Note to the more sensitive readers: this section contains a non-graphic but
disturbing situation. Please read responsibly.
***
October
Washington, D.C.
***
Nina walked up to the metal detector that had recently been installed at the
musicians' entrance to the Kennedy Center. Behind her, in a long line, were some
other musicians of the A.S.O., waiting as their cases were searched.
The Secret Service agents flashed their badges at the detector operator, who
allowed Nina to pass through, carrying her case and a small, black folder that
contained her music. As she paused on the other side to get a copy of the week's
schedule, she witnessed the disturbing comments of the other musicians.
"She doesn't get searched?" Sean, one of the violinists, pointed at Nina and
glared.
"She's their protectee," replied the man standing guard over the x-ray machine.
"She gets special treatment."
The principal oboist's case was being searched, and she was the next to speak
up. "They took my damn reed knife last week. As if I'd bother cutting her
spoiled brat throat and dulling the blade."
"That kind of talk can get you arrested," warned Sean.
"Guys, come on." Maggie, attempting to be the voice of reason, waved her hands
at her angry colleagues. "It's not as if Nina asked for this to happen."
"For real," agreed Daniel, who watched, sighing, as his trombone was
disassembled. "I mean, this is a serious pain in the ass, but if someone were
trying to kill me, I'd expect my fellow artists to cut me some slack."
Nina walked away from the buzzing group and went past the instrument storage
area. The lockers had been replaced with cages that looked like kennels. Locks
were only allowed if the guards had keys, and the lockers were routinely
searched up to four times a day.
Being let into the rehearsal hall before everyone else left Nina with little
time to socialize. She uncased in silence and walked slowly to her seat. Warming
up with a slow, romantic etude that emphasized the remarkable control she had
over her bow, she blocked out the unpleasantness of the journey.
One by one, the other musicians found their way to the stage. One or two stopped
to speak to Nina, and Maggie gave her a brief hug as she went into the 'cello
section. But by and large, Nina was ignored - at best. At worst, they sneered
their contempt for the increasingly disruptive hoops they had to jump through
just to get to work.
The concertmaster stood and asked the oboist for his A, and the orchestra tuned
just before the guest conductor, the Cliburn gold medalist Vadim Koenen, leapt
onto the podium.
"What is the meaning of this? Wasn't your call fifteen minutes ago? Why are you
just now getting to rehearsal?" he thundered.
"Security," muttered the associate concertmaster, and some of the other
musicians snickered. "Didn't you have to get checked out?"
"I came early enough to keep that from being an issue, and I suggest that, in
future, you do the same. Now, let's not delay our friend Mr. Mahler any
further."
Sitting up straight in her chair and ignoring the pitying glances her stand
partner gave her, Nina tried to direct her attention to the music, the glorious
phrases, the rich harmonies. But the joy wasn't there. The spark she knew only
in the rapture of music was missing. Her soul wasn't in her playing, although
her technique was as fine as always, and in desperation she made herself think
of Sam hovering above her as they made love.
It made her a little horny, but it didn't improve her playing.
Neither did the constant, peripheral knowledge that her two agents were flanking
the stage - one just behind Maggie's stand of 'cellos, the other between the
backs of the first and second violins.
There were guns onstage, their possessors trained to kill, without question,
anyone who threatened her. Nina didn't find it comforting in the least.
Dammit, were they at letter G, or six before? She watched her partner's fingers,
surreptitiously using the placement to figure out where she was on the page. But
when she looked up to get a cue from the conductor, she found him staring down
at her with utter derision. "Violas, precision, if you please!" he hissed, but
it was to Nina and not the section that his words were addressed, and she felt
herself turning scarlet with embarrassment. The sudden rush of blood to her face
didn't help her concentration, and she fumbled a few more notes.
The conductor lunged toward her with his baton, and within seconds he was
slammed to his stand by the agents.
"Do not threaten Ms. Fisher-Lennox," growled the taller of the two men as he
held the conductor's hands behind his back.
Nina had to be impressed, despite her abject humiliation, that the agents had
become very adept at keeping her professional and personal names straight.
"I was...gesturing!" the maestro protested, his words garbled by the position of
his mouth against the of the stand. His breath left little clouds on the lucite,
and the score's well-thumbed pages fluttered around the feet of all the first
stand players. "I'm not going to hurt her, although I'll strongly suggest
releasing her from her contract!"
Maggie grimaced at Nina, who looked imploringly at the agents. The personnel
director rushed from his place in the audience and yelled for an intermission.
The orchestra was seventeen minutes into a two-hour rehearsal.
Oh, God.
Under ordinary circumstances, musicians would flee the stage as if pursued once
they were told it was time for their break. But today, people stood around to
see what would happen next.
One look at the personnel manager's downcast eyes, and Nina knew exactly what
would happen next. But all she could think about, as she looked down at her
hands and waited for her sentence, was that she would finally be able to grow
her fingernails out.
***
She told the story to Sam later that night, when he returned from a campaign
stop in West Virginia.
"I'm so sorry," Sam whispered into her ear as she fed Helen some pureed apples.
"This isn't fair. It's not right."
"They didn't have any choice, Sam. If you could've seen Paul's face when the
guys shoved him into the stand...and the metal detectors, and the x-rays, and
the searching, and we can't even lock up our instruments anymore without giving
out two copies of the keys. I wouldn't want to work around me, either." Nina
handed Helen to Sam and stood up, adjusting her clothes.
"That doesn't mean I have to agree with their decision." He looked at her with
the full force of his bright blue eyes. "We could hire a lawyer."
"We're surrounded by lawyers, Sam. I don't think I've met anyone in the last two
years who isn't a lawyer. But you don't need the negative publicity, and I don't
need the heartache I'd get when I lost." She knew she sounded bitter, shrewish,
so she took a deep breath and leaned over to kiss the top of Sam's head. "I'm a
bitch when I get fired," she said softly.
"You weren't fired - you were asked to take a leave of absence."
"I just came back from a leave of absence - how long do you think this one will
last?" Nina exclaimed, her voice rising enough to startle Helen. The baby cried,
squirming in Sam's arms.
Sam put Helen against his chest, rubbing his hand on her back in slow, rhythmic
circles. "You knew, going into this, that there'd be issues with security."
"I knew you'd have guys following you around, talking into their sleeves. I
didn't know they'd follow me around, too. And, you have to admit, no one
could've predicted today. Although, with my 20-20 hindsight, that seemed pretty
inevitable."
She had managed to hold back the tears all day, from the moment she heard the
music director say that he loved her and hoped she could come back when the
"madness" was over. She had not wept in front of Maggie or her other friends in
the symphony, had not shed a single tear in the car after handing the keys to
one of the agents and asking him to take her home. But when Sam reached for her
with one hand, caressing her hair, she finally felt the dam breaking.
"Say the word, and I'll drop out," Sam said, and that was when Nina lost her
composure and cried bitterly for all she had lost, and for all that Sam was
offering to lose for her sake.
