Authors: Barbara Delinsky
Her soul-searching led to one conclusion—she was playing with fire in prolonging the relationship by having agreed to return to Washington for the floor fight. In the first place, for every additional day she spent in the nation’s capital, there was the heightened risk of running into Bill. At the start, this thought had hounded her, until she quickly discovered the very specific demarcation between the House of Representatives, of which her former husband was now a member, and the Senate, in whose exclusive circles she had remained during her visits. Complacency had come on the heels of relaxation on this score. After all, she neither ate meals out nor dated, either of which situation might have led to an accidental meeting. In truth, her social inactivity had had not as much to do with fear of seeing Bill as with distaste for the offerings. More than once, other legislative assistants, including the subtly lecherous Leo Alteris, had asked her out. Her own mind, however, could think of spending her own free time with but one man—and he walked a very, very straight line.
There was also the very great risk of falling even harder for Drew than she already had. Knowing how futile it was to expect anything more from him than he had already given, she refused to allow herself to consider in detail the full extent of her attachment. Love had no role in Washington; it was a wasted exercise to consider it. But the heart had ways of overriding the mind on all too many occasions. This she knew intuitively. Actually, with Bill, it had been the other way around. Fully aware that she was not enmeshed in blinding love, marriage to Bill had simply seemed right at the time. She was attracted to him, both physically and emotionally, and the kind of life he promised was everything she had always dreamed of. It had been a rude awakening to learn that those things meant absolutely nothing without love and respect between their partners. The glimpse she’d had of Drew, both as a senator and as a person, was beautiful, and she knew, in her heart, that she did have his respect. Love was another thing. If late hours, frequent separations, and the ever-present stress of the limelight were to be borne, there had to be love.
On impulse she phoned her mother one evening. “Are you all right, sweetheart?” she had asked quickly, surprised at receiving such an unexpected call.
Daran had as quickly reassured her. “I’m fine, Mother. I just felt like saying hello and talking for a bit.” Up until this point, she had said nothing to her mother about her summer activities. From the silence on the matter, gossip had not spread quite as far as Cleveland. For Mary Abbott was not one to stand on ceremony; had she heard anything, she would have surely asked long before now.
“Well, what have you been up to? Anything exciting?” The woman was obviously pleased at having heard from her daughter on such an impromptu basis, and it was this warmth of tone that prompted Daran to elaborate on her excitement. Her mother was thrilled. “So you’ve been in Washington all this time?” she asked enthusiastically when Daran had finished outlining her role in shaping the Rights of Minors Act.
“Well, only for a few days each week.” Daran was fast to qualify the impression. “I still have these other things going here—you know, my counseling and the Advocacy Project.”
“But Washington! That’s right in the middle of it, dear! Your Senator Charles has built quite a reputation. We hear his name mentioned often. How was it—working for him?”
How was it working for him?
It had been the most exciting, the most inspiring, the most rewarding thing that Daran had done to date. “Very interesting, Mother,” she replied noncommittally. “He is bright and a hard worker. Needless to say, his staff is kept on its toes. He pounced on me more than once for not having four sources, rather than three, to corroborate my claims.”
“Hmm, sounds like an ogre.” The return quip was offered with good humor on the part of Mary Abbott; she had seen enough of politicians to know that while each had his smiling side, there lurked, somewhere beneath, the makings of a scowl.
Too quickly Daran spoke up in Drew’s defense. “Oh, no. He was really a good boss. I never mind working my tail off for a good cause.”
“And his is one? I take it you changed your original opinion?” The grin on her mother’s face was evident in her tone.
“Yes, Mother. It was a good cause. And, yes, I did change my original opinion.” Without elaborating and having made enough of a confession for the time being, Daran veered off on a tangent. “Tell me, Mother. How do
you
do it? How do
you
survive the whole rat race of politics? How has your marriage come through the past twenty-some-odd years intact?” It was a question that Daran had never before quite had the courage to ask as bluntly.
There was a brief silence on the line as her mother contemplated the answer. When it came, however, its spontaneity was as evident as its honesty.
