"Damn…"
Mallory O'Brien searched through her father's closet, carefully looking through his dry cleaned suits, each paired with the shirt, tie, suspenders and pocket square.
Finally, she shook her head in frustration.
"Dad, you're the best dressed guy in DC, but where the heck is your bathrobe?" She mumbled to herself.
Although Mallory doubted her father had much time to wear it over the past few months, he must still have had the bathrobe. Too often, White House staffers found themselves on overnight flights or curled up on the couches in their offices. The robe had been a Christmas present from her, paired with a comfy pair of moccasin slippers and a plea that perhaps he might get more rest this year.
Her cell phone rang, and Mallory caught the name of the caller - the closet momentarily forgotten.
"Abbey!" Mallory answered immediately. "How are you?"
The former First Lady's voice greeted her, but her distinctive self-assured and wry tone was tempered.
"Honey, I wanted to check on you and your Dad," Abbey paused. "Leo isn't answering his phone."
Taken back to the hospital a few nights ago, her father had finally submitted to more than a cursory examination, much more than he had allowed the night of the shooting. Given a better opportunity, doctors had found not just a serious concussion, but a hairline skull fracture. The diagnosis certainly explained how sick her Dad had been that week. Arriving at the hospital, he'd been dangerously dehydrated, after days of dizziness and nausea.
Mallory assumed Abbey had been somehow kept up to date. Her Dad wasn't in danger any more. But, it was clear, a long recovery was ahead. It hadn't occurred to Mallory the former First Lady would have much bandwidth to focus on much beyond the shock and horror of her husband's - the president's assassination.
"Thank you so much for calling us," Mallory sighed.
Her own mother had offered to help, but somehow Abbey Bartlet calling - reassured Mallory. Abbey was still someone she could count on, even if the unthinkable had happened.
"I have the medical report, honey," the former First Lady continued. "I can't believe he stayed upright for five days…"
"Well, according to Toby and Josh, 'upright' was open to interpretation," Mallory replied.
All of a sudden, a wave of weariness came over her, followed by an almost overwhelming urge to let go and sob. Taking a few deep breaths, she scolded herself. Leo McGarry's daughter would not break down, especially speaking Abbey, who had lost more than any of them.
"I'm sorry," Mallory finally continued, hoping her voice wouldn't betray her. "I took his phone, and his wallet and his keys. I'm here in his hotel room, looking for his bathrobe and slippers."
Abbey chuckled sadly on the other end of the phone. "Well, good luck with that. Your father has a bigger wardrobe than I do."
"He does tend to be a very dapper guy," Mallory smiled, relieved for a lighter moment given recent events.
"Oh, your Dad always had it together." Abbey's voice was clearly easier. "When I first met him, he was decked out in an Air Force officer's dress uniform, getting ready to marry your mother. Your mother turned every head at that wedding, but so did your father."
"Uncle Jed was his best man…" Mallory said quietly.
"Yes, he was," Abbey reminisced. "He was so worried about your father. Had gone to see him, after he'd come back from the war. We'd been on an academic stipend at that point, and I was having Liz. But, we scraped together what we could to send Jed to Walter Reed Hospital for a visit."
"Mom said he was lucky to keep his leg," Mallory shuddered. "They weren't sure if he'd be able to walk."
"Honey, I'll never forget the sight of your father and mother at their wedding reception - and their first dance. He waltzed her around the dance floor, and everyone stood up and applauded. We were so proud of them both."
Mallory smiled. Despite how it ended, her parents had been very much in love. And, if truth be told, they still were. There was just an acknowledgement that they both were now on different paths. Her father wanted her mother to be happy, even if it meant she was with someone else.
The families had so much fun together growing up.
Those who knew her father's history with alcohol, but not much about her Dad, assumed Mallory had been traumatized by him. Actually, she had never seen her father drunk. In those days, he usually drank when he was alone. When PTSD would haunt him, he'd numb himself with alcohol and pills, At some point, it got out of control, to the point where her father needed to enter a rehab facility. But, Mallory was away at college. Her parents had told her when she came home that summer. Even then, she had a hard time imagining her father as a functional alcoholic and drug addict. But, it was surely true. In her high school years, Mallory recalled her father's business trips lasting longer and longer. He stayed away from his family, if he was under the influence.