Nina, unable to speak, shook her head. She arched into Sam's caress like a cat,
smiling through her tears as he held her with one arm and cradled Helen with the
other.
"I think," Sam said quietly, "that you should go to Manchester and talk to
Abbey. What do you think?"
Nina thought, as she let herself be comforted, that Abbey might be her only link
to sanity.
***
Manchester
The next evening
***
"Welcome to Jed Bartlet's Home for Wayward Staffers!" Bartlet rose from his
favorite chair and embraced Nina while grinning at Abbey, who shook her head and
sighed with feigned annoyance.
"Come here, sweetie. Don't let him badger you." Abbey took her turn holding on
to Nina, sensing her exhaustion and sorrow along with her natural reserve around
the former First Couple. "Why didn't you bring Helen? We haven't seen her in
ages."
"Sam thought it'd be better if I had some time alone. Donna's staying with them
for the weekend. She says she gets all her maternal instincts taken care of by
the time the fourth diaper of the day is used up."
"How is...Donna?" Bartlet asked diplomatically.
Nina smiled. "Cautious."
"Can't say as I blame her." Abbey commented. "And Josh?"
"Have either of you heard of something called a 'nervous hoolelia?' Because
that's what Sam calls Josh these days."
Bartlet shrugged, reaching for his glasses and putting them on the bridge of his
nose. "Sounds like a Seaborn original. Abigail, my precious, have you seen my
notes on the second gubernatorial race?"
"I believe you'll find them on the dining room table."
"Then, ladies, if you'll excuse me, I have yet another exciting chapter of my
next book to narrate to the unsuspecting dupe who lives in the carriage house.
He'll be joining us for dinner, of course, so I'll let you two get caught up."
With a lift of his eyebrows that lacked anything approaching subtlety, he left
Nina and Abbey alone in the study.
Abbey appraised Nina, taking in the uncharacteristic slouch, the dark circles
under her pretty eyes, the way she kept looking at the designs in the well-worn
Chinese rug. Sam had tried, in the halting way that affected his speech when
talking about his wife or daughter, to convey what Nina was enduring, almost as
if he were afraid of opening Abbey's old wounds.
But she was a physician, after all, and she could heal herself as well as Nina.
"I haven't known you as long as the others, of course," Abbey said, pouring tea
into thin porcelain cups and offering one to Nina, "so I don't know how you
prefer getting into these things, whether you like polite chitchat first or
whether you'd rather just plunge into the nitty-gritty."
Holding the cup in both hands and looking down at the bottom as if reading the
leaves, Nina said, "Whatever's easiest for you."
"This conversation isn't about me," Abbey said in her best no-nonsense tone.
"Well, I suppose you could say it was, but I'll save that part for later on. Why
don't you tell me--" The phone rang, and Abbey started to talk over it before it
rang a second time. "Jed? Can you get that, please?"
The ringing died down, and Abbey turned her attention to Nina again. "The Secret
Service guys weren't very secret, I take it?"
"Not really, no." Nina sighed and inhaled the fragrant steam, then took a
tentative sip. "They all but barricaded the Kennedy Center, and people had to
leave for work an hour early to get through the security lines I got to skip.
You can't blame them for being unhappy about that."
Before Abbey had a chance to say whether or not she agreed with Nina's analysis,
the door flew open and her husband stood there, his face drawn into a rigid
mask. "I'm sorry. That was C.J. There was a wire report - Amy's friend,
her...significant other, or whatever."
Abbey groaned. There were some things her husband just couldn't handle
gracefully, she thought, but his next words drove that thread from her mind.
"The husband tracked them down. Naima, Angela, and Amy have been missing for
three days."
***
Washington, D.C.
***
Someone - Sam thought it might have been Danny Concannon - once said that if
Donna and Josh ever got married, they'd have to rent a concert hall for her
friends and a phone booth for his.
Josh could be, and often was, the most obstinate son-of-a-bitch on the face of
the earth. He lacked Matt's polished manners, lacked Toby's earnest zeal to do
justly, lacked C.J.'s ability to command people without belittling them.
But those who knew Josh best of all knew the truth: that, underneath the
bragadoccio, his was a noble, loving heart that had been broken enough times to
leave it perilously fragile.
Watching Josh sit slumped over the conference table, his hands clasped so
tightly together that his fingernails were turning bluish-white, was agonizing
for Sam. Knowing that there was nothing he could do but wait until his
connections in the State Department called him back made him feel as if he
couldn't help his friend.
"Do you think they're dead?" Josh asked for the twentieth time, and for the
twentieth time Sam shook his head.
"I think we'd have heard something. The Canadian Embassy is doing everything
they can, and there are probably twenty guys from State finding their trail."
Josh didn't seem to have heard. His eyes were fixed on an unknown point, staring
at something only Josh could see. "I should've kept in better touch with her. I
should've had someone working on whatever Canada uses for restraining orders."
"This is not, in any way, shape, or form, your fault," Sam insisted. He sat down
next to Josh, wishing Nina were with them, glad that she wasn't. Donna was
spending the evening having "godmother time" with Helen, meaning that she'd
taken the baby out for new clothes. There was no way Sam was going to break this
news to her while she was out in public. Not news like this. They'd have to wait
until she called in.
Matt had better handle that call. Sam didn't think he could possibly do it.
No, he'd do it. He'd do it all, whatever "it" might turn out to be. Because, if
he really did manage to become President, he'd probably have to make a worse
call than this one.
There was a brass bowl on the table, full of fruit that no one would eat unless
all the danishes and doughnuts were gone. Sam could see his reflection, and it
startled him how much the conflict and pain in his eyes resembled Bartlet's when
he had been compelled to give bad news.
The silence was awful, but the sound of Josh's sharp, harsh breathing was worse.
Sam reached out and patted Josh on the back. "It's been a couple of hours. We're
having all calls directed to my cell phone. Why don't you go to your office and
lie down for a while? I'll get you when I hear something."
To Sam's relief, Josh didn't argue. He rose, rubbing the small of his back, and
went through the door that connected his office with Sam's. Just as Sam reached
for the phone, it started to ring. "C.J., is that you?"
"Yeah." She sounded breathless. "Listen, is Josh anywhere near a television?"
"I sent him to his office to lie down. CNN's usually on - why?"
"Get him away. We're getting a satellite feed, and it'll be on the air in a few
minutes...oh, God, Sam, it's awful..."
Before he had a chance to ask her what was going on, Sam saw a "Special
Bulletin" notice on the screen. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.
"...that the missing women have been located in Kenya, near the Somalian
border."
"They found them!" Sam exclaimed into the phone. "Oh, thank God."
"It's not good...I have to go - there's no one available and I'm going to have
to do the story...someone look after Josh, he's gonna--" The phone went dead and
Sam set it down, trying to listen carefully to what the announcer was saying.
