The Hardest Wager 9/18
See disclaimers in part one
The Hardest Wager 9/18
Matt had just finished reading a briefing memo when the portico door swung open, Peter walked in bringing a chilly breeze with him. His protection detail, an imposing blond man stepped in surreptitiously behind him.
“Hey, Dad. Are you *still* working?” Peter greeted his father with a tone just on the cusp of sullenness. Matt knew instantly that he was going to have to take this bull by the horns.
“Just finished.” He set the memo to the side for filing and swiveled his chair to face his son.
Peter had sprouted in the last few months and it was clear that he was going to end up being as tall as his father. He was dressed in a too big sweater and a too short pair of jeans. Peter was also going to need a new pair of Nikes soon.
“You know, Pete, I had an idea.”
“What kind of idea?”
“I thought, since I’ve finished up here, and your mom and Miranda are out for the evening we could do the guy thing. Manly men just kicking back; experiencing a cinematic masterpiece.”
“Really?” Peter’s eyes lit up with a gleam of hope, though he tried to hide the emotion behind prickly body language.
“Really.”
“Are you going to make me watch a stupid Disney movie?”
“Well, I guess that leaves out the latest ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’. I’m going to have call Jerry Bruckheimer and tell him you’re not interested.”
“No way!” Peter’s face broke into a grin.
“Ronna tells me the director’s cut arrived yesterday,” Matt confirmed with a dazzling smile, unabashedly affected by his son’s change in attitude.
“It doesn’t come out for another two months!”
“There are some perks to being the president, Pete. And sometimes my children get to share in those perks.” Matt watched as his son seemed almost to come out of the skin. “Why don’t you run down there and tell them to get things started? Also, tell them to fire up the popcorn machine, I’ll be down in ten minutes.”
Peter ran for the door, but stopped just before reaching it. “Ten minutes?”
“I’ll set my watch.”
Matt checked his watch and noted that it was just after seven. A little early to be knocking off, but he felt without a doubt that spending time with his son was imperative. He shuffled folders to the side of his desk and shook his jacket from the back of his chair. Just before leaving, a thought occurred to him and he altered course towards his Chief of Staff’s office.
Without knocking he entered Josh’s office and cleared his throat.
“Sir?” Josh stood from the couch. On every available flat surface lay a collection of folders. The coffee table in front of him looked like the aftermath of a miniature tornado.
“Anything going on that I should know about?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Why don’t you head home? I know it’s early, but with no current crises, and no legislative imperative, you can afford to knock off early now and then. Rest up for those times when I will need you here all night.”
“I know, Mr. President, and in that spirit I told Sam to go home to his wife.”
“Good for you. No you might try listening to your own advice.”
“I do,” Josh defended. “I try not to keep late hours unless it’s warranted. It’s just that….”
“What?”
“Donna won’t be home until late. I thought I’d take the opportunity to get a head start on some things.”
“Lonely there without her, huh?”
“It’s like a mausoleum, sir. No wonder I hardly ever went home before I started living with Donna.”
“There’s a thought you might want to mull over.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Never mind,” Matt waved it off. “Hey…Peter and I are going to watch the early cut of the new ‘Pirates’ movie. Interested?”
“I didn’t see the first one.” Matt could see Josh trying to weasel his way out of relaxation time spent in a dark theatre and determined that a quick coup de grace would be best for all parties concerned.
“It’s a Jerry Bruckheimer movie.”
“I’m in.” Josh threw down the pen in his hand and began to loosen the tie around his neck, signaling that work time was over.
“See if Bram and Otto want in, too. We’ll make it a night with the guys.”
“Should I invite Lou?”
“Sure,” Matt gave a blasé shrug.
Ten minutes later, as promised, a porter was bringing Peter and the president buckets of popcorn to their plush, oversized seats. Josh sat two rows back where he could keep an eye on the president, as well as the trio of troublemakers two rows behind him.
Lou’s voice could be heard throughout the theater. “The first person to talk during a Johnny Depp scene will be on the receiving end of my unendurable wrath,” she threatened, eyeing Bram and Otto. “Leaders of the free world excepted, sir.”
“That’s very magnanimous, Lou,” Matt chuckled.
“Self-preservation, Mr. President. I have no desire to end up face down on the floor with a knee in my back.”
“The secret service wouldn’t do that, Lou.”
“I was talking about you, sir.”
