“Well, I can promise you that this speech will definitely fire up your base and present a gentler side of you that will appeal to Independents,” Mitchum said. “And if we’re really lucky, that will be the dominant talking point for the next twenty-four-hour news cycle.”
“I’ve never been that lucky in my life,” Young said.
“I’m not guaranteeing that will happen, but it’s possible.”
“Well, I hired you to help reach the next generation of voters, not perform magic tricks.”
Mitchum smiled. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Young paced around the room as he studied the speech. After fifteen minutes, he looked up at his chief of staff.
“So when am I finally going to get to meet his A’isha girl?” Young asked.
“Would you like for me to bring her in now?”
"Of course," Young said. "I'd like to make a connection before we parade her on stage like some kind of trophy."
“In that case, I’ll be right back,” Mitchum said before he exited the room.
Young’s private phone rang with a call from Randy Wood.
“Is this a bad time?” Wood asked. “I thought I’d try to catch you before it got too close to the speech.”
“Is there ever a good time to speak with me?” Young asked. “Honestly, it depends on what you want to say.”
Wood sighed. “Look, I just want to make sure you aren’t putting that girl from Afghanistan on the stage.”
“Are you raising some new concern now?” Young asked.
“No, it’s just that—”
“Stop being a Debbie Downer, Randy. Apparently, I have more confidence in your people than you do. Nothing is going to happen to me tonight.”
“It’s not likely, but I wouldn’t rule it out. I’m just trying to err on the side of caution. Evana Bahar is a dangerous—”
“If I don’t ever hear her name again, I’d be a happy man. Just make sure your people are extra vigilant tonight and let me inspire a nation with this speech.”
“Yes, sir,” Wood said. “I’ll do my best.”
Young hung up and flung his phone onto the couch. He interlocked his fingers and rested them on top of his head while circling the couch in the de facto green room.
How did I ever get into this mess?
A knock on the door interrupted his thought process, and then Mitchum slipped inside. He pushed the door open wide and looked behind him as if waiting for something. After a few seconds, A’isha shuffled forward with her state-of-the-art prosthetic leg.
“You must be the young woman everybody is talking about,” Young said.
A’isha broke into a big smile when Young’s gaze met hers.
“Sir, she doesn’t speak much English,” Mitchum said. “But I can bring in a translator for you, if you wish.”
“Absolutely,” Young said. “I want her to fully understand how grateful I am that she would be wiling to come on stage with me and show the harbingers of fear what it looks like when America reaches out and promotes the goodwill that has marked this country for more than two centuries now.”
Mitchum darted out the door, returning after a couple minutes with a translator.
“Here you go, sir,” Mitchum said. “This woman can convey whatever thoughts you’d like to pass along to A’isha.”
Young spoke with the girl for a few minutes, letting her know how important her appearance on the stage was tonight and that the world would know all about her in the morning. She smiled, seeming to understand. When Young finished, she looked at the translator and said something.
“A’isha wants to know when she’ll be able to see her mother?” the translator said.
Young furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure about that,” he said. “Tell her as soon as she gets here. And ask her if she’s uneasy about anything.”
After a back-and-forth between A’isha and the translator, the woman looked at the president and sighed. “She said she’s comfortable with going on stage with you. I told her that everyone would clap and that she’d have to stand and wave. Apparently, she’s excited about the standing part of it.”
“Ask her what happened,” Young said. “To her leg, I mean.”
A’isha dropped her head after hearing the question. She held up her hand, a gesture to make the translator stop talking.
“Is everything all right?” Young asked.
“This is a delicate subject for her. She said there’s been a lot of pain over the years regarding how she lost her leg. According to her, her father had a suicide vest attached to him in a public market where a lot of Allied soldiers were. Right before it exploded, he saw her and tried to stop the bomb, but she says someone else was controlling it and made sure he died anyway.”
“Tragic,” Young said. “This poor girl has been through a lot. I hope tonight is an opportunity for her to put to rest some of this pain for good.”
“Me too,” the translator said.
Mitchum knocked on the door as he pushed it open. “Sorry to ruin this for everyone, but if A’isha is going on stage tonight, her physical therapist needs to inspect her prosthetic leg once more.”
Young smiled and gestured toward the door. “Go,” he said. “We want to make sure you’re well enough to spend a few moments in the spotlight.”
A’isha didn’t move, instead staring blankly at the president. The translator stepped in and explained everything, resulting in A’isha spinning toward the door and leaving the room without another word.”
As the time for the speech drew near, Young popped a breath mint into his mouth, inhaling the fresh taste. Mitchum held open the door and ushered Young toward the stage.
“Are you ready, sir?” Mitchum asked.
“We’ve got to get it over with one way or another,” Young said. “Let’s just hope you and your genius ideas pay big dividends.”
“There’s only one way to find out, sir. Go knock
