Title: Silence
Disclaimer: What's the saying? Wish in one hand and shi—oh never mind. It goes without saying really that this is an amateur work of fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Whew…this is going to be a doozy. I will be touching on some extremely sensitive subjects in this story, specifically, abortion. As this is an issue I know most folks feel very strongly about, I am attempting to present both sides without leaning one way or the other.
I've done a little research on the 'net and am going to include the pertinent links. The Feminists for Life page is
Category: CJ/T friendship, CJ/J friendship…eventually romance perhaps. :)
Rating: PG-13/R…a sexual situation and some words.
Feedback: Rocks! Irishbooty79@aol.com
Spoilers: None specifically, but everything is fair game.
Thanks: Lizisita and Sidalicious. "You've been so kind and generous I don't know how you keep on giving. For your kindness, I'm in debt to you.
For your selflessness, my admiration. For everything you've done, you know I'm bound, I'm bound to thank you for it."
Notes: The poem contained herein is called 'How Did you Die' by Edmund Vance Cooke
+++++
Part VIII
I haven't seen her this shaken up since I watched the tape of her first briefing shortly after Rosslyn. It's funny how we don't call it an assassination attempt, or a lynching gone wrong. We just refer to the entire incident and the weeks following as Rosslyn. It seems almost too simple.
I can still see her face in my mind, her eyes narrowed in confusion as she tried to make sense of Arthur's question. I remember crying for her as she rushed off- stage because there was such a lost quality about her appearance. Her hair and clothes a disheveled mess, her eyes large and frightened, and the small, almost innocuous, scratch on her neck that is barely recognizable unless you are looking for it.
I only watched the tape once because it was too painful to see her so unglued. She had it pulled together by the next briefing, but she looked so vulnerable in the first one, so raw.
I sometimes wonder what was going through her head when she finally remembered the events of that night. I wonder what her heart felt like when she realized that if she hadn't been talking to Sam about our plans to go out that night, she might have been dead. I wonder, but I don't ask because that, like watching the first briefing, is too painful.
Sam told me that she hadn't slept for days afterwards. He would find her sprawled out on the couch in her office, too scared to close her eyes because of what she might wake up to. No amount of coaxing or bargaining on his part could convince her to go home and sleep. It wasn't until three days later when she almost collapsed from exhaustion that she allowed Sam to take her back to her apartment.
I still have nightmares about that night, but I can't imagine they're anything compared to those who actually lived through the days afterwards while I was drugged out of my mind. I can't imagine what it was like for Toby to find me slumped against the wall. I can't imagine what it was like for Sam to do the morning shows while wanting to be at the hospital. I can't imagine what it was like for Leo to live with the knowledge that their fellow Americans had just attacked his best friend and a man he loved like a son. And I can't imagine what it was like for CJ to face the press corps even as her head pounded ferociously and her eyes watered at the very mention of my name.
I have given up trying to study her covertly, because I doubt she's even aware of my presence at the moment. Her eyes are glued to the group of people camped in front of her apartment building, holding cameras and microphones. I have parked the car in the garage across the street, for once grateful that her building doesn't have allotted spaces. This gives us options.
"Why don't we just go back to my place? We can have Carol drop by here in the morning to pick up some clean clothes for you."
She pulls her gaze away, and looks at me squarely in the eye. "You don't have to come in with me, Josh, but I am not letting those people keep me from my own apartment."
"Of course I'm coming with you, CJ. Whatever you decide to do…but, are you really up to this right now?"
"I haven't done anything wrong, and I'm tired of being ashamed. This is not going to control my life."
Her voice sounds stronger that it has in the past two days and I can't help smiling at the steel in her eyes. God help those reporters. "Let's do it then," I say as I open the door.
"I'm not going to answer any questions. I'm just going to walk past them, into the building, all right?" she tells me over the hood of my car.
I nod my head in approval and the next two minutes pass by in a blur. They spot her before she even crosses the street and start hurling questions at her, their words indistinguishable from the camera flashes and hurried scuffles. Her head is held erect and I admire her resolve in front of these people.