The house lights blinked once, then twice, before slowly fading to black. Peter bounced in his seat with all the excitement of growing boy who had yet to lose the last remaining kernels of innocence. Matt observed him peripherally, his heart happy to note that despite all outside influences, his son didn’t appear to be growing up too fast.
They watched in silence for a time, enjoying the film’s explosive exposition while munching on warm buttered popcorn. Quick glances behind an hour later, revealed that Josh had fallen asleep in his comfortable chair, Bram and Otto were watching quietly, and Lou had a dreamy expression of rapture on her bespectacled face. Matt always found his dour Communications Director’s tendency to fawn in the face of celebrity to be one of her most endearing qualities.
Whenever a celebrity visited the White House, he always made sure Lou was in the room. The resulting debacle was usually worth several hours of entertainment. So far it had yet to cause problems for the administration, and so had been deemed a harmless fascination.
Throughout the film, Matt leaned over towards Peter and jokingly commented on the story and the lead character’s antics. Matt proposed that he was way cooler than ‘Captain Jack’, but Peter nixed that concept out of hand. When the credits began to roll the other audience members thanked the president for his invitation and quietly filed out of the room, leaving Matt and Peter alone.
“That was awesome, Dad! Can we watch it again?”
“Maybe next weekend, Pete. It’s getting late, and you have to go to bed soon.”
“But it’s Friday night,” he wheedled.
“I was hoping you and I could have a talk.” Matt pivoted in his chair and pinned Peter with a sober glare.
“Is this about Mom?” Peter guessed, and Matt could see that Peter had been expecting this.
“You need to be nicer to your mom about the baby.”
“Why do you have to have another baby?”
“Well, first off, we didn’t plan to have another baby, it just happened. But now that it has, there are some things you need to understand.”
“Like what?”
“It may have escaped your notice while you were busy pouting and being rude to your mother, but she is very scared right now.”
“Scared?” Peter asked, as if such a possibility had never occurred to him. “Scared about what?”
“When you said last night that she was too old to have another baby, you weren’t completely wrong. Your mother’s in great shape and she’s very healthy, but having a baby in your forties can…can be tough.”
“What do you mean?”
“Peter, having a baby is an exciting and wonderful event, filled with endless possibilities. Will it be a boy or a girl? Will the baby have my eyes or hers? Will the baby be a talented artist or a brilliant mathematician? You see, right now…anything is possible. But with the potential for great things comes the potential for the terrible, as well. Just as anything can go right…there are just as many things that can go wrong. Your mom is scared of all these things, and she could really use your love and support right now.”
Matt studied Peter’s face, watching as son chewed on this new information for a moment. “I can see how that might be scary,” Peter decided.
“You’re a smart kid with a big heart; and one thing you can do to help ease Mom’s mind would be to show her that you’re onboard with this. I know you’re unhappy about the baby and I know why. Your mother and I have always tried to teach you that family should come first. That you should always stand up for family, right? What would you do if someone was hassling Miranda right in front of you?”
“Kick their butt.”
“This baby is family, Peter. Whether you love it or not, I expect you to do the right thing. I expect you to do what we’ve always taught you.”
“It’s not even born yet,” Peter pointed out.
“Every time your mother worries, or works too hard, or doesn’t eat or sleep enough, it can be like hassling the baby. Think about that.”
“Okay, Dad.”
“So…you’ll be nicer to Mom about all this?”
“Yeah,” Peter sighed, not with resignation, but with guilt. “I’m really sorry, Dad. I didn’t know Mom was so scared.”
“I accept your apology, Pete. But I’m not the only one who needs to hear it.”
The boy’s head bobbed up and down, his eyes suspiciously wet, but he said nothing more. Matt grabbed his son, pulling him into the chair with him, and into a tight bear hug. “I didn’t have this conversation with you to punish you. I just thought there are certain things a man should know when there’s going to be someone new in his life that it’s his job to protect. And, Pete, I know you think we don’t get to spend enough time together and that the baby is only going make that worse. I promise I’ll try to do better, son. Okay?”
Peter nodded against Matt’s chest. “Okay,” he whispered.
Matt held him for a long moment, wondering how much longer he’d be able to get away with it. How long until Peter remembered that he wasn’t supposed to let his father hold him like a baby anymore. How long before Peter pulled away so that he could pretend to be all cool and distant. How many more months, or weeks, until he lost his little boy forever?
****
The next morning every correspondent in the gaggle was looking desperately to fill inches on the Sunday editions, but Bram was able to coolly deflect their questions in regards to Mrs. Santos morning appointment at Bethesda. Of all the guesses thrown into the ring, no one had even been close.
