Chapter Three
January 8, 2005; Georgetown University; Washington, DC
"I'd better get going. Thank you again for listening to my ramblings."
CJ stood up and stretched.
Tim Giancomo jumped to his feet and reached for his guest's coat.
"I'm always here for you, CJ, as a priest and as a friend, whatever you decide. Listen, I have a book I want you to have; let me get it."
As Tim headed toward the back of his rooms in Copley Hall, the door buzzer sounded.
"Would you get that for me, CJ? It'll be my roommate from Notre Dame. We're going to the UConn game."
The redheaded man with the slightly scruffy beard started as the door was opened. When one came to the door of a Jesuit's apartment, one did not expect to be greeted by a very tall, very attractive woman in her late forties. And when that woman was a member of the President's cabinet, a White House reporter's antennae were raised.
"Dr. Reeves?"
"Mr. Concannon. I didn't know that you knew Fr. Giancomo."
"We go way back," Danny smiled, remembering that Tim and the DOE secretary's husband had been good friends. He also realized that there was a veil of sadness and emptiness in the eyes that didn't reflect the smile on the face in front of him.
"You may not remember, ma'am, I was there at the visitation. Again, I'm sorry for your loss. Are you doing okay?"
CJ did remember. She had been struck by the total sincerity that had emanated from the reporter.
"I'm managing. Tim is a big help, spiritually."
The reporter smiled and CJ was again struck by the innate goodness she saw in his face.
"I'm sure he is. He is to me, too."
Tim came back into the room. He handed the slim book ("The Gift of Peace" by Joseph Cardinal Bernadin) to CJ and pulled on his parka.
"We'll walk you to your car."
At the car, CJ hugged Tim and extended her hand to the reporter.
"It was nice to see you again, Mr. Concannon."
"Danny. It was very nice to see you again."
"Drive safely, CJ," Tim said as he shut the car door.
"It's all of ten minutes," she laughed and drove off.
But CJ didn't go directly home. She drove over to Montrose Park, and sat in pensive reflection for some time.
It had been ten months of firsts.
The first Easter without hearing Paul preach on the glory of Christ's resurrection.
The first Mother's Day without being told how much he valued the child she had born him and the ones she had accepted into her heart, how much he loved and admired the way she nurtured those precious lives.
The first last day of school he wasn't there to tell the children to enjoy the summer nights (as long as they were on the grounds of the rectory) as late as they wished, as long as they were out of bed by 8:30 the next morning.
The first birthday he wasn't there to appreciate the handmade cards from the children (a custom started when Martin was in preschool) and "Dance of the Seven Veils" that CJ did in the privacy of their bedroom.
The first first day of school when he wasn't there to tell them that learning was one of life's greatest adventures.
The first anniversary of the day they met in the Berkeley Bookstore, when he wasn't there to tell her how much he thanked God everyday that the Law School bookstore didn't have the text he needed.
The first anniversary of the first time they surrendered themselves to each other, when he wasn't there to make love with her with as much gentleness and wonder as he did that night.
The first anniversary of the day he asked her to marry him, when he wasn't there to tell her how glad he was that "he had the good sense to ask, and she had the bad sense to say yes".
The first anniversary of their marriage ceremony, when he wasn't there to tell her again how beautiful she looked, how beautiful she still looked, when she couldn't see his eyes glow exactly as they had on their wedding day.
Early December and the first time she felt compelled to attend a White House event. She felt so alone, so vulnerable without Paul, resplendent in formal attire at her side, easily making polite conversation with princes, potentates and party hacks.
The first Christmas without his joy in finding just the right present for everyone.
And soon, the first anniversary of that day when he left her forever (and yet would never leave her), whispering the words of love in classic Greek, and telling her of the children they had conceived in love and lost in tragedy.
Everyone had told her not to make any decisions for a year, and she hadn't changed anything (except moving out of the rectory). Her Jewish friends had told her to give herself a year to mourn, and then to get on with the rest of her life.
In any event, she thought as she started the car and headed home, her first awful year was coming to an end.
CJ smiled at the guard at the entrance to the Naval Observatory grounds and the young man smiled in return.
In late May, the chair of the church board came to see her. The man was apologetic, embarrassed to be discussing this with her, but the new minister and his family needed a place to live. There was no immediate urgency, he hastened to assure her, but maybe, by the middle of August, would that give her enough time to find something else and vacate the rectory?
"Move in with us," Jed Bartlet insisted, when she mentioned to the Vice-President that she needed to find a place and asked him to ask Mrs. Landingham to find out if anyone had a place to let.
