Free Madam President by Blayne Cooper, T Novan Page B

would ultimately paint a portrait of an American President and a truly unique woman.
     
    Lauren had already turned up at least one interesting tidbit that had required considerable digging. All evidence pointed to the fact that Devlyn's great, great, great Grandfather was a Native American. Chippewa to be precise. And the biographer suspected that Devlyn could trace her dark hair, lightly tanned complexion, and angular bone structure back to this side of her family. It was likely that this information had never come to light before because, by the early 1800s, the Marlowe family had evolved from French fur trappers into society bluebloods. And in 19 th century America, having an Indian lover was something no daughter of privilege would have ever admitted to.
     
    Lauren turned the page in her notebook. She dropped her pen when the newest pile of photographs she'd taken caught her eye. One in particular captured her attention, and she pulled it from the stack.
     
    It was of Dev and the kids, stretched out on the floor of the residence living room. Dev was sprawled on her back, holding a book slightly above her face, and the children were all lying on her, their heads each resting on a different body part. It was a fairytale, Lauren recalled. She had been invited to spend the evening with the family and remembered enjoying the story nearly as much as the children. Dev looked younger, her face relaxed and happy. Dark hair spilled onto the light-colored carpet, and her blue eyes stood out vividly against the shadows created by the book and the fireplace.
     
    The writer sighed audibly as she traced the photograph carefully, lingering over Devlyn's face. She has such interesting eyes and lips. So expressive.
     
    It was a beautiful picture. A portrait of domestic bliss that, to Lauren, looked as alien as it did comforting. For the most part, her own childhood had been unremarkable. While not overly loving, it wasn't abusive either and was characterized more by simple indifference than anything else.
     
    Her parents were stuck in their roles as 'provider' and 'keeper of the house', and she always considered them in a never-ending rut. Each living out his and her lot in life with a stoic acceptance of their place in the world and an almost intentional blind eye to their own happiness or the happiness of those around them.
     
    Lauren's own dreams of travel and education were neither encouraged nor discouraged. And she learned very early on that she was expected to make her own way in life, unburdened by the sentimentality and support of family. Still, she loved them, and felt that love timidly returned in the form of actions, if not words.
     
    There were sporadic moments of harshness amidst the general blandness of her youth, but she didn't dwell on them. She had grown up and gotten out, saving most of her contact with her parents for her monthly telephone calls home and short visits home at the holidays. Lauren glanced at the photograph again, and a bittersweet smile flickered across her lips before disappearing completely. No. She shook her head a little. Her childhood hadn't been anything like that.
     
    She compared the photo in her hand to several others where Dev was in full Chief Executive mode, exuding power, intellect, and an unsurpassed determination. Lauren grinned in amazement. Each picture perfectly suited a different aspect of the President's personality. She was never 'in' or 'out' of character as so many people were. These were all Devlyn. Every last one.
     
    At first, four years studying Devlyn and her life sounded like more of a prison sentence than an opportunity.
     
    Now Lauren wondered whether four would be nearly enough.
     
    Friday, February 19 th
     
    "Well," David stood directly in front of the boss' desk, a thick stack of newspapers in his arms. "Twenty four days isn't quite a month."
     
    Dev didn't even bother to look up; she just sighed and extended her hand. "What?" she asked in a voice that