Several hours later, however, the gaggle would get their shared wish - a bombshell that would start off the news cycle with a bang.
Annabeth Schott relished the collective confusion on the faces of the reporters as she, instead of Bram, approached the podium to begin the afternoon briefing. Reaching within the hollow of the podium, she retrieved a small step stool and locked it into place before ascending up to the microphone. Snickering inside, like only one with a secret can, she took her sweet, Southern time adjusting the mike to her height, while simultaneously cursing Bram for being so damn tall.
“Good afternoon, ya’ll.” Her voice, though high-pitched and girlish was oddly, perhaps magically, comforting and seductive all at the same time. As soon as she opened her mouth the pressroom was filled with waving hands, each begging attention and giving no quarter. Annabeth daintily cleared her throat, wordlessly sending the message that she would say nothing; answer nothing, until the room returned to some semblance of order. “I have an announcement to make, so if you’ll all just wait until after I’m finished for questions, I would take that as a personal kindness.” Her smile was perfectly calibrated to charm and disarm.
The waving hands slowly began to droop like sails without the benefit of wind.
“Thank you.” Annabeth tilted her head to the side, and many of the reporters couldn’t help but smile goofily in response to her cuteness. Her power over people could be a scary thing; it was something she’d heard many times before. Once, someone even had the gumption to tell her that if she wasn’t so darn cute they might think she hailed from the Village of the Damned. “Now, I know some of you asked in the morning briefing about the First Lady’s appointment at Bethesda. I don’t know why we were silly enough to think we could get that past ya’ll.” Annabeth took a break to breathe; her first and last mistake of the briefing.
“Is the First Lady sick?”
“Is there something going on we should know about?”
“Are the President and First Lady hiding a medical condition?”
Annabeth was peppered with these questions and more, all variations on a theme. She held up her hand and waited for the clamor to die down.
“No one is hiding anything, Steve,” Annabeth said. “Kris, the First Lady has been feeling a bit rundown lately, which has been accompanied with some dizziness and a few bouts with nausea. After several tests this morning at Bethesda Naval Hospital, Helen Santos’ medical condition was quickly and accurately diagnosed.”
“How bad is it?” shouted Mark from the back of the room.
“Well, her condition should become increasingly difficult over the coming months. She can expect to gain significant amounts of weight, as well as - and consider yourselves warned - suffer from occasional bouts of irritability. Unfortunately, water retention and swelling may also become issues.” Annabeth smirked as understanding dawned on one face in the center row, and a hand went up. “Katie?”
“And when is the First Lady due?” Katie smiled softly.
Annabeth ignored the cacophony of gasps that filled the room. “Commander Allan Samuels at Bethesda estimates her due date at September 25th. Obviously, I’ll be taking questions now.”
“Annabeth, was this pregnancy planned?”
“Not planned, but welcomed. The President and First Lady are thrilled.”
“What is the prognosis in regards to the First Lady’s age and health?” shouted Kris.
“According to the doctor, Mrs. Santos is in excellent health, and he sees no reasons to suggest that she is unable to carry to term and give birth to a healthy baby.”
“How will this pregnancy affect the First Lady’s official schedule?”
“Obviously, her schedule may have to be curtailed somewhat, especially in the later months. Her plans at this time include maintaining most of what is already on her schedule, but to carefully consider any future travel plans, both before and after the birth. She was scheduled in August to co-host a conference on ‘Women and the Modern Family’ in Luxembourg with Her Royal Highness the Grand Duchess Maria Therese, but the timing will make travel by air impossible. We are in the process of rescheduling that event.”
“How will this affect the president’s schedule for the foreseeable future?”
“At this time the president’s schedule is remaining as is. I imagine that some changes will be made as the due date draws near. You will, of course, be notified of all changes…just like normal. But the president’s schedule is not being rewritten as we speak. Steve?”
“Please pass along our congratulations.”
“I’m sure The First Family will appreciate your well wishes, as they will appreciate your discretion and compassion over the next few months. Some of your less esteemed colleagues may see this as an opportunity to hound the President and First Lady in hopes of catching them in a family moment. The President requests that you respect his family’s privacy in this matter. Rest assured you will have ample opportunity to fill all your column inches. Thank you. And with that, I leave you in the hands of Bram where you can get all your international and domestic news.”
“Thank you, Annabeth,” a reporter called as she descended from the podium. She quickly placed the stool inside the hollow of the podium.
Bram, standing at the press room door sidestepped Annabeth, nodded, and took his place.