"Yes, please," Abbey insisted when CJ at first demurred. "We have the room. Ellie hardly ever comes down from Baltimore and with Zoey at South Bend, the house is empty. There's a whole third floor. Give yourself enough time. You can stay with us as long as you like."
"Or until January 20, 2007, whichever comes first," Jed laughed.
So, with the help of the Bartlets, Tim, Mitch, and Allison, she packed up their things, taking some of Paul's books (and, of course, his toiletries and the bag of laundry) with her, putting the rest into storage for the time being.
The children were adjusting and suffering at the same time.
Ria had stopped climbing into Dick's bed right before they left the rectory. Abbey Bartlet had offered the teen-ager the third floor turret room and let Ria pick out paint and paper for it. Abbey filled the role of grandmother, a young and hip grandmother to be sure, for the girl. It was Abbey who told CJ that she needed to have the "if and when you're going to be sexually active, this is what you need to know and do to protect yourself" talk with Ria now, before she started to date one on one. When CJ confessed to Abbey that she felt unprepared to give her daughter the practical knowledge about protection, ("Abbey, Paul and I only used condoms for three weekends. By then, I was on the pill and, except for when I was pregnant or trying to get pregnant, I was on it until we gave up and Paul had the vasectomy. I doubt I saw him put one on more than 50 times. I know he talked with Martin, but I certainly wasn't part of that discussion!"), Abbey said that she could either teach CJ what she needed to know to teach Ria, or Abbey could talk with Ria, either alone or with CJ present. ("I guess you were the last generation to think of them purely in terms of preventing babies. Jed and I used them until we were married. Back in the early Sixties, they weren't as willing to prescribe pills to coeds as they were twenty years later. I had to learn how to put them on a man when I worked in the clinics.")
Martin had gone back to Dartmouth in September. Because of scheduling quirks, he would need one class in the spring term to complete his degree requirements, but had already been accepted at Stanford Law. Martin had also asked Nicole to marry him and she had accepted. They would be married in New Haven (Nicole's father taught at Yale) in late August and then head out to Palo Alto, where Nicole would pursue a PhD in Biology.
The younger boys missed their father terribly, but the Vice-president reveled in the chance to be a surrogate father to sons he never had, and spent quite a bit of time with Dick and Steve. And the two boys idolized the young naval officers and seamen who worked on the Observatory grounds.
CJ knew she also had to do something about her position in the Hoynes administration. Her heart just wasn't in it anymore. Her undersecretaries and execs were doing most of the work and it wasn't fair to be taking the credit (and the money) without doing the work. Of course, everyone from the lowest assistant up to Josh Lyman and John Hoynes himself had told her to take her time "getting back into things", but she knew that they wouldn't wait forever.
July 2005; Copley Hall, Georgetown University
"Come in, CJ. I'll be ready in a minute."
Tim opened the door and ushered her into his apartment.
Tim had invited her to dinner at Marcel's and even though he was a priest, she felt a bit guilty about being in public with him in a one-on-one situation. However, she also felt good to be dressed nicely, her hair cut, colored (discreetly), and styled, and her nails manicured. She had even splurged at the cosmetics counter and received a free makeup session.
As CJ walked into the place, Tim's reporter friend stood up.
"Dr. Reeves."
"Are you joining us, Mr. Concannon?" Tim hadn't said anything about inviting anyone else.
"It's Danny, and no, worse luck for me, I'm just leaving."
"It's CJ," she said in return, thinking that he had the most beautiful smile, almost as beautiful as Paul's, "it was nice to see you again. Perhaps some other time."
"That would be nice."
The phone rang in the bedroom. When Tim came back into the main room, his face had fallen. There was a terrible situation at the hospital and the chaplain on duty had fallen ill. Tim would need to cancel their plans.
CJ tried to hide her disappointment. Of course she understood; she had been in similar situations in the past.
"I was a preacher's wife, Tim."
"Excuse me," Danny interjected. "You look so nice and there's a perfectly good table at Marcel's that would be empty tonight. Why don't you let me take you to supper in Tim's place?"
"Oh, Danny, would you mind?" Tim asked. "I feel so terrible."
"Ah, Timmy, you've been a priest too long if you're phrasing it that way. What happened to the Romeo of Alumni Hall? It's not a 'mind', it's a privilege. If anything at all, you should be asking CJ if she minds."
Danny looked again at the woman and smiled.
