Friday evenings in the Residence were, whenever possible, informal. When it was only the President and the First Lady, they ate dinner on trays in the sitting room. When family and friends joined them, the chef served a casual buffet. After the hectic pace of the week, it was a relief to relax and watch a TV that was not tuned to CNN.
"Ma'am, everything's ready for dinner. Let me know when you want it served," the steward said as Abbey stepped back from the DVD player.
"Thank you, John," Abbey replied absently. Pointing the remote, she hit one of the buttons. They stood side by side, watching the television which refused to recognize the DVD no matter which button she hit. "Damn it, why can't I get the hang of this? I understand the one we have at the farm just fine."
"Shall I take care of it?" John asked.
"I'll do it," the President said as he came through the door. "It's one of the few things my wife trusts me to do correctly."
"Yes, Mr. President. If that's all, ma'am?" and at Abbey's nod, John left, closing the door behind him.
The President dropped into one of the club chairs and pulled at the knot in his tie. "Can dinner wait until I have a hot shower?"
"Do you want a drink to take with you?" she asked, moving to the back of the chair and massaging his shoulders. "My god, Jed, you're tense tonight."
He covered her hands with his. "It was a long day."
She leaned down and dropped a kiss on his temple. "What happened?"
"Sam resigned."
"Sam Seaborn?"
"He left letters -- for Toby, Leo and me." The President rested his head onto the back of the chair and closed his eyes. "And none of us understands why."
Abbey sat down on the chair opposite his. "I can't believe it. Not Sam."
"I can't either. Leo said things have been a little tense this week in Communications, but nothing they haven't been through before."
"What did Josh say?"
"Josh didn't know until we told him."
"That's impossible! Those two are thick as thieves."
"Josh said, and I quote, 'It wasn't my week to watch him.'" Rising to his feet, the President poured a healthy swallow of scotch into a crystal tumbler.
"May I read Sam's letter?"
He took it out of his briefcase and handed it to her. "It's beautifully written."
"Vintage Seaborn?" Abbey inquired, and he smiled faintly.
"When I read it, I heard his voice instead of mine. I'd forgotten he had his own."
"You've been spoiled, Jed."
The President nodded his agreement. "I wish I could bid him Godspeed and tell him to use that voice, Abbey, but you're right, I've been spoiled. I want his words, his oratory. I want him crafting my message. There's time for him; lord knows there's time. Now is my time to speak and be heard, and I want -- no, I need Sam to do that." He sighed, the sound harsh and weary. "I'm going to go take that shower."
Abbey reached for her reading glasses and read the letter. The words were, as her husband had said, clearly Sam's. There was no mistaking their elegance. Underlying it was a sense of profound sadness and disappointment. She laid the letter on the table, wondering which disillusionment in an ocean full of them had doused his belief in the role he played in the Administration.
She poured scotch for herself, eschewing the tongs to drop a few cubes of ice into her glass. She took it with her to the half-moon window overlooking the West Wing. Hard winter rain pelted the glass, blurring the lights below. Taking a sip, she stared out into the cold, wet darkness.
She had heard of Sam before she met him three years earlier. Jed had been furious when Leo fired his original campaign staff, raging about the new people and refusing to learn their names. Ignoring him with the practice of over thirty years of friendship, Leo had continued building the team he wanted for the grueling weeks and months ahead. Abbey had met Toby soon after Jed had announced his candidacy, impressed by the speeches he had written within days of his arrival. His gruff mumbling amused her, and she had caught him with a twinkle in his eyes after besting her husband in an argument. Josh had come to the farm with Leo one afternoon for a meeting and stayed for dinner. His youth surprised her, but more so his knowledge. He knew the players, forecasting their probable moves, and underlining their vulnerabilities. When he and Leo discussed the strengths of the Bartlet staff, Josh brought up Sam's name several times, and Leo teased him about 'rescuing' Sam from a promising career in corporate law. Josh refused to rise to the bait, insisting Sam was a talented writer with a solid political mind; they just had to give him the chance to prove what he could do.
The following week Leo brought his people to the farm for an all-day planning session. Others would join the staff over time, but this was the core, the nucleus of Bartlet for America. Abbey greeted them at the door and showed them where to hang their coats. Grabbing the intern who had tagged along, she pointed him toward the kitchen.
"There's a coffee tray on the counter. Make yourself useful and take it in to them, will you? When they need more, Mary will make it for you."
