“Tomorrow I officially become a historical relic, or something,” I said.
She sat down on the couch again, unbuttoning her suit jacket. “Is that what’s at the root of today’s melancholy? Worried about how you’ll be remembered?”
My melancholy had its own root system. This was merely the tip of the iceberg. “They should have chosen you or Jack.”
Caroline guffawed. “Seriously, Chrissy? We’ve been over this before. When that decision came down, Jack was laid up in the hospital lucky to be alive and I was, or rather I am about as emotionally consistent as—what’s one of the most unstable elements on the Periodic Table?”
“Francium,” I said instantly. That undergraduate chemistry degree served me well.
“And what’s one of the most stable elements?”
“Carbon.”
“See, you’re carbon and I’m francium. Carbon makes good presidents. Francium does not. We had a seriously unbalanced man in the executive and we needed someone to straighten it out. You’re good at that and don’t get all wishy-washy about it, either.”
Carbon. One of the most basic components of all life. And the most boring. Seemed about right.
I was tempted to remind Caroline about the chaos that existed in the immediate aftermath of Santos’s death. She’d been in the hospital, as she damn well should have been, waiting for word on her injured husband. She was traumatized, stressed, and in absolutely no condition to have the practical conversations necessary when a regime change—because that was what we had to call it, regrettably—occurred. It came down to the remaining rebel officers, UN peacekeepers, a few international allies, several ex-pats available via videoconference and… me. I’d rarely spoken during the decision-making process, except to voice what I presumed and later confirmed was Caroline’s desire not to temporarily assume the executive. Jack had expressed the same wish prior to chasing his wife into the Oval Office. Never once did I suggest that I was the woman for the job.
The Vice President had been… disposed of by the President and there was no Congress to speak of. The few remaining Cabinet members were under investigation for any crimes they may have committed at the request of the President. There was no line of succession readily apparent. Time was of the essence in assuring the populace that the country had a leader.
So, they picked me. It was almost unanimous. I should have demonstrated a craven desire for power in order to be eliminated from the discussion entirely. Then again, that may have complicated matters further. I had the experience and the knowledge and could conveniently serve as a fall guy if things went awry.
The first couple days were bumpy as I frantically drafted and signed Executive Orders, instated then rescinded declarations of martial law, and did my best to cobble together a functioning federal government. I did all of this with few complaints (except to Caroline), which meant that cool, calm, collected President Christine Spencer Sullivan would have her portrait hanging in the National Gallery as a result.
“I have emotions,” I said.
“Not in public.”
Point taken. “I can’t help it if my public persona varies wildly from how I act in private.”
“Well, you can, but that’s part of being you.” Caroline smiled. “Remember right after we first met and I took you to lunch and said I liked you because I thought you were a real person?”
“Vaguely,” I said, not wanting to admit I remembered almost every minute of that encounter because it was one of the first times I’d met anyone I actually wanted to spend time with, aside from Tom.
“I need to modify that a little,” she said. “It’s been over a decade since that lunch. You’re a real person in the sense that you don’t sugarcoat anything or put on airs. But, as I suspected, you’ve learned to do a much better job of letting your hair down in private.”
“Only with you.”
“And with Mo and Feef. They helped you a lot, I think. Any progress is good progress, right?”
I had a feeling Susannah would disagree, since the progress she and I had made was mired in quicksand. “I suppose.”
“You’re still real, you just have… a few extra sides.”
Sides I’d have to confront once I found myself alone again. I started pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table. “I’m afraid to go home.”
Caroline grabbed a handful of candy from the dish on the side table. One of my few indulgences – whenever she visited, I made sure to have the White House loaded up with sweets. “Your house is in fine shape. Now that it’s been cleaned and such.”
One of many, many things she’d taken care of while I’d been in Washington. The house had needed to be aired out, cleansed, gone over to see if anything had been damaged or simply aged poorly.
Caroline and Jack’s real estate holdings had been looted and torn apart but I’d escaped relatively unscathed. They had to hide their money; all of mine had been waiting for me once I stepped back onto American soil. They’d been shredded emotionally, mentally, and physically, whereas I’d merely been minced. Different, but same.
“You kept an eye out the entire time they were there, right?” I asked.
“It was fine, Chrissy. None of the cleaning people pocketed any of your silverware.”
“That wasn’t what I was worried about.”
“I know,” she said gently. “Most of the rooms were untouched, so far as I could tell, aside from a healthy coating of dust. If you hid anything in the floorboards, I didn’t find it.”
“You went poking around in the floorboards?”
“It gave me something to do while they were wiping off all of your mantels. You have a lot of fireplaces in your fucking house. I mean, Christ.”
Caroline had a particular fondness for the fireplace on the second floor, though she’d also told me on multiple occasions that it was highly pretentious. The condition of the structure or its many architectural features was not my main concern. “But was everything okay?”
“Chrissy.” Her voice was gentle, but stern. Which meant I was doing something wrong. “Stop marching around the room. You’re going to wear a path in the carpet.”
