CH 90 Thanksgiving

The Wyndham-Pryce election-night watch party had the distinction of being the least suspenseful of any that Bonnie had ever attended. The earliest returns showed Freya taking a commanding lead over her Democratic opponent and at no point thereafter was she ever in any danger of losing it. By nine o'clock, she had pulled away so decisively that the race was being called in her favor, and her challenger was on the phone offering his congratulations and best wishes. The crowd packing the ballroom erupted at this news, and a short time later, her family and closest campaign staffers already ranged in victory formation along the back of the stage, Freya emerged from the wings to riotous applause, and, stepping to the podium, gave an emotional and very moving acceptance speech.

The party shifted into high gear after that, but Bonnie didn't linger. Trev and Vanna were disappointed at her bowing out, and tried to persuade her to stay, but she pleaded having to work in the morning, and they reluctantly let her go. It wasn't a lie — she really couldn't afford a late night midweek — but it wasn't the whole truth, either. It was painfully obvious to her that her friends were anxious not to be left alone together, for reasons, as far as Trev was concerned, that Bonnie understood and could sympathize with — to a point. The hard fact remained, however, that there was no going forward for them until they started dealing with each other one-on-one, and Bonnie was not going to lend herself to helping them procrastinate.

After the exhilaration of election night, the rest of the week was routine and flat. Bonnie's life resumed the everyday rhythm of commuting to work, putting in a solid eight hours, and returning home, tired, in the evenings. The repairs to the Blau self-portrait were coming along well, but there was a price to pay for that satisfaction: from hours of staring at the canvas weave, the pattern was so firmly etched on her retinas that she saw it even when she closed her eyes and, sometimes, when she slept.

Bonnie had been advised to expect a decision on the Louvre fellowship in early November, but eight days into the month there was still no word from Paris. Angela phoned to say she had it on good authority — Rosa's — that the delay was due to the committee's being deadlocked, the votes evenly split between Bonnie and another candidate. "Both camps have dug their heels in, apparently. They're going to meet again on Monday to resume deliberations. Rosa's hopeful that, between them, she and Henri can sway someone to your side, but it's all very much up in the air."

"Grammy…" Bonnie was conscience-stricken at the thought of Rosa doing battle for her in a contest she didn't really want win. "When you talk to Rosa, tell her thanks for me for the up-date and her support, but tell her, too, that she shouldn't exhaust herself on my account. She's already gone well above and beyond."

"Oh, don't you worry about Rosa," Angela said, with a grin. "There's nothing that gal likes better than a good fight."

Tuesday morning brought great news, but it was someone else's. Vanna texted to say that Freya had offered her a staff position as personal assistant / communications aide. "I'm so happy!" Vanna said, when Bonnie phoned to congratulate her. "I think this is it, Bonnie: I've found my true calling."

"Politics?"

"Not as such, no. Public service. You know, working through the system to make the world a better place."

"Behind the scenes, or center stage?"

"Definitely behind for right now, but who knows? I may throw my hat in the ring some day. 'Greeley for Congress.' How's that sound?"

"You can aim higher. How 'bout 'Greeley for President.'"

"Why not?"

It wasn't until Thursday morning that Bonnie woke to find an overnight email from Rosa. "Dear Bonnie," it read, "you'll be receiving official notification of the committee's decision later today, but I wanted you to hear it from me, first. It pains me to say you were not the committee's ultimate choice, and I very much regret any disappointment this may cause you. If it's any consolation, please know you came up short by just one vote. You had the active support of half the committee, but the other half was just as determined on their candidate, and, in the end, they prevailed. They did it, finally, by playing the nationality card (he is French) and it's a testimony, I think, to how tired we all were of arguing that one person latched onto that flimsy excuse to switch sides.

"As the person who originally encouraged you to apply and oversold my ability to help you, I'm particularly sorry to have let you down, and hope you won't hold it too much against me. I remain your friend, for your own sake and for your grandmother's, and if ever in the future I can do anything for you, personally or professionally, please don't hesitate to call on me. In the interim, I wish you all the best, and look forward to our paths crossing again soon, either in D.C. or in Paris."

Bonnie fired off a quick reply, assuring Rosa that she felt nothing but gratitude for her efforts and, further, that, having never entertained more than moderate hopes of success, she was far from crushed by being passed over. Chances of her staying on at the Jeff looked good, she added, and that being the case, except for her grandmother's disappointment, she had no real regrets about losing out on the fellowship. To stress there were no hard feelings and that she valued Rosa's friendship, Bonnie took a photo of Danny's dinosaur drawing and sent it to her as an attachment.

