Mallory O'Brien was running late. Not her standard mode of operation, but for one reason or another this morning, she was a step behind. Amazingly for once, her friend Jonathan had actually picked her up on time, but she had dropped a glassful of juice on her sweater, and had to clean up the mess. Changing clothes had thrown off her entire schedule - she hated that.
She and Jonathan had been on the Beltway, that endless road to nowhere in particular and to everywhere in between for nearly forty minutes. They were on their way to Dulles International Airport where she would be hopping a plane for Orlando. Dulles . . . her least favorite airport this time of day. Any time of day actually. Way too big, way too many people who were clueless, a lot like Washington, D.C. in some respects. Oh well, she thought, at least it's Tuesday, not Monday. Hopefully, most of the politicos would have already flown in yesterday for tonight's State of the Union address.
As she watched the sixth near-miss accident in the last two miles, Mallory pulled out her cell phone. She suddenly realized that she'd been so busy packing the night before, there was no time to call her father. For some strange reason, she felt an almost urgent need to hear his voice today. He would have been in his office for hours now, his standard mode of operation. She flipped the phone open, said the name that would automatically display his number, and punched the send button.
Mallory put the phone to her ear, listened to one ring, another, then a click and an oh-so-familiar voice yelling on the other end. "Margaret? Margaret, I need that Clemmons file again," he paused. "And get Josh in here . . . Margaret? . . . Margaret! Where the hell is she? . . . Margaret!"
Now she remembered why it was so important to talk with him. There was a bizarre sense of normalcy in that bellowing voice, something she'd known all her life. As she listened to her father's tirade, she just smiled and shook her head. Mallory didn't have to imagine this particular scene in her mind: she'd seen it in person more times than she cared to admit. Finally, the man on the other end of her phone sighed in defeat, "Leo McGarry."
"Well, gee Dad, let me see. Number one, I don't think I've ever seen the Clemmons file. Two, Josh, who is no where near me, probably sensed your mood, and is making himself scarce in another part of the building, far, far away from you as well. And three, as far as Margaret goes? I'm quite sure she's off doing whatever it is that you told her to do before you forgot you told her to go do it," she concluded.
"Hey Mal! What are you doing?" She could tell her dad was grinning. He nearly always smiled when he talked with his daughter. Mallory was the most important McGarry woman in his life, always had been. Ever since she came into the world, very nearly born at Exit 32 on the Long Island Expressway during one of the worst storms the East Coast had ever seen, she filled his life with love and warmth. She made him feel whole, the single greatest accomplishment in his life. Though he didn't speak of her often to others, she was never far from his mind.
"What do you mean 'what am I doing?' I'm calling you, Dad," Mallory answered. This was going to be a bit if a challenge. "Now, you're supposed to ask why I'm calling you because, wait for it . . . you forgot," she concluded.
"Of course I didn't forget, Mallory," Leo lied. He was sure he could come up with the reason she'd be calling, just give him a second. "I mean, how could I possibly forget?" he tried. "You're calling because . . . well, because . . . you know, the thing that's . . . you know . . . um . . ." He paused, then realizing full well that he was never going to remember, he simply stopped. After a moment of silence for the tongue lashing he was about to receive, he reluctantly sighed, "Okay, what did I forget?"
"That I'm headed to an educator's conference in Orlando." It never ceased to amaze Mallory. Her father could keep track of anything relating to Jed Bartlet's White House, including political situations and troop movements all over the world, economic forecasts, results from dozens of local, state, and federal elections, and endless scheduling appointments, but he couldn't remember that his own daughter was headed to Florida for a conference. "Remember? I'm receiving the award for . . . "
". . . National Teacher of the Year!" Leo burst out. "Mal, I'm so sorry. How could I possibly forget that?"
She could hear the apology in his voice, "Oh, I don't know, Dad. You've only got like a million things on your mind." She decided long ago that Leo McGarry would be hard pressed to keep track of anything not relating to politics if it weren't for Margaret. Mallory knew that her father's long-suffering assistant had always been such a large part of his success.