A grainy Polaroid photo covered the screen, showing a younger Naima with a tall
man and a baby that must have been Angela.
"Local authorities confirm that Kenyan national Saul Biru was killed by multiple
stab wounds. His ex-wife, Naima Biru, is being held for questioning in his
death. Their daughter, now five years old, is in the care of the director of a
nearby Peace Corps headquarters."
The photo changed to one of Amy. "American political activist Amy Gardner was
critically injured at the Somalian camp where the murder occurred--"
Sam missed the next few sentences because Josh burst through the doors and
grabbed the remote from Sam's hands.
"...attempting to stabilize her condition before moving her to a more
sophisticated facility. Witnesses at the scene describe Ms. Gardner's wounds as
indicative of the first stages of fibulation, also known as the most invasive
form of female circumcision. While a common custom in some countries..."
Josh's face drained of all color. Sam rushed over to him, holding fast to his
shoulders. "Josh? Frank Torres is probably on a plane right now, and he'll find
out what's going on. He's standing by, Josh, he's going to help us."
"I know." His body was shaking under Sam's hands, and he was obviously doing
everything in his power to keep from losing control. "God. Amy."
"I'm so sorry." Sam was grateful that Ginger knew to come in and grab bottles of
water from the little fridge. She handed one to Josh, who took it without
looking at it. His attention was focused on the television, where someone from
Amnesty International was describing the different levels at which the ritual
was performed.
"Shut it down, Ginger," Sam muttered, and Ginger went to the set and pressed the
power button. The horrific description stopped, the pixelated video winking
obscenely as the light went out.
The sudden stillness made the sound of Josh's harsh breathing even more
heartwrenching. "Should I be doing anything?" he asked. "Shouldn't there
be...something?"
Ginger's eyes filled with tears. "I'll get the latest from State, then I'll come
right back." The look she gave Sam was one of pure compassion, and he patted her
on the arm as she walked away.
Josh scrabbled around on the desk for the remote. "I need to hear this, Sam," he
said as Sam shook his head in protest. He flipped channels until he was on NBC.
"I need to hear it from C.J."
They both did. Sam hovered behind Josh as C.J.'s face appeared on the screen.
"Two reporters from Agence France were present when Naima Biru was taken into
custody, and their report is as follows." C.J. adjusted her glasses, scanning
the text before reading aloud.
"Three days ago, Saul Biru, the father of American-born Angela Biru, kidnapped
her from her home in Saskatchewan with the intent of having her undergo the
ritual of fibulation. Naima Biru and Amy Gardner flew to Kenya and contacted the
anti-mutilation organization Maendeleo Ya Wanawake, giving the location of the
Kikuyu village where Mr. and Mrs. Biru were born and where they suspected the
girl had been taken. Ms. Gardner was the first to discover the building where
the mutilation was to take place, where she was held at knifepoint by Mr. Biru.
He demanded that his daughter be circumcised, and said that in addition Ms.
Gardner should also undergo the procedure as penalty for her interference. The
midwife refused until Mr. Biru threatened to kill her as well as Ms. Gardner."
Sam fought down a surge of bile. He couldn't imagine what Josh was feeling,
didn't dare allow himself to travel down that dark path.
"Ms. Biru, with the help of Maendeleo Ya Wanawake, found the midwife's house and
demanded that her daughter and Ms. Gardner be set free. Mr. Biru held his knife
to his daughter's throat, but the women managed to get the weapon away from him.
As Mr. Biru began to strangle his daughter, claiming that he would rather see
her dead than left intact, Ms. Biru took the knife from the floor stabbed her
ex-husband three times in the chest."
"Shit," mumbled Josh. "Oh, shit."
C.J.'s face was drawn as she continued. "The midwife, with the help of local
interpreters, explained that it was the daughter who was to have been...operated
on first. But Ms. Gardner insisted that she go before her, hoping that Ms. Biru
or members of Maendeleo Ya Wanawake would be able to rescue them before the
little girl could be injured." She looked into the camera as if trying to
connect with Josh. "Witnesses say that Ms. Gardner's courageous act surely saved
Angela Biru from a lifetime of agony."
"Local authorities plan to release Ms. Biru on the grounds that she was acting
in defense of her daughter. Ms. Gardner's condition is listed as critical,
citing massive blood loss, shock, and incipient infection from the use of crude,
unsterilized instruments. When her condition is stabilized, she will be flown to
London for further evaluation." C.J. swallowed, the tension in her voice as
terrifying as the news itself. "The prayers of the entire nation are with the
Naima and Angela Biru, Amy Gardner, and their family and friends. More
information will doubtless be available before the evening news, and we will
provide up-to-the-minute coverage on MSNBC."
C.J. was replaced by a graphic of the words "Special Report," and an anonymous
voice saying that regular programming would now resume.
"I need to know more," Josh said softly.
"C.J. will call as soon as she can get away." Sam stepped back and tried to
evaluate Josh's emotional state, but his own emotions were running too high.
Poor Amy, and poor Josh, and poor C.J., having to read news like that about
someone she knew.
C.J.'s call came moments later, and Sam put it on the speaker so Josh could
participate as well. "He saw the news," Sam said, to preempt any questions C.J.
might have. "We watched your update. What else do you have?"
"It's pretty sketchy. They'll be reuniting Naima with Angela any minute now."
"What about Amy?" Josh asked, looking at the phone as if C.J. were standing
right there.
"They can't move her at this point. Last I heard was that it'd be a few days
before she could be taken anywhere else, and it'll probably be London. She
hasn't regained consciousness, but the doctors were able to stop the
hemorrhaging. I've got two medical reporters standing by with Abbey's fax number
- she'll be able to explain this to you much better than I could. Josh, I'm so
sorry. I wish I could do something."
"You're doing so much," Josh whispered, so softly that Sam wondered if his words
could be heard in New York. "Thank you, C.J."
The uncharacteristic calm was shock, Sam realized. "I'm taking Josh home with
me."
"Good idea," C.J. said. "Tell Nina--"
"Nina's with the Bartlets. Donna's at our house, helping out with Helen."
Someone surely had contacted Donna by now. Please.
"I'll get off the phone so you can talk to her. Guys, I...I don't know what to
say. Wait, my cell's going off, too. It's Abbey. I'll have her call you at home,
later, okay?"
She hung up without waiting for an answer - even after all this time, Abbey
Bartlet's calls took priority. Sam grabbed Josh's coat.
"You don't have to babysit me," Josh said. "I'm fine."
"Yeah, sure you are. Let's get out of here before the huddled masses come by,
wanting more information than we're ready to give out." He waited for Josh to
move, or at least speak. "Donna will be scared to death if you're by yourself.
Let's go home."
Josh nodded, following Sam wordlessly to his car, not speaking during the drive,
just staring blankly at the dark purple sky with its silvered confetti of stars.