I'm walking behind her, making sure no one follows us into the private building. She stops suddenly and I almost run into her. "What the hell?" I ask as I peer over her shoulder.
The letters are large, angry, and red. She reaches out her hand to trace the 'w' but pulls back when she realizes the paint is still wet. She sighs in frustration and inserts her key in the lock, kicking the door open with more force then necessary.
She doesn't even shed her coat as she heads straight to the kitchen, leaving me standing lost in the living room. She's back about ten seconds later with a sponge and a bucket, and I have to intercept her before she reaches the still-open door.
"Get the hell out of my way, Josh," she grinds out between gritted teeth.
"You shouldn't…you shouldn't have to do this, CJ. I'll take care of it."
"Absolutely not," she says as kneels before the door, pausing long enough to shrug out of her coat.
She begins to scrub furiously at the door and I feel like I'm intruding on something intensely private. Her eyes are angry, and her movements strained, but I know she's gaining strength with every pass of the sponge. She leans back on her haunches and swipes her forearm across her sweat-dotted brow.
I quietly take the dirty water to the kitchen and exchange it. She murmurs her thanks and goes back to work for another ten minutes before she realizes that no amount of scrubbing is going to erase the faint pink letters mocking her. She leans her forehead on the door, and it takes me a few minutes to realize she is quietly sobbing.
"Hey, hey…we'll get some paint tomorrow and take care of everything," I soothe as I take her in my arms and lead her to the couch.
She nods numbly, and I know she is trying to regain control of her emotions again. By the time I've hung up her coat and put away the cleanser, she is visibly calmer. She smiles at me gratefully and stands up.
"Listen, I'm gonna go change. Make yourself at home."
I wait until she has disappeared down the hallway before heading into the kitchen, intent on scrounging up some food. She hasn't eaten all day, and come to think of it, neither have I. I open the refrigerator and sigh in disappointment.
Two cans of Diet Coke, a jar of mayonnaise, a handful of mild-sauce packets from Taco Bell, and a molded block of cheese. I can't work with this. I open the freezer and am greeted by the sight of three frosty mugs and nothing else. This woman must have some food somewhere. I begin foraging through the kitchen cabinets and come up with a box of tea bags, sugar, and a can of green beans.
"I'm sorry, I haven't had a chance to go grocery shopping this past week," she apologizes as she joins me beside the counter, wearing a pair of worn jeans and an oversized sweatshirt.
"CJ, it looks like you haven't been grocery shopping in months."
"Yeah, that's probably more accurate." At the look I toss her she crosses her arms defensively. "I'm never home, Josh. The milk always spoils and the bread molds. However…" she trails off as she crosses to the small pantry in the corner.
I follow her and smile as she tosses a blue package my way. "You eat Top Ramen noodles?" I ask incredulous because she strikes me as being so much more sophisticated. This is bachelor food.
"I gained a great appreciation for Ramen at school," she admits almost shyly as she pulls a pot from the dish drain. "Plus, noodles don't go bad."
"Well neither do frozen pizzas, but you don't have any of those."
She pats the side of my face and smiles. "That stuff will kill you."
We sit in companionable silence later as we eat our Oriental flavor noodles in the living room. For once she doesn't have CNN on, and I wonder if it is because she is scared she might see herself. Her eyes are resting on the blank TV screen and I can tell she is deep in thought because her lips are scrunched to the side, and she hasn't touched her food in at least ten minutes.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
She looks at me after a moment and sets her bowl on the coffee table. She half turns to me and regards me quietly before looking at her hands. "Do you think I'm a horrible person, Josh?"
I set my bowl beside hers and grab one of her hands in mine. "Are you serious, CJ?"
She raises her eyes, but looks at a point past my shoulder as she shrugs. "It's just…I don't know. I've tried to be a good citizen, a decent human being my entire life. I stole lipstick once when I was thirteen, but besides that, I think I've lived right."