In fact, Mallory remembered being told by Sam about the first and only time that he had to "staff the President" for Josh. Feeling less than up to the task, he had asked Ginger if there was such a thing as a condensed Reader's Digest index of all human knowledge. She replied that whenever they needed to know anything, they just used Margaret. After this latest episode, Mallory had no doubt that it was true. "Anyway, Dad, I just wanted to call you today because I'm not sure I'll get the chance to call Thursday."
A frown creased Leo's brow as he stared at the calendar on his desk. "Why would you want to call me on Thursday?" he questioned. There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and Leo shifted uncomfortably when he realized he must have forgotten something else.
"Um. Because it's your birthday?" Mallory finally said.
"Oh yeah." Whew! He thought it was something important, like her birthday. "Well it's no big deal Mal. But you know I love being able to talk with you, whatever the day."
"It is a big deal, Dad. I wish I could be there to celebrate with you." She'd been with her father on his birthday every year for as long as she could remember. Even when she was going to college, she made it a point to be around for cake and ice cream on his birthday. And these last few years, since the divorce, it seemed even more important. "So, what are you planning on doing?" she asked.
"Doing? You mean for my birthday?"
"No, Dad, for my birthday," she said sarcastically. She couldn't believe how exasperating he could be at times. "Yes, for your birthday!"
"Nothing really. Work. Just another day, I guess." Leo couldn't remember the last time he went home before 9 p.m., and this week certainly didn't look promising.
"You should go out with some friends or something," she suggested.
As Leo considered her advice, he decided it could be fun, depending on whom he invited. Jordon Kendall yes, anyone else, not so much. But then he remembered that Jordy was out of town on a consult and would be flying home on the red-eye early Friday morning. Sighing he told her, "I don't think so Mallory. Besides, you know I don't mind being by myself."
"Except when I'm around?" she chided.
Chuckling he replied, "Except when you're around." She knew him so well, too well perhaps. He did wish she was going to be around for his birthday, but he knew if anyone deserved the honors, his daughter did. After all, she'd been his Teacher of the Year for a long time now. Changing the subject, he said, "So you have to speak at this thing. What are you going to talk about?"
"Well, after the acceptance speech, I'm supposed to lead a discussion on the future of education in regards to opportunity for all children. You know one of the biggest problems we're facing in education these days?" she asked.
"Number two pencil shortage?" he quipped.
"Cute, Dad," she said, shaking her head. "No, one of the biggest problems we're facing is equity in education. The ideal of no child left behind has to be more than just an ideal, because up to this point, it hasn't been nearly effective enough. After years of saying that this is what we want, that this is what we need, our panel is going to propose a solution that we believe will actually work."
"That's great, Mal," he responded.
She continued her point, "You know, Dad, a lot of these kids are simply pushed through the system and are never given a chance to reach their potential because they're pre-judged or worse yet, ignored. Their test results are hidden, averaged in, and they get lost." She paused hoping that what she was saying would sink in with her father. There might come a time when she would need his help. "Anyway, there's still a lot of work to do, but I think we finally have the people behind it to get it done. And if not, we're up for a good fight."
"Yeah, I'm sure you are. You're always up for a good fight," her father replied.
"Got that right. Wanna piece of me?"
"Oh no, no, no, nooo. Don't want a piece of that!" he mocked.
"Good answer." Now it was her turn to smile. Talking with her dad was always fun, even if he did get on her nerves every once in a while. "We're going to get this done Dad, I know we are." Leo knew that Mallory was passionate about her role in education, but tongue-in-cheek she added, "And if we have any problems, I'll just tell them that I know the President of the United States personally."
Her father laughed at the notion. "Well actually, depending on who you talk to, especially in this town, that could either be good or bad."
"Dad, you know what I mean," she scolded. Quieter, she added, "It's our responsibility to do everything we can for these kids. After all, it's our future too."
Leo grinned again, "Mal, I love you."
"I love you too, Dad, but what brought that on?" she said, confused about the sudden admission.
A hundred different things ran through his mind. She had always tried to stand up for the little kids, for those who had no voice. Now she was going to have a golden opportunity to act on it. "I'm just proud of you," came the answer. "You may not take on the entire world, but you certainly take on your part of it with reckless abandon."