When Donna ran out of the house and threw her arms around Josh, holding him
tightly and telling him she'd seen C.J.'s report but that everything was going
to be all right, Sam found that Nina's absence was a palpable ache. He left
Donna and Josh sitting together, holding hands as they sifted through various
accounts on the television and discussed whether Josh should go to Africa or
wait until Amy was transferred to London, while he went to check on his
daughter.
Helen was half-asleep in her crib, her soft, black eyelashes fluttering. Sam
picked her up gently, careful not to startle her, and held her close to his
chest as he thought about Angela Biru. How could someone do such a thing to a
woman? How could a father do such a thing to his child?
With his free hand he dialed the number in Manchester, and it was a relief to
hear Abbey call Nina to the phone. "Sam, oh, God, Sam, this is just awful...is
Josh all right? No, wait, that's a stupid question, but you know what I mean,
right?"
"I know." He took a deep breath, calming himself. "Josh is in the study with
Donna, checking for updates. He's horrified, of course - we all are - but he's
in good hands."
"Thank God. Where's my baby?"
"I'm holding her right here." He listened as Nina began to sob quietly. "She's
safe, Nina. I have her, and I'm not letting go. When are you coming home?"
"Tomorrow morning, first thing. I love you so much, Sam."
"I love you, too."
He returned both telephone and baby to their respective cradles, then spent
several minutes at the dining room window, looking out at the velvet night and
listening to Donna's voice soothing Josh, soothing them both.
***
Manchester
***
"I know this is the last thing in the world you want to think about right now,"
Abbey said as she came into the guest bedroom and sat down next to Nina, "but we
have so little time."
"What's the latest news?" Nina asked. She had been too upset to remain in the
room while Abbey and Toby debated the former President about the need for
international women's rights groups to call for the abolition of female genital
mutilation.
"Nothing, yet, except that Naima and Angela are at the Peace Corps headquarters,
and they'll let her stay there until Amy can be moved. I'm still waiting on news
from the medical team, but we have to take the time difference and lack of
modern conveniences into account."
Nina felt a hot tear work its way down her cheek, and she wiped it away with her
fingertips. "I wish I could be there. Sam sounded...lost."
"Sam Seaborn may be many things," Abbey said firmly, "but 'lost' isn't one of
them. You know as well as I do that the faraway look, the hesitant voice, are
just signs that he's thinking."
"I know, and I know that he and Donna are the best people to be with Josh
tonight. But I miss him, and Helen." She was still a little in awe of Abbey,
despite the loving friendship the two women were forging, and she had trouble
looking into Abbey's eyes. "It's at times like this that I realize that they're
the most important things in my life."
Abbey nodded. "I have definitely walked a mile in your shoes, Nina. And I know
you have questions. I'd like for you to ask them."
"I don't want to overstep--"
"Please." Abbey put her hand over her heart and laughed. "There aren't
boundaries here. Just two women with difficult choices to make."
Nina felt the words spilling out of her as if they came directly from her heart.
"How could you bear it? All those years of medical school, the study, the
internship and residency and practice, gone, just like that."
"They weren't gone. Just...set aside. I'd done it before, each time I got
pregnant. This was just a longer intermission." She took Nina's hand and turned
it over in hers, running her nails over Nina's calloused fingertips. "Feel
that?"
"I'm...aware of it. Pressure, I guess."
"Do you remember having tender little fingers that felt everything? Do you
remember what that was like, before all the hours of practicing, before the
scales and etudes and sonatas and concertos?"
Blinking rapidly, Nina glanced from her left hand up to Abbey's astute, gentle
face. "I've been playing since I was nine. Twenty-five years."
"I've been a doctor longer than that. And as much as I missed it, those years
during the campaign and when I was censured, it never really left me. Just as
all the work you've done will never leave you."
Tears came again, bitter ones that Nina let fall unchecked. "I spent my
childhood, my youth, on my music, all so I could have the work I loved, playing
in a major orchestra. If I leave it now, I can't ever go back. The campaign is
one year. If Sam wins, that's four more, and if he gets a second term that's
another four."
"Sam could lose, you know," Abbey commented, which made Nina laugh for just a
few seconds. "Seriously, though, I do understand what you're saying. But you'll
be able to stay connected to your world far, far better than I did to mine.
There are youth orchestras and school music programs that you could save, and
chamber music in the White House, and ways for your music to be a part of your
life that I'm not clever enough to think of. But tell me this - even if Sam
weren't a politician, wouldn't you find that the center of your life is
different now than it was just a few years ago, when music was your greatest
love?"
"I love Helen and Sam more than anything!" Nina declared, revealing her emotion
with the passion she displayed in her voice. "I'd lay down my life for them."
Abbey cupped her cheek, nodding. "I never doubted that about you. Sometimes,
it's the gentlest people who have the most courage. You're a lot like Sam in
that way, you know. When I first met him, I liked him. I felt comfortable around
him. I loved his writing, and the way he could calm everyone just by the power
of his words. It wasn't until the shooting that I understood that a lion's heart
beat under the monogrammed shirts and immaculate suits."
She'd never heard a better description of her husband. "Sam spent his day
calling in favors to everyone he's ever met who might have been able to help
with Amy. He kept Josh from doing anything rash. And right now, I know he's
helping Donna take care of Josh, while making sure Helen's safe in her bed."
"Exactly." Abbey brought Nina's head to her shoulder, stroking her hair. "And
tomorrow he'll help the whole country deal with the outrage. I'd be surprised if
he wasn't sitting at his laptop right now, sleeves rolled up, straightening his
glasses as he worked on ensuring that the legislation introduced in 1993,
banning female genital mutilation, is finally passed into law."
"It's not against the law in America?" Nina asked, outraged.
"Not yet. But it will be, sooner rather than later, because Sam's heart, his
conscience, his soul, won't allow him to stand idly by while even one more
person is hurt. He's a great man, Nina. The things he could do, if he were
elected...all the things this country needs so badly, the things Jed couldn't
accomplish because we were mired in partisanship and multiple sclerosis, are
things that are in the palm of your husband's hands."
"And here I'm whining because I won't get to play the viola where I want to,"
Nina sighed, burying her face in Abbey's shoulder, "when you had to give up
medicine for so long."
"Listen to me," Abbey said as she rested her cheek in Nina's curly hair. "Never
disparage your career just because you think it's less 'important' than Sam's,
or mine, for that matter. You and I both practice healing arts, Nina, and we
both devoted our lives to them. We are also equally devoted to our families.
It's a difficult line to walk, I won't kid you, but at some point you're going
to have to make a decision."
That was why Nina had come, to make the decision. "Give me the bullet points,"
she whispered, making Abbey laugh.
"It all comes down to this: you want to make the best world for Helen, and
whatever other children you and Sam may bring into the world. What do you think
would be the best contribution you could make?"
She knew, and she was proud even though she was afraid, and she sat up straight
in an unconscious imitation of Abbey's regal posture as she answered.
