It has been three days since Abbey's phone call. The protocol office, under my supervision, took care of most details: inviting foreign dignitaries and setting up the arrangements with the church and cemetery. The only thing left is selecting the casket. Abbey and I will do that today.
The boys and I are going up early to say our goodbyes privately. There is a private funeral mass tomorrow and the more public memorial service the next day.
"Mr. President? The helicopter is ready to take you to Andrews."
I nod absently, herding my somber children towards Marine One to begin our journey to New Hampshire. As we strap into our seats, my phone rings. Only a select few people have the number and I have been reluctant to give it up.
"CJ?"
"Josh, I wanted to warn you. Sam will be there."
I haven't seen Sam since he showed up to Donna's funeral stoned.
"Why are you here?"
"She was my friend, Josh."
"If you had really cared, Sam, you'd have accepted the help we offered."
"You called him?" My voice is cold. Sam's decisions are deep wounds in my soul.
"No. He's been living there. Abbey called two minutes ago. She didn't want you to know until it was too late." CJ sounds resigned. All she knows is Sam did something that I haven't been able to let go. She doesn't know what.
"Joshua Lyman?"
"Yes?"
"My name is Greg Thompson. I'm with the Baltimore Police Department. Sir, your name is listed as an emergency contact for a Mr. Samuel Norman Seaborn."
"What happened?"
"Mr. Lyman, Mr. Seaborn was hit head on by a drunk driver this evening. He's being taken to Johns Hopkins Medical Center here in Baltimore."
"I'm on my way. I'll be there in an hour."
We're staying at the house because it is already a Secret Service enhanced fortress. Exiting the limo, my eyes fall on Sam standing in the doorway to the guesthouse.
Ellie comes out to greet us.
"Thank you, for everything," she whispers in my ear when we embrace.
"Don't worry about it. Can you take the boys in? I'm going to…" I jerk my head in Sam's direction.
"Sure. I'll tell Mom."
I wave off the Secret Service agents and walk purposely towards the man I still consider my brother, despite all that has happened between us.
"Sam."
"Mr. President," he replies formally, as unsure of our standing as I am.
I take a hard look at him. He has changed. His hair is grayer; his eyes are less haunted; there is a sense of peace about him that has been missing for many years.
"You got help."
"Yeah. You want to come in? We can talk."
"Sure." I follow him into the sitting room.
"I know I did a lot of things that hurt both you and Donna," he begins. I can tell he's been rehearsing, deciding how to best salve over wounds which have festered for so long.
"When did this start, Sam?"
"After the accident. Donna, it's not that big a deal. Really."
"How can you say that? You said you'd watch Jonah for us. Sam, you let him fall down a flight of stairs because you were passed out from the pills. You need help."
"Help, Josh? Because asking for help has always been your strong point! What do you know about my pain?"
"I know what mine was like. That's why I'm asking you to let us help."
"I don't need any damn help."
His story tumbles from his mouth. "You offered me everything you could, more times than I deserved. Every time, I refused to see the problem. I hit rock bottom when Donna died and stayed there for almost two years. I spent a year in treatment both for the addiction and for the reasons behind it. When I left rehab, I had nothing. Jed and Abbey offered me a job as a speechwriter and a place to live. I've been here for three years. Every time you'd bring the boys up to visit, I'd leave. I couldn't face you. Not after everything that happened, not after not being there for you when you needed me the most."
He surprises me by looking me in the eyes, something he hasn't done in ten years. That simple act alone tells me what I've wanted to hear for so long.
"Sam, I have been angry with you for a long, long time. I couldn't understand why you wouldn't let us help you. Jed said something to me last week that struck me as odd at the time. He said that in times of crisis we either show our true mettle or we learn for the next time. If you can be here for us all now, you will make things right."
I offer him my hand, not sure what to expect. Sam grasps it firmly and I pull him into an embrace.
"I wrote something for you." He hands me an envelope as we walk up to the house together.
"Thank you, Sam. I know it will be perfect."
"Papa?" Jonah meets us at the door. The look on his face tells me he wants to talk to me alone.
Sam goes inside and I guide Jonah over to the front porch swing. This January day in New Hampshire has a bite to it and despite his continuing attempts to be a grown up, Jonah snuggles under my arm, resting his head on my chest.
"What's up, Champ?" I ask softly.
"Can I go with you and Grandma?"
My mother passed away before Jonah could remember her. Abbey and Jed have always considered my boys as their grandsons and treated them accordingly.
"You know what we're going to do?"
He has been very subdued since I told him about Jed's death. Jacob is too young to really comprehend death in a concrete way. He knows his Grandpa is with his Mama. Isaac, after our discussion in the guard shack, is refusing to talk to anyone. Getting him up here was an incredible feat.
"You're going to pick out a casket for Grandpa. Like you did for Mama," he whispers.
"Will going along make you feel better?"
"I want to help."
I nod and hold him close.
Abbey has managed to pull herself together in the last three days. I get a hug and a lecture about sitting out in the cold when I join her in the kitchen.
"Jonah wants to go with us," I tell her quietly.
She narrows her eyes at me, trying to discern the reasons. "Will it help?"
I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know, Abbey, but I know it won't hurt."
"Then it is the right thing to do, isn't it?" She favors me with a brief smile. "Our appointment is in twenty minutes, we do need to leave."
Gathering our coats, my son and I join Abbey in the back of a Suburban for the journey into Manchester. None of the girls want to go along. They are focusing on their own grief-stricken families: four grandchildren and 2 great-grandchildren in need of comfort. I entrust Jacob to Zoey for the afternoon.
Jonah and I are moral support more than anything else. Abbey knows what Jed wanted: something simple and humble. Simple and humble can be difficult to find, however, and it consumes the better part of three hours.
Watching her go through this, I resolve to make things easy for the boys. It would not kill me to prearrange the things which can be. I, of all people, know how fragile life is.
I stand behind Abbey, my hand on her shoulder, silent tears falling from my eyes as they lower the simple, humble casket into the ground. This day has been impossibly difficult. Everywhere I turn painful memories surface, reminding me.
"Dearest friends, we are gathered here on this day to honor the life of Donnatella Lyman. A woman whose spirit this world could not hold. A woman loved by so many: her husband Joshua, her sons Jonah and Jacob, her parents, her brothers and sisters, her friends."
Her friends. Our friends. His friends. They surround Abbey as they surrounded me those many years ago, offering their love and sympathy, their strength and support.
Sam's words were beautiful, obviously lovingly crafted. They flowed as if from my own soul. I can only wonder how long he labored over them. They were the words I wish I could have said for Donna. They spoke of my respect and love for the man who helped me through so much, personally and professionally. They brought tears to the eyes of hardened politicians and experienced heads of state.
Sam returned to us a better man than he was before. With firm resolve, he stood at Abbey's side this day as the motorcade pulled away and I truly began my journey as President. It feels real now in a way it didn't before. Maybe because Sam is back, maybe because Jed is gone. There is little time to ponder the true reasons; we have a country to run.