"I am not reckless," she denied. "I see problems and I try to fix them, that's all. Just like my Dad. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all." Leo stopped as he realized once again just how very lucky he was to have her. "I wish I could be there with you tomorrow. But I gotta stay and do this thing." He couldn't keep the regret out of his voice. It wasn't as if missing important events in Mallory's life was anything new for Leo, but for some unknown reason, this bothered him more than normal.
"The State of the Union Address is not just a 'thing', Dad. Besides, I know you'd be with me if you could." The unanticipated silence on the other end of the phone caught Mallory off-guard. Concerned, she asked, "Hey, what's wrong?"
Leo removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying in vain to relieve the dull ache behind his eyes that was threatening to grow into a full-blown migraine. He took a deep breath, then spoke of things long brewing. "It's just that sometimes, I realize exactly how much I've missed out on in your life, Mal." Leo stared at the framed photo that sat on his desk, taken in happier times. The image of Mallory in the arms of her mother and father as she graduated from college, all of them grinning from ear to ear, always forced him to stop and reflect.
Anyone unfamiliar with Leo's history only saw a typical family photo from years past, but it was much more than that to him . . . it was a constant reminder. He had just been through the toughest fight of his life. Yet from the depths of despair, he came out on the other side of Sierra-Tucson with a new lease on life. Yes, rehab had taken a lot out of him. But in the end, Leo knew it was worth every minute of pain and suffering he endured to be able once again to look his wife and daughter in the eye. When all was said and done, he vowed never again to take for granted the time he had with them. Oh, there would be challenges along the way to be sure, but they compared little to the hell he and his family had already been through because of his drinking and drug abuse. As Mallory started her new life as a teacher, he started a new life free of the alcohol and Valium that had ruled his life for so many years.
Leo sighed and continued, "I wasted so much time when you were young, drinking, not being there for you. Or for your mother." He paused, as another wave of guilt threatened to overcome him. "Sad thing is, Mallory, I did to you exactly what my father did to me. You deserved better than that, you deserved to have a father who shared your life. I'll always regret that."
"Dad . . .", she whispered. Mallory glanced at Jonathan who gave her a sympathetic smile, then looked beyond and stared out the driver's window to the east, where she knew her father was . . . the Chief of Staff's Office in the West Wing of The White House. As she listened carefully to her father's tone, the pain in his voice made her wish she was standing there with him, able to wrap her arms around him and hold him close. She tried to find words that would comfort him, but it took a moment before she found her voice again. "Please don't do this to yourself, Dad," she said quietly. "That was a long time ago." Mallory had long since come to terms with having a father who was a recovering alcoholic and drug addict, of wishing he could be with her more, of blaming him for a lot of grief in her young life. "Who knows what small events in our lives shape who and what we are today?" she continued. "I mean, everything that has happened to us, big or small, makes us who we are, right? It's all part of the fabric of our lives - pull one thread and everything falls apart." She paused, knowing full-well that he was still beating himself up. "Besides, you know that you have always been there for me, and will always be with me, wherever I go, whatever I do, no matter what happens."
"I suppose." He knew Mallory was trying to make him feel better . . . it wasn't working. "So when do you leave for Orlando?"
Leo should have known better than to think his daughter would leave it at that. "Dad? We're okay, right?" came the reply.
He smiled, "Yeah, we're okay." Leo was trying extremely hard to get out of this conversation. "You didn't answer me though, when do you leave?"
"Jonathan picked me up about half an hour ago, and I'm on my way to Dulles now. I just wanted to make sure that I talked to you before I took off," she added.
"I'm glad you did." He paused, "Hey, since I'm not going to be there, why don't you read me some of your speech?" he suggested. "You know, just the highlights."
"Want a preview huh?" Mallory chuckled as she started digging through her briefcase, "I suppose, just for you, I can give. . ." She paused, then panic set in. "Oh no!"
"What?" Jonathan asked.
"Mallory, what's wrong?" her father questioned, suddenly alarmed.
"Turn around," Mallory ordered.
Jonathan looked at her, "What?"
"Why in the world should I turn around, Mallory?" Leo was frowning again.
"I said turn around. Now!"
"Mallory!" her father yelled.
"What's wrong?" Jonathan tried again.
