66
As much as I wanted to stay and celebrate, the kids needed to go to bed. And while Nancy repeated her offer to keep them overnight so Michael and I could “celebrate properly,” as she put it, Robbie had school in the morning.
Besides, Michael was on the phone giving an interview to the Washington Post . So I flagged Stuart over, and he carried Robbie out to the car while my father lifted Debbie.
Once they were in, I hugged Stuart tightly around his waist. “Don’t get all mushy on me now,” he said. But he wasn’t grumbling for once.
I smiled and released him, holding out a hand, which he shook. “We made a good team, you and I,” I said.
“We did. Although somehow I don’t think I’ve seen the last of you.”
I laughed. “I think that’s a safe bet. Tell Michael to call me tomorrow?”
Stuart raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think I need to tell him that.”
“No. I suppose not.”
“You did well,” he said. “Really, really well.”
It wasn’t an apology for being a jerk when I started. But it was better than one. This was no grudging praise.
“You take care of our guy,” I said. “And Linda.”
He looked uncomfortable. “You saw that?”
“I did.”
“I like her,” he said. “But she’s so young still ...”
“I already had Robbie when I was her age. Besides, she’s got life experience.” I touched his arm. “Be happy. Life’s too short not to.”
Stuart ducked his head slightly, but I saw the smile he was hiding. “Drive safe,” he said before turning to go back into the club. But he looked over his shoulder. “Give me a call when it’s time for your campaign.”
“My campaign?”
He grinned broadly. “I know a good candidate when I see one.”
Laughing, I turned to the car to see my mother tucking a jacket around Robbie. Debbie was already similarly covered, a lipstick kiss on her forehead.
My father watched in amusement as his coat became a blanket for his grandson, then looked up at me and smiled. He put a hand on my arm and squeezed gently. “I’m so proud of you,” he said, his voice thick.
“Are you okay to drive?” I asked.
“What? Of course I am. I just ...” He wiped at an eye.
“Oh, Papa,” I said, wrapping my arms around him, my own eyes watering. “Don’t cry.”
He squeezed me back. “My little miracle worker.”
“I couldn’t have done it without your help.”
“Yes,” he said. “You could. And don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”
I wiped at my eyes with the back of my hand.
The valet brought their car around, and my father hugged me one last time before releasing me. My mother took my hand and squeezed it as she passed.
“What will you do with all your free time now?” I asked her.
She smiled. “Oh, I don’t think I’ll have trouble keeping busy. Besides, you’ll still need someone to watch the kids while you write that column.”
I looked at her, realizing that she hadn’t reconciled with my father entirely because he bailed her out of jail. My needing her had given my mother a sense of purpose that had been lacking in the last few years. The same way working on Michael’s campaign had for me.
“I’ll always need you, Mama.”
She squeezed my hand again. “Need me a little later tomorrow. After all this excitement, I’m going to sleep in.”
“You should,” I said. “And thank you. For everything.”
“That’s the secret, you know. You never stop being a mother. Even when your kids are grown.” She climbed through the door my father was holding open for her. “And keep the car,” she said. “Call it a congratulations gift.”
I thanked her again, then watched, smiling as their car pulled away.
The air was chilly, and my coat was tucked around Debbie, so I got into the driver’s seat and put the car—my car—in drive.
We headed up the tree-lined drive to Rockville Pike, which was quite deserted so late on a Tuesday. Fitting that it ended here, I thought, remembering how Stuart had changed my speech their first time at the club.
Except all that had ended was the campaign. The real work was just beginning. And I would be lying if I said a part of me didn’t want to be in on the rest. But a glimpse in the rearview mirror as we passed under a streetlight reminded me that I already had the most important job.
Debbie let out a sigh in her sleep, and I smiled again. That was at least one little girl who would grow up knowing mommies could slay dragons too. I didn’t know that Stuart was right about me, but Debbie would be thirty-five in 1995. Maybe by 1996, the world would be ready for a female president. My eyes darted to Robbie. He’d hate that. Not because she was a girl, but imagine having to tell everyone that yes, your baby sister was the president.
Maybe she’d let me work on her campaign though. I did have the chops now.
I woke Robbie to get him inside and carried Debbie in, humming “Hail to the Chief” softly as she stirred. I laid her on her bed, then got Robbie changed and tucked him in.
“Did we win?” he asked through a yawn.
“We did,” I whispered, leaning in to kiss his forehead.
“Yay,” he said, then rolled over and was asleep.
I got Debbie into her pajamas, but her eyes opened when I tried to brush her teeth. “I seep in your bed. Pease, Mama?”
I shook my head. “No, honey. Big girls sleep in their own beds.” She started to protest, but I smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead. “But Mommy will be home with you tomorrow. Should we make a cake to celebrate?”
She yawned. “Chocolate?”
“Whatever kind you want.”
“Okay,” she said. “I seep here. Love you, Mama.”
I kissed her one more time. “I love you too. Good night, Madam President.”
For a long moment, I stood in her doorway, watching her sleep. Then I made my way downstairs, where I poured myself a drink. The house was strangely quiet with the kids asleep and my parents gone. Maybe we should get a dog, I thought. The kids would certainly love it. My mother wouldn’t, but, well ... it wasn’t her house. It was mine.
Mine. I sipped my drink, then almost dropped the glass when there was a knock at the door. Glancing down at my new watch, I saw it was after midnight.
Larry, I thought. Even if it was congratulatory, he was the last person I wanted to see when I was riding such a high. I debated pretending I was already asleep, but with the lights on, he’d know that wasn’t true.
With a sigh, I went to the front door and opened it. “Listen, it’s late—oh!”
Michael was standing on the doorstep, flowers in hand. “You left without saying goodbye,” he said.
I inclined my head to invite him in, and he held out the flowers. “Where did you get these this late?”
He grinned sheepishly. “Swiped them from a centerpiece at the club.”
I laughed, then looked up at him. “The kids are sleeping.” I bit my bottom lip suggestively.
“Now you listen,” Michael said primly. “I’m not that kind of girl.” I laughed again. “Think you can find a sitter for tomorrow night?”
“I think I can arrange that.”
“Good,” he said. “I want to take you out on a proper date. Now that you’re not my campaign manager anymore.”
“I’d like that.”
He put the flowers down on the console table and took me in his arms, kissing me deeply.
“Good night,” he said after breaking the kiss. “And thank you. For absolutely everything.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” I asked.
“More than anything,” he said quietly. “But I’m doing this right. Because you deserve it.” He kissed me one more time and then left, closing the door behind him. I leaned up against it, wiping at a leaky eye. Who on earth was I with all these tears?
Me, I thought. And that’s enough .
I shut off the lights and climbed the stairs, only to find a Debbie-shaped lump in my bed. Rome wasn’t built in a day, I thought. But I wasn’t worried. If I could win a campaign, I could move mountains. And I could certainly train a future president to sleep in her own bed.
Maybe.