"Seaborn for America."
***
Part Five
disturbing situation. Please read responsibly.
***
October
Washington, D.C.
***
Nina walked up to the metal detector that had recently been installed at the
musicians' entrance to the Kennedy Center. Behind her, in a long line, were some
other musicians of the A.S.O., waiting as their cases were searched.
The Secret Service agents flashed their badges at the detector operator, who
allowed Nina to pass through, carrying her case and a small, black folder that
contained her music. As she paused on the other side to get a copy of the week's
schedule, she witnessed the disturbing comments of the other musicians.
"She doesn't get searched?" Sean, one of the violinists, pointed at Nina and
glared.
"She's their protectee," replied the man standing guard over the x-ray machine.
"She gets special treatment."
The principal oboist's case was being searched, and she was the next to speak
up. "They took my damn reed knife last week. As if I'd bother cutting her
spoiled brat throat and dulling the blade."
"That kind of talk can get you arrested," warned Sean.
"Guys, come on." Maggie, attempting to be the voice of reason, waved her hands
at her angry colleagues. "It's not as if Nina asked for this to happen."
"For real," agreed Daniel, who watched, sighing, as his trombone was
disassembled. "I mean, this is a serious pain in the ass, but if someone were
trying to kill me, I'd expect my fellow artists to cut me some slack."
Nina walked away from the buzzing group and went past the instrument storage
area. The lockers had been replaced with cages that looked like kennels. Locks
were only allowed if the guards had keys, and the lockers were routinely
searched up to four times a day.
Being let into the rehearsal hall before everyone else left Nina with little
time to socialize. She uncased in silence and walked slowly to her seat. Warming
up with a slow, romantic etude that emphasized the remarkable control she had
over her bow, she blocked out the unpleasantness of the journey.
One by one, the other musicians found their way to the stage. One or two stopped
to speak to Nina, and Maggie gave her a brief hug as she went into the 'cello
section. But by and large, Nina was ignored - at best. At worst, they sneered
their contempt for the increasingly disruptive hoops they had to jump through
just to get to work.
The concertmaster stood and asked the oboist for his A, and the orchestra tuned
just before the guest conductor, the Cliburn gold medalist Vadim Koenen, leapt
onto the podium.
"What is the meaning of this? Wasn't your call fifteen minutes ago? Why are you
just now getting to rehearsal?" he thundered.
"Security," muttered the associate concertmaster, and some of the other
musicians snickered. "Didn't you have to get checked out?"
"I came early enough to keep that from being an issue, and I suggest that, in
future, you do the same. Now, let's not delay our friend Mr. Mahler any
further."
Sitting up straight in her chair and ignoring the pitying glances her stand
partner gave her, Nina tried to direct her attention to the music, the glorious
phrases, the rich harmonies. But the joy wasn't there. The spark she knew only
in the rapture of music was missing. Her soul wasn't in her playing, although
her technique was as fine as always, and in desperation she made herself think
of Sam hovering above her as they made love.
It made her a little horny, but it didn't improve her playing.
Neither did the constant, peripheral knowledge that her two agents were flanking
the stage - one just behind Maggie's stand of 'cellos, the other between the
backs of the first and second violins.
There were guns onstage, their possessors trained to kill, without question,
anyone who threatened her. Nina didn't find it comforting in the least.
Dammit, were they at letter G, or six before? She watched her partner's fingers,
surreptitiously using the placement to figure out where she was on the page. But
when she looked up to get a cue from the conductor, she found him staring down
at her with utter derision. "Violas, precision, if you please!" he hissed, but
it was to Nina and not the section that his words were addressed, and she felt
herself turning scarlet with embarrassment. The sudden rush of blood to her face
didn't help her concentration, and she fumbled a few more notes.
The conductor lunged toward her with his baton, and within seconds he was
slammed to his stand by the agents.
"Do not threaten Ms. Fisher-Lennox," growled the taller of the two men as he
held the conductor's hands behind his back.
Nina had to be impressed, despite her abject humiliation, that the agents had
become very adept at keeping her professional and personal names straight.
"I was...gesturing!" the maestro protested, his words garbled by the position of
his mouth against the of the stand. His breath left little clouds on the lucite,
and the score's well-thumbed pages fluttered around the feet of all the first
stand players. "I'm not going to hurt her, although I'll strongly suggest
releasing her from her contract!"
Maggie grimaced at Nina, who looked imploringly at the agents. The personnel
director rushed from his place in the audience and yelled for an intermission.
The orchestra was seventeen minutes into a two-hour rehearsal.
Oh, God.
Under ordinary circumstances, musicians would flee the stage as if pursued once
they were told it was time for their break. But today, people stood around to
see what would happen next.
One look at the personnel manager's downcast eyes, and Nina knew exactly what
would happen next. But all she could think about, as she looked down at her
hands and waited for her sentence, was that she would finally be able to grow
her fingernails out.
***
She told the story to Sam later that night, when he returned from a campaign
stop in West Virginia.
"I'm so sorry," Sam whispered into her ear as she fed Helen some pureed apples.
"This isn't fair. It's not right."
"They didn't have any choice, Sam. If you could've seen Paul's face when the
guys shoved him into the stand...and the metal detectors, and the x-rays, and
the searching, and we can't even lock up our instruments anymore without giving
out two copies of the keys. I wouldn't want to work around me, either." Nina
handed Helen to Sam and stood up, adjusting her clothes.
"That doesn't mean I have to agree with their decision." He looked at her with
the full force of his bright blue eyes. "We could hire a lawyer."
"We're surrounded by lawyers, Sam. I don't think I've met anyone in the last two
years who isn't a lawyer. But you don't need the negative publicity, and I don't
need the heartache I'd get when I lost." She knew she sounded bitter, shrewish,
so she took a deep breath and leaned over to kiss the top of Sam's head. "I'm a
bitch when I get fired," she said softly.
"You weren't fired - you were asked to take a leave of absence."
"I just came back from a leave of absence - how long do you think this one will
last?" Nina exclaimed, her voice rising enough to startle Helen. The baby cried,
squirming in Sam's arms.
Sam put Helen against his chest, rubbing his hand on her back in slow, rhythmic
circles. "You knew, going into this, that there'd be issues with security."
"I knew you'd have guys following you around, talking into their sleeves. I
didn't know they'd follow me around, too. And, you have to admit, no one
could've predicted today. Although, with my 20-20 hindsight, that seemed pretty
inevitable."
She had managed to hold back the tears all day, from the moment she heard the
music director say that he loved her and hoped she could come back when the
"madness" was over. She had not wept in front of Maggie or her other friends in
the symphony, had not shed a single tear in the car after handing the keys to
one of the agents and asking him to take her home. But when Sam reached for her
with one hand, caressing her hair, she finally felt the dam breaking.
"Say the word, and I'll drop out," Sam said, and that was when Nina lost her
composure and cried bitterly for all she had lost, and for all that Sam was
offering to lose for her sake.
