Chapter Three

Thursday, January 29

Sam's wishful thinking managed to carry him through his usual morning routine as he got ready for work. He did try to call home again, telling himself he was just checking in with his parents, but there was still no answer.

By the time Sam had unlocked his car and slid into the driver's seat, he had managed to convince himself that he'd imagined the previous night's events. He had just closed the door when his passenger door was pulled open and Elliot abruptly slid into the car beside him, startling him.

"The hell?" Sam swore.

Elliot shook his head at Sam. "We need to work on your situational awareness. I was right behind you the whole time."

Sam glared at him. "I don't think situational awareness works on people sneaking up on you."

"Kinda the whole point of situational awareness is that no one sneaks up on you," Elliot retorted. He pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to Sam. "Here."

Sam stared at a palm-sized black box in Elliot's hand. He made no move to take it. "What is it?"

"Your panic button," Elliot replied.

Sam shook his head, recoiling. "I don't need that."

Elliot snorted and pushed the device into Sam's hands. "Your dad disagrees, and he's a lot scarier than you are."

Sam frowned at the panic button, then looked up at Elliot. "Didn't you say you were a Navy SEAL? And you're scared of a politician?"

"Damn straight," Elliot shot back. "Only thing scarier than a terrorist is a parent whose child's life is in danger."

"I'm not a child, and I'm not in danger," Sam argued, slipping the button into his coat pocket. "I don't need a Secret Service detail, either."

"Well, you've got one, so get used to it," Elliot replied.

Sam's huff of frustration was drowned out as his car's engine turned over. He guided his car expertly out into DC morning traffic, his eyes slipping over an SUV pulling out behind him through the rearview mirror. "Is that . . .?"

"The rest of your detail?" Elliot finished? "You got it."

Sam shook his head. "Look, I get that you're just following orders, but don't you think it's a little excessive to have a protection detail in one of the most secure buildings in the country?"

Elliot's eyebrows rose. "Given your appalling lack of attention to your surroundings, I have to ask if you happened to notice the guys in suits following the president around. They aren't exactly the Boy Scouts of America, you know."

Sam gave him an annoyed look. "That's different. He's the president. I'm just-."

"The son of the vice president," Elliot interjected. "Immediate families of the president and vice president are assigned details for protection. It's policy, and it's non negotiable." He paused for a moment. "Just be grateful that the vice president didn't order us to pack you up in bubble wrap. He was ready to have you moved into Observatory Circle with him and Mrs. Hoynes."

Sam nearly jerked the car into oncoming traffic in his shock. "What?"

Elliot gripped the bar over the passenger door. "Relax!" he exclaimed. "Agent Butterfield and President Bartlet managed to talk him out of it."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "Why would he want to do that?"

Elliot's expression turned serious. "Look," he said, "you're his kid. He already lost you once. Him wanting to keep you where he can see you? Doesn't surprise me in the least."

Sam found himself once again rendered silent in the face of another reminder of the pain of loss that Hoynes had clearly endured.

Elliot let the silence carry them down the road for several minutes before continuing the conversation. "By the way, didn't Agent Butterfield tell you not to try to contact the Seaborns?"

Sam's head whipped around, shock rapidly giving way to anger. "Are you . . . did you tap my phone?"

"Not your phone," Elliot stated. "The investigative team on your case is monitoring all incoming and outgoing calls to the Seaborns' numbers. They reported several calls from your number."

Sam clenched his jaw.

"Sam," Elliot said quietly. "I can't even begin to imagine what you're going through. This whole situation reads like something out of a movie. But you need to let us do our job."

"I'm entitled to some answers," Sam stated.

"You're absolutely right, and that's what we're after," Elliot agreed. "We won't keep anything from you, but I don't have to tell you how important it is that we do this one by the book."

Their conversation paused as Sam negotiated his car through the security checkpoint. He continued on to the parking garage and pulled into his usual spot, then switched the engine off. Rather than climb out, he sank back into his seat, his chin lowered.

"I keep thinking that I'm stuck in some kind of weird dream, that none of this is real." Sam looked at Elliot. "When am I going to wake up and get back to normal?"

