The following morning commenced with the two Mrs. Drapers engaging in a warm hug. Anna gave her word to keep in touch with Betty regarding her health. Giving baby Gene Draper one last kiss on the forehead, Anna bade farewell to mother and son, wondering if she would ever see Don Draper ever again. As Betty pulled out of the driveway, she finally found herself understanding Don's intimate friendship with the original Mrs. Draper. She was no longer jealous of her predecessor, but was rather filled with worry over what her future held for her. Looking up at the sky, Betty let out a quick prayer for Anna in the same way she did for the Kennedy family weeks ago.
The plane ride home proved uneventful; Betty enjoyed a blissfully peaceful journey with all of the first class accommodations at her disposal. She wondered what New York would bring her, finding herself missing the big city and everything familiar that it offered.
Pulling into the driveway, Betty was relieved to find the house empty, save for family dog Polly, who was more than happy to see her mistress and little master once again.
Placing Gene in his crib, Betty inspected the house, pleased to find that Carla had kept the house in impeccable order. She ventured cautiously into the old nursery, now Don's bedroom. Eyeing the old box of photos on the top shelf, she lifted the contents, carrying them to the old trundle-bed. Crawling under the navy blue comforter, she inhaled her husband's masculine scent, realizing how much she'd missed it over the long weekend away. If only I had the courage to tell him, Betty thought to herself, wondering how long she would betray her feelings. Resting her head on the pillow, Betty dreamed of the boy in the pictures, the one she never had the chance to know.
Don Draper opened the door to his bedroom, after another long afternoon at the office. He had opted to go home early, knowing that Betty was coming home that afternoon. Narrowing his eyes, he was surprised to find her fast asleep in his bed. Daring to step forward, he touched her forehead, running his hand over her blonde locks.
"Umm," Betty murmured, opening her eyes.
"Welcome back," Don said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Betty propped herself up on a pillow, feeling suddenly shy in her husband's presence. She sheepishly pulled the covers over her body. "Did anything happen while I was away?"
Don shook his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary."
Betty nodded her head. "I won't bore you with the details of an all-girls weekend."
Don offered her a grateful smile, eyeing the photos strewn over the bed.
Betty's cheeks turned red, her eyes turned downward, afraid to meet his glance.
"It's no secret," Don joked, rubbing her shoulder. She offered him a tiny smile as he collected the pictures and placed them in the box. Don offered her his hand, helping her out of the bed.
"I'm going to go check on the baby," Betty said, turning away from her husband.
Don watched her walk away. He had hoped that time away would warm her heart towards him, but he had yet to see any evidence of the fact.
Dinner that night proved entertaining for Bobby and Sally, who were thrilled to see their mother and the early Christmas presents she provided for them: a Barbie for Sally and a Yo-yo for Bobby.
That night, after the children were put to bed, Betty approached her husband with the photo box tucked under her arm.
Don stood to greet her, offering to make her a drink. Betty accepted a glass of red wine, left over from Thanksgiving as Don nursed his second Old Fashioned.
"I was wondering if you would tell me more stories about your childhood." Betty asked shyly, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.
Don gestured for her to join him on the sofa. When he wrapped one arm around her, Betty produced the first picture for Don.
"This was taken the day that my brother Adam was born," Don began, pointing out the various people and landmarks.
Betty snuggled closer to Don, allowing her face to touch his neck. Don relished her contact, pulling her closer ever so gently. Lifting a blanket from the floor, he wrapped it around their bodies and continued with the next picture.
"My seventh birthday. Abigail had worked for months to make me a new sweater. It was sky blue, the only color wool she could find."
Don continued, recounting days working on the farm alongside his father, and private moments in the Whitman home. The pictures charted Don's growth from scrawny little boy into handsome young man. Though Don never played football in school, he had the capacity for it, and enjoyed playing with the neighboring boys in the evenings as a way to pass the time. The pictures were all little glimpses, careful not to show the pain that Don faced, knowing that he wasn't truly loved by either of his parents. Don explained as much as he could, wanting Betty to know that he was willing to tell her anything, he was no longer interested in keeping secrets from her.
Don finally reached the last one, taken the day he joined the Army in Korea – the last time he ever saw his whole family together. As Don placed the pictures back in the box, he noticed that Betty had fallen asleep in his arms. Don contemplated leaving her there and just falling asleep right beside her. With a small smile, he lifted her in his arms and carried her back to her bedroom. He knew that she wasn't ready to be that close to him yet, and rather than force her, he was willing to wait a little longer.
"Don," Betty stammered, as he pulled the duvet cover over her tiny form. "What time is it?"
"After ten," Don explained. "You fell asleep in the living room."
"And you brought me here?" she asked sleepily," rolling on her side.
Don nodded his head. "Do you need anything else?" he asked.
Betty shook her head. "Thank-you for telling me about your childhood," she said softly. "I like knowing more about you."
"Anytime," Don told her, gently closing the door behind him. "Goodnight," he said, walking down the empty, dim hallway.
Holiday smells filled the Draper kitchen on a cold and frosty midday morning. Betty thumbed through her favorite recipe book, searching for the ideal sugar cookie to serve over the festive season. Adding a dash of nutmeg to the batter bowl on the middle of the counter, she dipped a long silver spoon into the mixture. Tasting her efforts, she found herself pleased with the product and took out the cookie cutter shapes to continue her work.
Placing the cookies in the oven to bake, Betty examined the wall calendar. There was the neighborhood Christmas party, being held at the Draper house this year. The attending families would all bring something that night, with Betty providing the main meal – honey ham.
Other dates on the calendar included Sally and Bobby's class parties to end the year and begin Christmas break. Betty's famous sugar cookies were being brought to both classes, each tray wrapped in saran wrap and topped off with a giant red bow.
Betty walked over to her datebook resting in one of the drawers and thumbed to the H page. Her index finger touched the number with a small heart drawn around it for emphasis. Reaching for the phone she quickly dialed the number. "Henry Francis' office please," she instructed the female receptionist, drumming her fingers on the table.
"Hello." The deep, familiar voice of the political advisor made Betty's pose stiffen.
This isn't going to be easy, Betty braced herself for the worst. "Henry it's me – Betty."
"I know that voice anywhere."
Betty could hear the lightheartedness in his voice. "I should have called earlier," she said, feeling guilty
"No," Henry insisted. "You told me that you needed time to think, and that's a perfectly acceptable response."
Betty nodded her head. "Well I've had time, and I'd like to see you – if you don't mind."
"Sounds perfect. Tell me when and where?"
"Do you remember that little bakery in the city – Swenson's?"
"Where we discussed the reservoir? I remember it well."
"How soon can you meet?"
"Two o'clock, if it works for you."
"Perfect," Betty agreed, sealing the deal. Hanging up the phone, Betty let out a heavy sigh. She was going to make a heavy commitment to someone, and she hoped that she was making the right decision.
