Clarksburg, MD - October 2014
Stevie clings to her mother on the couch. Patrick has chosen to watch over them. Elizabeth can feel the judgmental eyes of her father-in-law. She swallows. She wants Henry back down here. At this point she's nearly convinced Henry has fallen asleep along with the younger four kids.
She runs her fingers through her daughter's hair as Stevie tries to stay awake. She has always known that Stevie is the most like her. She sees the same determination in her daughter as she saw in her reflection in the mirror for decades. She notices how quickly her intuition is coming back when it comes to her children. She's shocked by how quickly she's been able to read their body language. She figures that some of that is the fact she was a trained CIA operative but also believes she might have a bit of mother's intuition left after all.
She knows Stevie is holding back questions. She can sense the tension in her daughter's shoulders. She can see the hesitation in her eyes.
"You need to sleep, baby," Elizabeth says softly.
"You're not sleeping," Stevie counters, covering up a yawn.
"Fair enough," Elizabeth concedes. She knows firsthand what it's like to be terrified of sleep. There have been so many nights she has woken up in cold sweat screaming. She knows what it's like to lay awake for hours, afraid even to close her eyes, "At least close your eyes for awhile. You're safe, okay? Dad's here. I'm here. There's a whole literal private army outside watching this house."
"Why would Uncle Conrad do all of this?" Stevie asks.
"Because he's a sociopathic coward," Elizabeth answers her. She notices her voice is nearly bitter. She has never allowed herself to think about it in the way she's letting herself do now, but now that she is, she can't understand why the thought has never crossed her mind before. She has known for years Dalton was a monster.
"Why you, though?" Stevie asks.
Elizabeth is impressed with her daughter's ability to question. She has always prided herself on her ability to ask the questions no one else wants to ask, but she is surprised at how quickly her daughter seems to be picking up the skill. She supposes it's natural—genetics maybe—the best of her and the best of Henry.
"I've always wondered that," Elizabeth whispers. She remembers her last in-person meeting with Conrad Dalton—the one that ended with his fist hitting her face. He had made it very clear that night that he didn't have the slightest ounce of respect for her. He had made it very clear she was nothing more than a means to an end for him. Yet the reason for his initial betrayal she may never know. The reason that he chose to give to Rodriguez, she may never know. She figures it doesn't matter much anymore. It was her. Now it's time to make sure it doesn't happen to anyone else.
"Mom?" Stevie stifles another yawn.
"Yeah, baby girl?"
"You're going to be here when I wake up?" Stevie asks.
"Yes, I'll be right here."
Stevie closes her eyes and lets her exhaustion take over. Elizabeth smiles softly at her daughter. Her smile fades as she looks back up at Patrick.
"I... um..." she sighs. She has no idea what to say to the man who has never liked her. She has no idea how to start making things right. She has no idea how to show him how sorry she is for all of the pain she has caused.
"I've watched over the last couple of days as the Government has tried to kill my son and grandchildren," Patrick starts, "And the only thing keeping me from completely losing it is knowing that my son needs me. Henry needs me. And um, I know I'm not as superhumanly smart as Henry is... or you are, but I'm not stupid either. I can tell that whatever happened—"
"Henry didn't tell you?" She cuts him off. She had assumed Henry had told him the basics, at the very least.
"He didn't tell me anything. He showed up to my house rambling nonsense, what I thought was nonsense, and I didn't trust him to be alone with the kids. I figured out on my own that you were in trouble when President Dalton was calling you a traitor in the Oval Office and threatening to execute you... violently execute you. Even I know people need a trial to be lawfully executed," Patrick says.
Elizabeth feels a twinge of guilt. She has put this whole family through hell. Her heart breaks at the fact she has brought all of this pain to her family.
"He hasn't told you anything?" Elizabeth asks once more.
"No, I'm sure he thinks it's your business. He wouldn't tell your business to anyone. My son has always loved you,"
Elizabeth nods, "Tomorrow, it's going to be all of America's business," she whispers.
"I'm assuming the kids got the PG version when there's an R-rated one?"
Elizabeth nods, "Yeah,"
"Just tell me one thing: you never meant to hurt them,"
Elizabeth swallows, "No, at the end of the day, I did not mean to hurt them. But I do know they were hurt. And if it's any consolation, I was hurt, too,"
Patrick nods.
Elizabeth's eyes flick up and meet her father-in-law's, and it's the first time that they are not full of disdain for her. Instead, she sees acceptance, and it's the best thing she's seen in a long time.