"This is your new normal now," Elliot told him gently. "The DNA tests were as perfect a match as you can get. Whatever else you've been told, you are Charlie Hoynes. You can call yourself anything you want, but you are him. You've also only been living with this information for a few hours. Give yourself time to get used to the idea. And give yourself a break while you're at it."

Sam smiled faintly at Elliot. Elliot nudged him.

"Come on," he said. "Time to go to work."

Sam obediently walked with Elliot and his new security detail into the White House, stopping briefly to sign in at the security desk before continuing into the West Wing. He kept expecting someone to notice the small entourage, or to stop and ask him about the agents, but no one paid them any mind.

Once they reached the communications bullpen, Sam's protection detail split off to different areas of the room. Elliot moved to the desk near the entrance and sat down, booting the computer up for the day.

Sam hovered by the desk. "You're really going to sit here all day while I work?"

Elliot logged into the system. "I really am."

Sam glanced around the room, but no one else had arrived just yet. "What am I supposed to say when someone asks why you're here?"

Elliot tilted his head. "You could try the truth."

Sam glared half-heartedly at him.

Elliot smirked. "Relax. I've been here all week, and before that I had a desk at the EEOB with the rest of the communications department. No one's asked about me yet; I doubt anyone will now. They're about as observant as you are."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, then, have fun staring at these four walls," he said. "I'm sure it'll shape up to be an exhilarating day for you."

Elliot leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, one eyebrow raised. "You do realize that, for me, a boring day is the best kind of day, right?"

"Then I'm sure you're about to have the best four to eight years of your career," Sam rebutted as he retreated to his office.

"From your lips to God's ears!" Elliot's voice chased after him.

Sam allowed himself a small chuckle at the retort as he set his briefcase down and shed his coat. Glancing around the mess of reports and folders he had left behind at the president's summons, he sighed and got to work reorganizing his tasks for the day.

He had just managed to finish revising the edits needed for the day's press packets when a light tap on his door nabbed his attention. He glanced up, and upon finding Hoynes hovering on the threshold, he stood. "Sir?"

Hoynes smiled, glancing around Sam's office. His eyes took in the books, awards, and slid over the flag on the wall before returning to Sam. "Good morning," he greeted, taking a step forward into the office. "I wanted to stop by . . . say hello. Check in with you, see how you're doing."

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion, taking in Hoynes' unusually closed off posture and realizing with a start that the older man was nervous. Why, Sam couldn't guess. "I'm fine, sir. Thank you. How are you doing?"

Hoynes nodded. "I'm good," he replied, and Sam spotted the anxious twitch of his hands, as if he didn't know what to do with them. "Great. Thanks."

The silence stretched out between them.

"Was there something I could do for you, sir?" Sam asked, feeling some of Hoynes' nervousness try to take hold under his own skin.

Hoynes gave a slight jolt at the question. "I . . . yes," he answered. "I was just heading over to the Mess for breakfast. I was wondering if you would like to join me?"

The invitation was the last thing Sam expected from the man, but what he found even more surprising was the curl of warmth in his stomach at the brilliant smile Hoynes gave him at his acceptance.

Sam fell into step beside Hoynes, unable to help a glance behind him to see Elliot rise and follow them along with several other agents. The small smirk on Hoynes' face told Sam that his newly-awakened attentiveness had not gone unnoticed, but mercifully, Hoynes didn't mention it.

"The chefs here make a mean omelet," Hoynes stated as they walked.

Sam glanced at him. "I, uh, don't think I've had one."

"What have you tried so far?" Hoynes asked.

Sam cast his mind back over the last week since the Inauguration. "To be honest, not much. There's been too much to do lately to sit down and eat. One of my assistants has brought me some sandwiches from the Mess, though. They were pretty good."

Hoynes nodded, filing the information into the back of his mind. "One of my staff says the pancakes here are to die for."

Amusement quirked up the corners of Sam's mouth. "I'm not sure food is a solid defense against martyrdom."

The burst of laughter was unexpected, and Sam felt that warmth from earlier spread through him at making the man laugh.

The White House Mess was just beginning to wake up, other early birds wandering in for sustenance against the day. Following Hoynes' original comment, Sam ordered an omelet and collected a cup of fresh fruit.

