OK. So I realise some of you are bored/confused, and I'd hate that to stop you from reading. So.
Last chapter:
-Lizzie phoned her aunt to ask why Will had been involved in getting Lydia and George to come home. It was a purposefully rambling conversation. Lizzie was confused. Her ducks weren't all in a row. Sorry if that threw any of you off.
-Will was visited by Matt Fox, Zimmerman's campaign manager, who offered Will his job.
-Will then visited Josh Lyman (the present White House Chief of Staff) who talked to him about it. Again, Will was purposefully rambling. He had, after all, spent the last few weeks tracking down George and Lydia, and then was offered the biggest job on his political horizon.
I hope that has cleared it up for you, any one who was confused.
I know that these last few chapters haven't been exactly action-packed, and a bit slower, but I kind of like it. Lizzie is, to quote titans123, a bit of a bum, unintentionally, and is floundering a bit, having lost Will and dealing with her sister and George etc, and life, on the horizon, is a bit beige. So. Whether I did it intentionally, or not, the last few chapters have, in tone, reflected how she is feeling. Therefore, hopefully, as these next few chapters unfold, the colour will return.
That brave unbalanced woman
Fr: jfb at zimmerman
To: ebethbnt
Subject: So that you won't stay on the farm FOREVER
Hey there.
Charlie just sent me this, and thought you might be interested. I think he heard it from Sam, via C.J. Cregg. Weird, right? Our IDOLS. Emailing us. Well, Charlie. Anyway, I think you should seriously think about it. You could be fabulous.
Love you,
J xx
-Forwarded message-
Fr: cjb at zimmerman
To: jfb at zimmerman
Subjects: Jobs and such
I know I only saw you, what, ten minutes ago, and so emailing may seem a little over the top, but I had totally forgotten something that Sam mentioned this morning. The Hollis Foundation is looking, albeit subtly, for a new head of communications. The last guy was apparently not getting on with everyone else and was not very good, and finally, to everyone's pleasure, quit this weekend. So, they need someone else, and since they were still expanding, there isn't really anyone to move up the ranks and take over. No one good enough anyway. So. C.J. asked Sam if he knew of anyone, and Sam asked me, and I thought of Lizzie. If she's at all interested, tell her to email Sam (sns at zimmerman) and he'll pass her on to C.J. I think it might be exactly what she has been looking for.
That's about it. That and I was right. Binturongs do exist. I did not imagine them.
Love you.
Charlie xxx
-End of message-
Fr: ebethbnet
To: jfb at zimmerman
Subject: re: So that you won't stay on the farm FOREVER
OK, so:
1) Thank you. I emailed Sam, and he passed me on to C.J. and I nearly died with excitement to have her email me back. I'm sending her some of my work and articles and such, and then we'll go from there. It all sounds very positive though. The Foundation sounds amazing, and worthwhile and…well. Thanks.
2) WHAT THE HELL? YOU AND CHARLIE GOT BACK TOGETHER AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME? You are in so much trouble young lady. I'm telling Mom.
Love you. Thanks again.
Liz xxx
"Didn't I tell you it would all work out? Didn't I say that they would end up together."
Ever since I broke it to Mom last night about Jane and Charlie, she has been unbearable.
"Yes Mom," says Mary, on auto-pilot, as she tries to sort out something on her laptop.
"Didn't I say that they would be a great couple? And now, with Lydia married, and Jane sure to be soon…"
"Don't push her," I say, involuntarily. I had a dream last night that Jane told us they were a couple, and then Mom bought her this massive, hideous wedding dress, and Charlie took one look at it, screamed like a little girl, and ran away, into the sunset. I'm not even kidding. Mom turns on me with her best don't-use-that-tone-with-me face on. "I mean", I say, "they've only just got together, and they're so busy on the campaign. We don't want to scare Charlie away with over eagerness."
Mom narrows her eyes, but really, the very thought of scaring away someone as hot and charming as Charlie, terrifies her. She had begun to think that Lydia's elopement to Treasure Island was the only wedding that she'd get in the family. She warned me and Mary and Kit the other night that plenty of fish in the sea was a lie, and that the numbers were fast going down. Again, not even kidding.
