Chapter Two
Almost midnight, January 20, 2003; Washington, DC; the Independence Ball
"Because I love you, just the way you look tonight."
Paul crooned the words into his wife's ear as he led her through the other couples dancing to the Guy Lombardo Orchestra.
They had started the evening at the Constitution Ball and had been to several others, dancing to music from the big band era through the golden age of rock, the disco era, and the current scene, but had decided to end the evening at this one.
Color her biased, but CJ thought, no, CJ knew, that her husband was the handsomest man in the room. His tuxedo fit him to perfection; his hair, moustache, and beard were perfectly groomed; his cologne mixed with his body chemistry to provide an aroma of confidence, masculinity, and graciousness.
CJ and Paul had both grown into their careers in Berkeley.
Paul had blended serving as an associate minister in the local Disciples of Christ church and teaching at the Pacific School of Religion with ease. Several times, he had been asked to take on an administrative position at the school, but he had always refused. He was happiest in the pulpit, in ecumenical activities, in counseling those who were facing life changes, such as engaged couples, families with children, and those facing crises where spiritual values were called into question, and, in teaching others how Christ's salvation called them to be "servants of the servants of God". Also, he and CJ both wanted their careers to hold third place in their lives, behind their love for each other and for their children.
CJ, however, had found that teaching was superseded by her skill for administration. In addition to managing her academic load at Berkeley and her motherly (and, of course, wifely) instincts at home, she found herself drawn to administration, to finding ways to smoothly administer the bureaucracy of an academic department while cutting through the unnecessary red tape of such an endeavor. She obtained a second PhD in administrative and educational management along the way, and, in 1994, was named Chancellor of the university, the first woman to hold that position.
In early 1998, then Senator John Hoynes of Texas contacted her, asking her advice on the educational component of his presidential platform. She gave him some of her opinions.
("This is just me speaking, not the School of Education. We have to find some way of publicly funding education while leaving the decisions about education as locally as possible. Of course, we have to ensure that no child is made to feel excluded or uncomfortable because of race, gender, religion, or sexual preference. But in the end, the most important thing is: what is the best way for each individual child to learn. There is no single best way. I think that there should be schools which teach the "traditional method" and those which teach experimental methods. There should be schools for the learning disadvantaged, schools for the intellectually gifted, and schools where all degrees of intellect mix freely. There should be schools which are coeducational and schools where boys and girls are taught separately. Above all, we need to have, in the public school system, schools where students can learn without the distraction of problem students, while still providing for a meaningful education for those students deemed 'problem'. I can fully understand why some parents choose to make unbelievable sacrifices to send their children to private schools. Your child's future is tantamount. My husband and I have chosen to send our children through the public school system in Berkeley. However, we have supplemented that, at our own expense, when we felt it necessary for the individual child. And had it been in the best interests of that child, we would have sent that child to a private school with absolutely no compunction.")
She was somewhat surprised (but Paul wasn't) when, flush with victory, the President-elect asked her to serve her country as Secretary of Education.
Paul convinced her to take the position. He put out some feelers. Georgetown offered him one of their ecumenical positions in the School of Theology. One of the local DOC churches jumped at the chance to add him to their list of pastors.
"Madame Secretary, in that glorious gown of Dartmouth silk, you are the second most beautiful woman in the room. However, had you chosen the truer, richer green of Notre Dame, you might have outshone the Surgeon General, who, you notice, is wearing the crimson of Harvard, the institute of higher learning that granted her a medical degree."
"Mister Vice-President."
CJ had taken an instant liking to Josiah Bartlet, former governor of New Hampshire, and his wife Abbey when she met them a little over four years ago.
Her appointment to the cabinet had been approved in a pro forma manner, probably because of two of John Hoynes' other choices.
Everyone understood when Hoynes selected Jed Bartlet as his running mate. The man had fought a hard campaign, ending up in second place. And his economic background, including the Nobel, would be an asset to the Hoynes administration.
However, no one expected that the position of Attorney General would be offered to the New Hampshire Governor's campaign manager, Leo McGarry.
And, in their wildest dreams, no one even considered that the Vice-president's wife would be nominated to fill a cabinet position, no matter how qualified she was to hold it. But Abigail Barrington Bartlet, BA Wellesley, MD Harvard, was nominated Surgeon General and approved by the Senate.
Four years later, the two couples had become, if not close friends, extremely comfortable with each other.