Nina, unable to speak, shook her head. She arched into Sam's caress like a cat,
smiling through her tears as he held her with one arm and cradled Helen with the
other.
"I think," Sam said quietly, "that you should go to Manchester and talk to
Abbey. What do you think?"
Nina thought, as she let herself be comforted, that Abbey might be her only link
to sanity.
***
Manchester
The next evening
***
"Welcome to Jed Bartlet's Home for Wayward Staffers!" Bartlet rose from his
favorite chair and embraced Nina while grinning at Abbey, who shook her head and
sighed with feigned annoyance.
"Come here, sweetie. Don't let him badger you." Abbey took her turn holding on
to Nina, sensing her exhaustion and sorrow along with her natural reserve around
the former First Couple. "Why didn't you bring Helen? We haven't seen her in
ages."
"Sam thought it'd be better if I had some time alone. Donna's staying with them
for the weekend. She says she gets all her maternal instincts taken care of by
the time the fourth diaper of the day is used up."
"How is...Donna?" Bartlet asked diplomatically.
Nina smiled. "Cautious."
"Can't say as I blame her." Abbey commented. "And Josh?"
"Have either of you heard of something called a 'nervous hoolelia?' Because
that's what Sam calls Josh these days."
Bartlet shrugged, reaching for his glasses and putting them on the bridge of his
nose. "Sounds like a Seaborn original. Abigail, my precious, have you seen my
notes on the second gubernatorial race?"
"I believe you'll find them on the dining room table."
"Then, ladies, if you'll excuse me, I have yet another exciting chapter of my
next book to narrate to the unsuspecting dupe who lives in the carriage house.
He'll be joining us for dinner, of course, so I'll let you two get caught up."
With a lift of his eyebrows that lacked anything approaching subtlety, he left
Nina and Abbey alone in the study.
Abbey appraised Nina, taking in the uncharacteristic slouch, the dark circles
under her pretty eyes, the way she kept looking at the designs in the well-worn
Chinese rug. Sam had tried, in the halting way that affected his speech when
talking about his wife or daughter, to convey what Nina was enduring, almost as
if he were afraid of opening Abbey's old wounds.
But she was a physician, after all, and she could heal herself as well as Nina.
"I haven't known you as long as the others, of course," Abbey said, pouring tea
into thin porcelain cups and offering one to Nina, "so I don't know how you
prefer getting into these things, whether you like polite chitchat first or
whether you'd rather just plunge into the nitty-gritty."
Holding the cup in both hands and looking down at the bottom as if reading the
leaves, Nina said, "Whatever's easiest for you."
"This conversation isn't about me," Abbey said in her best no-nonsense tone.
"Well, I suppose you could say it was, but I'll save that part for later on. Why
don't you tell me--" The phone rang, and Abbey started to talk over it before it
rang a second time. "Jed? Can you get that, please?"
The ringing died down, and Abbey turned her attention to Nina again. "The Secret
Service guys weren't very secret, I take it?"
"Not really, no." Nina sighed and inhaled the fragrant steam, then took a
tentative sip. "They all but barricaded the Kennedy Center, and people had to
leave for work an hour early to get through the security lines I got to skip.
You can't blame them for being unhappy about that."
Before Abbey had a chance to say whether or not she agreed with Nina's analysis,
the door flew open and her husband stood there, his face drawn into a rigid
mask. "I'm sorry. That was C.J. There was a wire report - Amy's friend,
her...significant other, or whatever."
Abbey groaned. There were some things her husband just couldn't handle
gracefully, she thought, but his next words drove that thread from her mind.
"The husband tracked them down. Naima, Angela, and Amy have been missing for
three days."
***
Washington, D.C.
***
Someone - Sam thought it might have been Danny Concannon - once said that if
Donna and Josh ever got married, they'd have to rent a concert hall for her
friends and a phone booth for his.
Josh could be, and often was, the most obstinate son-of-a-bitch on the face of
the earth. He lacked Matt's polished manners, lacked Toby's earnest zeal to do
justly, lacked C.J.'s ability to command people without belittling them.
But those who knew Josh best of all knew the truth: that, underneath the
bragadoccio, his was a noble, loving heart that had been broken enough times to
leave it perilously fragile.
Watching Josh sit slumped over the conference table, his hands clasped so
tightly together that his fingernails were turning bluish-white, was agonizing
for Sam. Knowing that there was nothing he could do but wait until his
connections in the State Department called him back made him feel as if he
couldn't help his friend.
"Do you think they're dead?" Josh asked for the twentieth time, and for the
twentieth time Sam shook his head.
"I think we'd have heard something. The Canadian Embassy is doing everything
they can, and there are probably twenty guys from State finding their trail."
Josh didn't seem to have heard. His eyes were fixed on an unknown point, staring
at something only Josh could see. "I should've kept in better touch with her. I
should've had someone working on whatever Canada uses for restraining orders."
"This is not, in any way, shape, or form, your fault," Sam insisted. He sat down
next to Josh, wishing Nina were with them, glad that she wasn't. Donna was
spending the evening having "godmother time" with Helen, meaning that she'd
taken the baby out for new clothes. There was no way Sam was going to break this
news to her while she was out in public. Not news like this. They'd have to wait
until she called in.
Matt had better handle that call. Sam didn't think he could possibly do it.
No, he'd do it. He'd do it all, whatever "it" might turn out to be. Because, if
he really did manage to become President, he'd probably have to make a worse
call than this one.
There was a brass bowl on the table, full of fruit that no one would eat unless
all the danishes and doughnuts were gone. Sam could see his reflection, and it
startled him how much the conflict and pain in his eyes resembled Bartlet's when
he had been compelled to give bad news.
The silence was awful, but the sound of Josh's sharp, harsh breathing was worse.
Sam reached out and patted Josh on the back. "It's been a couple of hours. We're
having all calls directed to my cell phone. Why don't you go to your office and
lie down for a while? I'll get you when I hear something."
To Sam's relief, Josh didn't argue. He rose, rubbing the small of his back, and
went through the door that connected his office with Sam's. Just as Sam reached
for the phone, it started to ring. "C.J., is that you?"
"Yeah." She sounded breathless. "Listen, is Josh anywhere near a television?"
"I sent him to his office to lie down. CNN's usually on - why?"
"Get him away. We're getting a satellite feed, and it'll be on the air in a few
minutes...oh, God, Sam, it's awful..."
Before he had a chance to ask her what was going on, Sam saw a "Special
Bulletin" notice on the screen. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.
"...that the missing women have been located in Kenya, near the Somalian
border."
"They found them!" Sam exclaimed into the phone. "Oh, thank God."
"It's not good...I have to go - there's no one available and I'm going to have
to do the story...someone look after Josh, he's gonna--" The phone went dead and
Sam set it down, trying to listen carefully to what the announcer was saying.