Frustrated, she said, "I'm not talking to you, Dad."
"Well who then?" he questioned.
"Jonathan, I forgot it."
"What?" he asked.
"I forgot it. I forgot my speech!"
"You're kidding. How in the world . . ."
"Just turn around," she interrupted. "It's in my room at school."
"You don't have an extra copy?" Jonathan asked.
"Don't be silly, of course I do. It's right next to the other copy of my speech, along with my laptop. In my room. At school." If she wasn't so serious, Jonathan would have laughed them both into a wreck.
"Well this is a first," her father said.
"Oh, shut up."
"Hey, I'm just sayin' . . ."
"Well don't. Say it I mean," she cut him off.
"Okay," Leo chuckled. He could tell that now was not the time to pick on his daughter. "I'll be thinking about you tomorrow. I'm very proud of you Mallory, don't ever forget that."
"I know, I won't forget. Thanks Dad, and if I don't get to talk with you Thursday, Happy Birthday."
"Thanks, Mal. Be careful. And Mallory?"
"Yeah?" she answered.
"You hang in there, and don't give up without a fight, okay?" he advised.
"Okay, Dad. I'm sorry about yelling at you," she apologized. "I'll see you this weekend. We can go to supper when I get back?"
"It's a date. I love you, Baby."
"I love you too, Dad."
"See you later, Mal."
"Keep the faith."
"Yeah."
As Mallory closed the phone to end her call, she contemplated what her father had said. He was in the middle of a guilt trip again, and she wasn't sure exactly what had precipitated it. Their conversation seemed to start off in the right direction, but for some reason, it had taken a rather ominous turn. His mood lately had become sullen, almost melancholy, but she supposed he had a right to be a little down. The last few weeks seemed to have been particularly hard on him; she'd heard from Margaret that Leo seemed distracted, abnormally tired, which only intensified after a visit from his cousin Tommy last week. Mallory had a vague idea of the problem, but she promised herself that when she got back, she'd ask him exactly what was going on. Provided he could actually share the information, she'd eventually get him to talk.
As Jonathan turned and headed in the opposite direction, Mallory closed her eyes and leaned back on the head rest to try and relax. As she did, her mind drifted back through similar conversations she'd had with her father over the years. In her younger years, the impact his advice had wasn't necessarily what he'd hoped. Yes, there were times she'd act like she wasn't listening, but she always did. She was certainly listening today. In fact, his last comment still rang in her ears; hang in there and don't give up without a fight . . . Oh, it wasn't the first time she'd heard it, but today, the remark just seemed sort of odd, almost out of place.
She thought about everything her dad had been through in his life. Growing up in Boston with an alcoholic father who rarely showed emotion, who was hardly ever home for his children; that same father in a drunken stupor using his police service revolver to take his own life; moving to Chicago with his mother and siblings afterwards to be near her family and to get away from the publicity his father had caused; putting himself through college on scholarships, work-study, the ROTC, and eventually the GI Bill; flying nearly 100 missions in Vietnam, and after being injured when he was shot down, spending three long days being carried through the jungle by his friend and wingman Ken O'Neil; losing that friend after more than thirty-five years because he had bribed officials in a defense contract with the government; becoming addicted to alcohol and Valium, then traveling that long road to recovery; having his life's very private failures become so much fodder for public consumption . . . losing his wife because of his commitment both to duty, and to his best friend, the President of the United States. If anyone knew about not giving up, it was her father.
Jonathan pulled into the school parking lot and turned the car off. When his passenger didn't move, he announced, "Hey, Mallory, we're here."
"Mmm?" she questioned, breaking out of her reverie.
"We're here," he repeated.
"Oh, okay." As they got out of the car, she told Jonathan, "I can't believe I forgot my speech. I mean, its only the main reason I'm going to this conference."
"Gee, and here I thought the main reason you were going was to receive that hunk of hardware," he smiled.
"Jonathan I swear, don't make me come over there," she used the threat her father always tried on her. It was about as effective on Jonathan as it had been on her.
"Bring it on, Pal."
"You are not amusing me today," she grumbled.
