Zachary's Christmas

by M. L. Buchman

  They’d seated Daniel across the table which wasn’t far enough—his constant hovering was making it hard to be herself; almost as much as wearing a dress. To her right sat Zack and Alice, who were still discussing climate change and world politics—apparently the Vice President had found the analyst he was looking for in Anne’s sister-in-law. Alice rattled off project names and statistics as if this was her CIA specialty rather than North Korean and Chinese politics.

  To her left sat the First Lady and President Matthews. Anne was a little surprised that they hadn’t ended up man-woman the whole way around as was done at almost every formal dinner she’d ever attended or given. Sitting next to the First Lady was almost as daunting as sitting beside Zachary.

  Geneviève was easily the most alarming woman Anne had ever met. Of French-Vietnamese descent, not only was she a Director for the UNESCO World Heritage Convention, she notoriously had saved the President’s life, married him, and given him a daughter—presently asleep with her nanny. As if that wasn’t enough, the First Lady was a renowned beauty, as tall as the President with a statuesque figure, pale skin, and a lush fall of dark hair.

  Why was Zack even looking at Anne when he could easily have his choice of similar smooth, urban beauties? Well, maybe not like Geneviève, but at least like Cornelia Day. Anne was so out of her league here that—

  She shut down the thought and did what she could to survive the evening. Thankfully, her family entertained frequently and she’d known how to be social at a dinner table since before she’d learned to tie her shoelaces. If only Zachary hadn’t hooked his foot around hers beneath the table. It forced her entire body to hum with anticipation throughout the meal.

  Over dessert of sweet wine and braised pears, the First Lady winked at her, “This problem I know,” she offered in her light French accent that only added to the perfection, unlike Anne’s own Holly Hunter imitation making her sound all the more rural.

  “What problem?”

  “Oh dear. You are so in the beginnings that you do not even see. Mais oui? I have forgotten what that is like. I think that makes it a very good beginning. Very good. You must be calling me Genny from now on.” Anne looked to Zack for some explanation, but he was talking to the President and Daniel about the Washington Redskins football team. Alice however, was leaning around Zack and watching the First Lady.

  “Really?” Alice leaned further forward and looked carefully into Anne’s face.

  Anne almost reached for her napkin to wipe it clean. Or maybe she’d just hide behind the linen, do a magic trick and disappear.

  “Oh!” Alice blinked in surprise. “I missed that,” she spoke to Genny, then she flashed a huge smile at Anne.

  “What?” Anne would have hissed it at Alice, but knew from experience that the best way to avoid attracting the attention of other people at the table was to speak perfectly normally.

  True to form, there were two distinct conversations going on. The three men discussing a topic she’d be much more comfortable with, and the two women in deep cahoots over some thing or other that had Anne shifting nervously in her seat.

  “Men,” the First Lady clapped her hands together in a peremptory fashion. “Men, you are now going away. Watch one of your games or conquer the world to make your women safe.”

  The President leaned over to kiss his wife, Anne noted that it was far more than a casual act, then dutifully rose to his feet. Daniel—always too reserved—merely squeezed his wife’s hand. Zachary rose, then leaned down to kiss her on top of the head. It was sweet and did nothing to calm her sudden nerves.

  She looked at him, hoping that he’d see her expression begging him to take her away. But Zack didn’t and merely proceeded on his way out the door with the others. Or perhaps he did and ignored it because no one argued with the First Lady.

  Alice moved her teacup and then herself into Zack’s seat. Now Anne was truly trapped.

  # # #

  “Frank,” the President called out to the head of his Protection Detail as the three of them entered the West Sitting Hall. “Please tell me there’s a game on.”

  In moments Frank and Harvey had followed them back to the Living Room. Beat headed in to check on the other women. And Zack wished Anne luck.

  He was having trouble hiding his smile from the others. He’d seen Anne’s panicked plea; couldn’t have missed it from atop a Rocky Mountain peak. But she was just going to have learn the hard way—the same as he had—that Kim-Ly Geneviève Beauchamp Matthews was not as terrifying as she looked. Well, perhaps she was, but she was so awfully nice about it. However, the First Lady was not a woman to be denied and he wasn’t about to try.

  The President opened an armoire and revealed a large television. Frank dropped into one of the armchairs and began inspecting a football schedule on his phone.

  Harvey looked at Zack as to whether he should stay and Zack could only shrug. Watching a friendly game with “the guys,” he wasn’t any more sure of the protocols than Harvey was. As VP, he’d been a common enough visitor on the second floor of the White House, but mostly as a part of social functions, which were a recent innovation.