The orchestra started playing again, and the two couples exchanged partners for the set.
On the morning of January 29, Paul told CJ that he would be later than usual that afternoon.
"When we were dancing, Abbey looked at my nail beds, and then she asked me when I had last seen a doctor. I told her it was right before we left Berkeley. After yelling at me, almost as intensely as you do, sweetheart, she gave me a name and told me to make an appointment. I knew that she would check up on me, so I decided the best plan was to go ahead and make the appointment. So I'll see you by six." Paul kissed her as he left for his morning classes.
The doctors were sympathetic, even apologetic. If it had been found earlier, even as little as seven months ago, the probabilities would have been much higher. Of course, they would begin an aggressive course of treatment, there were new discoveries being made every day. And prayer and faith, although not able to be quantified, were always an important part of the mix.
The initial treatments were promising and everyone was hopeful that Paul had beaten the odds. Although everyone had told him that he looked even more distinguished as a bald man, he was glad that his hair grew back even thicker than before the treatments.
In August, the cancer came back. The doctors were hopeful and Paul began another course of treatment. But CJ had her premonitions and began to prepare herself to lose the only man she had ever loved.
Late October 2003
It was a beautiful Indian Summer afternoon. Mitch and Allison Cregg had taken the kids with them to Annapolis; Hogan was a second stringer on Navy's women's soccer team.
Paul suggested a walk in the Mall and called for a cab. Sitting in the Botanical Garden, he told her that the treatments weren't working and that it was time for him to let go.
CJ took his hands in hers and held them to her mouth. Her tears coursed down her face and onto the fingers, the thumbs, and the palms that had given her so much pleasure, so much tenderness, so much comfort, and so much security.
"I'm not sure I can exist without you, Paul."
"You have to, sweetheart." He reversed the position of their hands and pulled hers to his mouth. "Our children will need you. I would sacrifice everything except your love and my immortal soul to spare you this, but I can't."
CJ knew he was about to lose control, and she knew that his ego could not take doing that in public, so she led him to the street and they went home. They cried their hearts out and managed to present a calm appearance when her brother and sister-in-law returned with the kids.
Paul and CJ waited until Thanksgiving, when Martin came down from Hanover for the holiday, to tell anyone else.
January 2, 2004
"This isn't something you should decide on emotion, CJ. And certainly not while Paul - ".
"I know, Tim," CJ interrupted Tim Giancomo, the Jesuit who had joined the Theology Department at Georgetown two years ago and who had become good friends with Paul and CJ, "but when or if I'm - ".
"I'll be there to help." The priest reached in to kiss her cheek. "I'll see myself out. Tell Paul I'll come by again tomorrow."
CJ pressed her head against the study door and then turned around, planning to take the glasses from Paul's face and cover his sleeping body with a quilt. He had dropped off in mid-sentence while discussing Tim's Bioethics seminar for the upcoming term.
But when she turned around, Paul was awake.
"Decide what, sweetheart?" He held out a hand to her.
CJ thought fast.
"I don't think I should stay in the Cabinet, that I should find something less - ", her voice trailed off as she saw the sad little smile cross his face. She remembered, with total clarity, the first time she had seen it, some twenty-three years ago. It was the first (and only) time she had faked orgasm.
"I'm sure that is something you should weigh in less emotional times, but that's not what you and Tim were discussing."
She began to protest, but he stopped her with the same two words he had used on that night a few months after they had become intimate.
"Claudia Jean." He gestured again with his hand. "Come."
And she walked toward him, let him pull her onto his lap.
"It's perfectly normal and understandable, sweetheart. When something like this happens, something that will throw your entire life into flux, it's natural to want to return to the faith of your childhood. In fact, Tim's confreres have a phrase for it 'Give me a child until the age of seven'. The idea doesn't bother me, CJ, it never has. I never asked you to give up your religion for me."
"I know." She kissed him. "But when you told me that God was calling you, I told you that if He was calling you, He was also calling me to be beside you, to support you. If I do make that choice, it will be very low-key. I would never embarrass you, even after -", she choked on the word.
"That was never in question, sweetheart," Paul played with her hair and kissed her temple.
"And the children; I would continue to raise them in your church."
"I know."
"I should get up. You're tired and I'm heavy."
"Oh, CJ, my life, you could never be too heavy. I could stay here like this forever."
