David sat in the main conference room of Callahan, Seaborn & Brown surrounded by partners and associates. Every few months, they scheduled an informal working dinner. It gave everyone a chance to catch up on the projects the firm was designing and get status reports on those already under construction. Tonight, one of the newer architects had asked for input from the group, and now everyone was brainstorming. It was one of David's favorite times. He leaned back in his chair, listening as people threw out ideas, tossing out a few of his own.
His administrative assistant slipped into the room and handed him a folded slip of paper. Slipping on his glasses, he glanced at it, expecting a response from a client in Hong Kong. He read the note, and then read it again.
"I'm sorry. I have a call," he announced, getting to his feet. "Liam, take over, will you?" He hurried down the hall to his office. "Carla, would you put it through, please?"
Carla was a bright, energetic addition to the firm who was rarely rattled. Now she clutched the telephone receiver, and her hand shook as she took the call off hold. "I'm t-transferring your call now."
David picked up the phone on the first ring. "David Seaborn."
"Good evening, Mr. Seaborn. I'm calling from the White House," a woman said. "Would you hold for the President, please?"
"Of course."
A moment later, there was a click and then a familiar voice said, "David, Jed Bartlet."
"Good evening, Mr. President."
"David, I'm calling to apologize. I'm afraid we returned Sam a little worse for wear."
David remembered the night they had opened their home to the Bartlet campaign staff after the California Primary. Sam had radiated joy and pride as he introduced his parents to the Bartlets. That moment had persuaded both David and Kate that their son had chosen well when he had turned his back on corporate law.
"With all due respect, Mr. President, you're very lucky you're not having this conversation with my wife."
"She's angry. Abbey thought she would be."
"We're both angry. Maybe we were wrong, but we expected better from a group of people we thought were Sam's friends."
The President sighed. "Somehow we lost track of that."
"Sir, you lost track of Sam," David pointed out.
"And I didn't keep the promise I made to you. I've thought about that a great deal in the last week. I don't know what he's told you, but I can't honestly say I've looked out for Sam's best interests."
"He hasn't talked about what happened since he's been home. And all he said when he called was that things were bad and he tried, but he couldn't fix them." And then he apologized.
"They weren't his to fix. We — I should have prevented this. I can't tell you how sorry I am that I didn't."
"As am I."
"David, everyone here — and I count myself chief among them — would do anything to call back the last few months."
"I wish you could, sir. Sam was so — well, 'happy' doesn't begin to cover it. He was challenged in a way he's never been before. When he called us the night of the State of the Union, he couldn't finish a sentence, he was so excited. Not only over the writing and your delivery, but the fact that some of his ideas had been included." David paused. "That isn't the Sam who came home to us, sir."
"I know," the President admitted sadly. "When I spoke to him on Wednesday night, I saw for myself how exhausted he is, physically and emotionally."
"Can you blame him for resigning?" David asked.
"No, I can't. I confess I think of Sam as young with his passions and his idealism, but I am awed by him. There are few men — young or old — who would have fought as long and as hard as he did. He's an important part of this administration, and I didn't realize how much I've come to depend on him and his gifts."
David thought of his son's fatigue and the sadness that clung to him. "Frankly, sir, I don't know if he has any more to give."
"We want the chance, David, the chance to make things right. To have Sam come back to the White House."
"To tell you the truth, I think he would be hard pressed to listen to any of you right now," David advised him.
"I was hoping I could persuade you to speak on our behalf."
"I'm sorry, sir. As his father, it's my job to make sure he chooses what's right for him — not for you or the White House."
"David —"
"Mr. President, Kate and I will support whatever Sam decides. We won't pressure him or allow anyone else to."
"And if he ultimately decides to come back?"
"We'll support him in that, but as I said, it's Sam's choice."
There was a silence between them for a moment. "I see where Sam gets his tenacity," the President finally said.
David laughed. "If you think I'm tenacious, you haven't spoken to my wife. She puts me to shame, sir."
"Sam comes by it honestly, does he?"
"Yes, sir."
"David..." The President paused. "Will you advise Sam not to return?"
David relaxed his grip on the phone. "No, I won't. As I said, it's all up to Sam. But sir, I warn you now, if he returns and this should ever happen again..."
"You have my word it won't."
"That's all I ask."
"Please extend my apologies to Kate."
"I will. Thank you for calling, sir."
"I wish it were under better circumstances. Maybe we'll have a chance to sit down and enjoy another cigar some time. I look back at that evening with great fondness."
