10. Recognizing What Was
Thursday, February 18, 2016

As Mac shook the hand of the last of the Dallas donors in the receiving line before the $5,000 a plate fund raising dinner, she knew she would recall nothing about any of them—their names, faces, line of work. Nothing. She'd always prided herself on her ability to focus on the task at hand. Well, she'd failed spectacularly tonight.

She was distracted by her old friend, Mike Stanton, standing next to her. He'd contacted her several months ago and had offered to help with the campaign in Texas. She hated these things but in the American political system "money made the world go round." She was coming to accept it. If she wanted to stay in the game, she had to play the game. Play it better than anyone else ever had. He'd done a fantastic job in organizing this event and in making the introductions. He also had the answers to the questions that had plagued her the past month. After the last donor had moved into the hotel ballroom, she turned to him and his wife, Kristin.

"Thank you both," she said warmly. "Tonight has been a pleasure."

"You're welcome," Mike told her. "It wasn't all that difficult. There are plenty of wealthy moderates out there who are sick of both political parties. They are anxious to lend their support. You're going to win, Mac—Madam President."

"I hope so," she said. "If I don't it won't be because the effort or dedication wasn't there." She turned to Kristin, whom she'd met for the first time this evening. "Would you mind if I borrowed him for a few minutes after dinner? There's a matter we need to discuss."

"Of course," Kristin replied. She was thrilled to have her husband in the role of informal advisor to the President of the United States.

"Thank you." Mac turned to him. "I'll have my aide show you up to my suite."

"The tall blond kid?" he asked.

Mac nodded.

"You know, he has different coloring, but something about him reminds me of…"

"Rod?" she interjected in a deliberately casual tone. "He should. His name is Cooper Calloway."

"Rod's son?" he asked in disbelief.

"The very same."

"Wow. What a small world," he commented.

"Isn't it," she answered dryly before beginning her walk into the ballroom as the opening strains of "Hail to the Chief" heralded her arrival.

XXXXXXXXXX

Two hours later, after quickly changing into casual clothes, Mac paced the floor of her suite barefoot. She was having second and third thoughts about the plan she'd impulsively set in motion downstairs before dinner. But what choice did she have? She had to know the truth. She was haunted by it. When she heard the expected knock at the door, she took a deep breath and walked towards the small foyer as Cooper and Mike entered.

"Thanks, Cooper. Why don't you call it a day," she suggested to him. "I know you need to study and tomorrow will be busy." In the morning they'd be in southwest Texas for a visit with border patrol followed by lunch with the troops at Fort Bliss. Afterwards they'd fly to Houston for a speech on energy and fossil fuels before another fundraiser tomorrow evening and a late flight home.

"Yes, ma'am. Goodnight," he said. He turned to Mike. "It's nice to meet you, sir."

"You, too," Mike answered with a smile. Cooper seemed like a great kid. Probably a lot like his father, had he been able to see Rod accurately all those years ago.

Mac watched Cooper leave and took another deep breath. "Thanks for giving me a few minutes," she told Mike as she walked into the living room area.

"Anything for you," he said following her.

Once they were seated, he asked, "What can I help you with?"

"Nothing serious," she replied with a shrug. "I'm curious about a few things and know that you have the answers."

"Okay," he said confused. "Curious about what?"

"What happened between you and Rod? Why was there such animosity between you?"

Mike was shocked. This was the conversation he'd always dreaded having with her. "Madam President, why do you want," he stopped. He knew 'why.' He'd met 'why.' "Oh… I see."

"What was it, Mike?" she pressed. "Why were you so negative about him? Why did you hate him?"

"It was more than twenty years ago," he said trying to deflect her from her course.

"I realize that," she said impatiently. "But tell me anyway. You owe me the truth."

Seeing the resolve on her face, he sighed. "We had some run ins on the baseball diamond and over a girl in college, which was mostly my problem. What can I say? I was young, dumb and had an enormous chip on my shoulder. And I was jealous of everything he had—including you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you," he told her. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"I had no idea," she insisted.

"I know," he said with a smile. "It's ancient history. We would not have been good for each other. We're too much alike. But back then I was blinded by jealousy, though I didn't recognize it at the time."

"Why did he throw that elbow on the basketball court?"