In later months, CJ would wonder if there really had been a bad situation at the hospital and if the chaplain really was incapacitated, or if Tim was playing matchmaker. However, she never asked.
It was a very pleasant evening. There weren't any awkward silences or gaps in the conversation.
It turned out that both of them were pursuing the possibility of a path back to the faith of their childhood. Tim's role, for both of them, was mainly that of listener. On occasion, he would ask a leading question, designed to provoke more thought and searching rather than a single answer.
Danny told CJ that his main sticking point was the treatment of human love. He knew several gay couples who were far better examples of human caring that many of the male/female couples in his circles.
"The church expects them to deny the physical desire but tries to be accepting of the caring," Danny said. "But I don't think it can work that way."
"The relationship encompasses eros, philia, and agape . There is no way to separate the components," CJ said.
"Exactly," Danny replied, somewhat surprised that the woman across the table from him knew of the concepts.
In turn, CJ was somewhat surprised that the reporter knew the three terms. Maybe there was something to be said for a Catholic higher education.
CJ told Danny that she had pretty much come to grips with the idea that there would be some things on which her conscience would have to "respectfully disagree" with the Pope and the hierarchy, but that she was pretty sure that she would start taking Communion again in the near future.
"Here's the thing," she said. "I told Tim that I'm not sure what to confess. I mean, I know I've made some mistakes, but I do know that my marriage and my children aren't wrong. I know that when God gave Paul a vocation to ministry, He had to want me to stand by him and support him in that service. Therefore, I had to join his church and raise our children in his church. It was the only logical thing to do. Taking the pill while we finished school after Martin made perfect sense also. We wanted more children, just not right away. And then when our other babies died before they were born, it just seemed right to spare any other possible kids and ourselves."
"And what did Tim say, if it's not too invasive to ask?"
"That he often envied Paul having me in his life to help him bear the burden of being a servant of God's people. Paul and I knew that Tim's vocation was relatively late and that Tim ah, he knew what he was giving up when he answered the call to a celibate priesthood. Anyway, he said I should just say that I was sorry for everything I had done, or not done, that hurt another human being or hurt myself, and then approach God's table and receive Him into my heart," CJ said with a smile.
"You know, in some ways, it's totally amazing to see the guy I roomed with back when we were at the Dome in the priesthood. I mean, Tim was by no means a saint. And in so many other ways, I can totally see him in ministry. He always was a good listener, a good sounding board. And when needed, he gave very good advice and helped in any way he could."
"I know. He's talking to the Poli Sci department about a position for me. I need to get out of the White House. I can't stand the way Hoynes touch - ," she stopped and her eyes grew wide with horror as she saw the reaction on Danny Concannon's face and realized the profession of the man sitting at table with her.
"Please," CJ pleaded. "Please don't use that."
The blue eyes now reflected hurt. "I would never. CJ, tonight I'm not a reporter, not with you. I'm just a man having supper with a fascinating woman. I'd be lying if I denied that the idea that someone would take advantage of his position and your sorrow upsets me, but I will not pursue as a reporter anything you might say in my company. I've enjoyed this evening very much and I'd like - " Danny realized that he shouldn't be so obvious so soon. " In any event, Georgetown or any place would be lucky to have you as faculty."
The conversation turned to other subjects.
He was thinking about devoting more time to books, to leaving the Post.
She was happy that Martin was marrying next month and yet sad to be losing her first baby.
"Monsieur, Madame?"
They looked up to see the head waiter. They looked around to see that the restaurant was empty, except for them and the staff. They looked at their watches to see that it was almost 12:30. Where had the evening gone?
Danny insisted on following her to the Observatory grounds.
Once inside the Vice-presidential residence, she apologized to Jed and Abbey.
"It's no problem," Abbey said. "I was concerned, of course, when you didn't answer your phone – you really need to remember to charge it, CJ – so I called Fr. Giancomo. He explained the situation, so I called the restaurant. They told me that the two of you were so involved in your conversation that you didn't even know when your water glasses or coffee cups were being refilled. Tomorrow, we'll have to have a nice talk."
The Second Lady and Surgeon General kissed CJ on the cheek and went upstairs.
"CJ, he is a White House reporter," Jed said softly. "Please be careful."
"Are you talking as the Vice-president or as my friend?"
"I'd like to think I'm talking as your father. I care for you, care about you. I don't want you hurt."
"Thank you. But it was just a dinner."
She kissed the Vice-president's cheek and headed up the stairs.
But it was more than just a dinner.
Five days later, he called to ask her to a concert at Wolf Trap. "This time, Tim will join us. Someone else is the backup priest."
