down and lifts me up better than anyone else, and he reminds me to see the best in people, not the worst, especially when it comes to myself.

That night at Louisa’s, my favorite restaurant, I can’t decide which dessert to get—I love the chocolate bread pudding with caramel and sea salt, but the raspberry cobbler looks amazing. Sam wants the bourbon vanilla bread pudding.

“Let’s just order all three,” Sam says.

“Sam! We can’t do that!”

“Yes, we can, Cookie,” he says, his green eyes sparkling.

“They’re eight dollars each! That’s twenty-four dollars on dessert!”

“Listen, I’m paying for dinner,” Sam says, his smile warm, familiar. “You can start picking up the bill when you sell your first book.”

This guy. He believes in me so much—he always has. Even if he can’t help but check his phone a couple

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