Sam glanced up as he locked the car and walked across the parking lot. The half moon — no, it was definitely a waxing crescent — had turned the sky around it to indigo. The night air held traces of the warm spring day that had just ended along with the ever-present hint of moisture that he had grown used to in Washington. Built on farmers' fields that had been watered by springs, creeks and rivers, the city was rarely dry. Given the tidal fluctuations... Sam dear, his mother's voice gently reined in his wandering thoughts, it's time to focus.
The nerves he had suffered in the car returned twofold. Deep breaths, dear, deep breaths. He obeyed and tripped over the curb. Grabbing hold of the wrought iron railing, he silently scolded himself. How long did you work here? By now, you should be able to negotiate the parking lot without a problem!
"Evening, Sam," the guard said as he came through the gate. "If you'd just sign in for me?"
"Hey, Frank." Picking up the pen, he wrote his name on the line below the Senate Minority Whip's signature. "I have an —"
"I've already called. Someone will meet you at the door."
"Thank you."
He followed the path to the North Portico, not looking at the West Wing as he passed. If someone was watching for him from the windows of Josh or Toby's office, he had no desire to know. He was already nervous enough. He spared one quick glance at his office, the only one on the first floor with darkened windows.
Charlie was waiting for him at the top of the steps, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief that it was not the First Lady. They shook hands and walked inside.
"The President's in his study," Charlie announced as they climbed the Grand Staircase to the second floor of the Residence.
Sam nodded, his mouth suddenly dry.
Charlie stopped and looked at him. "Hey, do you want water or something?"
"No, I'm good." Even to his ears, he sounded hoarse.
"Yeah, I can tell." Putting a hand on his arm, Charlie steered him through the nearest doorway. Leaving Sam in the Treaty Room, he walked into the adjacent bath and returned with a glass of water. "Here."
Sam took a careful sip and then another. When he had emptied the glass, he handed it back to Charlie who grinned at him. "Okay, you were right. Is that you want to hear?"
"That'll do for now. You ready?"
He smoothed his tie and then nodded. "Yeah, I think so."
They walked along the Center Hall to the President's study. As Charlie tapped on the open door, Sam took a deep breath and then let it out slowly.
When they had talked during the afternoon, his father had been more confident than Sam had been about this meeting. "Don't worry, son. You know these people, and they know you."
"Sam's here, Mr. President."
"Send him in, Charlie, send him in."
Charlie nodded at him, and he moved forward on unsteady legs, his nerves all but choking him.
"Sam, it's good to see you," the President said, shaking hands and guiding him to one of the deep leather chairs. "Come and sit down."
"Th-thank you, sir."
The President poured them each a drink. Handing a glass to Sam, he settled in the chair opposite his. "I thought we would talk first and then call Leo and Toby in, if that's all right with you."
"That's fine." Sam set down the glass on the table beside him. He could not swallow now if his life depended on it.
"It seems like a long time since you were here. I imagine you've spoken to Beckman-Casey since you've been back?"
Sam nodded and resisted the urge to loosen the knot of his tie which now seemed capable of strangling him. "I met with them earlier this week."
"Are they aware we also have an offer on the table?"
"Yes, sir." He shrugged. "Well, they assumed you did. I never mentioned it per se."
"Sam, when we talked in Los Angeles, I asked you to think about my offer, and then come and see me."
"That's why I'm here." He picked up the drink the President had poured, more to give himself somewhere to focus than because he wanted the sip he managed to choke down. The taste was instantly familiar, the same whiskey they had drunk the last time he had spoken to the President — and the First Lady — in this room.
The President leaned forward, his eyes infinitely kind. "You've made your decision, haven't you."
Sam returned his glass to the table. "Yes, I have, sir." He took a deep breath, forcing himself to meet the President's gaze. "I've weighed everything and talked it over with my parents, and I've decided…" He swallowed hard. "I've decided that working here is what I want — what I need to do."
"You're certain?"
"Absolutely."
A bright, boyish grin lit the President's face, and he jumped to his feet. Sam stood automatically and found himself pulled into a hard hug.
