Toby pressed the buzzer a second time and waited, staring down at the marble floor. He had doubted the wisdom of his decision to come here as he left the White House, but something had urged him on. When he found an empty parking space half a block away, he had taken it as a sign. Now the doubt had returned, and he decided that retreat was in order.

The door to the street opened, and he moved back out of the way. An elderly woman carrying a canvas bag stuffed with books stepped into the small space.

She smiled at him as she chose a key and slid it into the locked door. "Good —" The bottom of the bag ripped, and the books fell to the floor. "Damn it! I knew that was going to happen."

"Here, let me get them for you." Toby dropped to one knee and began collecting the books into a pile. The selection fascinated him: two mysteries, an anthology of World War I poetry, a biography of John Lennon, and the latest book on the Presidential election — a bestseller the Post had called the handbook on the making of a president. He almost smiled at the familiar faces looking solemnly out from the cover. He recognized the picture immediately. It had been taken moments before the last debate; the debate they had all known would win or lose the election for them.

"Thank you, Mr. Ziegler."

"May I carry them in for you?" he asked as he rose to his feet.

She smiled, and he saw a glimpse of the vivacious young woman she must have been. He followed her into the building and to the first door.

"Are you visiting Sam?" she asked, unlocking the door.

"I planned to, but I don't think he's home."

She took his arm as he set the books down on a table and led him into the living room. "Then you must stay and have a drink with us."

"I couldn't impose."

"You wouldn't be imposing at all!" she assured him. "I'm Allison Mulligan, by the way."

Toby nodded. "Sam has mentioned you and your sister."

She smiled with delight. "He has? Well, Claire and I adore him."

"I hear that a lot," he mumbled as he looked around the room. He already felt at home among the piles of books and the deep comfortable furniture. The New York Times crossword lay on the coffee table, and a few small logs burned in the fireplace.

"Claire dear, we have company!" Allison called. "Mr. Ziegler —"

"Please, call me Toby."

"Toby, then, we usually have manhattans before dinner. Is that all right, or would you prefer something else?"

"A manhattan is fine."

"I'll just go and roust Claire out of the kitchen." She gestured at the armchair beside the fireplace. "Why don't you sit there? It may be spring, but there's still a chill to the air."

He could not resist a glance at the crossword. His own copy lay neglected on the corner of his desk. Usually he devoted a few minutes to it every morning as he drank his coffee, but lately there had been too many other things taking up his time and attention.

"If you know an answer, please feel free to put it in, Mr. Ziegler," Claire directed as she came through the dining room with a small plate. "I've had an awful time with it this week."

"It's Toby, please."

She set down the plate on the coffee table and offered her hand. "And I'm Claire. Won't you have some cheese and crackers? It's smoked gouda — which is a particular favorite of mine."

"Mine as well."

They sat companionably in front of the fire with Toby looking over the puzzle. Allison joined them carrying a tray with a cocktail shaker and three glasses with maraschino cherries in them. She carefully poured three drinks and handed them around before sitting on the couch.

Toby took a sip and savored the perfect blend of bourbon, vermouth and bitters. The manhattans were... he searched for and discarded several words before deciding on one: potent. This was certainly not what he had expected, and it was a welcome surprise after a busy day in the West Wing.

Half an hour later, he leaned back in his chair, well pleased with the world and his place in it. He was warm and relaxed and enjoying the company of these women who loved talking and debating. They had discussed books they had all read and some Toby had not found the time for. There was a small pile stacked on the table beside his chair that they insisted he take home and read at his leisure. Their combined capacity for knowledge was staggering. Claire had been an English professor, but Allison had not had the chance to follow her sister to college. It was the Depression. Dad simply didn't have the money to send both of us. When Claire came home, I copied down the titles of all the books she was reading and went to the library. The lack of a formal degree, though, did not hinder her insight or slow her opinions in the least.

"There's Sam!" Claire announced, climbing to her feet. "He's just in time to join us for dinner."

Toby glanced toward windows that looked out at the street. They afforded a near panoramic view of the neighborhood. Sam had just turned onto the front walk, carrying groceries and an armload of dry-cleaning.

