Incumbent by Joanne Schwehm
PROLOGUE
Lucy
History is a subject we learn from.
As children, we’re groomed to learn from those who came before us, not just to understand where we came from, but so we won’t make the same mistakes. Whether we studied wars between countries, families, or lovers, the lesson was to grow so we could educate ourselves and others.
However, sometimes personal history was so painful, it was better forgotten. Although my history taught me in ways I’d never wish on anyone else, it still happened and was ingrained in me. Lies were told, truths overlooked, and when my world spiraled out of control, the damage was irreparable.
Rather than being consumed with my past, I submerged myself in the history of my country. I became a teacher, and enjoyed stoking the imagination of my students so they could understand why we needed the past to better our future.
To be honest, my motive was a bit selfish. I knew that studying and lecturing others on governments, politics, and wars would remove me from the struggle that waged within me every day. It was a battle I’d fought for the past thirteen years, and still did each time I looked in the mirror.
The only thing worse than my own reflection was the day I saw the disgust in my parents’ eyes when they looked at me. Their reaction confirmed all I knew to be true—that no matter how hard we tried, history couldn’t be rewritten or forgotten. We could attempt to run from it, but it always had a way of catching up with us.
Then there is love. History dictates that even the deepest love isn’t enough to withstand obstacles or conquer barriers. Look at the great couples in history—Romeo and Juliet, Cleopatra and Mark Anthony, Napoleon and Josephine—there was always struggle, and not necessarily a happily-ever-after. My life, like theirs, isn’t a fairy tale. Those are best left to children’s books that give children hope until they grow and become adults, and then reality sets in.
Moving to Virginia and making a new best friend, Mason, was my attempt at a fresh start. I began a life where no one knew me or my family, a life in which I could do my best at creating a new history for myself, one I could be proud of.
Then I met him.
Drake
History is the foundation our wonderful country is built on.
I loved everything about it. Our founding fathers created a glorious path I chose to follow, and my heart and soul geared up to serve my country. Although I couldn’t serve in the military due to a football injury, I decided to serve my country with my time. I volunteered at every opportunity, and once I assisted with the Republican National Convention at age eighteen, I knew the direction I needed to take.
After I graduated with a political science degree and became a lawyer, I put my education to good use in our nation’s capital. I ran for the United States Senate when I was thirty, and was elected. My parents and siblings couldn’t be prouder, and to be honest, I was very pleased with the accomplishments I’d made in a short time. Although my mother would like to see her oldest son married, I hadn’t had the time or inclination to become involved with anyone.
That was another thing I learned from history. Politicians and their families were scrutinized for everything they did, for each and every move they made. We were under a microscope.
My campaign manager and supporters urged me to run for president when my first term ended, but I wasn’t ready. There were things I needed to accomplish as a senator, and it was my seat to lose. If I could help it, nothing or no one would stand in my way because I was the incumbent.
Then I met her.
CHAPTER 1
Lucy
“Come on, people!”
It was the worst possible day to be running late for work. A strange mix of annoyance and excitement coursed through my veins as I fumed while stuck in traffic, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles had turned white. Rush-hour traffic in any metropolitan city was frustrating, but here in Northern Virginia, it was especially brutal, even on Fridays when traffic was normally lighter.
I could see my highway exit just up ahead, but we were at a standstill. My Metro card peeking out from my cup holder mocked me, and I cursed myself for not taking public transportation.
After what felt like an eternity, during which I memorized all the stick figures’ names on the minivan’s back window in front of me, I finally pulled into Northern Ridge High School.
Five minutes before the first bell. I can do this.
Planner and tote bag in hand, I hurried to my classroom, trying not to knock anyone down as I made my way down the locker-lined hallway. Naturally, there were a few students milling about outside my classroom, chatting with their friends. The others would stroll in just before the bell rang.
The classes I taught varied from US History to Government, which was my last class of the day, and today it was the one I was looking forward to. We were in the second half of the year, and mid-semester exams were under way in all my classes except for my Government class.
I went through the motions all day, watching the clock as I counted down the minutes until my last class. Today was special because I’d invited a special visitor, and had been thrilled when he’d accepted.
By the time the eighth-period bell rang hours later, my nerves were tight with anticipation. Students leisurely poured in, and the familiar sound of chairs scraping the linoleum floor was welcome. My dry-erase marker squeaked on the whiteboard as I wrote today’s class agenda—GUEST SPEAKER.