"Mac…"

"Mike, that was very out of character for him. I need to understand. Please?"

He took a deep breath. He hadn't seen her like this before—or not in a long time. Obviously this was weighing heavily on her. "He did it because I had it coming to me. In fact, he owed me a lot more."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't mean to injure the guy—I really didn't. I was angry because of what we saw at the movies. I thought he was two-timing you and I didn't want you hurt."

"What are you saying?" she asked as her heart pounded in her chest.

"I was the one who gave the hard foul that caused him to break his arm."

She felt suddenly nauseous. "What?"

"It's true," he confirmed. "I was stupid, angry and lost control."

"Mike, he was with his sister," Mac suddenly remembered.

"I know that now. I didn't then. And neither did you. You were devastated and it broke my heart."

"Why didn't you tell me when I asked you about it afterwards?"

He shrugged. "I didn't want to mess us up, and figured that if Calloway hadn't said anything then why should I?"

"But what about after the elbow?" she asked intently. "What about then? You saw my reaction. You knew what I was going to do."

"I told you I had it coming. I told you to leave it alone. But you didn't listen—didn't want to listen."

"You could have stopped me," she insisted.

"Could I?" he asked pointedly. "You're formidable when your mind's made up. Besides, was it really the elbow that caused you to react like you did?"

"What do you mean?"

He took a deep breath. "Was it about me? Or was it about what you felt for him? I think you were afraid."

"Afraid? Of what?"

"The two of you were incredibly close—closer than your level of comfort. I think you expected to be hurt and you struck out before that could happen."

He'd had many years to think about what had happened. About her, about how she and Calloway had been together, and about why she'd never married. Obviously she'd never fully made peace with what had happened with Rod or she wouldn't be asking these questions. He'd finally found lasting happiness eight years ago with Kristin. However, he still cared about her, and wanted her to be similarly satisfied. Maybe it was good they were having this conversation. Maybe it would help her in that regard. She had the most personally isolating job in the world. She had to be lonely.

"I know I didn't help matters there with all the crap I gave you," he added wryly. "And I'm very sorry."

She did not like the direction this conversation was taking. She stood and walked towards the wide balcony doors, which overlooked the cityscape. But there was no escape. After a moment, she turned and walked back, arms folded in a defensive posture. "I can't believe you didn't say anything but just let me go off. And why didn't Rod say anything? Why didn't he explain when I confronted him? Why did he walk away?"

He stood and joined her. "Come sit down," he said leading her back to the couch. Afterwards he told her gently, "I don't know about Calloway. I can't help you there. Only the two of you know what happened between you that day. But I know you when you're in a huff. Did you give him a chance to explain?"

"Mike, he almost died because of that broken arm."

"I know," he acknowledged. "It's one of the biggest regrets of my life. Mac, he had to throw that elbow. I wanted him to do it. But he and I made our peace a long time ago—before graduation, in fact."

Mac shook her head. "I can't believe he didn't tell me when it happened? Why with your obvious animosity towards him would he do that?

"I don't know, but I can guess. He was protecting someone—and it wasn't me."

"Me?"

"He loved you, Mac," he told her. "I couldn't see it and accept it then. But it's true."

"He knew how I hated the dissension between you, hated to be kept in the dark."

"Yes, and he also knew that we had to work closely together on journal for the rest of the year. How difficult would that have been for you if you'd felt caught in the middle, or worse if you despised me?"

She pondered his words.

"He's a strong man. I'm sure he had his pride. And no man is going to get caught tattling to his girlfriend that one of her friends is a bully."

"Yeah," she acknowledged with a huge sigh.

He put a hand on her knee. "I am sorry."

"I've kept you too long. Thank you for your honesty and for your work in putting tonight together. It far exceeded any of our expectations. Thank Kristin for me. It was nice to meet her finally. She seems like a terrific woman. We'll talk again soon." She stood and began to walk towards the door.

Mike followed. She'd gone back into her private, emotionally controlled world. However, there was more that needed to be said. Before he opened the door, he queried, "Can I ask you a couple of questions?"

"I guess," she responded with mild disinterest. She wasn't in the habit of saying 'no' to friends.

He waited until he had her attention. "Why didn't you ask these questions years ago when it might have made a difference? Why only now?"