TBC
The Hardest Wager 9/18
Matt had just finished reading a briefing memo when the portico door swung open, Peter walked in bringing a chilly breeze with him. His protection detail, an imposing blond man stepped in surreptitiously behind him.
“Hey, Dad. Are you *still* working?” Peter greeted his father with a tone just on the cusp of sullenness. Matt knew instantly that he was going to have to take this bull by the horns.
“Just finished.” He set the memo to the side for filing and swiveled his chair to face his son.
Peter had sprouted in the last few months and it was clear that he was going to end up being as tall as his father. He was dressed in a too big sweater and a too short pair of jeans. Peter was also going to need a new pair of Nikes soon.
“You know, Pete, I had an idea.”
“What kind of idea?”
“I thought, since I’ve finished up here, and your mom and Miranda are out for the evening we could do the guy thing. Manly men just kicking back; experiencing a cinematic masterpiece.”
“Really?” Peter’s eyes lit up with a gleam of hope, though he tried to hide the emotion behind prickly body language.
“Really.”
“Are you going to make me watch a stupid Disney movie?”
“Well, I guess that leaves out the latest ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’. I’m going to have call Jerry Bruckheimer and tell him you’re not interested.”
“No way!” Peter’s face broke into a grin.
“Ronna tells me the director’s cut arrived yesterday,” Matt confirmed with a dazzling smile, unabashedly affected by his son’s change in attitude.
“It doesn’t come out for another two months!”
“There are some perks to being the president, Pete. And sometimes my children get to share in those perks.” Matt watched as his son seemed almost to come out of the skin. “Why don’t you run down there and tell them to get things started? Also, tell them to fire up the popcorn machine, I’ll be down in ten minutes.”
Peter ran for the door, but stopped just before reaching it. “Ten minutes?”
“I’ll set my watch.”
Matt checked his watch and noted that it was just after seven. A little early to be knocking off, but he felt without a doubt that spending time with his son was imperative. He shuffled folders to the side of his desk and shook his jacket from the back of his chair. Just before leaving, a thought occurred to him and he altered course towards his Chief of Staff’s office.
Without knocking he entered Josh’s office and cleared his throat.
“Sir?” Josh stood from the couch. On every available flat surface lay a collection of folders. The coffee table in front of him looked like the aftermath of a miniature tornado.
“Anything going on that I should know about?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Why don’t you head home? I know it’s early, but with no current crises, and no legislative imperative, you can afford to knock off early now and then. Rest up for those times when I will need you here all night.”
“I know, Mr. President, and in that spirit I told Sam to go home to his wife.”
“Good for you. No you might try listening to your own advice.”
“I do,” Josh defended. “I try not to keep late hours unless it’s warranted. It’s just that….”
“What?”
“Donna won’t be home until late. I thought I’d take the opportunity to get a head start on some things.”
“Lonely there without her, huh?”
“It’s like a mausoleum, sir. No wonder I hardly ever went home before I started living with Donna.”
“There’s a thought you might want to mull over.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Never mind,” Matt waved it off. “Hey…Peter and I are going to watch the early cut of the new ‘Pirates’ movie. Interested?”
“I didn’t see the first one.” Matt could see Josh trying to weasel his way out of relaxation time spent in a dark theatre and determined that a quick coup de grace would be best for all parties concerned.
“It’s a Jerry Bruckheimer movie.”
“I’m in.” Josh threw down the pen in his hand and began to loosen the tie around his neck, signaling that work time was over.
“See if Bram and Otto want in, too. We’ll make it a night with the guys.”
“Should I invite Lou?”
“Sure,” Matt gave a blasé shrug.
Ten minutes later, as promised, a porter was bringing Peter and the president buckets of popcorn to their plush, oversized seats. Josh sat two rows back where he could keep an eye on the president, as well as the trio of troublemakers two rows behind him.
Lou’s voice could be heard throughout the theater. “The first person to talk during a Johnny Depp scene will be on the receiving end of my unendurable wrath,” she threatened, eyeing Bram and Otto. “Leaders of the free world excepted, sir.”
“That’s very magnanimous, Lou,” Matt chuckled.
“Self-preservation, Mr. President. I have no desire to end up face down on the floor with a knee in my back.”
“The secret service wouldn’t do that, Lou.”
“I was talking about you, sir.”
The house lights blinked once, then twice, before slowly fading to black. Peter bounced in his seat with all the excitement of growing boy who had yet to lose the last remaining kernels of innocence. Matt observed him peripherally, his heart happy to note that despite all outside influences, his son didn’t appear to be growing up too fast.