"And here I was trying so hard." He shot a glance at his friend. She seemed a little out of sorts after her conversation with her father, so he decided to take matters into his own hands. He purposely bumped shoulders with her as they walked through the door, trying to get her to loosen up. She stared at him wondering what in the world had gotten into him. He flashed an easy smile her way, "It's okay, Mallory. You still have hours before your plane takes off."
She shook her head, "I know but with all of the security nowadays, especially in this city, I hate to rush. I mean, I don't like being made to take my shoes off with a plane full of people waiting to taxi down the runway," she admitted.
"Yeah. Had that happen to me once. Once. Wasn't any fun," he remembered.
They arrived at the main office and stepped inside. "Hey, Patty."
"What are you doing here? I thought you'd be long gone by now," the secretary said.
"I hate to admit it, but I forgot my speech for the conference," she confessed.
Her friend shot her a mock disbelieving look and gasped, "You forgot something? Not possible."
Mallory rolled her eyes, "Yeah, I'm so perfect. Listen, Jonathan needs a visitor's pass for about thirty seconds while I go to my room."
"I figured. Well at least you won't have to contend with the kids – they're all in the gym for an assembly," she explained. Opening her desk drawer, she handed Jonathan a pass. "Here you go Jonathan. Keep her on track would ya?"
"I'm trying, Patty, really I am," he responded.
"You certainly are, Jonathan," Mallory piped up.
He grinned, "You're full of it today aren't you?"
"This is not how I envisioned the day progressing," she grumbled.
"Don't I know it?" He gave his friend a knowing smile. "Now, let's go get that speech, shall we?"
They turned and walked quietly to her room. In the distance they could hear the kids laughing and singing with the motivational speaker the PTO had brought in for the morning. Once there, she went to her desk and opened the drawer that held the forgotten speech. "By the way, I was with you when you had to take your shoes off before boarding that plane," she reminded him.
"Oh yeah, right," Jonathan said, as he toed the carpet. The two had been on so many trips together, they all started to run together. "Remember when we finally made it on the plane? People looked at us like we'd been holding them hostage." Mallory shot a look at her friend. "Okay, well maybe we were," he concluded.
Mallory reached into her desk and triumphantly lifted out a folder, "Here it is!"
"Thank God," he mumbled under his breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, nothing at all." Mallory could get her Irish up better that anyone he knew, and Jonathan didn't feel like being on the receiving end of that side today. "To Dulles, Take Two?"
"Yeah." After she retrieved her laptop and bag, the friends started toward the front door. Suddenly it hit Mallory . . . Jonathan should be at work at The Pentagon. "So how did you get today off anyway?" she asked.
"Simple. I told them I was needed to take the White House Chief of Staff's daughter to the airport for an important out-of-town conference. They bought it."
"Funny boy."
"Mallory, I have personal time. Besides, after you hop on that plane, I'm going shopping, and maybe even see a movie. Now that's something I haven't done in a long time."
"Wait," she stopped dead. "You're going shopping?"
"Yes."
She looked unconvinced. "You?"
"Yes, me."
"Why? You hate shopping."
"To get you a Christmas present," Jonathan quipped.
"Okay, Jonathan? It's after Christmas."
"I'm shopping early," he tried.
"Yeah, like three hundred-twenty-something days early," she reminded him.
"Okay, well maybe it's not Christmas shopping."
"Jonathan . . . oh, never mind," she laughed. "Let's just get out of here."
The two friends hurried toward the exit at the front of the building. As they rounded the last corner, a man stepped out of the office, stopping Mallory and Jonathan in their tracks. "Mallory O'Brien?"
Mallory thought to herself that the last thing she needed right now was an irate parent to deal with. She looked at the man and said, "Look, I'm really sorry, but I don't have any time to talk right now. If you will leave your student's name, your name, and phone number with our secretary, I promise I'll call you when I get back on Monday." She tried to move past the man, toward the door, but he blocked her path.
The stranger considered her for a moment, then stepped up and whispered in her ear, "Tell your Old Man that Billy Walker's son sends his regards."
His comment caught Mallory off-guard. "I'm sorry?" was all she could manage as she backed away from him.
Jonathan stepped in and ran interference, "Sir, we really need to leave now. She's promised to call you Monday, so if you'll just do as she asked, we need to be on our way." He took hold of a stunned Mallory's arm and led her around the man.