As predicted, the official rejection letter, couched in the standard formal phrases (Thank you for your interest… We regret to inform you… A packed field of candidates… Best of luck…) cropped up in her box some hours later. Bonnie found it curiously impersonal; there was nothing to suggest she was in any way special, nor was there any mention of her having run a close second. She might almost have suspected Rosa of sugarcoating the truth if, later still, Henri Perrin and Professor Philippe Jourdain hadn't borne out her story in their condolence emails. Sébastien wrote, too, to express his disgust, and to remind her she was welcome to come work for his gallery anytime.

Henri had copied Dr. Cummings in on his email, but, by the time it was sent, it was already old news; as a courtesy, Bonnie had immediately forwarded the rejection email to both him and Bear. Dr. Cummings responded with the reassuring, "Their loss, our gain. Job opening will be posted on Monday" while Bear came back with the less gratifying, "Congratulations (on being right). I'd offer my condolences but they don't appear to be in order."

Of her workmates, Gabby was the only one who knew Bonnie'd applied for the fellowship, and so the only one she let in on the news. Gabby was all sympathy, and, over Bonnie's protests, insisted on taking her out for a consolatory drink. Good friend that she was, Gabby threw herself into cheering Bonnie up, and Bonnie, knowing resistance was futile, went with the flow. They were finishing their cocktails, Bonnie's spirits "much improved," when Gabby came out with, "And, who knows? Not getting the fellowship could be all for the best."

"How do you mean?" Bonnie asked.

Gabby gestured vaguely with her glass. "You know what they say: 'One door closes, another one opens.'" She stole a glance at Bonnie from under her lashes, her manner suddenly so furtive it gave Bonnie pause. Gabby shifted in her chair, her eyes still not quite meeting Bonnie's, and then, for all the world as if she'd had her arm twisted, burst out, "Oh, I don't see what harm it'll do if I tell you! Everyone's going to find out Monday, anyway. There's a job coming open in the department. Sam Reynold's retiring."

Bonnie gasped, convincingly, she hoped. "He is? How d'you know?"

"He let it slip the other day. I don't think he'd mind you knowing at this late date, but keep it under your hat, okay? The point is, the timing couldn't be better for you. All you have to do is apply, and the position's yours. You're a known quantity, which is almost always an advantage, and, in your particular case, with all the great work you've done, it gives you a ginormous edge. On top of that, you're a really great fit in the workroom. Everyone likes and respects you. So, why would they bring in someone new off the street when they've already got a sure thing in-house? Long answer short: they wouldn't."

"Well," Bonnie said, deeply touched by Gabby's good opinion, "I can't deny I'd really love to stay."

"Of course you would. The Jeff's an incredible place to work, not to mention that a permanent job beats out a one-year appointment in my book any day."

"Mine, too."

"There you go, then! Like I said, it's all been for the best. Cheers!"

That evening, over a light supper for two of soup and sandwiches, Bonnie filled her grandfather in on the news. He watched her carefully, then observed, "You seem remarkably okay with it."

She shrugged. "I never gave myself much of a shot, really. I'm amazed I came so close, to be honest."

"Well, selfishly now, I have to admit I'm glad. I didn't want to say so before — I know it would've been good for your career — but, frankly, I wasn't looking forward to you going so far away and being gone a whole year. Don't get me wrong," he added hurriedly. "I realize you might have to move for your next job, but I'm hoping it'll still be relatively nearby." He studied her a moment, then probed gently, "I don't suppose there's any chance of you staying on at the Jeff?"

"As to that, Gramps…" Bonnie broke into a smile. "Can you keep a secret?"

Monday came, and, with it, the formal announcement of Sam Reynolds' retirement and the opening it created in the workroom. As befitted a prominent institution, the position was widely advertised, both on-line and in print, and the application period set for thirty days. Bonnie prepared her application as meticulously as she would have for any job, up-dating her c.v. and letters of recommendation just as if she hadn't been guaranteed the post and had to compete for it in good earnest. She had it completed and submitted by week's end, and then settled back with fair serenity to let matters take their course.

The Blau painting continued to supply her with challenges interesting enough to speed the time along. The small tears repaired, Bonnie turned her attention to the large loss in a lower corner where the canvas had torn away from the stretcher and frayed rather badly. There was no question of re-weaving; she was obliged to fashion a patch, and, in addition, she had some damage to the stretcher to contend with. She scrounged through the department's collection of bits and bobs until she found suitable scraps of canvas and wood to make up the losses, and set about the painstaking tasks of whittling and trimming her materials down to the exact contours and dimensions needed.

Bear kept a close eye on her progress, requiring her at every step to explain and justify her treatment choices, but, far from resenting these interrogations, Bonnie welcomed them. She was inexperienced enough at the repairs she was attempting to be grateful for his feedback and expert guidance. He reviewed her proposals, largely approved of them, and, as the repairs advanced, commended her results. Their exchanges were always and still strictly limited to technical concerns, but they were amicable, and there was in those moments a sense of partnership and trust so reminiscent of their collaboration on La Coupe d'amour that Bonnie was ever more confirmed in her belief that all would soon be well.