"And?" I prompt when she falls silent.
"But what have I done to deserve this? People are camped outside my apartment building; someone painted the word 'whore' on my door, for Christ's sake. I just…I just don't understand."
"People are assholes, CJ. You've been working in the White House for two years now…I thought you would have come to that conclusion sooner."
"I know…but, God, it makes me so angry. These people have no right, no right, to judge me."
"No, they don't. But they don't know you, CJ. They don't know how intelligent, how loving, how special you are. But your family and friends, we know, and that's all that matters."
She murmurs something inaudible and I take her face in both my hands. "Do you believe me, CJ?"
"Yes," she whispers as her eyes move to my lips.
And then before I can even contemplate what's happening, she moves closer until her I can feel her breath on my face. "CJ, what--," but she cuts me off as she presses her lips to mine.
My thought processes are shot to hell as she wraps her arms around my neck and pulls herself against my body. Her lips are soft, and incredibly insistent, and I find myself responding to her advances. However, I snap back to reality as her tongue slips past my teeth and she moans softly into my mouth.
"CJ, we can't do this," I whisper as I pull back, resting my hands on her forearms. "You're not thinking straight, you're confused."
She shakes her head and meets my gaze. "I'm not confused, Josh. I know what I want." And with that, she leans forward again and captures my lips in a searing kiss.
I grab both her arms in my hands and pull them down between us. "You don't…you don't understand how badly I want this, CJ. But not here, not now."
She pulls back suddenly and turns hurt eyes upon me. Her face flushes in embarrassment as she gets to her feet. "Oh God. I'm sorry…I thought, I mean…the way you touched me in the office, I just thought. Oh God, just forget I did that, ok?"
"You don't understand, CJ. I want—"
"Can you please leave now? I think I've embarrassed myself enough for one night…enough for an entire damn lifetime."
"CJ—"
"Please, just…go."
She sweeps past me down the hallway and I hear a door slam. I want to explain things to her, but I know the time isn't right. Instead, I carry the bowls to the kitchen and rinse them out before stacking them in the sink.
"CJ, I'm gonna go now, but I'll be back in the morning to pick you up," I say to the closed bedroom door.
"I'll take a cab," comes her muffled response.
"Don't be ridiculous. I'll be here at six."
"I told you, I'm taking a cab."
I know better than to argue with her when she uses that particular tone. And I also know how to choose my battles, so I tap the door gently and sigh. "Fine, I'll see you tomorrow."
She doesn't respond, but then, I don't really expect her to.
On the car ride home I can't help remembering the feel of her body nestled against mine, and the passion with which she kissed me. Being with CJ, like that, was so much better than I had ever imagined it to be, and I only hope I'm able to get a second chance.
+++++++
When I was twelve years old, my mother entered me into one of those local beauty pageants. I don't remember if it was the Strawberry or Harvest Festival, but my mother thought it would be a good idea to parade me in front of the whole town with an expensive dress, and big hair. I think the only reason she did so was because all of her friends were entering their daughters.
I was already 5'10 that summer and I felt so conspicuous standing beside my much-shorter peers. I wanted to make my mother proud, so I practiced my talent—singing 'Hey There' by Rosemary Clooney—everyday for two hours. I worked on my posture, on my walk. I endured the teasing of my brothers as I walked around with curlers in my head the entire day before because I wanted more body.
I wouldn't say I was confident, but I wasn't deathly afraid of being on stage. I wouldn't say I felt beautiful, but I didn't feel hideous. I wouldn't say I thought I was going to win, but I didn't think I was going to lose.
I killed in the talent section, and did even better in the interview. I waltzed on stage for the final round, feeling a bit relieved that it was almost over and I could get out of the shoes that pinched my feet painfully. And then it happened.
Amber Page stepped on the back of my dress as I continued to walk forward. My strapless dress, which was held up by little more than a prayer. I heard the rip before I felt the warm rush of air hit my skin and it took me several seconds to realize that the dress was making its way south.