Armed with food and coffee, the duo moved to a table against the wall and sat down. Elliot and another agent that Sam assumed was Hoynes' principal agent claimed another table nearby with food of their own.

"You know," Hoynes said as they settled into their meal, "your grandmother makes the best pancakes you'll ever taste in your life."

Sam stilled, something suspiciously close to yearning tugging at his heart. "Really?"

Hoynes nodded, his eyes on a distant memory. "Oh, yes. She makes all kinds; buttermilk, blueberry, pecan . . . my favorite has always been her banana nut pancakes. She always makes them for me the first morning I visit her." He focused on Sam. "She'll be overjoyed to make them for you, too. Any kind you want."

"She will?" Sam asked.

"Of course," Hoynes replied. "She only makes them for family, you know. As soon as we call her, she'll probably be on the first plane up here."

Sam poked at his omelet, feeling his appetite start to fade. "You haven't told her yet?"

Hoynes studied Sam carefully. "We haven't told anyone yet. Your mom is calling your brothers today, though, but just to tell them to get back here. We wanted them to be the first people we told, and this isn't exactly something you share over the phone."

Sam nodded wordlessly.

"She's going to make dinner tomorrow," Hoynes continued. "Your mom. She wants to make her famous pot roast. We'd really love it if you would join us. Maybe meet your brothers?"

"Um . . . yeah," Sam said, pushing a piece of egg around his plate. "Sure. Yes, sir."

Hoynes frowned slightly. "It wasn't an order, Sam. You can say no if you're not ready yet."

Sam straightened in his chair, shaking his head and meeting Hoynes' eyes. "No, I . . . I'd like to join you. Really."

Hoynes held Sam's gaze as if to reassure himself that Sam was telling him the truth. Finding no sign of deception, he nodded. "Okay. Great. I'll let Suzanne know."

They lapsed into silence as they continued to eat.

Hoynes cleared his throat. "So . . . Sam . . ."

Sam waited. When nothing else was forthcoming, he prompted, "Mr. Vice President?"

Hoynes winced at the address. "Sam . . . you don't have to call me that. You're my son."

"What . . . what should I call you?" Sam asked.

Hoynes reflected on the question. "I think . . . I realize it's too soon for you to feel comfortable calling me 'dad'. Why don't we start with calling me 'John' and your mom 'Suzanne' until you're ready?"

Sam nodded, relieved at not being forced to acknowledge the connection just yet. "Yes, sir. John."

Hoynes smiled faintly at him. "I was going to ask what you were working on today."

Sam blinked in surprise. "Oh, um . . . the usual, I guess. Everyone and their brother seems to want a comment or a statement from the president about something, so there's that. Mostly, I'll be working on drafting sections for President Bartlet's administration goals speech next month."

"Have you worked out the topics yet?" Hoynes asked.

As Sam discussed the finer points of his work, he felt himself relax. His appetite had returned, and before long he was engaged in an animated discussion over the various needs of education reform.

". . . teacher shortage," Hoynes was saying. "They're facing more and more challenges every year, and that gap will only widen. We need to do what we can, with funding and resources, to help meet those challenges."

Sam nodded in agreement, his mind linking over to the other part of his task for the day. "Can I . . . can I ask you a question?"

Hoynes looked surprised. "Of course."

Emboldened by their easy camaraderie, Sam took a chance. "I wanted to ask you about 286."

Consternation crossed over Hoynes' face. "If you're asking me to back off on 286-."

Something in Hoynes' tone reminded Sam very strongly of Winters, and he instinctively recoiled. "No! No, I . . . never mind. It's not important." He ducked his head, poking listlessly at his food.

Hoynes pushed aside his own frustration, frowning at Sam's reaction. His instincts screamed at him that something wasn't right, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what. He sighed.

"No," he said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions like that. 286 is a sore subject with me, but that's no reason to jump down your throat."

Sam nodded, but didn't look up. He continued to sit silently, moving food around his plate. Hoynes despaired of getting back their easy banter when Sam finally glanced up at him.

"What inspired you to write 286?" he asked.

Hoynes wondered if he would ever cease to be surprised by Sam. Guilt at his earlier overreaction tainted the feeling.

