Chapter Two
"From Charles? How in the name of...you there, wait!" Aaron shouted after the nervous aide who was trying to beat a hasty retreat from the room. "Where did you get this? Hey. Who gave you this?" He was shouting now.
The aide turned back to face an enraged Aaron. "It was just passed to me, sir. I was asked to bring it here to Mrs. Logan." The boy almost tripped over his words as he looked at his superior's face.
Aaron took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. It was not the boy's fault. "Alright, son. You can go." The young man quickly turned and fled down the corridor. Calmer now, Aaron turned back to Martha, who had remained silent during his tirade. Looking at her face, he didn't know what to think. For the first time in weeks, he could not read her, had no idea what she was thinking. She just stood still, looking down at the letter she held in her shaking hand.
"Martha," Aaron tried. She didn't look up. "Martha," he repeated, louder this time.
She shook her head as if coming out of a trance and looked at Aaron. "Sorry?"
"Are you alright? Want me to get rid of it?" He moved to take the envelope from her, and quickly she snatched her hand back. "Martha?" Aaron looked at her, confused.
" Aaron, could you leave me alone for a while?" She didn't meet his eyes.
" Martha, I really feel tha..."
She cut him off curtly. "Please, Aaron. I need to be by myself for a while." Slowly she met his gaze and saw such confusion there, but she couldn't deal with that at this point in time. She wanted to be on her own. "Aaron I..."
"No, it's fine; I'll leave you. I'll start making the arrangements for L.A. You still want to go, right?"
"Yes...no...I don't..." Just give me a few minutes, and I'll call you." She turned away from him and walked toward the chair by the window. She knew she was being unfair to him, but whatever Charles had to say, it was her problem and she didn't want to drag anyone else into the sorry state of affairs that had become her marriage. She heard the door softly close, and taking a deep breath, she sank into the armchair and opened the letter.
My dearest Marty,
If you are reading this, then you have, as I expected, returned to the White House. I am still in D.C., in a safehouse provided to me by the government. I really don't know where or how to begin. Or if you have indeed already torn this letter up. If you haven't, Martha, then I beg you to keep reading. I know you owe me nothing, but as your husband, I have to say these things to you. What I did at the airfield was inexcusible -- striking you-- but you have to believe me when I say I was not in my right mind. I am deeply sorry. And I know I have no right to ask for or expect your forgiveness. What I did on that day, Marty, was truly what I believed to be in the best interest of our country. But, on reflection, and having these few weeks to think things through, I know what I did was wrong. You have to believe that. I received a letter from your lawyer today, and although I can understand why you feel the need to distance yourself from me, I am asking you -- no begging you -- to come see me one last time. There are too many things I want to say that I cannot put into a letter. Hal knows where I am staying, and I ask you once again to please come to see me. Then, if you still wish to proceed with the divorce, I will not stop you.
Your loving husband, Charles
Martha took one final look at the letter, carefully folded it, placed it back in the envelope, and put it on the side table. She exhaled, feeling as if she had been holding her breath while reading the letter. She glanced one last time at the white paper beside her and sank back into the chair. Her thoughts seemed to have stopped along with her breath, and she stared numbly out of the window.
Aaron had not gone far from Martha's room; he found himself pacing the long corridor just a few yards away. He had left the room as she had asked, and had to stop himself several times as he felt the pull to return to her side. But she had said she wanted to be alone. So, alone he would leave her. He stopped pacing and leaned heavily against the wall. What was Charles doing, writing to her? He had heard the recording -- surely the man was not so insane as to think Martha would ever forgive him for what had done. Not just to the country, but to his wife. His wife -- the person you are supposed to love above all things, to keep safe, to cherish. Not to lie to and cheat on. No, Charles had not behaved as a husband should. And now he had the audacity to try to reach out to her in a letter. He knew from his conversations with Martha in the hospital that she had filed for divorce; surely Charles would not contest that, after all he had put her through. Aaron began his pacing of the long, bland corridor again and looked at his watch. He had left her alone for nearly thirty minutes. He reached into his pocket and took out his phone, making sure it was on. Why hadn't she called him? He scrolled down the phone book to her name, and his finger hovered over the dial button. Damn this. He slammed his phone shut and headed back toward her room. Reaching her door, he walked on the spot for a few seconds before gently tapping on the door. Nothing. He knocked a little louder, and when he got no response, he carefully pushed the door open a crack. He looked into the brightly-lit room and saw her sitting curled up by the window. He resisted the urge to run to her and scoop her in his arms, she looked so lost. Instead he slowly moved toward her, and when she showed no reaction to him being in the room with her, he knelt by her chair and softly touched one of her legs. "Martha," he whispered. She jumped as if he had shouted the words right into her ear, and turned to look at him.