"Have you thought about what happens after tomorrow?"
"No, honestly, if I did, I don't think I'd be able to do it," she says quietly.
"You have a lot of support," Patrick says, "More than you probably think."
Elizabeth smiles sadly, "I appreciate the sentiment, but I barely know how I'm going to get through the prep for the press conference at six, let alone the actual thing, and then there's the Congressional hearing... and then the rest of the trials... And none of that includes any of the family needing helped. The kids…"
"We can talk about the congressional hearing, the trials, the rest of the press circus, and yes, even the family later. It would be best if you got some sleep, too. This whole house is asleep, including the Congressman and your other friends,"
Elizabeth suddenly misses her father severely. This isn't the first time she's wanted him. She had loved both of her parents, but she had been a daddy's girl until he died.
She nods, "I just can't seem to close my eyes,"
"Are you afraid of sleep?"
Elizabeth bites her lip. She is afraid to sleep- for a lot of reasons. But how is she supposed to admit that? She's supposed to be the strong one right now. She's the one who is supposed to keep it together. She can't show weakness, not now, not when everyone needs her to be strong.
"You can't protect anyone if you're dead on your feet," Patrick tells her, "And you are so obviously exhausted."
"I don't want to wake them up. I'm too wired. I know sleep means nightmares right now. I'm pretty good at telling when they're going to be bad ones, but I can't wake up my daughter." She says her hand still hasn't stilled in Stevie's hair even though her little girl's breathing has fully slowed and evened.
Patrick nods, "Okay. How about this? I'll put some coffee on, and we can talk,"
Elizabeth doesn't understand the man's sudden change of heart. He has never been what she would call kind to her-not once. There were a few times that he was close to it, mostly when he met her newborns. She thinks the man would have probably given her the world if the babies had asked. But the rest of the time, the two had barely managed to coexist. They had always kept the peace for Henry.
She nods and carefully extracts herself from her sleeping daughter, making sure to cover her up, "Good night, baby. I love you so much, Stephanie." She whispers as she kisses the top of her head and watches her sleep for a few long moments.
When she gets to the kitchen, he's standing next to the coffee pot, scooping cheap beans into the filter. She can't remember a time when the two of them had ever been alone together, and the thought makes her anxious. She's not sure if she'll actually be able to talk, but she can at least sit at the table with him.
"They only have Foldger's," he grumbles to her. She fights the urge to laugh incredulously as he still finds things to make fun of her for- like her snobby taste in coffee. Coffee is coffee, Queen Elizabeth.
"It'll work. Just make it extra strong," she says quietly, searching the cabinets for mugs.
"So, um... you said that Conrad threatened to execute me violently. Did he say anything specific?" She's not sure why she wants the details, but she does. She can't figure out why she needs more knowledge of all the ways Conrad Dalton does not care about her.
"He was vague. He said you'd be interrogated. But Henry's face when he said that," He turns to her to see all the color drained from her face. He has the coffee brewing and the mug in her hands.
She sits the mug down and leans against the counter, trying to catch her breath, "Sorry," she mutters.
"Hey, Elizabeth. Your face just now, that's how Henry looked. So, though the President was vague enough, being interrogated is the nice way of saying it, isn't it?"
Elizabeth nods, "He was threatening to have someone new do things that have already been done,"
Elizabeth knows that to be true. Her death would not be quick. She would die in a concrete box. She would spend more years in a single room with a new tormentor. The pain would never end.
She feels her hands shaking, and she grips the counter behind her. She notices that she can't get a full breath, and all she hears is buckets of water.
"I can't do that again," she says.
"Can't do what?" Patrick asks, trying to understand what's happening.
"I can't," she takes a deep breath and shakes her head, "I can't," she repeats the mantra, not knowing what else to say.
"Elizabeth, if you... if you can't talk about it now. How are you supposed to do what Congressman Hirst has planned for not only tomorrow but the coming weeks?" His tone is the softest and kindest she's ever heard.
"I..." she takes another breath, "I've only ever talked about it in detail with. my therapist in LA... and I'm sure you think therapy is a joke. But, I'm not even sure how I've been able to talk about it with her,"
Patrick knows enough to know that his thoughts on the therapeutic process would not be helpful right now. Maybe it's Anne bestowing some new wisdom on him from wherever his late wife is now, but he knows better than to offer an argument.