"Your mother, actually," he told Sam.

Sam's eyebrows lifted.

Hoynes nodded. "You know, I've been advocating for this bill for about fifteen years, and you're the first person to ask me that question."

Sam found his confidence slowly returning. "How did . . . How did Suzanne inspire 286?"

"Your mother, before I ran for my second Senate term, worked as an elementary teacher in a low-income neighborhood," Hoynes answered. "She always used to talk about how unfair it was that the students in her school had far more disadvantages than the more affluent schools in her district, but that they were still held to the same standards. One of the things she always wanted for them was to level the playing field with access to technology."

Sam was nodding in agreement, the spark returning to his eyes. "She's right," he said. "Equitable access to resources for all children will help, but we can't stop there. We also need to ensure that our teachers are just as equally qualified. Though we have many skilled teachers in low-income schools, you can't deny that the ratio of veteran, experienced teachers to those just out of college is slanted heavily in favor of more advantaged schools."

Hoynes was intrigued at the hints of fire that Sam was beginning to show, and he realized he desperately wanted to see that fire released. "You know," he said, "I had a visitor in my office the other day who was looking for support on a new bill he was writing. He believes that we could vastly improve public education by shifting teacher salaries over to merit-based pay, using standardized test scores as the measure."

Sam's entire frame stiffened; Hoynes suddenly had the impression of a lion preparing to pounce. "What?"

Hoynes nodded, deciding to add a little more fuel to the fire. "He made a fairly compelling case, too. There'd be no additional cost to taxpayers."

"No additional monetary cost," Sam said sharply. "What about the cost of their children's education?"

Hoynes shrugged. "Public education is already subpar; it couldn't make things worse."

Sam opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. He took a deep breath, reining himself in. "I suppose," he ground out, "that the argument could be made."

So close. "And it would make teachers work harder to teach their students," Hoynes added.

"Respectfully, sir, I disagree," Sam stated. He was holding onto his indignation by a thread. "The only thing that merit-based pay would improve would be test scores, not education."

Nearly there. "What's the difference?" Hoynes retorted.

The casual indifference, more than the words, severed that final thread.

"What's the difference?" Sam fired back, blue eyes blazing. "How about the fact that test scores are merely a snapshot of a single day and are not truly reflective of student progress over the course of the year? How about the fact that even the strongest curriculum gets lost in the rush to prepare for a test?"

Hoynes felt the old, familiar rush of debate and allowed himself to become swept away by it.. "You can't measure progress without some form of assessment," he pointed out. "Standardized testing allows us a common bar for students to reach. It can also be a common bar to measure teachers, too."

"A standard that is so far below baseline ability of what students are capable of doing!" Sam insisted.

"If it's so low, then our students should have no problem reaching it," Hoynes said. "Merit-based pay would ensure that our students' scores will raise."

"No, merit-based pay will ensure that our teachers will teach students only what they need to know to take a test," Sam countered. "By awarding merit-based pay, we're placing a higher priority on test scores and undervaluing the entire point of the system, which is to prepare our children for their future, Communication skills, empathy, problem solving, critical thinking; none of which can be found on a test!"

"But-," Hoynes tried.

Sam wasn't finished. "Then there's the fact that veteran teachers, teachers with the most experience, who deserve to be paid far more for their years of service than they currently get, are often given the hardest to reach students. Students with extra needs, who require more attention, and who struggle enough as it is to reach what, I think, is an unfair assessment. A merit-based pay scale would see these teachers being compensated even less than they are now. We'd be creating a mass exodus of the very teachers we're fighting so hard to keep!"

Hoynes couldn't tear his eyes away from his son. Lit up with the passion and conviction of his beliefs, he was a sight to behold.

"And what about the accessibility gap you mentioned a few minutes ago?" Sam demanded. "Those teachers are already at a stark disadvantage with lack of resources and parent support. We'd only be setting them up for failure, setting a target that they have even less hope to reach because we've reduced their funding. Or haven't you considered that those teachers are the ones using parts of their salaries to buy school supplies for their students? What's the difference? The difference is that we would stop educating our children in favor of rewarding good test takers!"