A grainy Polaroid photo covered the screen, showing a younger Naima with a tall
man and a baby that must have been Angela.
"Local authorities confirm that Kenyan national Saul Biru was killed by multiple
stab wounds. His ex-wife, Naima Biru, is being held for questioning in his
death. Their daughter, now five years old, is in the care of the director of a
nearby Peace Corps headquarters."
The photo changed to one of Amy. "American political activist Amy Gardner was
critically injured at the Somalian camp where the murder occurred--"
Sam missed the next few sentences because Josh burst through the doors and
grabbed the remote from Sam's hands.
"...attempting to stabilize her condition before moving her to a more
sophisticated facility. Witnesses at the scene describe Ms. Gardner's wounds as
indicative of the first stages of fibulation, also known as the most invasive
form of female circumcision. While a common custom in some countries..."
Josh's face drained of all color. Sam rushed over to him, holding fast to his
shoulders. "Josh? Frank Torres is probably on a plane right now, and he'll find
out what's going on. He's standing by, Josh, he's going to help us."
"I know." His body was shaking under Sam's hands, and he was obviously doing
everything in his power to keep from losing control. "God. Amy."
"I'm so sorry." Sam was grateful that Ginger knew to come in and grab bottles of
water from the little fridge. She handed one to Josh, who took it without
looking at it. His attention was focused on the television, where someone from
Amnesty International was describing the different levels at which the ritual
was performed.
"Shut it down, Ginger," Sam muttered, and Ginger went to the set and pressed the
power button. The horrific description stopped, the pixelated video winking
obscenely as the light went out.
The sudden stillness made the sound of Josh's harsh breathing even more
heartwrenching. "Should I be doing anything?" he asked. "Shouldn't there
be...something?"
Ginger's eyes filled with tears. "I'll get the latest from State, then I'll come
right back." The look she gave Sam was one of pure compassion, and he patted her
on the arm as she walked away.
Josh scrabbled around on the desk for the remote. "I need to hear this, Sam," he
said as Sam shook his head in protest. He flipped channels until he was on NBC.
"I need to hear it from C.J."
They both did. Sam hovered behind Josh as C.J.'s face appeared on the screen.
"Two reporters from Agence France were present when Naima Biru was taken into
custody, and their report is as follows." C.J. adjusted her glasses, scanning
the text before reading aloud.
"Three days ago, Saul Biru, the father of American-born Angela Biru, kidnapped
her from her home in Saskatchewan with the intent of having her undergo the
ritual of fibulation. Naima Biru and Amy Gardner flew to Kenya and contacted the
anti-mutilation organization Maendeleo Ya Wanawake, giving the location of the
Kikuyu village where Mr. and Mrs. Biru were born and where they suspected the
girl had been taken. Ms. Gardner was the first to discover the building where
the mutilation was to take place, where she was held at knifepoint by Mr. Biru.
He demanded that his daughter be circumcised, and said that in addition Ms.
Gardner should also undergo the procedure as penalty for her interference. The
midwife refused until Mr. Biru threatened to kill her as well as Ms. Gardner."
Sam fought down a surge of bile. He couldn't imagine what Josh was feeling,
didn't dare allow himself to travel down that dark path.
"Ms. Biru, with the help of Maendeleo Ya Wanawake, found the midwife's house and
demanded that her daughter and Ms. Gardner be set free. Mr. Biru held his knife
to his daughter's throat, but the women managed to get the weapon away from him.
As Mr. Biru began to strangle his daughter, claiming that he would rather see
her dead than left intact, Ms. Biru took the knife from the floor stabbed her
ex-husband three times in the chest."
"Shit," mumbled Josh. "Oh, shit."
C.J.'s face was drawn as she continued. "The midwife, with the help of local
interpreters, explained that it was the daughter who was to have been...operated
on first. But Ms. Gardner insisted that she go before her, hoping that Ms. Biru
or members of Maendeleo Ya Wanawake would be able to rescue them before the
little girl could be injured." She looked into the camera as if trying to
connect with Josh. "Witnesses say that Ms. Gardner's courageous act surely saved
Angela Biru from a lifetime of agony."
"Local authorities plan to release Ms. Biru on the grounds that she was acting
in defense of her daughter. Ms. Gardner's condition is listed as critical,
citing massive blood loss, shock, and incipient infection from the use of crude,
unsterilized instruments. When her condition is stabilized, she will be flown to
London for further evaluation." C.J. swallowed, the tension in her voice as
terrifying as the news itself. "The prayers of the entire nation are with the
Naima and Angela Biru, Amy Gardner, and their family and friends. More
information will doubtless be available before the evening news, and we will
provide up-to-the-minute coverage on MSNBC."
C.J. was replaced by a graphic of the words "Special Report," and an anonymous
voice saying that regular programming would now resume.
"I need to know more," Josh said softly.
"C.J. will call as soon as she can get away." Sam stepped back and tried to
evaluate Josh's emotional state, but his own emotions were running too high.
Poor Amy, and poor Josh, and poor C.J., having to read news like that about
someone she knew.
C.J.'s call came moments later, and Sam put it on the speaker so Josh could
participate as well. "He saw the news," Sam said, to preempt any questions C.J.
might have. "We watched your update. What else do you have?"
"It's pretty sketchy. They'll be reuniting Naima with Angela any minute now."
"What about Amy?" Josh asked, looking at the phone as if C.J. were standing
right there.
"They can't move her at this point. Last I heard was that it'd be a few days
before she could be taken anywhere else, and it'll probably be London. She
hasn't regained consciousness, but the doctors were able to stop the
hemorrhaging. I've got two medical reporters standing by with Abbey's fax number
- she'll be able to explain this to you much better than I could. Josh, I'm so
sorry. I wish I could do something."
"You're doing so much," Josh whispered, so softly that Sam wondered if his words
could be heard in New York. "Thank you, C.J."
The uncharacteristic calm was shock, Sam realized. "I'm taking Josh home with
me."
"Good idea," C.J. said. "Tell Nina--"
"Nina's with the Bartlets. Donna's at our house, helping out with Helen."
Someone surely had contacted Donna by now. Please.
"I'll get off the phone so you can talk to her. Guys, I...I don't know what to
say. Wait, my cell's going off, too. It's Abbey. I'll have her call you at home,
later, okay?"
She hung up without waiting for an answer - even after all this time, Abbey
Bartlet's calls took priority. Sam grabbed Josh's coat.
"You don't have to babysit me," Josh said. "I'm fine."
"Yeah, sure you are. Let's get out of here before the huddled masses come by,
wanting more information than we're ready to give out." He waited for Josh to
move, or at least speak. "Donna will be scared to death if you're by yourself.
Let's go home."
Josh nodded, following Sam wordlessly to his car, not speaking during the drive,
just staring blankly at the dark purple sky with its silvered confetti of stars.