"I just, I haven't really had anyone in a very long time," Elizabeth says, her voice quiet, "So much so that I'm blabbering to a man who has never liked me,"
Patrick looks to the floor. He can't counter that. He hadn't liked her. It had seemed to him that she was a spoiled rich kid who had gotten everything she wanted. That had so blinded him, and by his jealousy, that he hadn't stopped to consider her. This woman had loved his son. She had wanted so desperately to have a family. She had done her best to be a good mother. She had never meant to hurt her children.
"Maybe I didn't always like you, but I've watched the way my son loves you. And I've watched you love my son. I know you are not the person my first impression of you would've led me to believe. I know you don't pretend to be better than other people. I know you don't just throw your money around. And I know you never wanted to hurt Henry. Or Stevie. Or Allie. Or Jason. You were forced to hurt them. I see that now."
Elizabeth takes another breath and steadies her hands, "Thank you. I do love your son. I have never quit loving your son."
She finally cops to it. She had not. She has been able to tell Henry. It feels intense and wrong and like it's simply too much to tell Henry. She knows Henry. She knows his heart. She knows the way his face gets when he's overwhelmed. And he's overwhelmed. There is no room for their love right now, not in the least bit. She knows that. He knows that. They are both acutely aware of it.
Patrick finally pours the coffee for himself and his daughter-in-law, "Wanna start practicing talking about it?"
"Is it bad that? I thought I'd wing it?" She jokes for a moment of brevity. He gives her a look that she had never realized Henry inherited from him, "I know. That's a terrible idea. I don't know how to articulate it for a wide audience. I can't... Jay has someone coming tomorrow to do the media training for me. He assured me that whoever this woman is, she's the best."
"What are you nervous about?"
Elizabeth swallows. She has not admitted her fears out loud before, and she doesn't know if she can, "When I talk about it, usually one of two things happens: I either clam up or I ramble. And neither of those is conducive to what I have to do tomorrow. Not to mention, the whole time, I'm going to be thinking about Will. We don't have the time to get to him first. We need to be stealthy, so my baby brother is going to be finding out I'm alive on fucking CNN," she feels the tears well up in her eyes.
"That must be hard," Patrick says, trying to think of things Henry or Anne would say. His wife and oldest son are much better with feelings than he was.
"It's the hardest thing," Elizabeth whispers. She takes a sip of her coffee, "There's one person in the world who doesn't know, who will be hurt and heartbroken. And he'll be alone when he finds out. Pat, I don't... I don't want him to be alone. I'm worried. I'm so worried," she admits.
"You have a good team. They'll protect him. And once the media circus dies down, you can see him," Patrick promises her.
"He's going to be pissed. I understand I deserve it, but God, everybody is so mad at me," She whispers. She doesn't know how to handle it. It turns out that no amount of preparation has made it easy for the people she loves most to be angry with her.
"Why does he need to be mad? Because his sister is alive? He should be overjoyed, no?" Patrick asks.
"Because I've been hiding and pretending I was dead for years."
"From what I've gathered, that wasn't completely your choice," Patrick tells her, "And for what it's worth, while I know Henry is angry, I don't think it's at you as much as it's at God,"
"I didn't think you believed in God," she says, her mouth quirking up slightly.
"I'm agnostic," Patrick says, "But you and I both know my son is reluctantly a very faithful Catholic. Like his mother,"
Elizabeth nods.
"He's angry because his faith has been tested, and his trust has been broken. And he doesn't have a way to fix it."
Elizabeth's eyes snap to her father-in-law's, and she sees that they are sincere.
"You didn't think I knew my son that well," Patrick says, "To be truthful, I didn't know I knew him that well either,"
"I never said—"
"You didn't have to," Patrick interrupts, "I'm not stupid, Elizabeth. I could see the way you looked at me when I wasn't nice to him. You... I can see a lot of things so much clearer, now. You love my son. You protected him from me, his father. I'm sorry. I wish I could say I was a better person then. I wish I were a better man now. The truth is, I always knew Henry was too good for the mill and the union. He was always going to be so much more. He was always going to make something of himself. He was going to be the first of the McCords to do that. I didn't want to admit it, but I'm so proud of him. I love my son, Elizabeth. And my son loves you. So, I'm on your side. I will help you. Weeks from now, when the dust settles and things get really hard for all of you, I'm going to help you."
Elizabeth has no idea what to say. She had not expected this. She had not expected his approval so many years after she first wanted it. She has no words.
"You can thank me later," Patrick tells her, "You've got to be up early,"
"Yeah," she says, "Goodnight, Pat,"
"Night, Elizabeth,"