I clutched the bodice in my hand and rushed from the stage, very much aware of the gentle ripple of laughter from the crowd. I ran all the way home and locked myself in my room for two days. People still refer to that incident when I visit my father.
Yeah, up to this point, it was probably the single, most embarrassing event in my life. But now, even that has been eclipsed by my failed attempt to seduce Josh. My cheeks flare up again as I make my way into the building.
He was so gentle with me, but the rejection hurt just the same. I don't know what I was thinking. But he was there and had seen me at my worst. And his eyes were so soft, his lips slightly parted. And he had called me beautiful, had touched me almost reverently in my office hours earlier.
Of course he doesn't want me. He's in love with his assistant; everyone knows that. But, God help me, I didn't care. At that moment Tad Whitney could have been sitting on my couch and I would have kissed him. Only Tad Whitney would have kissed me back, would have carried me to the bedroom.
And for one night I would have felt whole again. Sex doesn't solve anything, but it sure makes you forget for a while. And that's exactly what I need right now, to forget.
Carol jumps out at me right before I reach my office and gestures to the door. "He says he won't leave until he talks to you. I tried to—"
"Don't worry, Carol," I say as I open the door, thinking Josh is waiting for me on the other side. I almost drop my briefcase as my visitor stands up from his seat on the couch and tugs at his suit jacket unconsciously.
"Good morning, CJ," he begins in a neutral tone.
"Senator Shallick," I return as I close the door and cross to my desk so that I'll have something to lean against. I lower my voice and meet his gaze. "What in the hell are you doing here, Henry?"
"I saw your press conference…it's in every newspaper from here to San Francisco. Did you think I wouldn't come?" He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his thinning hair. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He's changed so much in the past five years that I hardly recognize him. His face is more lined, and his waist thicker than I remember. There's a hardness in his eyes, and steel in his posture. Ambition has destroyed everything in him I ever loved.
He used to bring me breakfast in bed, and buy volumes of poetry to read to me in the bubble bath. He was a terrible cook, but he never stopped trying. I think those five months I was with him were the happiest of my life.
I've tried very hard to forget how gentle his kisses were as we debate on 'Capitol Beat'. I've tried very hard to forget how soft his voice was in the morning as he hurls insults at the Bartlet Administration from a podium on the steps of the Capitol. And I've tried very hard to forget how much I loved him as he stands across a crowded room staring at me in loss and regret. And I've succeeded for the most part.
"I didn't owe you anything, I don't owe you anything now."
"I would have taken care of you, I would have made sure you had everything you needed," he continues as if I hadn't spoken. "I know I hurt you, but we could have worked something out."
"You had a wife, and three children, Henry. What could we have worked out? I know; you could have hidden me somewhere obscure and made visits whenever you were feeling frisky. You could have sent me checks every month so you wouldn't feel guilty, and might have even kept a picture or two hidden somewhere of your bastard child."
"That's not fair, CJ."
"Was it fair that I had to find out from a newspaper that you were married? Was it fair that you told me you loved me even though you weren't free to do so? Screw fairness, Henry."
"I did love you," he whispers quietly as he shifts on his feet. "Does anyone else know?"
"You have nothing to worry about. There is nothing to connect you to this…unless of course you keep visiting my office at dawn."
He's quiet for a moment and when he looks up, there is sadness in his eyes. "For what it's worth, I never meant to hurt you."
"Well, I'm sorry to say, but that isn't worth a damn thing to me. Now, I'm sure you have other, more pressing concerns to attend to."
He looks at me and then nods his head. "Take care of yourself," he whispers as he opens the door and walks past a very confused Carol.
She waits until he is out of sight before coming into my office and cocking her head to the side. "So, was that him?"
"Him, who?"
"Mr. Wonderful, who in fact turned out to be married?"
"You're far too perceptive for your own good, Carol," I say as I sit behind my desk and lean back in the chair.
"He's a Republican, CJ," she replies in horror.
I chuckle a little bit and sigh. "Oh, Carol. When I met him, he wasn't a senator yet."