I stopped short, tapping my finger against my chin before checking the clock on the wall for the time. I watched the minute hand tick its way around, marking that a full sixty seconds had passed. Caroline said nothing but I could feel her watching me. I spun to face her. “Did it, you know, feel okay?”
To my overwhelming gratitude she didn’t make a joke; she just patted the spot on the couch next to her. I sat down.
“Is that what you’re concerned about?” she asked.
I didn’t know where I fit in. I knew I didn’t belong in the White House and I wasn’t sure if Bryn Mawr was the right place, either. I hadn’t had time to focus on much of anything the few minutes I’d been there. Singular goal, in and out. Detachment had been the key, and I remained quite good at removing myself emotionally from the task at hand. But the dynamic would change once I was living there.
I stared down at my hands. “It might be too quiet for me.”
“It might,” she agreed. “Chrissy, if it’s too much to handle, you can stay with me and Jack. It’s not a big deal. Really. Our house is big enough for your entire family if you want to drag Susannah and her spawn along.”
I had no desire to permanently reside with anyone, but it was nice to know I had a choice. “I want to go home,” I said. And meant it. Didn’t I?
Caroline took a deep breath. “Look, I’ll be straight with you. It feels different than it did, but everything feels different now so that’s not a fair assessment for me to make without you spending time there first. You know why it’ll be different for you. But one way or another you need to figure out whether it’s where you want to be. You have plenty of options.”
I had financial flexibility, yes. I could live comfortably on my own, true. Or bunk with Caroline and Jack. But anyone else? Not a chance. “I don’t, actually.”
She frowned.
“When was the last time you talked to Susannah?”
Damn if she couldn’t read me like a book. “I can’t remember.”
“That,” she said, “is not a good sign.”
Didn’t I know it. “She’s busy. Law firm partner work and all.”
“Seems to me the daughter of a major world figure might be able to pull a few strings during her mother’s final days in office.”
Which was true. But I hadn’t made any moves either. We were likely both to blame, though I rightly bore the brunt of it. “It’s hard to explain.”
“It’s really not. I guess it was too much for me to hope you two would have reinitiated regular contact on your own.”
The fact that she hadn’t hassled me about this area of my life was a mark of the strength of our friendship, and of my failure in it. She’d been the one to suggest I reach out to Susannah after two years of no communication whatsoever. At first, that initial exchange had been sufficient. But after things quieted down and we both returned to the United States, we should have gotten closer. Spent more time together. Made up for all that time apart. Yet we hadn’t.
Caroline had trusted me to be the person she thought I was, and I hadn’t lived up to her expectations. “She’s busy,” I said lamely.
“Okay. Let’s try something easier. When was the last time you saw Susannah?”
“Christmas.”
Caroline pressed a palm to her forehead. “At my house. Jesus. Do I need to set up play dates for the two of you? Is that how we get you to fix your relationship? Forced proximity?”
Her narrative needed one small correction. “I spent the night at her home.”
“Which I’m sure went spectacularly.”
Dammit. I hadn’t been able to keep the defensiveness out of my tone. “I’ve had more enjoyable evenings, yes.”
She stared me straight in the eye. “You can’t simply wish for a more conventional relationship with your daughter. You have to actually put in the effort.”
What if I didn’t want to? “I don’t know if that’s what Susannah wants.”
Caroline made a face. “How is it not?”
Because my daughter was too much like me? I grimaced at Caroline in return. “She’s done pretty well for herself when I’m not involved.”
“Oh, I get it. She managed to survive for three years in a foreign country, even reproduced, and somehow that’s proof she doesn’t need her mother? Listen to yourself, Christine.”
She never pulled out my full first name unless she was deadly serious. “What do you want me to do?”
“Maybe, just maybe, you start letting Susannah do the things you’ve been asking of me.”
“Like what?”
“Like setting up a cleaning crew and making your house presentable. She once lived there, you know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that when I asked you to do it?”
“It wasn’t my place.”
“And now it is?”
She gave me an only slightly patronizing smile, indicating the exercise of tremendous restraint. “When you force the subject, yes.”
“I don’t recall forcing the subject at all.”
“You brought up the house, I brought up how I felt. End of.”
“I didn’t want to burden her,” I said. “I didn’t know what condition it would be in or what would need to be done and you were more disconnected from the situation.”
“That’s a complete copout. You’re a mistress of avoidance. You know that.”
I was suddenly desperate to change the subject. Which probably proved her point. “I’ve had enough of Washington. I need to get out of here. I need to go home.”
Caroline hesitated before speaking, and I knew she was considering whether to push the issue or let it drop. “Then go home. Just make sure Susannah is involved. Invite her over once you get back to Pennsylvania. She’d like that.”
I ignored that suggestion. No more talk of mothers and daughters. Preferably ever. “Tom bought that house once he finished his residency and formed his surgery practice. He was so proud. He knew we’d made it.”
“I understand,” she said gently. “Why do you think I was so upset when I discovered the condition my house was in? It’s not the bricks and mortar. It’s what’s inside.”