They watched in silence for a time, enjoying the film’s explosive exposition while munching on warm buttered popcorn. Quick glances behind an hour later, revealed that Josh had fallen asleep in his comfortable chair, Bram and Otto were watching quietly, and Lou had a dreamy expression of rapture on her bespectacled face. Matt always found his dour Communications Director’s tendency to fawn in the face of celebrity to be one of her most endearing qualities.
Whenever a celebrity visited the White House, he always made sure Lou was in the room. The resulting debacle was usually worth several hours of entertainment. So far it had yet to cause problems for the administration, and so had been deemed a harmless fascination.
Throughout the film, Matt leaned over towards Peter and jokingly commented on the story and the lead character’s antics. Matt proposed that he was way cooler than ‘Captain Jack’, but Peter nixed that concept out of hand. When the credits began to roll the other audience members thanked the president for his invitation and quietly filed out of the room, leaving Matt and Peter alone.
“That was awesome, Dad! Can we watch it again?”
“Maybe next weekend, Pete. It’s getting late, and you have to go to bed soon.”
“But it’s Friday night,” he wheedled.
“I was hoping you and I could have a talk.” Matt pivoted in his chair and pinned Peter with a sober glare.
“Is this about Mom?” Peter guessed, and Matt could see that Peter had been expecting this.
“You need to be nicer to your mom about the baby.”
“Why do you have to have another baby?”
“Well, first off, we didn’t plan to have another baby, it just happened. But now that it has, there are some things you need to understand.”
“Like what?”
“It may have escaped your notice while you were busy pouting and being rude to your mother, but she is very scared right now.”
“Scared?” Peter asked, as if such a possibility had never occurred to him. “Scared about what?”
“When you said last night that she was too old to have another baby, you weren’t completely wrong. Your mother’s in great shape and she’s very healthy, but having a baby in your forties can…can be tough.”
“What do you mean?”
“Peter, having a baby is an exciting and wonderful event, filled with endless possibilities. Will it be a boy or a girl? Will the baby have my eyes or hers? Will the baby be a talented artist or a brilliant mathematician? You see, right now…anything is possible. But with the potential for great things comes the potential for the terrible, as well. Just as anything can go right…there are just as many things that can go wrong. Your mom is scared of all these things, and she could really use your love and support right now.”
Matt studied Peter’s face, watching as son chewed on this new information for a moment. “I can see how that might be scary,” Peter decided.
“You’re a smart kid with a big heart; and one thing you can do to help ease Mom’s mind would be to show her that you’re onboard with this. I know you’re unhappy about the baby and I know why. Your mother and I have always tried to teach you that family should come first. That you should always stand up for family, right? What would you do if someone was hassling Miranda right in front of you?”
“Kick their butt.”
“This baby is family, Peter. Whether you love it or not, I expect you to do the right thing. I expect you to do what we’ve always taught you.”
“It’s not even born yet,” Peter pointed out.
“Every time your mother worries, or works too hard, or doesn’t eat or sleep enough, it can be like hassling the baby. Think about that.”
“Okay, Dad.”
“So…you’ll be nicer to Mom about all this?”
“Yeah,” Peter sighed, not with resignation, but with guilt. “I’m really sorry, Dad. I didn’t know Mom was so scared.”
“I accept your apology, Pete. But I’m not the only one who needs to hear it.”
The boy’s head bobbed up and down, his eyes suspiciously wet, but he said nothing more. Matt grabbed his son, pulling him into the chair with him, and into a tight bear hug. “I didn’t have this conversation with you to punish you. I just thought there are certain things a man should know when there’s going to be someone new in his life that it’s his job to protect. And, Pete, I know you think we don’t get to spend enough time together and that the baby is only going make that worse. I promise I’ll try to do better, son. Okay?”
Peter nodded against Matt’s chest. “Okay,” he whispered.
Matt held him for a long moment, wondering how much longer he’d be able to get away with it. How long until Peter remembered that he wasn’t supposed to let his father hold him like a baby anymore. How long before Peter pulled away so that he could pretend to be all cool and distant. How many more months, or weeks, until he lost his little boy forever?
****
The next morning every correspondent in the gaggle was looking desperately to fill inches on the Sunday editions, but Bram was able to coolly deflect their questions in regards to Mrs. Santos morning appointment at Bethesda. Of all the guesses thrown into the ring, no one had even been close.