A week after the concert, he called again to ask her to dinner again.
"I'm so sorry. I'll be in Connecticut that week, for Martin's wedding."
"Oh, well, I hope that everything goes well."
She could hear the disappointment in his voice.
"But I'm free the week after that."
Had she really said that? She hadn't had to throw any signals for over twenty-five years.
"Then it will be better for the waiting."
She would hear the joy in his voice.
By September, he was being admitted to the Observatory grounds and picking her up at the Vice-president's Residence.
In early October, he received a phone call.
"Mr. Concannon, my name is Donna Moss. I'm Dr. Bartlet's COS. In her role as Second Lady, I mean; there's no way I could run her medical office. She was wondering if you might be free to have dinner with her, the Vice-president, and their houseguests on Sunday afternoon?"
Late October; the White House
"Dr. Reeves? He's ready for you now."
"Thank you, Janeane."
CJ stood up and followed John Hoynes' executive secretary into the Oval Office.
"CJ," the man smiled at her and waved her to a seat. Then, dismissing Janeane with a "thank you", he waited for the door to close.
"How are you, CJ?"
"I'm fine, Mr. President."
"Are you, CJ?"
"Sir?"
"There's been talk. You've been seen with Danny Concannon. A member of my administration with a White House reporter. CJ, you can't."
"He's just a friend. A friend of a friend, really. It's only been a couple of meals, a couple of concerts, a couple of ball games, a couple of picnics. Most of the time, we're with Fr. Giancomo, our mutual friend, or with the Bartlets."
"CJ," John Hoynes got up and walked over to the wing chair where she was seated. He sat on the arm and put an arm around her shoulders. "I know it must be lonely for you. It was obvious how much you loved Paul and he loved you. And even though the two of you were circumspect in public, I'm sure that you were used to a lot of sex and that the loss of it must be hard to take. But you don't have to go outside for it. I'm here for you that way, CJ."
She felt a chill. Over the course of the years, other men had made attempts, from mild flirting to outright passes. But no one else other than Paul had touched her in a way that implied intimacy since the summer between her freshman and sophomore years at Berkeley.
CJ stood up, walked to the door, opened it and went up to Janeane at her desk.
"May I have a sheet of paper and a pen?"
When Janeane handed the items to CJ, she wrote in a firm hand:
"Mr. President:
"I hereby resign from the office of Secretary of Education effective immediately."
She signed it, dated it, and handed it to the man who had followed her out of the Oval Office.
Then she turned and left the White House.
By the time she reached the Observatory grounds, she was shaking. There was no way she could have stayed in the Hoynes administration, but she was responsible for three children as well as herself. Paul's life insurance and his retirement accounts might cover the cost of college, and she owned the house back in Berkeley free and clear, but social security survivor benefits for the four of them would not go very far. Jed and Abbey had assured her of shelter, but would they stand up to any pressure from the President?
The news of her resignation had flown around the District and within an hour, Jed and Abbey Bartlet had both come home to be with her. Abbey had sent a car to pick up the kids at their schools.
She told them what had happened.
"Maybe it wasn't what I thought. I've been out of circulation for so long."
"It was exactly what you thought, CJ," Abbey said coldly.
"I'll never understand how Suzanne puts up with him," Jed mused.
"Jed, he can be very charming, very persuasive. He's extremely intelligent, extremely competent. He's done a lot of good," Abbey replied. "But at times, he can be a total ass, a total snake."
"Don't worry about anything, CJ," the Vice-president said. "You've got a home here as long as we do."
"And, if necessary, after that, you can come to Manchester," Abbey added.
The phone rang and Abbey answered it, listened, and then covered the mouthpiece.
"It's the front gate. Danny would like to see you." Then, as CJ's head nodded up and down, Abbey spoke into the phone.
"Please let him through."
Ten minutes later, CJ was retelling the tale.
"Can he hurt you at the Post?"
"Maybe. But, maybe it's time for me to quit and start writing. My publisher says that Admiral Fitzwallace wants me to help write his biography."
"Ghostwrite or credited?" CJ asked.
"Credited. He's not the type to pretend he wrote it all himself. You know, CJ, the more I think about it, the more I'm glad it happened. Not that he upset you," Danny added hastily, "but at least now I can see you openly. That is, assuming you want to see me."
Danny smiled his smile and CJ realized that she did want to see him. For the first time in twenty-five years, she experienced the little jolt of happiness that comes when you first realize that the man with you is someone special.