The Newsmakers by Lis Wiehl Page B

breath. “Ten seconds and . . . Go!”
    â€œSo, Kay,” Erica begins, “we’ve seen your lovely house and grounds, and visited your office and met some of your staff. I know how busy you are with your foundation work and your books and speeches, but I sense that you’re gearing up for something more.”
    â€œYou know, Erica, I’ve been very fortunate, very blessed. My work so far has been deeply fulfilling on many levels.”
    Erica notices sweat break out on Barrish’s hairline and upper lip.
    â€œBut when I look around me at the division and gridlock in this country, and the dangers we face in the world, I’m compelled to get involved.” All the color suddenly drains from Barrish’s face and an odd look comes into her eyes. “As governor, I was all about common sense leadership. I think the country could use some of that right—”
    Barrish makes a choking sound and clutches her chest. For a moment she seems suspended, a look of shock in her eyes. Then she collapses to the floor.
    Erica freezes for an instant. The room is silent. What’s happening?
    Then she’s on the floor beside Kay. She puts her hands over the other woman’s heart and pushes down again and again, then she tilts Barrish’s head back, chin up, pinches her nostrils, clamps her mouth over Kay’s and forces one breath, two breaths, three breaths— life!— into her lungs. There’s no response. Now Audra Ruiz is on the other side of Barrish’s body doing the chest compressions as Erica continues the rescue breaths, and now Kay’s husband is there, too, one of Kay’s hands in his own, saying, “Stay with us, my love, stay with us!” There’s controlled panic in the room as Lesli calls 911 and Greg yells, “Cut away!” into his headset.
    EMTs arrive in less than five minutes and take over. They insert a breathing tube into Barrish’s windpipe and attach defibrillator electrodes above and below her heart and then deliver a jolt of electricity; her upper body jerks but her heart doesn’t start beating. The seconds tick by. They jolt her again. Still nothing. The seconds turn to minutes. They load her onto a stretcher—Bert Winters by her side, still holding her hand—and carry her away to the hospital.
    Silent shock settles over the room. To go in a seeming instant from all of that energy and life force to . . . nothing. It’s over. Kay Barrish is gone.
    Erica’s mind is blank, like a whiteboard, a flat line, then disassociation, as if she’s hurtling away from this scene, away, away into another world, a better world. Her legs feel weak and she grabs the back of a chair. She feels an arm around her shoulders.
    â€œAre you okay?” Greg asks.
    Then she remembers: she’s a reporter, and the most powerful woman in America has just died in her arms. She has a job to do. “The hospital, Greg, I have to get to the hospital and file a report!”
    â€œNo, Erica, an anchor from our local affiliate is already on the way there.”
    â€œGreg, no, I want to go, I have to go!” She moves toward the front door, frantic.
    Greg grips her by the shoulders and looks into her eyes. “Erica, you’re in shock. You’re in no condition to report on anything.”
    She looks at him and somehow he gets through. And she knows he’s right.
    As she died, Kay Barrish looked into Erica’s eyes—with eyes that were filled with disbelief and terror. Erica knows she will never forget that look. And she wants to cry—for Kay, for herself, for the country, she wants to just weep and weep.
    But Erica doesn’t cry. No. Uh-uh. Growing up, tears only earned her more scorn from her folks—“Crybaby, crybaby!” Instead she takes the deepest breath of her life, holds it a moment, and then slowly exhales. The room comes into focus around her. People are crying, walking around in a