Mallory reached for a happier memory. "Remember when we were visiting the farm, and Uncle Jed taught me to ski?"
"And you wanted to chase Lizzie up the top of the mountain after the first day," Abbey chuckled.
"Well, that's where the cool kids were. Not on the 'bunny slope', Abbey,"
Mallory remembered Jed patiently instructing her that day.
"Hold your skis like a pizza slice," Uncle Jed said, skiing backward, "That's it! Push off one to turn… yes… now the other!" He coached her down the bunny slope, where all of the beginners learned. When they reached the bottom, her father had picked her up, skis and all, and swung her around,
"Good job, kiddo!" Dad had said, favoring her with one of his mega-watt crooked smiles. "You're gonna be beatin' this old guy down the mountain soon!" Looking at her patient uncle/coach, he had teased Jed mercilessly, "You sure you wanna be skiing backwards there, Jed. Ya' know you're a bit of a geek…"
"I'll have you know, Leo, that I was on the ski patrol for three winters at this mountain..." Uncle Jed parried, continuing a long story about the history of skiing in New Hampshire, the history of this particular mountain, why the sport was called "skiing" and effectively wearing them down until her father laughed, rolling his eyes, "Yeah, whatever…"
Thinking back, Mallory realized Jed's teasing never took the form of comparing his athleticism to her Dad's. Clearly, there was a reason why Jed was teaching her to ski. Her father's war injury didn't slow him down much as a young father, but this would be an adventure he couldn't follow his daughter on. So, Dad had put her in the care of one of the people he trusted most in the world. And, Uncle Jed had stepped up to the challenge.
"Your Dad didn't want you to miss out on ski trips with your friends when you got older," Abbey brought her back to the here and now.
"Well, Dad doesn't want to know what happened on some of those ski trips," Mallory laughed.
"I'm sure that would be the case." Abbey clearly spoke from experience.
There was a pause on the other end of the phone, and Mallory wondered if maybe the call had dropped.
Finally, she heard Abbey's voice once more, "Mallory, your father should probably come up to the farm for a little while." The older woman took a beat, obviously letting the idea sink in. "You need to get back to work, and Leo shouldn't be alone right now."
Abbey could have referenced her Dad's head injury, or his wound getting infected, or needing him to help her make decisions… All of those very valid reasons, but in Mallory's focus on all of the minutiae of caring for her father; finding a bathrobe, so he didn't have to put up with the hospital gear, making sure he didn't talk to anyone who might burden him with work issues, keeping his wallet and his keys, so he wouldn't check himself out again… she had almost missed a critical problem.
Dad had lost his best friend… his brother… Dad was a recovering alcoholic, who typically drank when he was alone…
Mallory shook her head in disgust. How did she miss this?
"Oh, Abbey…" she sighed. "But, you shouldn't have to have company right now… with all you're dealing with… I know what you're saying… I'll have to figure it out…"
The voice on the other end of the phone interrupted her.
"Your father is not 'company'" Abbey said firmly. "When he's discharged, you send him North. Please, honey, I don't want to worry about him." Her voice grew quieter,"... And, frankly, he'll help me too."
Mallory had heard the unspoken request. As usual, Abbey had enough wisdom for all of them, even in the most tragic of times in her life. Taking a deep breath, she answered, "Okay. I'll talk with him."
"When he's up to it, I'll talk with him as well," Abbey replied.
With that, the conversation wrapped up, and Mallory listened to the connection end. In thinking over the ramifications of what Abbey had suggested, she sank down on her father's bed and after more than a week of surreal madness, Mallory finally let go and felt the tears roll down her face. Relieved that there was still some normalcy left in the world with people who cared so much… exhausted that they needed to…
A half hour or so later - Mallory didn't know - an urge to move took hold. Her Dad was depending on her. She had been here too long already, and she made her way to her father's closet again.
There, right in front of her, hanging on the back of the closet door, was the bathrobe she'd been looking all over for. And, next to her father ''side" of the bed - he'd kept to the same side he'd had with her mother - were the slippers.
Mallory quickly gathered everything up, left the hotel and made her way toward the hospital.
In this moment, she could do something. She could bring her father his bathrobe and slippers. If nothing else, she could do this.