Hoynes leaned back in his chair, pride and awe clear on his face.

Sam, coming down from his impassioned rant, frowned in confusion. "What?"

Hoynes slowly shook his head. "I know that I don't have any right to claim this, but . . . I'm just so damned proud of you."

Sam gave a start, a blush rising in his cheeks. "I . . . what?"

"You argue exceptionally well," Hoynes told him. "Better than most people I've met. You must have been a force to be reckoned with in the courtroom."

If possible, Sam's blush deepened at the praise.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Hoynes and Sam turned as one to see Mark Reynolds standing several feet away, glancing curiously between them. He focused his attention on Hoynes.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but you have that meeting in fifteen minutes," Mark stated.

Hoynes glanced at his watch, startled. "Already?"

Mark nodded. "Yes, sir."

Hoynes pushed his tray aside and stood. To Sam, he said, "I'm sorry to leave so abruptly, but thank you for joining me. I enjoyed this."

Sam nodded. "I . . . me too," he admitted. A thought struck him. "Wait!"

Hoynes paused, glancing back down at Sam.

Worry was brimming in Sam's eyes. "You don't . . . that visitor . . ."

Hoynes waited patiently.

Sam sighed. "You don't really think we should move to merit-based pay for teachers," he asked. "Do you?"

A smile broke out on Hoynes' face. "Of course not," he replied. "Aside from the fact your mother would kill me, I actually agree with you on that. I was just enjoying the debate."

With a mischievous wink, he turned and walked with Mark from the Mess, leaving a stunned Deputy Communications Director in his wake.

The frenetic pace of the West Wing didn't allow Sam to dwell on the unexpected debate at breakfast for long. In fact, Sam barely had room in his mind to spare for the huge upheaval in his personal life. Even with Toby taking back his responsibilities as head of the department, Sam's attention was in high demand throughout the day. No sooner than he'd cleared a task from his inbox or delegated something out did three more appear. Rather than feeling overwhelmed, Sam took refuge in the one aspect of his life that had remained normal.

"Sam?" Cathay poked her head through his office door.

"Hmm?" Reclined in his chair, feet on his desk and pen pressed to his mouth, Sam's eyes never strayed from the news release he was editing.

"It's eleven-thirty," Cathy told him.

Sam made a notation on the release. "Mmm-hmm."

"You asked me to tell you when it was eleven-thirty," Cathy stated.

"Mmm-hmm."

"Sam."

Sam finally looked up at Cathy, blue eyes blinking owlishly from behind his glasses. "What?"

Cathy rolled her eyes. "It's eleven-thirty, I'm going to lunch, and you have a visitor."

Sam glanced at his watch, then dropped his feet to the floor. "Thanks, Cathy. Uh . . . a visitor?"

Zoey Bartlet moved into view, smiling brightly. "Hi, Sam."

Sam stood. "Zoey! Hey; what brings you by?"

Zoey smiled at Cathy, who returned it and walked back to her desk to collect her purse. Zoey stepped into the office as Sam moved to clear a space on one of his chairs. "I heard you joined the club and came to see how you were doing."

Sam moved to close his office door. "Club? What club?"

Zoey sat down and smirked. "The 'my overprotective father likes to use his authority with the Secret Service over me' club?"

Sam quirked an eyebrow as he moved back to his chair. "The name could use a little work," he quipped. "How did you find out?"

"Mom," Zoey replied easily. "She didn't want to break any confidences, but she thought it might help to talk to someone who understands what it's like."

Sam's shoulders slumped. "I appreciate that; really. But you've always known that President Bartlet was your father."

Zoey nodded, not offended in the least. "True," she conceded. "But that still doesn't make dealing with the Secret Service any easier."

Sam suddenly scowled. "Did they really make you carry a panic button?"

Zoey reached into her pocket and pulled out a familiar black box, holding it up for Sam to see.

Sam pulled his out of his pocket and mirrored the move. Both of them began to laugh.

"So who's your primary?" Zoey asked, returning her panic button to her pocket.

"Elliot," Sam replied. He set his button to one side. "Agent Price. Who seems to be perfectly fine with spending the day sitting out in the bullpen."

