Series: Snapshots of the Past

Story: The Anniversary Waltz

Chapter 4

Disclaimer: See chapter 1

Previously: Jed was elected to represent his district in the New Hampshire House

Summary: Jed has to entertain the girls when Abbey has to work; later, Abbey turns to Jed for comfort

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Christmas Eve

Eleanor Emily Bartlet really did love her father. She loved it when he bounced her up and down, tossing her into the air every so often, but only when her mother wasn't looking. She giggled at the roughness of his stubble when he rubbed his cheek against hers. She laughed outright when he tickled her or playfully planted raspberries on her tummy.

She was content in his arms, most of the time. But tonight, she wanted Abbey. With every shriek and cry, it was obvious she wanted Abbey. Jed cringed at the sound, knowing the only person that could dry her tears was the one person who wasn't there to hold her.

It was hard most nights. Tonight, it was damn near impossible not to miss Abbey.

A small pile of torn wrapping paper sat next to the tree, evidence that he had allowed the girls to each open one present. Lizzie sat on the sofa, her new satin robe wrapped around her, absently staring at Frosty The Snowman on television. The giant plush Santa that had been meant to cheer Ellie up, didn't do the job. The toddler was only distracted for mere minutes before she tossed it aside and whined for her mother.

She temporarily calmed herself when Jed sat her down with a box of crystal-made candycanes as he and Lizzie strung up the lights. Unlike her big sister, Ellie wasn't fascinated by the magic of the flickering colors. She remained glued to her seat, entranced by the small beads that bent forward in her tiny palms.

Jed picked her up and held her close to the tree so Liz could guide her hand towards the branch from which her ornament would hang.

"Way to go Ellie! You did it!" She turned in his arms and clapped her hands, acknowledging his praise as he squeezed her tight.

"Izzie's turn," she replied.

"That's right. It's Lizzie's turn. Go ahead, Angel."

Lizzie stepped on tips of her toes to reach the middle of the six-foot tree. Jed held her branch for her as she slid the ornament into place. "Okay, your turn, Daddy."

"I think I'll wait until Mom comes home." He hid his frustration before Liz could pick up on it. "But we still have more icicles and candy canes that need to be properly distributed before we get to the tinsel."

"Ellie can do the tinsel!" Lizzie offered.

"I'm sure she can." Jed lowered her to the ground and handed her a handful of the shiny silver strands.

Ellie looked down at them tangled around her hands, then looked back at him, bewildered by what he was asking of her. Her confusion was so precious that Jed couldn't help but chuckle.

"Here, Ellie. I'll show you." Elizabeth kneeled down in front of her baby sister.

Watching his daughters decorate the tree, sent a warm tingle down Jed's spine. These were the Christmastime traditions he had always hoped to start when he had his own family. There was just one thing wrong, something he couldn't shake no matter how hard he tried.

He expected that Abbey would be working holidays as a doctor, but he didn't know her absence would make him feel this way. It wasn't just that he missed her or that he preferred having her there. It was a genuine longing for the picture-perfect holiday scene he had conjured up in his mind, a scene created by memories of Christmases past, when he and Abbey stayed up late eating the cookies and drinking the milk Lizzie always left out, wrapping gifts from Santa, and cuddling in the dark on the sofa, gazing at the flickering lights on the tree.

But tonight, he was the one to put the girls to bed. He rummaged through the closet alone for the presents he and Abbey had hidden and then he sat alone in the dark and ate the cookies and milk that Ellie and Lizzie had left for Santa.

He stood in front of the sink later, rinsing out his glass when he finally heard the door open. With a few steps out of the kitchen and a quick glance, he saw the back of her head as she turned to shut the door behind her.

"Hi." His eyes fell back to the glass, but he heard her gentle footsteps approaching.

"Hi."

"You're late."

"I know."

"You might want to call me when that happens in the future so that I won't, you know, worry."

"Sorry," she said softly. Perhaps if he wasn't angry he would have realized the hesitation in her voice, he would have known that something was wrong.

But he missed it.

"It's one thing to not be able to make it to Christmas mass, but the girls had to go to sleep without even getting to say goodnight to you. Tonight of all nights."

"I'm not going to let you make me feel guilty."

He dried his hands on a dry towel, but never looked up to make eye contact. "If you feel guilty, Abbey, then do something about it!"

