Pulling off his sweatshirt, Sam folded it and put it into the open bag at his feet. As he absently brushed a hand over disheveled hair, he looked around the deck. The sails were down and covered, the ropes neatly coiled, and the gear stowed away. He checked the locker one more time, yanking on the padlock to make sure it was secure.

Grabbing his bag, he groaned as his shoulders protested. He had spent hours out on the water, tacking and jibing against a strong wind. It tugged at him now as he opened a waterproof pocket and pulled out the cell phone his mother had purchased for him. Hitting the only number he had programmed in, he waited while it rang, his eyes watching sea birds dive toward the ocean's choppy surface.

"Hi, Mom! Everything's fine. I'll be home in half an hour," he reported to the answering machine. In all truth, he would home within fifteen minutes and would probably arrive before Kate did.

When she had handed him the cell the first morning he had taken out the Laser Liam Callahan had insisted he borrow, he had almost believed she was kidding. He had sailed alone since he had been a teenager, spending hours out on the water by himself. The combination of exercise, wind and water had always helped him think.

"Mom, this is ridiculous! I know what I'm doing."

Kate held out the phone. "I'll feel much better if you have this with you."

"Mom…"

"Sam, take it. You don't even have to turn it on, but if you need it, you'll have it."

When he did not move, Kate sighed and turned to the bag he had left on the counter. Unzipping a pocket, she tucked it in. "I don't need any more Sam-induced gray hair."

"Me? What did I do?"

She laid a gentle hand against his cheek. "Sam, why on earth would you think your dad and I don't worry about you?"

"Well, for starters, I'm thirty-six years old!"

"You're still our son, and that gives us the right to worry about you as much as we want."

"Mom, I'm fine." He wrapped his arms around her. "And I can't see a single gray hair."

She hugged him, and he smelled the light floral perfume she always wore. "You're a flirt, Sam Seaborn," she scolded as she pulled away. "And don't you think you're going out on that boat without the phone."

Sam laughed and kissed her. "All right, you win. I'll take the damn phone."

The first day it had been a joke to call and assure her he was safely docked and headed home, but soon it had become habit. Otherwise the phone stayed tucked away in its pocket. Now, as he started to turn it off, it rang.

He glanced at the caller ID, surprised it showed neither his parents' number nor his mother's cell. Instead, the screen simply read "Restricted."

As the phone rang a third time, he answered it. "Sam Seaborn."

"Good morning, Mr. Seaborn. This is the Communications Center on Air Force One. I have CJ Cregg for you."

Sam dropped his bag and sat down on the locker. "Thank you."

"Sam!" CJ's voice came clearly over the line.

"Hey, what time was wheels-up?"

"10:30. We were scheduled to leave at nine, but the President, believe it or not, ran late."

"No kidding."

"Yeah, go figure. The Press Corps is entertaining itself, so I figured I'd call you."

"How'd you get this number?"

"I called your parents', and your mom gave it to me. She said to try a couple of times because you don't have the phone on while you're sailing." She paused, and Sam dropped his head. His mother had, no doubt, recruited CJ to her cause. "I don't think that's really smart, Sam."

He sighed. "CJ..."

"Suppose something happened? Suppose you couldn't get to the phone?"

"Then it wouldn't matter if it was on or off, would it?" he pointed out.

"Then it should be in your pocket!"

"Let's not have this conversation, all right? Honestly, if I want to argue about the phone, I'll find my mom."

"But after last fall —"

Sam rubbed his face with his hand. "CJ, I told you what happened. The water was rough, the preventer line snapped, and —"

CJ's voice was hard. "You could have drowned, Sam. Your head was bleeding, and you were barely conscious when they pulled you out of the water. When you walked in with that bandage and two black eyes..." She paused. "You scared the hell out of me."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, staring down at the deck.

"Promise me you'll keep the phone turned on and in your pocket. I mean it, Sam."

"All right, I promise."

There was silence between them for a moment, and then Sam could hear someone talking to CJ.

"The President is looking for me," CJ reported. "I've got to go."

"Have a good flight."

"Talk to you soon."

He shut the phone and put it away. Picking up his bag, Sam jumped onto the dock, landing solidly on both feet. He nodded to a few people as he walked to the car. Unlocking the door, he stopped, folding his arms on the roof and resting his chin on them. He loved the quiet of mid-week when the only sounds were the calls of the gulls, the wind and the lap of the ocean against the boats. How many hours had he spent here in high school as he tried to figure out what he wanted to do with his life? Nothing he had dreamt of had come close to the reality.

A man should learn to sail in all winds. He had read that proverb when he was fifteen and been struck by it. Copying it out, he had kept it on the bulletin board over his desk — first at home, then Princeton and finally Duke. When the ink had finally faded to the faintest blue, he had tucked the little square of yellowed paper into a book, a reminder of what he wanted and how he wanted to achieve it.

Sam slid into the driver's seat and started the car. Before they had taken office, he had thought himself prepared for the buffeting that was life in the West Wing. Looking back now with the experience of fourteen months and the clarity that distance had provided, he realized he had not been ready, but he had done his best. He had sailed in occasionally treacherous waters against high winds and survived. The question that had crystallized with Josh's visit finally had an answer.

"No regrets," Sam murmured as he pulled out of the parking lot.