“I love Hugh. We
make
it work. Keep in mind, of course, dear, that he is not quite as much on the pigeon’s stoop as one of those senators or representatives. In some ways Hugh has more power from backstage, where he operates.” Daran knew all too well what she meant, and, although she didn’t approve of her stepfather’s tactics all the time, she had to acknowledge that he got things done. “And, though you may not have known it at the time,” her mother continued softly, recalling that time herself, “there was many a day back there when I wondered whether it was worth it. But I
did
love Hugh. And I was willing to fight to keep him. So I turned myself into the kind of person who could function by his side, day in and day out.”
A year ago, perhaps even as recently as a few months ago, Daran might have scoffed at the woman as the embodiment of the downtrodden female. But there was nothing downtrodden about Mary Abbott. And now, for some reason, her daughter had mellowed. “Didn’t it ever bother you—not having an identity of your own?”
A gentle laugh danced along the wire. “Oh, but I did. I had and still have the most interesting and exciting life that I could have imagined. And I am Hugh’s wife and your mother. No other woman in the world can make that claim!”
In that instant Daran’s admiration of her own mother was at an all-time high. Though her own aspirations were quite different, she had to respect the woman, not only for her determination but for her confidence, her pride, and the devotion which welled so readily within her. “Do you ever wish—” Daran’s own voice softened to a more vulnerable chord “—that you could just go away somewhere, you and Hugh, to live out your lives together, away from all the hullabaloo?” A vision of Drew’s father appeared before her eyes, and she recalled the tragic death of the woman who might have happily shared that isolated cottage in the woods with him, had she been able to survive the years before.
Her mother’s response brought her back to the telephone receiver in her hand. “I wish
that
at some point, some small point, of every day of every year. But it passes. After all, this
is
our life. It’s what we love doing. For the small satisfaction of escaping some of those pressures, we would be left with a very peaceful shell of a life.”
Daran remained silent for a long time. Finally she sighed. “I wish we had talked of this years ago.” Her voice was quiet, her words heartfelt. This closeness she felt now for her mother was gratifying. “It might have saved me an awful lot of anger over the years. I never quite understood…” The cut in her voice reflected so many different thoughts that she wondered if, in fact, she understood anything more now. But Mary Abbott’s follow-up startled her, pushing all sorting out into the future.
“Daran, are you trying to tell me something? Is there someone?” With a gasp, she added, “Are you seeing Bill again?”
“No!” Vehemence gave strength to her denial. “I haven’t seen Bill. It’s just that I realize now that I went into that whole thing with the wrong frame of mind.”
“Does Bill know you’ve been in Washington?” Daran was too wrapped up in her own thoughts to sense her mother’s misinterpretation.
“Not that I know of. I’ve kept pretty much to myself except for work with Drew and his staff.”
Her mother chose her words carefully. “How long will you be in Washington in August?”
“I’m not sure. A week, maybe more. Why?”
“Will you be able to come visit us at all before classes begin again in September?” With the skill of the gracious conversationalist, Mrs. Abbott changed the subject.
Again Daran missed the strategy of the move. Again it was unusual for her. In the past she had been skeptical of every word her mother said, and her every motive for saying it. Now, however, her mind was otherwise occupied.
“Ah, I’m not sure, Mother. I’d like to try to fly out sometime right around Labor Day, but it will pretty much have to be last minute. There’s so much else happening.”
Indeed there was, both in her own mind and in her life. As she hung up the telephone several moments later, she wondered about this enlightening conversation she had held with her mother. Her mother had, quite inadvertently, given her the key concepts to help explain the failure of her marriage. It was no longer enough to blame Bill for his insensitivity, his egotism, his physical brutality. Daran had herself to blame, in part. She should have never agreed to marry Bill in the first place. Perhaps, had she known then more of her mother’s deeper feelings, she might have foreseen the disaster. She had not loved Bill enough to mold her life to his. She had had too many hopes and dreams of her own to be able to agree to Bill’s demands of total submission. It was a match doomed from the start.