She ignored his cold tone and instead scanned the room, focusing on the pizza box in the middle of the dining table. She opened the top revealing two slices left over. "Pizza? On Christmas Eve?"

"I burned the chicken and didn't want to cook the turkey we bought for tomorrow. Everything else was closed. I had no choice."

"Pizza." She fumbled with the box, turning it slightly.

"You know what, Abbey, if you're not here then you don't get to judge," he snapped. She raised her head to meet his stare. He hadn't seen it before, but he was seeing it now. Her eyes were shiny with tears and her bottom lip quivered. Something was wrong. "What happened?"

She stiffened up and changed direction. "I'm going to go check on the girls."

He grabbed her arm to stop her from walking away. Surprisingly, she didn't resist. She always resisted when she was angry. This time, she floated right into his arms, pressing her face into his body to muffle her cries as her tears began to fall. He wrapped himself around her protectively as if trying to shield her from the world, from whatever had upset her so deeply.

He didn't ask the question. Tormented by curiosity, he still didn't ask the question. He just stroked her back and ran his fingers through her hair until her sobs melted away.

And when he did finally speak, it was to beg her forgiveness for snapping at her so harshly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She pulled away from him and shook her head. "It's not you."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Her back to him, she picked up a tissue to wipe any residual tears. He saw her shudder as she tried to hold herself together.

"I don't know."

"You don't have to." She spun towards him, but didn't answer. He extended his arms, inviting her into another embrace. "Come here."

"You remember Laura Torres?" Her cheek was crushed against his shoulder and the words barely escaped her lips.

"Car accident, right?"

She nodded. "She was getting better. She was finally able to breathe on her own and we thought she might even go home for Christmas."

He tightened his hold as she turned her head to bury her wet eyes into his chest. "Yeah?"

"She died tonight." And then she cried again.

Abbey had seen patients pass away. She had seen them deteriorate to the point where death was inevitable. She had also seen some regain their strength, then take a turn for the worst. But they had never been her patient. She had always been part of a team of doctors, never in charge, always just learning how to administer medical care.

She took pride in Laura Torres. For two weeks, she had wavered between life and death. When her condition improved, it was a personal victory for Abbey, not because she had saved a patient, but because she had saved a woman's life. She had given a husband back his wife; she had given two sons back their mother.

And like a cruel twist of fate, the recovery was over. Her puncture wound caused air to collect between her lung and her chest and in just minutes, her condition worsened, leaving her -- and Abbey -- to fight for her life.

They both lost.

Only, Abbey was left to wonder if she could have done more. She was left to contemplate where Laura Torres's medical care went wrong. She wasn't just left with remorse. She was left with regrets.

"Honey, it was out of your hands," he told her repeatedly.

"You don't know that! There may have been something I overlooked. I should have been monitoring her continuously."

"It wasn't your fault."

She pushed him away in a flash of misdirected anger. "How do you know it wasn't my fault? How do you know I did everything right? You weren't there. You didn't see her. You didn't see how much she had improved, how happy her family was to take her home for Christmas!"

"You're right. I wasn't there. And if I had been, could I have helped?"

"Jed."

"Abbey, answer me. Is there anything I could have done?"

"Stop it."

"There isn't, is there? Is there?"

"You're not a medical doctor!"

And that's what it came down to, at least for Abbey. She had, subconsciously, misjudged the power of her knowledge and now, she was in for a dose of reality.

After another forty-five minutes of consoling her with his words and his loving touch, her anger had faded enough to let Jed help her to the sofa. "Can I get you anything? Some water? Something to eat? I bet you haven't eaten at all tonight."

"I'm not hungry."

"You have to have something. I ordered you a sandwich. Turkey on rye. Your favorite. And I made some steamed veggies."

"A sandwich?"

"You didn't really think I'd make you eat pizza."

She lowered her head with a smile. "I won't be able to keep anything down."

"You don't want to try?" he whispered in defeat as he took his seat next to her.

"All I want tonight is you."

He stretched himself out, laying back against the armrest with his arms reaching for her. She snuck her head under his hand, cuddled up close to his chest. He didn't dare close his eyes until he was sure she had fallen asleep.

They would talk more tomorrow. Tonight, her emotionally drained body needed time to regroup.

TBC