"At least he's an adult out there with other adults," Zoey pointed out wryly. "He can blend in. Try having them follow you around in school."

Sam winced at the thought. "I never considered that."

Zoey shrugged. "It's not so bad. At least I'm a senior, and everyone already knew me before my dad became president." She paused for a moment. "You can talk to them, you know. The agents? You can tell them stuff. They won't tell anyone else."

Sam gave her a skeptical look.

"No, really," Zoey insisted. "Jill, my primary? She told me. She said she can't do her job if I hide things from her, so I can tell her stuff and as long as it doesn't endanger me, she can't tell any of it to anyone."

Sam filed the information away to examine later.

Zoey tilted her head to one side. "Can I ask . . .?"

"You can ask me anything," Sam told her.

Zoey took a breath. "Mom said you weren't telling anyone else about being Charlie. About the vice president being your dad. Why not?"

Sam smiled ruefully at her. "You would ask the hard questions."

Zoey waited patiently for Sam to gather his thoughts.

Sam sighed. "It's hard to explain," he finally said. "Growing up, my family . . . you didn't talk about them. They were . . . are . . . powerful, influential people. People that others want something from. I was taught never to exploit those connections, to not let anyone exploit those connections. I guess . . . I just got used to never really talking about family." He shrugged apologetically. "I guess it doesn't really make a lot of sense, does it?"

"It kind of does," Zoey replied. "But you know, not everyone is like that. Josh isn't. Neither are Toby or CJ. When you're ready to tell them, they'll be happy for you. I know I am."

Sam's smile was small but grateful.

"And," Zoey added, "as a friend who understands about being in the public eye, if you ever want to talk about it, or complain about how ridiculous it is that your dad thinks a protective detail of six is too small, I'm here for you."

Sam's grin widened. "Thanks," he said. "And just so you know, the offer goes both ways."

A knock on the door drew their attention as Josh entered the office. "Sam, I-." He paused in confusion. "Hey, Zoey."

"Hi, Josh," Zoey greeted.

Josh glanced between the two of them. "Am I interrupting something?"

Zoey stood. "No, I was just visiting," she answered. She turned to Sam. "See you later."

Sam nodded. "Thanks, Zoey."

With another smile at Josh, Zoey made her way out of the office. Josh watched her leave, then turned back to Sam. "She was just visiting?"

"Yeah," Sam answered.

Josh's frown looked suspiciously close to a pout. "She didn't come visit me."

Sam shrugged. "Maybe she thought you were in a meeting," he deflected.

Josh considered that for a moment, then dismissed it with a shrug. Taking the seat Zoey had vacated, he leaned forward eagerly. "So?"

Sam's eyebrows drew together. "So . . . what?"

"So?" Josh repeated. "Your uncle? 286? Have you heard back from him yet?"

Confusion cleared the way for disbelief. "Josh, we literally just spoke with him yesterday."

Josh waved a hand. "Time moves fast in DC. He didn't call you yet?"

Sam shook his head. "No, and I don't have any messages either. I've been tied up in meetings off and on since then, and," he glanced at his watch, "I've got another one soon. President Bartlet said yesterday that he's willing to meet with Uncle Chris. I asked Mrs. Landingham to contact his office and set something up."

Josh nodded, leaning back. "Let me know the minute you hear something, okay? I've already got three congressmen on the hook, waiting to see which way Winters will vote."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Three? Already?"

Josh grinned. "Like I said, time moves fast in DC. I'm back on the Hill this afternoon; you'll call me?"

"I'll call you," Sam promised.

"Great!" Josh rose to his feet. "Thanks, buddy. See you later."

Sam glanced at his watch again, then returned to the news release he had been editing. He had just picked up his pen when he suddenly froze.

Chris.

In the wake of his earth-shattering news, he had completely forgotten about his uncle. His uncle, who was supposedly there when he'd been born. And the Secret Service had made no mention of him in their investigation.

Sam reached for his phone, then paused.

His need to learn the truth warred with Winters' potential reaction to asking such volatile questions. For a man who demanded respect of him his whole life, he detested it whenever Sam questioned him. Asking Winters if his mother was really his mother would, without a doubt, invite a level of trouble that Sam didn't want or particularly need at the moment.