"Smooth," murmurs Mary to herself, as Mom turns back to the pancakes. I kick her, accidentally of course, and then get up to find the syrup.
Fr: jfb at zimmerman
To: ebethbnet
Subject: Damn.
You've already told her, haven't you? Drat you.
Well, fine. We are, and he is perfect, and it's mad busy but we're happy and things are all good. So there. And, just for the snitching, if we get married, your bridesmaids dress is going to be bad. I'm talking catastrophically bad. Shielding eyes and heaving stomachs. That bad. Just so you know.
Love you,
J xxx
You never thanked Will. The thought wangs me round the head in the middle of the night, and I wake up, wide awake. With everything that has happened in the last month, I kind of pushed it all out of my mind, reasonably purposefully. I mean, I couldn't quite reconcile myself to Will, all but lying to me, which was so far out on character to seem insane. And then of course, with the job at the Hollis Foundation, and C.J. wanting to meet me, I had to not think about it because, in all honesty, I would otherwise have thought of nothing but him. He had been sneaking into my thoughts at very inconsiderate moments. Mid-way through a Wizards of Waverley Place marathon with Kit. During grooming the horses. Most embarrassingly, half-way through conversations with people. They'd narrow their eyes and bark "LIZZIE!" at me, at which point I'd start and realise that I was replaying conversations I'd had with Will. It was all very unhelpful, so I determinedly expunged him from my thoughts, and got on with preparing for interviews and sifting through old articles, which is, I assume, how I managed to forget to thank him. It is so over due. It's the problem of big things happening, and you having a lull for about five minutes. C.J. called and offered me the job, and I let out a great sigh of relief, emailed Jane, told Mom and Dad, then went to bed, exhausted, and fell asleep, from which, I woke and heard the un-squashable Jiminy Cricket voice in my head saying you never thanked Will. Damn that Jiminy. If only he sounded like Viggo Mortenson, I'd listen to him a lot more.
I crawl out of bed, and turn on my laptop. A few things occur to me which, you'd think, in my long, twenty-eight years, would have already implanted themselves in my brain.
1) When you wake up in the middle of the night, and turn on a bright light, it hurts. Do not attempt to stare at it, straight away. Also,
2) It is no longer August. In fact, it is the first week of November. And,
3) The heating is not on in the middle of the night. Oh, and,
4) It is not actually cold enough according to Dad to have turned the heating on much anyway. Just occasionally.
These thoughts together cause me to get up, attempting to blink away the purple splodges that seem to appear each time I blink, and find a sweater and socks. Then I sit down again, eyes in a little less pain, feet a little less icy, and attempt to start writing an email. On the twentieth attempt, I realise that this isn't really going so well. On the twenty-fifth attempt, I start wondering if it isn't a bad plan to try and do this at two AM, and it is on the twenty-ninth try that I realise that the election is, in fact, tomorrow, and the last thing Will needs is an existential essay on the nature of truth which is, in all honesty, what the email has become, when he is probably running on no sleep and one hell of a lot of caffeine. So. I erase the whole email and start again. It works first time, I send it, then go back to sleep, to sleep the sleep of the one who has said thank you. In a way.
Getting out of bed first thing, I flick on the coffee machine, turn on the television for the news, then turn on my laptop to check new messages. I nearly spit out a mouthful of coffee a few minutes later when I notice one message in particular.
Fr: ebethbnet
To: wifd at zimmerman
Subject: Over due
Will,
I don't know what to say, and I think I should maybe wait to say it in person anyway, but the gist of it is, thank you.
Now go and win this thing. You've done all you can.
Lizzie
I stare at it for what must be about ten minutes, before some reflex causes me to reach over and hit Print. It chugs out, I fold it up and then, twenty minutes later as I put on my suit jacket, I slip it into the pocket. I'm not entirely sure why. I just know that I need it today.
Thank you to everyone still reading, and everyone who takes the time to review. You're the top.