The end of the month approached, and, as they were still getting along so smoothly, one afternoon, after Bear'd completed his inspection, Bonnie was emboldened to ask what plans he and Danny had for Thanksgiving. "We're having dinner with friends," he said. "And then going away for the weekend. You?"

As answers went, it left much to be desired. What friends? Bonnie thought. The Jolicœurs? If so, why not say it? And where were they going? These were not, however, questions she could ask, and so she replied, "We're having our usual Booth-Hodgins family extravaganza, three generations plus various friends and significant others all gathered under one roof."

"Sounds like quite the crowd."

"Fifteen people in all, last count." And plenty of room for two more, she'd've liked to have said, but didn't.

In the event, Junior having invited one of his stranded university friends to stay, they were sixteen to sit down to dinner at the compound on Turkey Day. To accommodate everyone, three tables had been set out end-to-end, their combined lengths stretching from the dining room, through an archway and into the formal living room. As head of the family, Booth naturally presided over the "adults" table in the dining room while the "kids" and their guests had the living room to themselves. It was still a tight fit, but everyone made do good-naturedly, and any discomfort was soon forgotten in the pleasures of good food, great wine, and affable company. Bonnie, retreating into herself a moment and looking up and down the table at her family talking, laughing, passing dishes, reflected on how very blessed she was to have these much-loved and very loving people in her life. It was a gift not given to everyone, and, in the spirit of the day, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks for her fiercely close-knit clan, and for her charmed existence in general.

In time, the main course plates were cleared, and Bonnie, pleasantly stuffed and with the prospect of her mother's pumpkin cheesecake and her uncle's chocolate pecan pie still before her, thought the day could not possibly be improved on, but in this she was proved wrong. While they waited for the coffee to brew and the tea to steep, Sonny surprised them all by rising to his feet and making the glorious announcement that there were, contrary to appearances, not three generations of Booths gathered round the table but four: he and Adele were expecting their first child, and he — a son — would be born in the spring. Pandemonium ensued; Parker and Naomi leapt from their seats for joy, Sonny had his back pummeled unmercifully, Adele was engulfed in careful hugs, and the rooms rang with loud congratulations. Bonnie, sparing a look for her grandfather in the commotion, saw his eyes shine with unshed tears. A great grandchild, his first, a boy to carry on his name… What better news could there be, and how much more they had to be grateful for! It was, Bonnie thought, the best Thanksgiving she could remember in a very long time.

She was still riding high from the holiday when she returned to the Jeff on Monday. Propped on her work easel, Hanna Blau's painted image smiled out at her almost as if, Bonnie fancied, she was happy to see her back. She examined again the patch she'd laid in before leaving for the long weekend and was gratified to note that the mend was practically invisible. Bear had suggested she might want to do a spot of in-painting on the patch, and, stepping back to gauge the overall effect, she saw that he was right. She set about mixing her paints, trying to match Blau's colors exactly, and, when she'd run some preliminary tests, got to work adding the finishing touches.

It was mid-afternoon by the time she set her brush aside, reasonably certain she'd struck a happy medium between filling in too much and too little. Exceptionally, Bear hadn't yet made his daily round through the workroom, and so, thinking to get a second opinion, Bonnie turned to look for Gabby, only to find her missing. She remembered belatedly that Gabby'd been called away to a meeting with Dr. Cummings, an occurrence so rare that, on reflection, Bonnie's curiosity was piqued. It was not impossible, she mused, that the summons was related to her job application; Gabby having insisted on being named as one of Bonnie's references, Dr. Cummings could be going through the motions of checking with her for appearance sake. If that were the case, though, Gabby's demeanor on her return was not encouraging. She looked stunned, her normally cheerful face blank with distress and incomprehension. Bonnie's mind jumped at once to devastating news — a death in the family? Some horrible, senseless accident? She hurried over to where Gabby had plopped down heavily on a stool. "Gabby, what is it? What's happened?"

Gabby looked at her helplessly, as if at a loss for words. "I…" she began. "Dr. Cummings…"

"Yes," Bonnie urged. "What'd he say?"

"That I've been recommended… for a promotion. Baer… He recommended me."

Bonnie breathed out a great sigh of relief. "But that's wonderful news! Congratulations! If anyone deserves a promotion, it's you." But even as she said the words, a question occurred. "Wait. What do you mean by 'promotion?' Promoted to what?"

"Head Paintings' Conservator," Gabby said, eyes wide and fixed on Bonnie. "Baer recommended me as his replacement. He's leaving the Jeff."