January 21, 2004
"Dad?"
Paul looked up from his book and smiled at his eldest son.
At first, when Martin came home for the Christmas break and said that he would not be going back to Dartmouth for the winter and spring terms, Paul protested. ("You can't. What about law school? What about graduation?") But Martin was adamant. He had spoken with the Dean, explained the situation, and the man had given his blessing. Given the special (well, the Dean said "tragic") circumstances, there would be no problem coming back for his final courses at a later date. And not to worry about Stanford; he would talk with them personally.
Now Paul was grateful to have Martin with him for these final weeks. There was so much he needed to impart to his children. Of course, Paul had written letters for each of the four, for the milestones he would not witness, for the turning points, for the crises. In those letters, Paul imparted the advice that could not be comprehended now, or which might, hopefully, never be needed. But Martin was different; Martin was no longer a child (but would always be Paul's child) and so much could be communicated orally. And now, there was time; nowhere near enough time, but Paul would make do.
"I've got some coffee."
Martin handed a mug to his father and sat down. The two men sipped in silence for a while, enjoying the companionship that was made more precious by the knowledge of its temporality.
"You've talked with Nicole?"
Two days after Christmas, Martin had mentioned that "a friend" was visiting with "her roommate in Falls Church" and asked if she could stop by "after doing the Smithsonian."
It was obvious to both Paul and CJ that Nicole was much more than a friend, especially when Martin took Nicole to dinner and then called home to say that he "would be home in the morning". The next day, Martin told them that he planned to ask Nicole to marry him when she finished at Dartmouth a year from June.
"This morning. Classes have started; it snowed eight inches; one of the Anthro profs got caught with kiddie porn on his computer – the usual stuff," Martin laughed.
Then the young man's voice turned serious.
"Dad, whenever I thought about marriage, I always imagined standing there at the altar with you in your robes, waiting to perform the ceremony. I know you will be there with me, but it will seem strange having someone else ask me to make those promises."
"I know." Paul reached out for his son's hand.
"Martin, there are things I would have discussed with you as your wedding day approached, things I've written for you to read when the time comes. I'd even written a letter to your future bride. And a lot of that should wait until then.
"But one thing I want you share with you now, that I would share with Nicole if she were here with you, and if you had already asked and been accepted," Paul laughed, "is the essential importance of honesty and communication. There is nothing that can't be handled if those two things are present in the relationship. I know that right now, things might seem totally rosy, but, believe me, even in the most perfect of relationships, issues can arise."
"Actually, there is - ".
"There is what, son?"
"Sometimes, she doesn't; sometimes, I can't wait until - ," the young man stopped and dipped his head to hide the blushing.
"A woman is a very complex being, mentally, emotionally, and physically. The bookcase over by the window," Paul pointed to the left. Martin got up and walked to it. "The fourth shelf, about a foot in from the right, the dark green binding."
When Martin brought the volume to his father, Paul opened it and pointed to the drawings.
"Try using your palm here."
"At your age, recovery is fairly quick; some men will take off the edge, so to speak, beforehand."
"Changing angles might help."
And as a light snow began to fall and shadows lengthened, the father taught and the son listened.
Later that evening
"May we come in?"
Paul and CJ stood outside the door to Ria's bedroom.
"Uh, sure," Ria responded.
"We just came to say goodnight, honey," CJ said. Lately, she and Paul had been going to bed fairly early; their daughter was often still up, finishing her homework.
This evening, she was leafing through the latest issue of Newsweek.
CJ reached down to kiss Ria, but the girl kept her head down and CJ's lips brushed the top of her head.
Paul slipped a hand under his daughter's chin and lifted her face. Taking in the red eyes, he sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Tell me," he commanded softly.
"I got something in my eye."
"Ria."
The voice was still soft, but it was twinged with gentle reproof.
"Peggy Thompson. She has to go to boarding school. Her father remarried and he's all goo-goo about her stepmother. She says it'll be the same with Mother, when she gets married again."
"Oh, Ria!" CJ sat down on the other side of the bed. "Honey, that's never going to happen with you and your brothers. In the first place, your father is the only man I'll ever love; I'll never get married again."
"Sweetheart," Paul said.
Then came the shout from down the hall.
"Mommy, Stevie's throwing up!"
CJ reached over and kissed her daughter. "You have nothing to worry about. Sleep tight. I love you."
