Chapter 11: The East Wing’s Ghosts

I stayed in my bedroom for many, many days.

The days blurred together, marked only by meals brought to my door and the soft footsteps of staff outside. I watched the sun move across the window, wondering when someone would tell me what came next.

Occasionally, staff would hurry past me.

I caught glimpses of black suits, whispered conversations, the distant echo of mourning. The whole house felt quieter, as if it were holding its breath.

After a while, everyone finally seemed less hurried.

A slow calm returned, like the eye of a storm. I found myself longing for noise, for the sound of laughter echoing down the halls.

I finally saw Jacob and the First Lady.

The First Lady was moving out of her current suite, moving to another wing.

But it seemed she didn’t plan to take me.

Because she said, "Natalie, why don’t you just keep living here in the East Wing?"

I thought the First Lady must be joking with me. I’m only five and a half, is that really appropriate?

The thought of living alone in a part of the White House made me uneasy. I imagined the long, empty hallways echoing with my footsteps. No one to tuck me in at night, no one to chase away the shadows.

But later I really did live alone in the East Wing.

At night, the old radiators clanged and popped, and I’d pretend the shadows on the wall were friendly ghosts from presidents past. I got used to the quiet, to the way my voice bounced off the high ceilings. Sometimes, I’d pretend I was the heroine in one of Ms. Carter’s stories, lost in a mansion with only my wits and a flashlight.

During the days I lived alone in the East Wing, I often dreamed of my mom at night.

She tucked me in and praised me for being a good kid.

Her voice, warm and soft, echoed in my dreams. Sometimes I’d wake up with the feeling of her lips still on my forehead.

Later, I started my daily routine of three places: getting up early to pay respects to the First Lady (now the former First Lady) in her new suite, then learning manners there.

Every morning was the same: polite greetings, careful curtsies, practicing the right way to fold a napkin. The air always smelled faintly of perfume and old paper.

Then, guessing when the former First Lady and Jacob finished morning meetings, I would go to the dining room next to the East Wing to eat the first meal of the day with them.

We sat around a long table, the three of us, sometimes joined by aides. I always waited for the moment Jacob would look up from his paperwork and smile, even just a little.

Then they would get busy with state affairs, and I would start to make jokes and play around.

I’d crack corny jokes, imitate the Secret Service agents’ serious faces, or sneak extra muffins into my napkin. It was my small way of bringing color to the gray days.

Mm, the First Lady is now the former First Lady, and Jacob is now the president.

I said it in my head, testing out how strange it sounded—my friend was the president, and I was still the little girl from Alaska, just trying to make it through each day.