"Promises from McGarrys don't mean a thing," came the cold reply as she walked past.
Mallory glanced to her side and hesitated at the remark, but didn't turn around. A growing sense of dread came over her. Then she realized why - she heard a vaguely familiar sound, one she hadn't heard since she was a teen, when her dad took her to the shooting range . . .
"Gun!" Jonathan shouted.
Mallory dove toward the door, but it was too late. She felt a white-hot pain as the first bullet slammed into her left leg. The deafening echo that emanated from the hard walls of the hall hadn't died down when a second bullet ripped through her shoulder, taking her breath away. The force of the impact spun her around, and she cried out in pain as she landed hard on the cold floor.
"Mallory!" her friend screamed. "You bastard!" There was a scuffle as Jonathan tried to wrestle the gun away from her attacker. Mallory heard a third shot, and then, as quickly as it began, it was over.
Somewhere to her left, she could hear footsteps getting closer. The stranger leaned over Mallory and put the gun to her forehead. "You'll make sure that Daddy knows I'm coming for him, won't you? And tell him if he knows what's good for his family, he'll stay away from the Clemmons Case." She closed her eyes, trying to block the pain, as well as the image of the man leaning over her. She felt the gun being pulled away, but was only vaguely aware of receding footsteps.
When she opened her eyes again, he was gone. "Jonathan? Jonathan are you here," she called weakly. There was no answer from her friend. She tried desperately to turn her head, but couldn't . . . somewhere in the distance, there was screaming.
Fumbling as best she could, Mallory retrieved her cell phone with a hand that felt as heavy as lead. Don't drop it, don't drop it . . . She was having trouble seeing the numbers, and prayed that what she had dialed was 911. After what seemed like an eternity, she heard a voice on the other end.
"911 emergency. What is your emergency, please?"
Mallory opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The bitter adrenaline rush and pain from her injuries had made her mouth dry. "This is Mallory O'Brien," she finally managed. "There's been a . . . a shooting . . . at my school."
"We have you at Clearlake Elementary School, is that correct, Ma'am?" the operator asked.
"Yes, main building . . . Cl . . . Clearlake Elementary . . . here . . ." Mallory was going into shock and had begun to shake uncontrollably.
"Ma'am, are there any injuries?"
"I've been sh . . . shot. Not sure, but I think . . . my friend Jonathan's been hurt too." It was getting harder and harder to concentrate on what she was trying to say. "I can't get him . . . to answer me."
"Is the shooter still there?"
"Don't know. Heard some . . . screams a minute ago." The kids . . . where did Patty say they were? Recess . . . no wait, an assembly. The gym. That's right. God please don't let them get hurt, she prayed. "The guy said . . . he's Billy Walker's son . . . and he's going . . . after . . . my Dad."
"Who's your Dad?"
"Leo McGarry . . . White House Chief of Staff," she panted. "You gotta warn him, okay?" She was beginning to get disoriented, and the cell phone threatened to slip from her grasp. "Hurry, please. I don't how much longer . . . "
"Keep the line open, Ms. O'Brien. Talk to us," the operator encouraged.
"Don't think . . . I can . . ." she forced out. Mallory tried not to move. The pain in her shoulder was excruciating and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. She remembered being hit in the leg too, but she couldn't really feel it. Not a good sign, she knew, but there wasn't a lot that could be done about it right now. As a wave of nausea threatened to overcome her, she suddenly realized how weak she had become. She wanted so much to close her eyes, but was afraid to lose consciousness. From the very little her father talked about the injuries he suffered after being shot down, the hardest thing was to get past the pain and the blood loss and to stay focused, to stay awake. He had been thankful that Kenny was with him to help keep him focused. But she was all alone . . .
Mallory could feel herself drifting, but somewhere inside her head, she could hear her father saying, "You hang in there and don't give up . . . don't give up . . . don't give up . . ." Maybe she wasn't alone after all.
Into the phone, she whispered, "Would you . . . tell my Dad . . . I love him . . . and . . . I won't give up." It was the last thing Mallory O'Brien said before the phone slipped from her hand, before she closed her eyes.