"Yeah, but he was still a Republican, wasn't he? How did you meet him?"
"One of the local high schools in San Francisco was holding a debate between one of our guys, and one of his. I didn't realize who he was until after he asked me to dinner, but the way he looked at me…I tell you, Carol, no one had ever looked at me like that before…and to be quite honest, no one else has since."
"Like what?"
"Like getting me to dinner was the most important thing in his life. He always made me feel like I came first, always. It does wonders for the ego. Even if he did turn out to be scum, when we were together he all but worshipped me."
"How did you find out…I mean, that he was married?"
"I was in bed on a Sunday morning reading the paper, and he was featured in an article about congressional hopefuls. There was a picture…it must have been taken on one of their family vacations, I don't know. But his children were beautiful, Carol. I loved him…and I hate myself for admitting it, but I might have stayed with him if it weren't for those children. I couldn't do that to them."
"What did he say when you confronted him?"
"He tried to deny it, if you can believe that. But I threw the article in his face. And then he broke out into the whole 'I'm only in the marriage because of the kids' routine."
"And what did you say to that?"
"I told him he could go to hell."
Carol smiles and nods her head. "Has he ever said anything…I mean, since you've been in Washington?"
"No. Well, we've seen each other on the political circuit, but nothing personal."
"Is it hard…seeing him?"
I don't even have to think about my answer. "I closed that chapter of my life a long time ago. As far as I'm concerned he's just another pain in the ass from the opposite party."
She looks at me thoughtfully for a moment and then smiles. "Well, I've got to finish typing up those releases."
"Thanks, Carol," I say as I turn my attention to the pile of mail sitting on my desk.
The building won't start filling up for at least another two hours, and I bask in the peace and calm. I've started coming in earlier than need be for the past few months because it's easier to face the day once I've had at least an hour of quiet in my office.
Invitations for speaking engagements and fundraisers comprise most of my mail, and I sigh in relief as I get to the final envelope. I unfold the letter and can't bring myself to look away from the large cutout letters even as I gasp in horror.
Carol rushes in and looks over my shoulder. "Damn, I thought we'd gotten all of it," she whispers as she tries to take the letter from my hand.
Her words snap me out of my shock and I look up at her angrily. "There's more?"
"Things started coming in late yesterday by express mail," she says almost guiltily as she looks into my eyes. "CJ, you shouldn't have to sort through this."
"Yes, I should. I want to see everything. Bring it to me."
"I don't think that's—"
"Now," I interrupt.
She flinches at the volume of my voice and walks immediately out of my office, returning about five minutes later with a stack of letters. She hands them over wordlessly and closes the door behind her.
When Toby stops by my office an hour later, I've read through every letter, some twice, and am quietly reflecting about what my next move should be. I've been ripped to shreds, every ounce of confidence I've ever had stripped from me. Whore, murderer, bitch, and many other things I don't even want think about sit before me. Some written in neat cursive. Others slashed angrily on a page. And still others typed, or pasted.
"Carol shouldn't have given those to you," he says quietly as he sits on my couch.
"No…I needed to see them…I needed to know."
"Needed to know what, CJ? You needed to know what these close-minded people think of you?"
"I don't know…I just, I don't know," I whisper as I study my hands. "Toby, will you take me to the airport?"
He regards me intently for a moment and then shrugs his shoulders. "It depends."
"Depends on what?"
"Are you coming back?"
I can't quite meet his eyes when I respond. "I don't know."
"Fair enough," he says as he stands up and gestures to the door.
Two hours later as he's sitting beside me at the gate, I feel the need to make a confession. He hasn't asked any questions since we left the West Wing. He hasn't asked why I didn't want to wait until Josh or Sam got to the office before leaving. He hasn't asked why I was so dead-set against talking to the President. He hasn't asked why my hands are shaking uncontrollably. He already knows the answer to most of these things, but I feel the need to explain anyway.
"I did something really stupid last night."
He looks sideways at me and smiles. "You didn't beat any reporters up, did you?"
