Home of the Braised by Julie Hyzy

the workspace, I left the kitchen, taking a right into the refrigeration area, a left into the basement hall, and a final left through the double doors that led into the ground-level outdoor courtyard that wrapped around the northwest corner of the kitchen.
    Once freed from the constraints of having to watch my every word, I drew in a deep breath of the hot, sunny air and expelled it, hard. “What is going on, Gav?” I asked aloud. “Why can’t I reach you?”
    Fortunately for me, the president was off the premises at the moment, which meant that a good portion of the Secret Service detail was away, too. Sure, there were plenty of agents guarding the First Family, and we had our ever-present snipers on the roof, but I didn’t feel swarmed and claustrophobic out here the way I sometimes did in the White House.
    Being out in the fresh air by myself didn’t do much to abate my anxiety level where Gav was concerned. Tyree’s presence had upped the stakes. All I could imagine was that something—some unknown thing—was very wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it because I didn’t know what was going on behind the scenes. Not knowing was often worse than the truth. I desperately wanted to know what was happening.
    All I knew for certain was that Gav would have contacted me if he could have. In frustration, I clasped my hands behind my head and stared at the sky.
Get a grip, Ollie,
I told myself
.
You’ve been through worse.
    I needed to focus on something other than Gav. Worrying about him—though it came naturally, and far too easily—was counterproductive and a worthless endeavor. Logically, I knew that my worrying wouldn’t keep him safe. Emotionally, I needed to make myself believe it.
    My team depended on me to stay strong. The president depended on me to feed his important guests. The president’s son, Josh, who also happened to be my number one student, depended on me for guidance. I didn’t have time to waste here. I couldn’t give in to the luxury of worry.
    And yet, as the sun warmed my bare arms, I allowed myself this moment to let it all out.
    “What now?” I asked, knowing that the answer needed to come from within.
    And it did. Simply put, I couldn’t let my team down. I couldn’t let Josh down. I most definitely couldn’t deliver anything less than my best effort where this upcoming state dinner was concerned. The president of Durasi visiting the White House could make all the difference to peace between our nations. I had to do all I could to make sure my portion of it went well.
    That meant I needed to focus.
    I paced and circled the courtyard three times. The air, the sun, and the ability to move did me good, exactly in the way I’d hoped. A nun I’d had in high school once advised us that if we were taxed mentally, we should get out and do something physical to reclaim our energy. Similarly, she told us that if we were taxed physically, we should resort to mental exercises to restore ourselves. That advice had always served me well.
    Thus refreshed, I headed back inside, ready to take charge again, to keep my kitchen moving forward. This was my job. This was what I did best. In trying times like these, I needed to remind myself of that as well.
    I found Sargeant at his desk. What surprised me more than the sight of his head bent over papers he was studying, was the fact that this scene seemed perfectly natural to me. Paul had been the chief usher for years and I’d grown to love the man. Doug Lambert—despite his protestations to the contrary—had never been able to handle the demands of the job and I’d been uncomfortable seeing him in the role.
    I was too savvy to fool myself into believing that Sargeant and I would never experience any turbulence in the future, but having him in charge of the entire residence filled me more with relief than dread.
    I knocked at the jamb. “Peter?”
    His head came up and he peeled frameless spectacles from his face.
    “Are you in trouble again?”