"We haven't seen him since he came home from California," Allison explained as her sister hurried to the door. "I was just saying this morning that we should invite him for dinner this week. Now we'll have you both."

Toby nodded, wondering how Sam would react. He had come here without any sort of plan, merely the vague desire to see Sam for himself. Now he felt a twinge of guilt for showing up unannounced.

"Sam!" Claire said as the foyer door opened. "How are you? Did you have a good trip?"

"Very good. It was great spending some time with my parents."

"We're about to have dinner, dear. Will you join us? I made beef bourguignon, and there's more than enough. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to cook the right amount for just two of us."

"In that case, I'd love to. Just let me take this stuff upstairs, and I'll be right down."

Allison picked up the shaker. "I'll just make a dividend. Give Sam a chance to catch his breath before we have dinner."

By the time Sam knocked on the door, Allison had returned and Claire had set another place at the table. Claire showed him in, and Toby took a quick, fortifying sip of his freshened drink as Allison rose to greet him with a hug.

Sam looked much as CJ had described him — rested and relaxed. He had not shaved, but still looked younger than Toby remembered seeing him, even going back to those first days of the campaign. There was something else, though, something that it took Toby a moment to identify. The confidence that had been sorely lacking for the last few months had returned.

"...picked up some books I dropped," Allison was explaining, "and I convinced him to stay."

Sam's eyebrows rose, but he moved toward Toby with his hand out. "Did you need me for something?" he asked.

"I, ah, stopped by on the spur of the moment. As I was leaving, Allison came in, and well —" Toby shrugged. "— one manhattan led to another."

Sam nodded as he accepted the glass Allison handed him and took a sip. At Allison's urging, he sat beside her on the couch, enjoying his drink and joining what Toby assumed was an ongoing debate about John Steinbeck. He was not sure exactly what the crux of the matter was, but Sam slipped in and out of the conversation with an ease that said he had been part of this discussion before. He himself was content to sit back and listen, offering only the occasional opinion.

Dinner was delicious. The beef and the vegetables were cooked to perfection, and the aroma was incredible. With it, they drank the red wine that Sam had brought downstairs with him.

"Did you bring this back with you?" Toby asked as Sam filled the glasses.

He shook his head. "My dad sent a couple of bottles before Christmas. He and my mom took a trip up to Napa, and this was one of their finds."

"Do they do that often, dear?" Allison asked.

And the conversation turned to Sam's trip home. Setting down his silverware, Toby watched his deputy describe the time he had spent out on the water. Sam's face lit up as he recounted the trip to the Channel Islands he had taken with his father and the days he had spent on the water by himself. Toby smiled, taking quiet pleasure in Sam's vivid language and contagious enthusiasm.

For dessert, Claire served coffee and an apricot tart. After a single bite, Toby swore he would not trade the tart for a slice of pie, any pie. That compliment earned him — and Sam, by extension — a second piece.

It was late when they finally said good night. Toby tucked the small pile of books under his arm and followed Sam out into the hall amidst promises to return soon.

"Did you have a reason for coming tonight?" Sam asked.

"Not really, no."

"Then why —"

"Honestly, Sam, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing."

"Because you're a spontaneous kind of guy." Sam leaned against the wall, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "You said you weren't going to try to change my mind, Toby."

"That's not why I'm here."

Sam waited, his head tipped to one side.

Toby gusted a sigh. "Okay, look. I still stand by my promise, but I want to remind you of one thing. We're a good team, Sam. We've had our moments, but overall, there's no one I'd rather work with." He shifted the books and put out his hand. "No one."

Sam shook hands, his expression almost sad. "I haven't made my decision."

Toby nodded. "You'll call when you do?"

"I told the President I would."

"I meant me, Sam. Will you call me when you decide?"

Sam pushed himself away from the wall. "Yes."

"It was, ah, good to see you." Toby turned toward the door, digging in his pocket for his keys. He stopped as he opened the door, glancing back over his shoulder. "You'll call?"

Sam nodded. "I promise." He hesitated. "Toby?"

"Yeah?"

"It was good to see you, too."