"No," I chuckle. "Something much, much worse."
"You went out and bought a Spice Girl's c.d.?"
"I'm trying to be serious here, Toby. And I happen to like the Spice Girls."
He holds his hands up and says, "All right, Amazon Spice. Tell me the incredibly stupid thing you did last night."
"I kissed Josh."
The half smile fades abruptly and he lowers his hands. "I see."
"I don't know what I was thinking. I was just so…God, I don't know. I just needed to feel desired I guess." I flush in embarrassment because I can't believe I'm talking to Toby about desire in an airport.
He doesn't seem at all put off by the conversation however because he holds my gaze. "So, why was it stupid?"
"So, were you listening to anything I said, or what? I kissed Josh, Josh Lyman, our Josh."
"I know very well which Josh we're talking about, but thanks for clearing that up," he says sarcastically. "I'm asking why you think it was stupid. Is it that you don't have feelings for him?"
"My feelings for him are not the problem, here. I mean, I don't know exactly what it is I feel for him, but I know that I care for him more than a friend." I cover my face with my hands because Toby isn't exactly the person I had in mind for this conversation.
"Then what is the problem?" he asks as he pulls my arms down.
"You idiot, he doesn't have feelings for me!" I exclaim as I pull back. "And before you start lecturing me about Donna, I know that he loves her. I just wasn't thinking last night about all the romantic intrigue going on in the office, all right. So that, my friend, is what I mean by being stupid."
Toby does the thing I least expect; he throws his head back and laughs. Toby laughs. I gotta admit that I'm a little hurt. He sobers immediately as he notices my fallen expression. "CJ, what on Earth makes you think that Josh doesn't have feelings for you?"
"Are you kidding me? I was offering myself, there on a platter, Toby, and he didn't take it. He didn't take it," I trail off and sigh. "I know you're thinking that rejection should be the least of my problems right now, and you're right, but I made a complete fool of myself, and I have absolutely no idea how I am ever going to be able to look that man in the face again."
Before Toby can respond, my flight is called over the loud speaker and I stand up. "That's me."
He nods his head and awkwardly hands me my carry-on. "You have a safe trip, and take care of yourself," he says as he backs away.
Now I know Toby isn't the demonstrative type, but I was hoping for a hug, a squeeze on the arm at the least. He looks ready to bolt. Same old Toby I guess. I smile at him and nod my head.
"You take care of yourself too. I'll—" I pause because I was going to say 'I'll see you soon', but I honestly don't know that I will. So I settle for, "Be in touch."
I turn around and start walking towards the ramp. I'm almost there when I feel a hand on my shoulder. Toby spins me around and pulls me into his arms. "You're a fool, CJ." He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead as he pushes me away gently. "If you need anything…please call me."
"I will."
I look back when I'm halfway down the ramp and he's still standing there. I wave to him and he smiles back broadly for a moment before settling back into his regular scowl. I roll my eyes and board the plane, feeling a little lighter than I did a few hours ago.
I'm going home. I'm going to see my father, and I'm going to deal with this. The rest of the world be damned.
+++++++
Did you tackle the trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,
Or a trouble is what you make it.
And it isn't the fact that you didn't hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it?
I've only met CJ's father once, and very briefly. We were at a campaign stop in Modesto, and he had driven down to spend the day with his daughter. I remember how tall he was, and fit looking for a man approaching seventy. His voice was rich and low, much like CJ's and I had been struck at the resemblance between the two.
I've only met CJ's father once, but I have talked to him every day since she's been gone. She doesn't return my calls, and refuses to speak to me when she's there. But Paul always has a kind word, and we've struck up a friendship of sorts. Well, as well as any two people can over the phone.
He tells me embarrassing stories from her childhood, and I tell him things he should be proud of because I know CJ never will. He talks about her activities, and I talk about her absence. He laughs over coffee, and I cry over my beer sometimes.
