Damien's Christmas (+audio)

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Standing on the threshold of the White House Situation Room shouldn’t be this strange, but Cornelia could not remember a single moment of greater change in her life.
Taking the next step seemed beyond her capabilities.
And it wasn’t merely the Situation Room—which was actually a large complex of rooms in the basement of the West Wing. This was the entry to the President’s Briefing Room, the keystone conference room. This is where the nation’s hardest decisions were made and she absolutely didn’t belong here.
“Well, here’s a day I never thought I’d see,” President-elect Zachary Thomas chuckled from close behind her. “The day anything would slow down Ms. Cornelia Day.”
Fighting to keep her reactions to herself, she took the step, and the next five, her heels echoing as she crossed the pale gold marble and then onto the dark blue of the carpet surrounding the conference table.
In her eight years as Vice President Thomas’ assistant, she had never entered this room.
Didn’t he know that?
The dark walnut table had six armchairs down either side. At the near end was the lone chair that must be the President’s and at the far end there was a wall of video screens. More chairs lined either sidewall as well as more large screens.
The room felt wrong, too simple for what it was. The governor’s conference room in Colorado was several times larger and much more nicely appointed. Of course the Roosevelt Room and Cabinet Room upstairs were directly opposite the Oval Office.
But still, the Situation Room should look like more than an afterthought. It was so small for what happened here. If all the chairs were filled it would be more cramped than the coach section on an airplane.
Then she looked at the clock. Local time and—she barely managed a breath against the tightness building in her chest—President time. He had his own clock. Nothing so succinctly stated the purpose of this room as him having his own clock. It would always be synchronized to where he traveled in the world.
She truly didn’t belong here. She didn’t even know which chair would be hers, or more troubling, why it would be hers.
“This,” Zachary Thomas came up beside her and rested his hand on the head chair, “will typically be mine starting on Inauguration Day.”
It was the Monday after Thanksgiving. They had barely seven weeks to form their new administration. Cornelia’s head hurt from thinking about how much there was to do.
“And if you don’t think that’s scaring the daylights out of me, you’ve got another think coming. That one,” he pointed to his immediate left, the chair she’d stopped close behind, “is where my White House Chief of Staff will be sitting.”
Cornelia rested her hand on the seat back and tried not to be physically ill. At the President of the United States’ left
hand. “How did this happen?”

Initial Publication: November 23, 2016
Print Pages: 208
Audio length: 5:38
Narrator: Read by Author