Several hours later, however, the gaggle would get their shared wish - a bombshell that would start off the news cycle with a bang.
Annabeth Schott relished the collective confusion on the faces of the reporters as she, instead of Bram, approached the podium to begin the afternoon briefing. Reaching within the hollow of the podium, she retrieved a small step stool and locked it into place before ascending up to the microphone. Snickering inside, like only one with a secret can, she took her sweet, Southern time adjusting the mike to her height, while simultaneously cursing Bram for being so damn tall.
“Good afternoon, ya’ll.” Her voice, though high-pitched and girlish was oddly, perhaps magically, comforting and seductive all at the same time. As soon as she opened her mouth the pressroom was filled with waving hands, each begging attention and giving no quarter. Annabeth daintily cleared her throat, wordlessly sending the message that she would say nothing; answer nothing, until the room returned to some semblance of order. “I have an announcement to make, so if you’ll all just wait until after I’m finished for questions, I would take that as a personal kindness.” Her smile was perfectly calibrated to charm and disarm.
The waving hands slowly began to droop like sails without the benefit of wind.
“Thank you.” Annabeth tilted her head to the side, and many of the reporters couldn’t help but smile goofily in response to her cuteness. Her power over people could be a scary thing; it was something she’d heard many times before. Once, someone even had the gumption to tell her that if she wasn’t so darn cute they might think she hailed from the Village of the Damned. “Now, I know some of you asked in the morning briefing about the First Lady’s appointment at Bethesda. I don’t know why we were silly enough to think we could get that past ya’ll.” Annabeth took a break to breathe; her first and last mistake of the briefing.
“Is the First Lady sick?”
“Is there something going on we should know about?”
“Are the President and First Lady hiding a medical condition?”
Annabeth was peppered with these questions and more, all variations on a theme. She held up her hand and waited for the clamor to die down.
“No one is hiding anything, Steve,” Annabeth said. “Kris, the First Lady has been feeling a bit rundown lately, which has been accompanied with some dizziness and a few bouts with nausea. After several tests this morning at Bethesda Naval Hospital, Helen Santos’ medical condition was quickly and accurately diagnosed.”
“How bad is it?” shouted Mark from the back of the room.
“Well, her condition should become increasingly difficult over the coming months. She can expect to gain significant amounts of weight, as well as - and consider yourselves warned - suffer from occasional bouts of irritability. Unfortunately, water retention and swelling may also become issues.” Annabeth smirked as understanding dawned on one face in the center row, and a hand went up. “Katie?”
“And when is the First Lady due?” Katie smiled softly.
Annabeth ignored the cacophony of gasps that filled the room. “Commander Allan Samuels at Bethesda estimates her due date at September 25th. Obviously, I’ll be taking questions now.”
“Annabeth, was this pregnancy planned?”
“Not planned, but welcomed. The President and First Lady are thrilled.”
“What is the prognosis in regards to the First Lady’s age and health?” shouted Kris.
“According to the doctor, Mrs. Santos is in excellent health, and he sees no reasons to suggest that she is unable to carry to term and give birth to a healthy baby.”
“How will this pregnancy affect the First Lady’s official schedule?”
“Obviously, her schedule may have to be curtailed somewhat, especially in the later months. Her plans at this time include maintaining most of what is already on her schedule, but to carefully consider any future travel plans, both before and after the birth. She was scheduled in August to co-host a conference on ‘Women and the Modern Family’ in Luxembourg with Her Royal Highness the Grand Duchess Maria Therese, but the timing will make travel by air impossible. We are in the process of rescheduling that event.”
“How will this affect the president’s schedule for the foreseeable future?”
“At this time the president’s schedule is remaining as is. I imagine that some changes will be made as the due date draws near. You will, of course, be notified of all changes…just like normal. But the president’s schedule is not being rewritten as we speak. Steve?”
“Please pass along our congratulations.”
“I’m sure The First Family will appreciate your well wishes, as they will appreciate your discretion and compassion over the next few months. Some of your less esteemed colleagues may see this as an opportunity to hound the President and First Lady in hopes of catching them in a family moment. The President requests that you respect his family’s privacy in this matter. Rest assured you will have ample opportunity to fill all your column inches. Thank you. And with that, I leave you in the hands of Bram where you can get all your international and domestic news.”
“Thank you, Annabeth,” a reporter called as she descended from the podium. She quickly placed the stool inside the hollow of the podium.
Bram, standing at the press room door sidestepped Annabeth, nodded, and took his place.
TBC