And then just like that, he tells me to come and visit. He won't listen to my excuses, and mutters something about stubborn females, and foolish men. He tells me that CJ misses me even though she won't admit it, but that she probably misses D.C. even more. He tells me that she's started smiling again, and I book my flight.
You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that?
Come up with a smiling face.
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to lie there—that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce;
Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts,
It's how did you fight and why?
The cab pulls up to the modest two-story house and I fight my nerves as I tip the driver and walk the short distance to the door. Paul meets me on the porch before I have a chance to knock and shakes my hand firmly as he pats my back.
"Claudia Jean is out with the dog," he explains as he leads me further into his home and ultimately the kitchen. I set my bag down beside the table and smile.
"Does she know I'm coming?"
"No, no…I thought it would be best to surprise her."
"That way she can't run off before I get here," I add sarcastically as I accept the glass of iced-tea he sets before me. "How has she been?"
Paul smiles brightly as he sits across from me. "She's found peace here, Josh. She's getting restless, but I think she needed this time. She needed time to cry, to mourn, and to heal. And I think she's come to terms with it all." He pauses and then leans forward, "How are things in Washington?"
I know he's not talking about the latest bill we're trying to get through, or the new Appropriations Committee Chair. He's not talking about the weather, or the Rose Garden. I shrug. "It's a non-story now, Paul. It lasted all of one week before Congressman Phillip's scandals took center-stage. Mostly now, the press corps just wants CJ back so they don't have to listen to Simon drone on. They miss her…we all do."
"Fantastic…now all you have to do—" he cuts off as a peal of laughter erupts behind us. He half turns in his chair as someone races up the steps and opens the screen door.
And though you be done to death, what then?
If you battled the best you could;
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the critic will call it good..
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only, how did you die?
She looks amazing. She's wearing a pair of khaki shorts, and a simple white tank top, but quite honestly, I don't think she's ever looked as beautiful. Her arms and legs are bronzed from the California sun, and her face is set in tranquil lines. Even her posture is relaxed as she holds the door open for the dog that comes bounding into the kitchen.
"Hey, Dad, I was thinking that—" she trails off as she realizes who is sitting at the table with her father. "What are you doing here?" she asks harshly.
"Don't be rude, Claudia Jean," he father admonishes as he stands up. "I have to make a run to the store, so sit and visit with our guest for a while and I'll be back later."
"Dad, tell me what you need, and I'll run to the store. I haven't had a chance to get the oil changed yet, and I don't want you stranded somewhere," CJ says as she walks into the kitchen and leans against the sink.
Paul sighs with the air of having had the argument before. "I don't need you to run errands for me. I am perfectly capable of operating my own car, a car I've had for almost twenty years by the way, and—"
"All right, all right. Don't give yourself a heart attack," she says as she crosses the kitchen and places a kiss on his weathered cheek. "Just please take my cell phone."
He capitulates and silently takes the small phone in his hand as he grabs a set of keys from a hanging hook with the other. He shoots me an encouraging look before he disappears down the hallway, and CJ begins wringing her hands nervously, as she looks anywhere but at me. The dog, Rufus, if I remember correctly, has his head in my lap and is looking at me with the most incredibly sad eyes until I begin to scratch the back of his ears.
"So how are things?" I ask when it becomes clear CJ isn't going to speak.
She smiles briefly as she looks down at the dog. "My father is driving me crazy…or maybe it's the other way around, or maybe it's a little bit of both."
"Does that mean you're ready to come back?" I ask, hoping my voice isn't as desperate as my heart.
"Don't, just don't, Josh," she says wearily as she pinches the bridge of her nose.
"Don't what?"
"You can't just come here, unannounced, and then start asking questions."
"My visit wouldn't have been unannounced if you would have accepted any of my phone calls," I reply angrily as I stand up.
"Doesn't that tell you something, Josh? I wouldn't even take your calls, so what the hell makes you think I wanted you to come here?" Her eyes soften and she runs her hand through her hair. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that…it's just…I'm a little embarrassed."
"About that night in your apartment?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.