"Goodnight, Mike," she answered opening the door.

"Goodnight, Madam President."

XXXXXXXXXX

Afterwards, Mac sat in a chair staring out the window. She was in shock. Her world, or at least her perceptions of it, lately seemed to be constantly turned upside down like an hourglass. How must her reaction have appeared to Rod? He'd been doing his best to watch out for her and protect her, and she unwittingly threw it in his face. But why had he walked away without a fight—without trying to make her listen and work through it. That was as out of character for him as throwing the elbow. She probed the deepest recesses of her mind looking for anything that would help her understand.

November 21, 1994

After taking Mike to the emergency room to be stitched up, she took him home. Once he was settled she returned to the law school and found Rod. She was as angry as she'd ever been in her life. To assure themselves of privacy, they met in the small study room—Room 112—where they'd had their first date.

"What do you want to talk about?" Rod asked taking a seat at the table in the center of the room.

His feigned innocence further heightened her anger and frustration. "You know exactly what I want to talk about."

"Mike?"

"Of course, Mike," she answered impatiently. "What else is there?" she added, her voice increasing in volume and fury. "I can't believe you did what you did. We're finished."

He sighed. "Look, Mac, I'm sorry Stanton got hurt. But he…." He stopped speaking. After a moment he quietly asked, "Do you want to hear my side of the story?"

"What's there left to say? What you did pretty much speaks for itself, don't you think?"

"It's not that simple," he said.

"Did you intentionally throw the elbow?" she asked. She felt angry, embarrassed, and unsettled. His calm, unbothered demeanor made it worse.

"Yes," he conceded turning to face her more directly. "But there's more to…."

"How complicated can it be, Rod?" she asked rhetorically. She wasn't in the mood to listen. She was in the mood to cross-examine. "You assaulted him. It was vicious and cruel. And I can't believe that you would take out your frustration with me on him because I wouldn't have sex with you last night?"

"Is that what you think? What you honestly believe?" he asked, a look a total shock on his face.

"What else can I think?" she persisted impatiently, failing to comprehend how her words were impacting him. "Actions speak far louder than words."

"If you believe that…. Forget it," he said with a shake of his head. "What's the point? Your mind is made up. You've made your choice. And you're right. We're finished."

Too angry to speak, she watched him walk away. But before he left the room he turned and said, "If you change your mind and decide you want to listen, you know where to find me."

"If you change your mind and decide you're ready to listen, you know where to find me." She sighed. Those were the words she'd been unable to recall the past month. She'd thought he'd been taunting her with those words. Was it possible that even after all the hateful, hurtful things she'd said, that he'd been leaving the door open for them? Had she been too proud and too afraid to recognize it for what it was?

He'd never pressured her to have sex. Never grew impatient because of her reticence, which had been caused by David. Even their last night together when she'd freaked out on him, he'd lovingly told her it could never be right until it was right for both of them. He must hate her for the accusations she'd unfairly leveled at him. All these years she'd thought that he'd given up on her—on them.

Her mother had asked her why she'd never married. She hadn't known the answer. All she'd been able to come up with was that it "just never happened." While over the years her career had increasingly complicated things, the truth of the matter was that subconsciously she'd compared every man she met to him, and all of them had come up short. Finally she gave up and focused on other aspects of her life—her career, her parents, her friends.

Maybe she wouldn't have become President without that focus, but somehow that didn't seem enough anymore. She finally understood what her father had been trying to tell her with his last words. Her mother was also right. Was the White House home or simply a place to lay her head at the end of the day? It had felt like home. Now it didn't—not really. When had that changed?

She knew the answer. It changed the moment a blond, blue-eyed, smart, curious young man with a big smile and a patient, playful personality walked into her office and awakened feelings she'd forgotten had ever existed. She smiled wryly. How ironic? She was finally recognizing what was and now there was nothing she could do about it. Except perhaps to quit the campaign and willingly give up the job she loved in eleven months. What man could ever see her as a person and not a President? Even then there were no guarantees that such a man existed. Of course, there were no guarantees she would win the election either.

Who was she kidding? She'd had her chance with the best and had blown it. She'd been a coward and a fool. There was nothing she could do about it now.