As CJ left to tend to her youngest son, Paul got up and closed Ria's door.
"Okay, baby, tell me the rest of it." He returned to the bed.
"What if it's like the last time? What if the man Mother marries is like him?" She shuddered at the memory of Dick and Stevie's father.
Paul gathered his daughter into his arms. He remembered how frightened of him she was eight years ago, how patiently he worked to win her trust. He could only pray that there had been enough time to give her the foundation she would need to someday have a healthy relationship with a man who would treat her the way he had tried to show her, by the way he treated her and by the way he treated her mother, she deserved to be treated.
"Baby, if your mother were to remarry, I know that she would be with someone who would love you children as much as he loved her. If your mother does find happiness with someone else, I want you and your brothers to be happy for her. I want you to respect that man the way you respect me."
Paul pulled Ria closer to him and kissed her forehead. Then he pushed slightly away and looked directly into her eyes.
"But if, for some improbable reason, this man managed to deceive your mother, if he were to hurt you, or your brothers, promise me that you will go to your mother, or Martin, or your uncles and aunts."
Forty minutes later, both Paul and CJ were back in their room, lying in bed.
"Sweetheart, we need to talk about what Ria brought up tonight. After I'm gone, I want you to be open to the idea that God may have someone else for you." He put his fingers to her lips as she began to protest. "You are still so young, CJ, still so beautiful. And your soul is even more beautiful than your face, your body. Please don't inter yourself in a coffin of grief for me."
"I don't want to look for anyone else; I can't conceive of being with anyone else."
"I didn't say 'look for', sweetheart, I said 'be open to'. If God has plans for you, I want you to accept those plans. If He sends another man to you, I want you to love him, honor him, and pleasure him the way you have loved, honored, and pleasured me for the past twenty-four years. If it happens, make me proud of you."
Paul reached down and wiped away the tears that were forming in her eyes. Then he kissed her mouth.
CJ returned his kiss. His hand moved to her breast. As her legs shifted, he felt the little pill he had taken some hours earlier begin to work. Paul's hand moved down her stomach.
"Open wide for me, sweetheart."
She responded to his soft order, as she had the very first time he had whispered those words. And Paul put into practice the things he had imparted to Martin earlier in the day.
January 23; 11:30 PM
"Dad, I've locked up and I'm going to bed – Dad!"
Martin hurried into his parents' bedroom at the sight of his father on the floor, trying to stand.
"I tripped on the rug, coming back from the bathroom; I just can't get my legs under me."
Martin put an arm around Paul's waist. He held out his other arm for support. Paul managed to get to his feet, but then he began to fall again.
Martin instinctively slipped his other arm under his father's knees.
CJ kissed Stevie's forehead. The fever had broken, thank God. She went to the other bed and checked on Dick. So far, there were no signs of the virus in the older boy.
CJ walked down the hall. She was about to enter her bedroom when she stopped short. Martin was carrying Paul to their bed.
"You know, Martin, it seems like only last month that I was holding you like this, carrying you from your crib to your mother. And now - ."
Martin gently lowered his father to the bed and kissed him.
"Good night, Dad. I love you."
Martin left the room.
In the hall bathroom, CJ turned on the water to drown the sound of her sobbing.
In the master bedroom, Paul gave into his frustrated embarrassment, pounding his fist into the pillow and weeping silently.
In his tiny room, Martin knelt on the floor beside his bed and cried to God, demanding to know why.
March 2, 2004
This was really happening, CJ thought to herself. Somehow, in spite of everything, she had managed to put the ultimate reality of Paul's cancer out of her mind.
But he had worsened dramatically in the past ten days. Earlier in the day, he had been kissed and embraced by Jed and Abbey Bartlet, Tim Giancomo, Alex and Eve, Gina and Randy, and Mitch and Alison. An hour ago, he had kissed and held his children for the last time. The hospice nurse had given him something that would vanquish the pain without dulling his mind.
And now, he lay in the bed, CJ's arms around him. She could feel the chill creeping up his body from his feet to his legs to his thighs, to his trunk.
Paul slowly turned to face her and she cried freely as she saw his eyes begin to dim. He reached up and managed to stroke her jaw with his thumb, the way he often did.
"eros, philia, agape," Paul whispered.
Then his eyes brightened and he focused on something off in the distance.
"Sweetheart, our babies! They have your smile!"
Then his eyes dimmed forever.