"I can't tell you how pleased I am by this, Sam!"
"Thank you, sir." Sam stepped back. "Sir, there are still things we should discuss."
The President walked to his desk and picked up the phone. Hitting a button, he waited an instant and then said, "Grab Toby and come over, will you?" His eyes flicked to Sam. "Yes, but I'll let him tell you himself."
He sat down and took a swallow from his own glass. "Have you told Beckman-Casey your decision?"
Sam nodded. "I spoke with their managing partner last night. He said he didn't blame me for choosing the White House, and that their offer will be there when I'm ready."
"That won't be for couple of years." The President took a swallow of whiskey. "Sam, I've missed you these past weeks — your integrity, your enthusiasm, your talent. We need you here for those things and so many others. Toby needs his deputy, Josh misses his friend, and I've come to realize how much we all depend on your conscience. That's one of many reasons I want you to spearhead our environmental initiative. We're nowhere near where we wanted to be by this time."
Sam thought of Liz Hannaford's comments about Big Sky. "We're still one national park ahead of the last guys, Mr. President."
The President smiled. "That's true, but I've read your position papers, Sam. You have very clear ideas of what we should be doing. Big Sky was a fluke, and we all know it. I'm looking to you for some substantive contributions."
"Good evening, sir," Leo walked in with Toby a step behind him. He smiled as he crossed the room and shook hands with Sam. "It's good to see you, son."
"Leo," Sam said, before nodding to Toby who stood beside the fireplace.
Toby's voice was quiet, almost stern. "You've decided?"
And Sam was grateful for the bluntness of the question. There would be no dissembling.
"I'm coming back. It was a mistake to resign."
Leo clasped his shoulder, his smile widening into a grin. "That's good news, Sam."
"Thank you," Sam replied, but his attention was still on Toby. His was the response he had most worried over.
Toby shook his head, his dark eyes piercing. "It wasn't a mistake. I don't want you to ever think it was. We had all stopped listening to you. Resigning was the only thing you could do." He waited until Sam slowly nodded. "That being said, don't ever do it again."
Sam blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You come to me, and you yell, Sam. You yell until I listen to you, and if I don't, you yell some more."
"And if he doesn't listen," Leo interrupted, "come to me."
"Or me," the President added. "We lost you once, Sam. We're going to work damn hard to prevent it from happening again, but I want your word that you'll tell us if it does."
Sam looked from Toby to Leo to the President. Each of them wore the same look of resolve and determination. His father's words came back to him: ...they know you. The knowledge that was true was almost overwhelming.
"Sam?" the President prodded.
"I will, sir."
"Good. Now that we're all agreed, why don't we sit down and lay out what you'll be doing?"
The President walked to the drinks tray and poured a whiskey for Toby and sparkling water for Leo as Sam sat down, feeling calmer than he had since making his decision to return to the White House. He had, truth be told, missed his life there. And, as tempting as Michael Casey's offer had been, he wanted the opportunity to shape environmental law, not simply defend it. His parents supported his decision, understanding he could always practice law, but a career in the White House had only so much time attached to it. His mother still harbored a few misgivings, and he understood why. He had arrived home exhausted and disheartened, and Kate Seaborn did not forgive or forget easily where her only child was concerned.
"Sam, you with us?" Leo asked.
He looked up to find them watching him. "Yeah, sorry, just thinking."
"About what?"
"My mom's still a little…" Sam paused, searching for a polite term for it.
The President grinned. "Pissed? Yeah, Josh mentioned it. I think she scared him. Abbey understood completely, though. Must be a mother thing."
"I'm sor—"
"Don't apologize, Sam. She has good cause to be upset. With time, she might find it in her heart to forgive us."
"I'm sure she will, sir."
The President lifted his glass. "Welcome back, Sam. We've missed you."
They clinked their glasses together, and each one of them took a sip. Sam smiled to himself as they began discussing his new responsibilities. It was all so familiar and so welcome. He had come full circle, but on his own terms.