Still . . .

What if he did know something?

Sam sighed, dropping his hand. Going in, guns blazing, was not the way to approach his uncle. If he was going to do this, he needed to do it right. He decided to wait for an appropriate moment and try then.

Nodding to himself, Sam glanced at his watch. Registering the time with a start, he surged to his feet with a curse. Grabbing folders almost at random, he ran out of his office.

John Hoynes nodded and smiled in greeting at the staffers he passed on his way through the Eisenhower Executive Office Building. His uncharacteristically upbeat attitude drew curious looks from those who knew him, but Hoynes paid them no mind as he headed down the hall towards his wife's office.

Suzanne was not alone in her office; she was sitting in front of her desk beside her chief of staff, the two women looking at something on the desk. Hoynes cleared his throat, smiling wider as they turned in his direction.

"Afternoon, ladies," he greeted. "Rachel, mind if I steal my wife for lunch?"

"As long as you promise to return her in time for her meeting with the Secretary of Education," Rachel grinned, standing.

Suzanne stood as well, moving to greet Hoynes with a kiss. "You're in an awfully good mood," she observed.

Hoynes tucked her arm in his and began to lead her out of her office and towards his. "It's an awfully good day," he told her with a bright smile.

"I take it that your plan to eat breakfast together with Sam went well," Suzanne stated. She leaned her head against Hoynes' shoulder. "How is he?"

Hoynes squeezed her arm. "He's still unsure about the whole situation, but he's trying."

"What did you two talk about?" Suzanne asked.

They walked into Hoynes' ceremonial office, where food for a private lunch for two had been set out. Hoynes guided his wife to the table, pulling out the chair for her before rounding the table to sit down.

"Not so much at first," Hoynes answered. "I told him about Mom's pancakes, but talking about family seemed to make him nervous. Then he asked about 286."

Suzanne paused in her serving of food onto their plates, her shrewd gaze on her husband. "Oh?"

Hoynes winced. "I may have jumped to conclusions and . . . was a little abrupt."

"John," Suzanne said disapprovingly.

Hoynes held up his hands. "I know, I know," he said. "I didn't mean to get defensive. And with his team pushing to change it . . ."

"Which is why you shouldn't talk about 286 with him," Suzanne stated. "The last thing he needs is to be in the middle of your feud with his boss."

Hoynes nodded. "I know, and I apologized for jumping to conclusions. So we started talking about education in general, and I wanted to get his opinion on merit-based pay for teachers."

"And?" Suzanne prompted.

Hoynes smiled broadly, the pride shining out of him in a glow. "You should have seen him, Suz! He became so . . . so offended at even the slightest impunity against teachers. He was brilliant; he fired off extremely strong points in his favor and wouldn't let me keep mine unchallenged. God, he was so quick, so passionate . . ."

Suzanne couldn't help but to match her husband's smile. "I wish I could have seen that."

"Maybe you can see some of it at dinner tomorrow," Hoynes offered. "I told Sam about it, and he agreed to join us."

Suzanne nodded, her smile growing. "I'm glad. I hate to make him so uncomfortable when he must be feeling overwhelmed, but I'd really like to get to know him better."

"Have you talked to the boys yet?" Hoynes asked.

"I did," Suzanne confirmed. "They both had questions, understandably, since they were just here last week for the Inauguration. I told them that I'd answer all of their questions once they got here."

"Did they mention how long they'd be able to stay?" Hoynes asked.

"Both of them agreed to take a week for now," Suzanne told him. "They might want to change their minds once they realize why they're here."

"When do they get here?" Hoynes asked. "I'd like to see them when they get in, if possible."

Suzanne took a sip of her water. "Jamie's catching a lift to Andrews. He should be here later tonight. Jake can't get a flight until tomorrow. He said he'll text us later with specifics once he's booked his flight."

Hoynes nodded. "I may not be able to be there when you tell them about Charlie. About Sam."

Suzanne patted his hand, then squeezed it. "That's all right. But if you don't manage to bring him home with you tomorrow, I won't be held responsible for whatever your sons might do."

Hoynes chuckled. "Noted," he replied. "So tell me; how has your morning been?"

end chapter 3