What, then, about the future? Suppose her feelings for Drew grew even stronger. Suppose he held more than just a fond regard for her. What then? Could they forge a life together, welded around both his political career and her own as a psychologist? Then she caught herself short. Drew did
not
love her. The silence of her telephone line gave witness to that! Yet, she couldn’t help but go into her bedroom, remove the leather jewelry case from her dresser, and put the exquisitely glittering diamond studs into her ears. It was a ridiculous picture—the grace of the earrings in comparison to her ultracasual shirt and shorts. Yet it gave her some unfathomable solace to look, to touch, to remember.
* * *
If Daran thought that the Senate fight would be a token one, she was greatly mistaken. When she arrived in Washington, on the arrangements of the ever-faithful but strangely harried John Hollings, the office was abuzz with meetings and huddles, phone calls and executive sessions. It was the third week in August. The Rights of Minors Act was to be opened for discussion on the Senate floor two days after she arrived. Immediately she was made privy to the score of amendments that other senators planned to offer to modify the Act to their specifications.
Where she had expected simply to be a spectator, suddenly she found herself fully in the midst of the fray, studying amendments, listing pros and cons, examining, along with Leo and the others, just what part of the original bill could be sacrificed for the purpose of bargaining.
Having been without sight or sound of Senator Drew Charles for the better part of three weeks, his appearance, that first morning of her return to the Capitol, was jolting. Magnificent as ever in the aura that enveloped his entire being, he was nonetheless tired, more tightly coiled, and shorter of temper than when she had seen him last. The wan smile she received when he spotted her across the room was a pale imitation of the warm welcome she would have preferred. But it was the work that quickly engulfed them all, such that Daran had no time to brood about the strengths or weaknesses or deeper meanings of one pitiful smile.
Again she found herself by Drew’s side for much of the day. The hurried pace from his office to the underground subway, then on to the Senate floor became a routine, every minute in transit used for discussion of the item to be discussed when they arrived. From her post with other legislative aides at the rear of the chamber, Daran studied Drew as he managed the bill, delivering the powerful arguments which she had herself fought for in weeks past. In the end, some of the points fell prey, of necessity, to the survival of others. As Drew had explained, it was a matter of compromise. The primary goal was that the bill pass. Opposition was heavy, as it was with any far-reaching new concept. When, after days of arguing back and forth, the roll call vote was taken, she quaked in anticipation.
Waiting beside John Hollings, as each of the senators’ names were individually called, she chatted softly with the administrative assistant. “He is stupendous out there, isn’t he?”
The beam of her amber gaze focused sharply on the tall, sandy-haired man who awaited his turn to cast his vote. She was oblivious to John’s own study of her, which took in the warm pink of her cheeks, the fullness of her smile, and the glowing pride that her eyes expressed. “Yes, Daran, he’s quite a man. But you’re going to have to do something about his orneriness. It’s been terrible lately.” The gleam of humor in his eye told only half of the story; the other half John Hollings was too loyal to divulge.
Recalling the tension she’d seen herself too often in him, she laughed softly. “He’ll ease up once this is over. It’s taken so much of his time and energy.”
For long moments, the other continued to scrutinize her as the vague murmur of voices in the background registered the fast-sealing fate of their love-child. “What is the count, Leo?” He turned suddenly to the man on his other side.
“This is a hair-raiser. The tally is thirty-three to twenty-seven. We have a supposed majority of those senators still to vote, but you never can tell until the final call.”
Daran heard enough to set her pulse to racing. This was the moment she had waited for, had worked for for the past three months. All three of Senator Charles’s staffers stood silently, motionless, as, one by one, the votes came in. When the 57 to 43 result was announced, declaring victory for the Rights of Minors Act and all who would be one day affected by it, she nearly burst with joy. Proper decorum was the operative mode, however—until they reached the protective walls of the offices once more. Then glee rang out loud and clear. It was both a triumph for the children of the country and for the future standing of the junior senator from the state of Connecticut!