Abbey Bartlet had never been particularly fond of life in the White House. She longed desperately to return to New Hampshire. She missed the fresh air, the trees, and open skies, and more than that, her family. She missed waking up in the morning and turning over to find her husband still in bed with her. She missed be able to go for a run without being hounded by reporters. Despite her general disdain for the White House, she couldn't help but feel this moment was bittersweet. There would be things she would miss about being First Lady. She liked that there was always a podium for her to speak at, always an audience willing to hear what she had to say. That was a privilege she wasn't likely to have again.
Standing alone on the Truman Balcony, Abbey sadly realized that this would be the last time she saw a view quite like that ever again. She thought of her husband in the Oval Office, regretfully gathering his framed photographs together and placing them into a box. She knew he would spend more time than normal standing in front of the window, staring at the portrait of George Washington, sitting in the chair that had come to be his.
"Grandma?"
Abbey whipped around, startled, and then smiled as she watched her eldest grandchild move toward her. Annie stood beside her, admiring the view with as much appreciation as her grandmother had. Abbey draped her arms around the younger girl's shoulders and planted a kiss in her hair.
"How you doing, sweetheart?"
"Fine," Annie replied, quietly. "Where's Grandpa?"
"Down in his office, finishing up some last minute packing. I'm sure he'll be back soon."
She wasn't sure as she insisted she was, but she saw no harm in reassuring her granddaughter.
"Is he okay?"
"He's fine, honey. He's just…you know, adjusting. He has to pack up eight years of his life."
"Yeah. What about you?" Annie asked.
Abbey shrugged.
"What about me?"
"How are you…adjusting?"
"Well, it's eight years of my life too," Abbey answered, with a half-smile. "It's strange to think that…this place, this place that has been my home for eight years…it doesn't belong to me anymore. I can never come back. Well, I can, but I'll be staying in the Lincoln Bedroom. My bed, my bathroom, my closet…little things. Little things that aren't mine anymore. Little things that, this time tomorrow, will be used by someone else. You know, I always imagined that I would be jumping for joy when this moment finally came. Until today, I couldn't wait to get out of here. I've waited so long. I've waited so long to have my life back, to have to my career back, to have my husband back."
Annie smiled sympathetically and dropped her head onto Abbey's shoulder.
"We've waited so long to have you back," Annie said. "You'll miss it for awhile, but it'll get easier."
Abbey looked at her granddaughter and shook her head in disbelief.
"It's a miracle you grew up so normal."
Annie laughed.
"Far from normal. I'm a Bartlet, remember."
"Fair point. God, I really can't believe how grown up you are. I remember when you were sitting in a high chair flinging mashed potatoes at your mother. Where does the time go"
"Well, I still fling mashed potatoes at my mother, if it makes you feel any better. Not so sure about the high chair thing though."
They both laughed.
"Oh, Annie," Abbey sighed. "Have I mentioned to you lately that I'm much too young to be your grandmother?"
Annie rolled her eyes.
"Just the other day, Grandma."
"You should be my daughter."
"We're not gonna do this again, are we?" Annie questioned facetiously.
"I'm just saying. When you were kid, I'd take you shopping and people would tell me how adorable my daughter was."
"Yes, Grandma."
"As long as we're straight on that."
"By the way," Annie said. "I'm borrowing that outfit for my date next Saturday."
Abbey glanced down at her dark purple, low-cut sleeveless dress that reached just above her knees, and then shook her head.
"You don't think it's a little too risqué for someone your age?"
"First of all, I'm nineteen. Second of all, I think if my grandmother can wear it, I should be able to, don't you?"
"I think that's reasonable. But I want you to wear a sweater."
"You wear a sweater!" Annie retorted, sticking her tongue out.
"You know, it disturbs me a little bit that not only do I wear the same size as my granddaughter, but my granddaughter approves of my fashion sense enough to borrow my clothes for a date."
"Well, what can I say? That blue dress you wore last year for the James Taylor thing? Big hit at my senior prom."
Abbey chuckled.
"I remember. I have pictures."
"And no one suspected I might have borrowed it from my grandmother."
"Yeah, go figure. I'm glad someone else is getting good use out of my $4,000 gowns."
"Except for that punch I spilled on it," Annie said sheepishly.
"I beg your pardon, Anne?"
"Nothing." Annie slung her arm through her grandmother's and pulled her in the direction of the door. "Let's go back inside, shall we?"
Inside the Residence, the First Lady and her granddaughter found the rest of the family lounging around the sitting room, laughing infectiously at something or other. Annie ran over and collapsed on the couch beside Zoey or rather, on top of her.
"Ouch! Thanks for that, Annie."
"Anytime."
Zoey and Annie considered themselves practically sisters. Being only about six years apart in age, they had essentially grown up together, especially since Liz and Annie had lived with the Bartlets for the first six years of Annie's life. Annie didn't refer to Zoey as 'Aunt' like she did with Ellie, despite numerous objections from Liz.
Abbey watched her family with pride shining in her eyes as they laughed and talked animatedly. She thanked God, and not for the first time, for blessing her with such a close family, regardless of all the time they'd had to spend apart. But something was missing.
"Mom, come sit down," Liz invited her.
