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Ruthie's Daughter

By Amy Denson

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Prologue

The cold air burns as it enters Maryssa’s throat. A puff of smoke, full and white, visible with every exhale. The sun is rising over the Washington Monument to her back. The Reflecting Pool is calm and peaceful. The city should warm up to seventy-five degrees today, but the early morning wind is frigid.

Maryssa shifts her hand warmers, grateful she chose her compression pullover with thumbholes instead of her typical long sleeve shirt. The weather forecast was deceiving. She would have turned into a popsicle without her last-minute wardrobe change. Her cousin Haddie gave her the navy and old gold pullover as a thirtieth birthday present. It matches the running shoes Maryssa designed online as a birthday gift to herself. Maryssa and Haddie keep pace as they jog along the National Mall. They turn before they hit Lincoln Memorial Circle and head toward Constitutional Gardens.

This is the new route they began running after Haddie got married and moved out of their apartment last summer. Their runs have become more crowded since then. The women are flanked by Secret Service agents and a small gaggle of paparazzi, no matter the hour. Maryssa never imagined photographs of herself would end up on the pages of magazines she used to buy for entertainment. Once a fun pastime now turns into worry for Haddie every time she reaches a magazine stand or checkout line. Maryssa began appearing as a fuzzy blob in the background with the caption “First Lady’s cousin.”

Since Maryssa’s internship under the hottest chef on the East Coast, “cousin” quickly turned into a full name with minor details. Last week she ended up in the Scene and Heard feature under a spread entitled, Thirty in their Thirties to Watch. The article highlighted Maryssa’s former ballet career before touting her chef cred. Maryssa was mortified when she walked into work the next day. Copies of the newspaper were posted all over the staff lockers. She couldn’t complain. Maryssa was only on the fringe of celebrity. Her write-ups were still blurbs. Poor Haddie is media gold. Good, bad, lies, truth, it didn’t matter what was said. Haddie Robinson Cashe sold out anything with her picture on the cover.

As if on cue, Haddie turns to look Maryssa’s way and smiles. As they head up Seventeenth, they begin to slow their pace to a jog, then into a brisk walk. Their panting steadies as they draw in the cold, barely-dawn air. Travis, in front of the women, takes their lead and slows as well.

Travis is the lead agent on the President’s detail, but Jackson insists Travis run with Haddie. The man is tall and lean. Maryssa is convinced he must have played basketball in college. His athleticism is evident in his build, and Jackson ribs him about Army’s basketball team. She should ask him sometime. Her mind wanders to the other agents and their backgrounds. She is shaken from her tangent thought as she notices Travis slow his movements. He turns toward Haddie. His voice is deep and authoritative. Maryssa is not sure what he is about to say, but it is evident that the man means business.

“Mrs. Cashe, we need to get you back to the White House as soon as possible.” Travis and the other agents tighten their perimeter around Haddie and Maryssa. Maryssa bristles at the implication that something is wrong. Goosebumps prickle her arms as a shiver goes through her body.

It is so hard to wrap her head around the fact that her cousin, whom she’s known since birth, is the First Lady of the United States. Haddie was furious with Maryssa for submitting her name for the reality dating show Future FLOTUS? last year. Haddie had every intention of getting vetoed off the show on the first day, but Democratic President Jackson Cashe managed to worm his way into Haddie’s Republican heart. One ill-fated assassination attempt and a deportation threat later, and Haddie was trying to get through physical therapy school from the East Wing of the White House. Maryssa shakes her head at the massive changes in their lives. Roommates since sixteen, the two currently live blocks away from each other, but worlds apart.

“Travis, what’s wrong? Is it Jackson? Is he all right?” Haddie’s quivering voice is etched with worry as she grabs hold of Maryssa’s arm.
“President Cashe asked that we return as soon as possible, Ma’am. That is really all I know, but he insisted.” Travis turns and picks up his pace as they all continue on the last leg of their running route.

Haddie moves her hand down Maryssa’s arm to grab hold of her cousin’s steady hand. The cluster briskly walks toward Haddie’s new residence. By the time they reach the White House grounds, Jackson opens the door from the Oval Office. He begins walking toward them on the pathway. Haddie breaks into a sprint when she sees him. Sensing something seriously wrong, Maryssa keeps pace behind her cousin. They have been inseparable since birth, literally. Born one week apart, their houses were across the street from one another. They have been through so many ups and downs in their lifetime. Ominously, this feels like another down they need to traverse.

Maryssa stands back so that Jackson can have his time. His face is ashen and full of worry. Maryssa watches as he tells Haddie something quietly. Jackson’s arms catch Haddie as she collapses into him. Her hands squeezing his navy suit for dear life. President Jackson Cashe turns his eyes to Maryssa. They are shrouded in sadness. He shakes his head as Maryssa slowly approaches the bad news.

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