He blinked and seemed about to say something. After considering the look on her face, he tucked his legal pad under his arm and took the tray into the library. She heard Josh say something followed by laughter before the door closed. That done, she hurried to grab her coat and bag before heading off to the hospital.
The day, like most days, had run much later than she had planned, and dark was coming on as she drove home. When she pulled up the drive, the intern was standing near the fence gazing out over the fields. His hands were in his pockets, but his jacket was wide open.
Rolling down the window, she called, "Button that coat now, mister!" and was gratified to see him jump and hurry to follow her command.
When Abbey reached the house, she heard voices talking over and through each other, louder and more relaxed than the hushed tones she had heard that morning. The meeting had ended for the day, and Jed had apparently relented and extended her invitation for dinner.
"Mary," she called, hanging up her coat by the side door, "is there anything I can help with?"
Their grey-haired housekeeper shook her head as she turned down the burner under one of the pots. "Everything's all set, Mrs. Bartlet. Dinner will ready in half an hour or so."
"How did things go today?" Abbey asked, peeking into the oven.
"The Governor and Mr. McGarry did a fair amount of shouting this morning, but things calmed down after that."
"And no one got underfoot?" Abbey asked, knowing strangers wandering around the house bothered Mary.
"No, they all stayed in the library, even had lunch in there so they could keep working. Only sent that nice young man for coffee a couple of times." The older woman tipped her head toward the door. "I'm all set here, ma'am. You go join your guests. I'll call you when it's ready."
Leo looked up and smiled when she appeared in the doorway. "Here's Abbey."
Immediately Toby and Josh were on their feet, Toby pouring her a martini from the pitcher on the coffee table and Josh deeding his place on the sofa to her. She dropped down beside CJ Cregg, the only other woman present, and took a satisfying sip of her drink.
"Oh, this is perfect. Who made it?" she asked, looking around the room.
As Toby raised a reluctant hand, Jed glowered at her from his chair beside the fire. "What makes you think I didn't?"
She laughed, and he grinned in return.
"How did you know?" CJ asked quietly when conversation began flowing again.
"My husband makes a fantastic Rob Roy, a superlative Old Fashioned, and -- "
"A terrible martini."
"Yes," Abbey sighed, "but there's a wonderful bartender in town who makes one almost this good." She smiled at the other woman, feeling the pull of a kindred spirit. "Are you married?"
"No."
"Then put this on your list: My husband must be able to make my favorite drink."
CJ raised her glass in salute. "Duly noted."
"...Ask Sam, then," Josh said as they clinked their glasses. "He'll back me up on this." He looked around. "Where is Sam? Anybody seen him?"
"I saw him in the hall right after we finished," CJ volunteered. "And of course, for the nine hours before that."
Josh set his glass on the mantel. "I'll be right back. He's probably gone out for a walk."
The intern appeared in the doorway, his cheeks flushed with cold. He headed straight for the fireplace, tripping over Toby's foot. With a calm Abbey envied, Josh grabbed his arm and steadied him before his head hit the brick surround.
Leo shook his head and mumbled "klutz" under his breath, but his eyes held only amusement.
Beside her, CJ stifled a chuckle. "You all right, Sam?" she asked.
Sam detached his arm from Josh's grip and rubbed it. "Ow, yes."
So this was Sam Seaborn. The reality certainly did not match the picture she had created of the high-powered lawyer slumming for a few months on the campaign of a dark-horse candidate. Abbey remembered Josh's comment and the accompanying laughter when she had sent Sam in with the coffee tray. They obviously knew how daunting a task she had bullied him into, but Mary had said he had been the one to come back for more coffee. Obviously he had obeyed her order to the letter.
She looked across the room at her husband. "Jed, get him a scotch or something. I doubt he wants a martini."
"I'll get it, Governor," Josh volunteered.
She directed a frown at Sam. "Buy a pair of gloves and a hat. You don't play around with the cold up here."
Crouching in front of the fireplace, Sam held out his hands to the flames. "Yes, ma'am."
Josh handed him a glass of whiskey. "Now tell Toby I'm right about..."
And the discussion had begun again with everyone weighing in. Abbey had watched them with interest, seeing both established friendships and the flickers of alliances starting to form. Such different personalities, such different backgrounds, all in New Hampshire to help her husband win the most important campaign of his -- no, their lives.
The wind whipped against the window, startling Abbey from her memories. She sipped her drink, almost surprised by the taste of scotch, not Toby's perfect gin martini. The rain had turned to sleet while she had sat staring out into the darkness. It was an awful, ugly night.