Abbey shook her head slowly.
"I think I'm gonna go check on your father."
The Bartlet White House.
For eight years, it had been known as only that. It was the building in which President Josiah E. Bartlet lived and worked, ate and slept, succeeded and failed. It was in the Oval Office that the magic occurred. In triumph and in tragedy, it was the Oval Office. An imperious symbol of the man and of the duty. The office, despite its many obvious advantages, made no successful effort to accurately portray its proprietor. Not even the seal on the carpet could convey his genius and sensitivity, his insatiable appetite for knowledge and infinite capacity to love, or his commanding use of speech and rhetoric. He was a man of principle, a man of integrity, a would-be man of the cloth. He was a devoted husband, a loving father and grandfather, a skilled economist, a brilliant politician, and, more than that, a genuinely good person. Rarely had there been a Commander-in-Chief in the past that so gloriously embodied each of these qualities and made no attempt to conceal them. Despite concealing certain other things which shall remain unnamed for the time being, his faithful followers believed enough in his ability to lead them honestly and courageously that they blindly joined hands with him and took a leap of faith. When they landed, waving to a desolate Robert Ritchie on the other side, they breathed a sigh of relief and handed the remains of their trusting souls to their President. President Josiah Bartlet, occupant of the Bartlet White House, administrator of the Oval Office. Their leader.
Not only their leader, but her leader. In times of uncertainty, in times of trouble, in times of despair, he guided her through the darkness to a place where nothing was too much for her to handle. Not without him by her side. Sometimes she felt that his citizens did not understand. They didn't comprehend that she needed him as much as they did, more. Their country depended on him, her life did. Without him, the sun was dim, the sky was gray, the air was scarce, and the beauty she believed the world possessed was barren and unworthy of her footsteps. Every moment without him was wasted, dull, and more painful than the last. Day after day, she awoke harboring the familiar, mind-numbing fear for his health that had plagued her since the moment he first experienced paraparesis of the anterior femoral muscles, but in some indirect, selfish way, it was her own health she sheltered a deep concern for. Her heart shut down if his did.
How do you pack up the most important endeavor you have ever engaged in? How do you compact the single greatest achievement of your existence? How do you bottle up a legacy so great? Some things are so abstract that you can't take them with you. Some things are so much greater than the package in which it has been sealed. Some things are far more powerful than ever imagined at initial conception. He had entered the race to keep the intended candidate honest. He had entered the race to lend voice to the issues that deserved attention. He had won the election due to his unconditional honesty and his unparalleled ability to truthfully represent the issues he felt strongly about. He entered the White House to correct all that had gone wrong in the world. He entered the office to make a difference no one else could, to use the mighty powers of a politician's podium for good rather than evil. He remained in the White House to rectify past mistakes and prove his worth. He remained in the office to glorify the original foundations of government and create solutions to problems only he could unravel. He prepared to depart the White House now wondering if he had made all the right decisions, helped all the right people, and solved all the right quandaries. He prepared to depart the office with remorse, uncertainty, relief, and concern.
Eight years of being in charge. Eight years of carrying the burden. The thought of another man taking on his responsibilities was bewildering for him. Now, he would be informed of all decisions following their formation. He would be forced to let his successor make decisions only he felt comfortable making. Frightening was far too weak a word to describe how he viewed this revolution. The Boston Globe would be his press secretary, a flat screen Dell computer stationed in the den would be his communications director, Microsoft Word would be his speechwriter, his cell phone would be his personal aide, and his wits would be his chief of staff.
His children- beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, and miraculous- would still be his children. His wife- fascinating, strong, brilliant, and startlingly lovely- would still be his wife. They were his only requirements for existence. He was a simple man, he asked for nothing more their well-being and presence in his life. That was enough.
Framed photographs and other various mementos were stacked high in the cardboard box waiting on his desk. His fascinating, strong, brilliant, and startlingly lovely wife was waiting too. She stood in the doorway, observing his circumspect movements with sympathetic, adoring eyes. He turned around after catching a whiff of her familiar perfume and could focus on nothing more significant than her astounding beauty at that moment. Encased by the walls of the entrance, he admired her exquisite features and silently doubted God's exclusive ability to create another being that possessed half the beguiling qualities, both physical and mental, as she did. For the past eight years, he had missed her so. Watching her sleep and calling her from Air Force One had not been sufficient. He needed more than her peaceful, sleeping form and soothing voice to be satisfied. If there was anything he was looking forward to about his departure from office, it was her.
He held his hand out to her and she walked forward slowly. She placed her warm hand in his and tightened her grip. He stroked her knuckles gently with his thumb, careful not to touch her blessed wedding rings. A surge of adrenaline began to spread throughout her veins, invested in her by his electric touch. The mere contact of his skin and hers granted her access to all of his emotions. All at once, she suddenly felt his passionate love for her and his love for the office he was preparing to leave behind. She felt the sorrow, the hesitation, the plaintive enthusiasm, and the enduring stamina of a man who had accomplished so much in both professional and personal life. She was honored to stand beside him. He was thrilled to be given the rest of his life with her, with or without the clout of the president.
"Remember," she whispered.
His lips curved into a smile and he nodded.
"Remember."