Remnants of my life with Tom were everywhere but Caroline and Jack had fared worse; their home in Maryland had been destroyed during the Santos Administration. They’d renovated their other properties but had written off Rockville as a total loss. Salvaging what little had been left intact inside those four walls had yet to erase the feeling of helplessness the damage had inured.
Chilly fragments of the past popped up for all of us when we least expected. Tom had nicknames for everyone. He was the only person who’d been able to get away with calling me Chrissy until Caroline came along. After he met her for the first time, he dubbed her Punky after the main character on Punky Brewster. Susannah was Susie, Jessica was Jessie. His diminutives were a gift bestowed on a precious few, to reinforce how very much they were loved. Thinking about those quirks of his personality could dredge up a poignant despair I’d never been able to put into words.
Spurred by sentimentality, I still occasionally referred to Caroline as Punky and knew I’d never break her of the habit of calling me Chrissy. Not that I wanted to. It was one of the many things that reminded me not only of him but of the closeness our families had shared.
And that memory was a reminder I had to start arranging my life around people. Family. Friends. Not just stuff or places. Maybe Susannah had more than a few valid points when it came to me expanding my circle. “Now that I’ll only be a few miles down the road, you’ll come and see me, right?”
My insecurity must have shown through that statement because Caroline gave me another hug. “All the time. Any time. Except bank holidays. That’s Caroline Time.”
And Jack Time too, I’d suspect. “Once a week, at least?”
“Twice a week,” she said. “In person. With snacks.”
“Will you bake me things?”
She scooted closer to me on the couch. “Anything you want.”
I felt relaxed enough to prop my feet up on the coffee table. “What shall we do with the very, very few hours I have remaining here?”
Caroline rested her head on my shoulder. That was nice. “Want to short sheet the beds?”
Childish, but amusing. “Maybe.”
“We could set all the clocks back thirteen minutes.”
“Too predictable.”
“Glue all the East Wing office doors shut?”
“Already did that.”
“Is there any ice cream in the kitchen?”
“There’s always ice cream in the kitchen.”
“We could eat it.”
“We could.”
She jumped up. “Oh my god. Bowling. Please?”
“In business suits?”
“That makes it even better. Both of us in skirts and heels, bowling our asses off. Come on, it’ll be fun. You can tell the White House photographer to come along to show you in one last whimsical pose.”
That wouldn’t be happening. “No pictures.”
Caroline scooped another handful of candy, rocking back and forth on her feet. “You’re the one concerned about your legacy. Even Nixon bowled in between recording incriminating conversations.”
“Are you implying that my legacy is going to be Nixonian?”
She chewed thoughtfully. “Well, you didn’t resign and you did help to usher in the moral and political equivalent of a Second Reconstruction, so you’re probably more of an Andrew Johnson. Congress does have a few more hours to start impeachment proceedings.”
“Caroline.” I sighed. “That is not the most helpful comparison.”
“I can’t imagine why you’d be upset that I’m drawing parallels between you and a man widely recognized as the worst president in American history. Except for, you know, that other guy.”
“The
guy I replaced.”
“Indeed,” she said, and I knew she wouldn’t expand on that particular subject at all if she was in a good mood. And she was. “Enough dour stuff. Let’s go have some fun.” She grabbed my hand. “Come on, Chrissy. Allow yourself to enjoy this experience before it goes away.”
I sighed again. Being her best friend was exhausting, but in only good ways. “You really want to go bowling?”
She nodded vigorously. “I really want to go bowling. Madam President. Ma’am.”
There were worse ways to pass the time. Caroline’s presence made the prospect of the next few hours more than tolerable. “Stop with the ma’ams. Follow me, for it is a’bowling we shall go.”
Chapter 3
Caroline beat me soundly in all three games of bowling I managed to complete. A shutout. I switched to real bowling shoes for the final two matchups and it didn’t do me a lick of good. She and I would have to hit the tennis court once spring came, because that was about the only athletic activity in which I had a chance of defeating her.
A casual dinner, a healthy amount of ice cream, and a few hours of bestie heart-to-hearts later, I knew we wouldn’t be getting any decent rest. She didn’t seem to mind since I’d offered up my stylist and makeup artist for the next morning. Even if she’d learned to disdain the spotlight, Caroline Gerard would want to look her best when forced into the public eye.
We’d come to Washington as freshmen Members of Congress in our thirties and forties, respectively. Now she was halfway between forty and fifty and I was nearly sixty. I was quite candidly shocked that a sleepover at our ages could occur without actual sleep. We were both exhausted, but it had been worth it.
I left Washington as soon as was practicable, after I assured the newly inaugurated POTUS that I was available for any and all remaining discussions regarding transition. A quick check of social media trends confirmed that the cameras had indeed been on Caroline and me a good deal of the time, helped along by the very kind words President Bailey had for us both. Caroline sloughed off her own accolades with a hand over her heart and a rather demure blush, but had responded to Bailey’s comments about me by instantly rising to her feet and emphatically clapping her hands until every single person on the platform was standing and applauding along with her. I had to sit there for what felt like forever (though I was later informed it was only about thirty seconds) but it was long enough. I’d have to find a way to pay her back for that little stunt.
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