"As do I, Mr. President."
"Good night, David."
"Good night, sir."
David slowly set the phone into its cradle and turned to gaze out the window beside his desk. Tilting back in his chair, he stared out. He had immediately liked Jed Bartlet when Sam had introduced them, but his respect for him had grown exponentially since the election. That he had called meant a great deal, but there was still the matter of the promise he had made.
Sam had been thrilled when Kate had suggested inviting the senior campaign staff for dinner. He had not been home for months, and this would provide him the opportunity to see his parents and introduce them to people who had become his friends and colleagues. And the rest of the staff had been immediately accepted, happy to eat something homemade and escape the pressure of pursuing the nomination for a few hours.
On Super Tuesday, they had arrived exhilarated after winning not only California, but also the lion's share of the primaries. David had met them at the door, hugging his son hard and welcoming his friends. He and Kate had met and liked Josh when Sam interned in Washington. Josh was older, more confident now, but his exuberance was unchanged. CJ was taller than David expected with a dry sense of humor and a habit of treating both Josh and Sam like younger brothers, alternately teasing them and stepping in when one of them tormented the other. Toby stood back, whiskey in hand, watching the others. Quietly satisfied with the day's outcome, he nodded politely to David as he passed, but did not seem inclined toward conversation.
The Bartlets and Leo were last-minute additions to the guest list, arriving half an hour after the others with a Secret Service detail in tow. Soon after dinner ended, Leo disappeared with Toby onto the terrace, and David heard only the occasional word or comment float in through the open doors. Kate had taken Abbey and CJ on a promised tour of the house, while Sam and Josh walked down to the ocean.
"May I offer you a brandy, Governor?" David had asked.
"Thank you."
By the time they reached the library, they were on a first-name basis. David poured a snifter for each of them and opened the humidor on his desk.
"Cigar?" he asked, noticing four had disappeared. Sam, no doubt.
"Don't tell Abbey."
They shared a quiet moment, savoring the brandy and smoking. It was past midnight, and David realized the man beside him must be exhausted after the day.
Jed tapped the end of his cigar on the ashtray beside him. "Sam is an incredible young man. You and Kate should be very proud of him."
"Thank you, we are."
"Speaking as a father myself, I can guess what you thought when he told you he had joined the campaign of a dark-horse candidate nobody outside New England had ever heard of."
David stretched his legs out and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. "We weren't terribly surprised. Sam's always wanted to be part of something like this, a campaign that matters for a candidate he respects as a man and as a politician. And now after meeting you, I understand his desire to do this that much more."
"I feel a great responsibility for these people. They all gave up so much when they came on board, and I wasn't the easiest person to deal with. Well, let's face it, I was a real horse's ass, but somehow they managed to persevere." He met David's look of surprise with a boyish shrug. "I was scared to death. It wasn't until Illinois that I realized that I can do this. I can be the President of the United States."
"Sam's believed in you from Day One."
Jed shifted in his chair until their eyes met. "I promise you, David, that I will keep an eye on your son. He's a gifted writer, but more than that, he is an idealist, one of the few true idealists I've ever known. I won't let anything harm that or him." He offered his hand. "You have my word."
David shook it solemnly. "And I'll hold you to it."
They had not spoken after that, silently enjoying their brandy and cigars. When Abbey and Kate had appeared, the routine of saying good-bye began. Sam had spent the night at home, but the next day, he had been so eager to return to work.
David sighed and stood up. He had envied Sam that passion, the confidence he had exuded. Now his son appeared defeated by the thing he had cherished. He had not said much on Sunday, but David had watched some of his weariness slip away as they sailed. The water had always been therapeutic for Sam; it lifted him out of himself. When they had docked just before sunset, his face had lost some of the strain he had brought home from Washington, and his smile came a little easier, a little faster.
"David," Carla said from the doorway, "they're waiting for you in the conference room."
David considered for a moment and then decided. "Would you tell them I'm leaving for the day? I'd like to have dinner with my family tonight."
"Of course." She paused and then asked, "That was really the President on the line? He really called?"
He smiled. "Yes, that was really the President. We met when my son was getting him elected."
"Wow..." She shook her head slowly and turned away. "I'll let them know you won't be back in. Good night!"
"Good night," he replied, opening his briefcase and dropped in a couple of files. Grabbing his keys, he hurried to the elevator, waving a hand to the group in the conference room as he passed. Suddenly nothing was more important than spending the night at home.