When Donna ran out of the house and threw her arms around Josh, holding him
tightly and telling him she'd seen C.J.'s report but that everything was going
to be all right, Sam found that Nina's absence was a palpable ache. He left
Donna and Josh sitting together, holding hands as they sifted through various
accounts on the television and discussed whether Josh should go to Africa or
wait until Amy was transferred to London, while he went to check on his
daughter.
Helen was half-asleep in her crib, her soft, black eyelashes fluttering. Sam
picked her up gently, careful not to startle her, and held her close to his
chest as he thought about Angela Biru. How could someone do such a thing to a
woman? How could a father do such a thing to his child?
With his free hand he dialed the number in Manchester, and it was a relief to
hear Abbey call Nina to the phone. "Sam, oh, God, Sam, this is just awful...is
Josh all right? No, wait, that's a stupid question, but you know what I mean,
right?"
"I know." He took a deep breath, calming himself. "Josh is in the study with
Donna, checking for updates. He's horrified, of course - we all are - but he's
in good hands."
"Thank God. Where's my baby?"
"I'm holding her right here." He listened as Nina began to sob quietly. "She's
safe, Nina. I have her, and I'm not letting go. When are you coming home?"
"Tomorrow morning, first thing. I love you so much, Sam."
"I love you, too."
He returned both telephone and baby to their respective cradles, then spent
several minutes at the dining room window, looking out at the velvet night and
listening to Donna's voice soothing Josh, soothing them both.
***
Manchester
***
"I know this is the last thing in the world you want to think about right now,"
Abbey said as she came into the guest bedroom and sat down next to Nina, "but we
have so little time."
"What's the latest news?" Nina asked. She had been too upset to remain in the
room while Abbey and Toby debated the former President about the need for
international women's rights groups to call for the abolition of female genital
mutilation.
"Nothing, yet, except that Naima and Angela are at the Peace Corps headquarters,
and they'll let her stay there until Amy can be moved. I'm still waiting on news
from the medical team, but we have to take the time difference and lack of
modern conveniences into account."
Nina felt a hot tear work its way down her cheek, and she wiped it away with her
fingertips. "I wish I could be there. Sam sounded...lost."
"Sam Seaborn may be many things," Abbey said firmly, "but 'lost' isn't one of
them. You know as well as I do that the faraway look, the hesitant voice, are
just signs that he's thinking."
"I know, and I know that he and Donna are the best people to be with Josh
tonight. But I miss him, and Helen." She was still a little in awe of Abbey,
despite the loving friendship the two women were forging, and she had trouble
looking into Abbey's eyes. "It's at times like this that I realize that they're
the most important things in my life."
Abbey nodded. "I have definitely walked a mile in your shoes, Nina. And I know
you have questions. I'd like for you to ask them."
"I don't want to overstep--"
"Please." Abbey put her hand over her heart and laughed. "There aren't
boundaries here. Just two women with difficult choices to make."
Nina felt the words spilling out of her as if they came directly from her heart.
"How could you bear it? All those years of medical school, the study, the
internship and residency and practice, gone, just like that."
"They weren't gone. Just...set aside. I'd done it before, each time I got
pregnant. This was just a longer intermission." She took Nina's hand and turned
it over in hers, running her nails over Nina's calloused fingertips. "Feel
that?"
"I'm...aware of it. Pressure, I guess."
"Do you remember having tender little fingers that felt everything? Do you
remember what that was like, before all the hours of practicing, before the
scales and etudes and sonatas and concertos?"
Blinking rapidly, Nina glanced from her left hand up to Abbey's astute, gentle
face. "I've been playing since I was nine. Twenty-five years."
"I've been a doctor longer than that. And as much as I missed it, those years
during the campaign and when I was censured, it never really left me. Just as
all the work you've done will never leave you."
Tears came again, bitter ones that Nina let fall unchecked. "I spent my
childhood, my youth, on my music, all so I could have the work I loved, playing
in a major orchestra. If I leave it now, I can't ever go back. The campaign is
one year. If Sam wins, that's four more, and if he gets a second term that's
another four."
"Sam could lose, you know," Abbey commented, which made Nina laugh for just a
few seconds. "Seriously, though, I do understand what you're saying. But you'll
be able to stay connected to your world far, far better than I did to mine.
There are youth orchestras and school music programs that you could save, and
chamber music in the White House, and ways for your music to be a part of your
life that I'm not clever enough to think of. But tell me this - even if Sam
weren't a politician, wouldn't you find that the center of your life is
different now than it was just a few years ago, when music was your greatest
love?"
"I love Helen and Sam more than anything!" Nina declared, revealing her emotion
with the passion she displayed in her voice. "I'd lay down my life for them."
Abbey cupped her cheek, nodding. "I never doubted that about you. Sometimes,
it's the gentlest people who have the most courage. You're a lot like Sam in
that way, you know. When I first met him, I liked him. I felt comfortable around
him. I loved his writing, and the way he could calm everyone just by the power
of his words. It wasn't until the shooting that I understood that a lion's heart
beat under the monogrammed shirts and immaculate suits."
She'd never heard a better description of her husband. "Sam spent his day
calling in favors to everyone he's ever met who might have been able to help
with Amy. He kept Josh from doing anything rash. And right now, I know he's
helping Donna take care of Josh, while making sure Helen's safe in her bed."
"Exactly." Abbey brought Nina's head to her shoulder, stroking her hair. "And
tomorrow he'll help the whole country deal with the outrage. I'd be surprised if
he wasn't sitting at his laptop right now, sleeves rolled up, straightening his
glasses as he worked on ensuring that the legislation introduced in 1993,
banning female genital mutilation, is finally passed into law."
"It's not against the law in America?" Nina asked, outraged.
"Not yet. But it will be, sooner rather than later, because Sam's heart, his
conscience, his soul, won't allow him to stand idly by while even one more
person is hurt. He's a great man, Nina. The things he could do, if he were
elected...all the things this country needs so badly, the things Jed couldn't
accomplish because we were mired in partisanship and multiple sclerosis, are
things that are in the palm of your husband's hands."
"And here I'm whining because I won't get to play the viola where I want to,"
Nina sighed, burying her face in Abbey's shoulder, "when you had to give up
medicine for so long."
"Listen to me," Abbey said as she rested her cheek in Nina's curly hair. "Never
disparage your career just because you think it's less 'important' than Sam's,
or mine, for that matter. You and I both practice healing arts, Nina, and we
both devoted our lives to them. We are also equally devoted to our families.
It's a difficult line to walk, I won't kid you, but at some point you're going
to have to make a decision."
That was why Nina had come, to make the decision. "Give me the bullet points,"
she whispered, making Abbey laugh.
"It all comes down to this: you want to make the best world for Helen, and
whatever other children you and Sam may bring into the world. What do you think
would be the best contribution you could make?"
She knew, and she was proud even though she was afraid, and she sat up straight
in an unconscious imitation of Abbey's regal posture as she answered.
"Seaborn for America."
***
Part Five