"Aaron. I'm sorry, I was a million miles away. Or should I say twenty nine years away."
He softly began to stroke her leg and looked into her blue eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"
" I was just thinking...where did it all start? I mean with Charles. You don't just wake up one morning and think, "okay, i'm going to jump into bed with terrorists today." I keep trying to think when it began. Was I there? I suppose it could have started as far back as Vermont -- maybe the stress of having to deal with me made him..."
Aaron took his hand off her leg and firmly held the side of her face. "Martha, don't you dare. Don't you start blaming yourself for any of this. You had no idea. His closest advisors had no idea." He looked deeply into her eyes, but could still see she was a million miles away. He loosened his grip on her face and began to softly caress the side of her face as she continued to talk.
"I was his wife. He was the glue that held my pathetic excuse of a life together after Jeremy died. When he told me I was going to Vermont, I trusted him. I truly believed he was doing what he thought was right for me. What was best for me. I can't think, Aaron. I can't remember." She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. His hand stilled on her face. "When did it start? Why didn't I see it?"
"Martha, I wish I had the answers you're looking for, but I don't. All I know is that none of what your hus...none of what Charles did had anything to do with you. You couldn't have changed it. You couldn't have stopped it."
Martha reached her hand to her cheek and pulled his hand away from her face. Standing up with such force the chair she had been sitting in moved back a few inches, she looked down at him with anger in her face.
"But I need to know, Aaron! Don't you understand? I need to know when the man that I loved more than life itself turned into what he is today."
Aaron stood and reached out his arms to her, and just as quickly, she moved out of his grasp.
"Don't you want to know what was in the letter?"
"I figured you'd tell me when you wanted to." He smiled at her and her mask of anger that had clouded over her porcelain features lifted slightly, and she reached out to touch his cheek. "Dear, dear Aaron. Always the gentleman." Letting her hand drop, she looked into his face and began to speak slowly. "He wants me to go to see him. He's in DC. Hal knows where, and he wants to see me."
Aaron let a flicker of horror betray his calm exterior for a split second, and knew she had seen it.
"You don't think I should go."
"What I think, Martha, is that you don't owe him anything. He gave up that right nearly a month ago."
Martha let out a frustrated sigh and began to walk away from him. "Haven't you been listening to me, Aaron? I need to know. I need to see him." As she said the words, she finally knew what she had to do. Yes, she would see him, not because he wanted her to, but because she had to grasp some understanding of what he had done. She knew that part of her would never be able to rest, as long as she had these questions. She turned and looked at Aaron. His face retained its usual stoic expression, but she could see that he was confused and even a little hurt by her decision. "Please try to understand. I need you to understand."
He looked at her eyes pleading with him. But while he knew what she was saying made sense, he strongly doubted she would find the answers she was so desperately looking for. The last thing he wanted was for her to be hurt all over again. But as he gazed into her eyes, he knew what she wanted him to say.
"Alright, Martha, if this is what you want, I will go to see the President and get the address. Do you want us to go now?"
As she looked quickly away from him, not meeting his eyes, he knew. "Martha, I am going with you. You cannot go there alone."
She looked back toward him, "I won't be alone, Aaron, but I don't want you to come."
He allowed the look of horror to remain on his face this time. "Martha..." He took a step toward her, reaching for her hand.
She stepped back out of his grasp. "I'm sorry, Aaron. This is something I need to do." Pushing her hair out of her face, she walked to the closet and took out her coat. As she headed toward the door, she turned and gently smiled at him. "I will be back." And with that final comment ringing in his ears, she left the room.