She lowers her head so that her hair obscures her face. "I really am sorry, Josh. I…I didn't mean to put you in such an awkward position."
"Don't apologize, CJ. Don't apologize unless you didn't mean it." She looks up at me, and her blue eyes widen as I walk closer.
"What are you talking about, Josh?"
I take her hand in mine, and gently entwine our fingers together. "I have wanted you from the moment you walked into campaign headquarters, CJ."
"You have?" her voice is small, almost strangled and I smile as I tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear.
"You have no idea how hard it was for me to walk away that night, to refuse everything you were offering. I just didn't want to take advantage of you."
"Why didn't you ever say anything?"
"Because there was never a good time. I was involved with Mandy. We were trying to get a man elected President. Toby was always glowering at me."
"You were scared of Toby?"
"I still am," I admit as I smile. "And then when we started working…I just didn't think, I mean, I didn't think you'd give me the time of day."
She laughs and smoothes down the collar of my shirt. "And now?"
"You tell me," I whisper.
She sighs and pulls back, but I don't release her hand. "I don't know what you want from me, Josh."
"I just want you to let me love you."
She wrestles her hand away from mine and walks to the sink, turning her back on me. "I come with a lot of baggage," she says quietly, and her voice is thick with emotion.
"I don't care about that, CJ. I just…I just want to share some part of your life," I reply as I place my hand cautiously on her back.
"I leave the cap off my toothpaste sometimes," she says suddenly as she turns to face me.
"What?" I ask in confusion.
"I also leave dirty dishes in the sink. I sleep with the TV on. I am, in fact, a pack rat. And I snore."
"What in the hell are you talking about, woman?"
"I just wanted to let you know what you'd be dealing with, if you ever, you know, spent the night."
My eyes widen and I place my hands on my hips. "Are you saying what I think you're saying? Because I just want to be clear before—"
She grabs a fistful of shirt and tugs me forward, silencing me with a tender kiss. I move my hands from my hips to hers, and pull her even closer. "You talk too much, Josh," she says against my lips. "This isn't going to be easy…you know that, right? I mean, the hours we work are going to be hell on this relationship, not to mention the media. I don't know what Leo, or the President is going to—"
"You talk too much, CJ," I interrupt before covering her lips with my own.
+++++
Life is good.
Sometimes I tend to forget the simple things in my mad rush to save the world. My father used to tell me to slow down, to enjoy life because it would be over soon enough. I never listened to him because I was always in a hurry to get somewhere. It didn't matter that I didn't know my destination. All that mattered was I got to it first, wherever it ended up being.
Josh shifts beside me on the couch and I smile. Life is very good.
The sun is beginning to peek up over the horizon and I sigh because Josh just fell asleep an hour ago, and he'll have to leave for the airport in three more. He was only able to get the weekend, and even that required some serious string pulling.
I cradle the delicate frame he presented me with last night in my lap and slide a finger down the smooth glass. He said the poem reminded him of my grace, of my dignity. And he wanted me to have it so that every time I felt discouraged, I could look at it and take heart. It's not a sonnet by Shakespeare, and I wouldn't classify it as romantic, but it's special to me just the same.
"I thought you were going to try to get some sleep," Josh mutters groggily from the other end of the couch.
I smile and stretch out beside him, nestling comfortably against his side, the frame lying forgotten on the floor. He kisses my forehead distractedly and closes his eyes as I tighten my arm across his chest. The couch is not very big, and not terribly comfortable, but there's no place I'd rather be at the moment.
I've come to the realization that we pay for the sins of our parents. My mother never loved me, at least not in the way a mother should love her child. My father did his best to protect me, but he couldn't change her, couldn't touch that hate in her heart. And I suffered.
I suffered quietly for so many years, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming at the injustice of it all. I visited her grave for the first time in years yesterday with Josh. He held me while I cried, and never tried to make excuses for her. Never told me that she loved me in her own special way. Never told me that I'd feel better if I forgave her.
He just kissed me, and told me he loved me. And that was enough.
+++++
The End…