  First Lady Katherine Matthews, prior to her untimely death, had entertained without the President on the third floor where Daniel and Alice now lived. She and the President were only ever seen together when in public. The top floor had been Katherine’s domain and, to the best of Zack’s knowledge, the President still never went up there.

  The White House had become a livelier and friendlier place with the arrival of Genny Matthews. She entertained more and it was as much through her as through Zack’s own daily interactions with the President that he and Peter had become friends. But the President was very reserved in many ways—DC born and bred and perhaps overly self-conscious about his role. He only truly relaxed around his childhood friend turned helicopter pilot. Anne should be glad she wasn’t facing Emily Beale; she was even more daunting than the First Lady.

  # # #

  Anne half rose to follow the men anyway, but when she turned, the female agent stood in the doorway. She was powerfully curved, and terribly imposing in her dark suit. A beautiful woman, but her standout feature was her eyes—they missed nothing.

  They clearly didn’t miss Anne’s halfhearted attempt at beating a hasty retreat. She moved into a blocking position in the doorway. The agent was only a few inches taller than Anne, but Anne gave up any hopes of retreat when she noted how completely she blocked the doorway—she filled it more effectively than a woman twice her size.

  “Beatrice,” the First Lady spoke up without turning, “could you make us some tea, please? I would, but I fear that Anne will still need to decide in her mind that she is where she belongs. Oui?” Her position effectively blocked any escape to the left.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Beatrice offered a glare that told Anne she wasn’t going anywhere, then turned for the small family kitchen. The main kitchen was downstairs from which their dinner had arrived via a dumbwaiter, to be served by stewards who ascended in the tiny elevator and had now departed.

  “No, Genny,” Alice blocked Anne’s options to the right. “We don’t need to worry. She’s from Tennessee. Anne is too polite to run, even given the chance.”

  “Just…” Anne had to swallow against a dry throat, she really did need some tea. “Just try me. Give me an escape route and my next stop will be—”

  “One Observatory Circle,” Alice offered calmly. “While the Vice President might appreciate that, it is far too soon to appease him so easily.”

  Anne didn’t want to appease him, she wanted to burrow up against his chest and hide from the two women facing her. Beatrice returned with a tray laden with rattling china, lemon, sugar, and milk. Make that three women facing her. Make it four and then she could be hiding from herself as well…which was exactly what she couldn’t do. The First Lady was right; she couldn’t run.

>   “Besides,” Genny patted Anne’s hand and she felt soothed despite herself, “it is time we came to know you just as it is time for Peter and Zachary to become more properly acquainted.”

  Anne was about to ask why now was any different than yesterday, but then decided she wouldn’t like the answer.

  “I looked for cookies, ma’am,” Beatrice shrugged, “but—”

  “The President has eaten them all, I know it is très problématique. He does this always, I must fight with tooth and nail for my share.”

  Anne recalled the box she’d stuffed into her pack before leaving Tennessee. “I brought Christmas cookies, ma’am. For Daniel, but I forgot to give them to him. They might be a little stale, but I can run up to my room and get them.”

  “Too distracted by a handsome Vice President, perhaps?” Alice teased.

  “It’s not fair that my favorite sister-in-law gets to tease me.”

  “As your only sister-in-law, I find the honor of ‘favorite’ unimpressive in that respect, but gladly accept it in all others. However, there’s not a chance I’m letting you escape that easily. They’re in your room?”

  “On the night stand,” Anne did her best to sound grouchy, but she liked Alice too much to put any heat behind it.

  Alice left in pursuit of sugar and Beatrice returned to the kitchen at the kettle’s shrill whistle.

  The Dining Room was suddenly very quiet.

  The First Lady reached out and took her hand. “My good friend, Anne. Do not be so afraid.”

  “I’m not actually afraid of any of you. Merely terribly humbled and completely out of my element.”

  “You are not scared, you are terrifié! But I agree that it is not of me or Daniel’s Alice.”

  “I don’t mind if she’s afraid of me,” Beatrice returned carrying a large snow-white teapot with black raven silhouettes soaring across the surface.

  “Oh foof,” the First Lady waved a dismissive hand. “You are not scary to the people you love.”

  Beatrice’s easy shrug of acceptance also lifted her jacket enough to reveal the large handgun in the shoulder holster that rested against the side of her breast.

  “It is,” the First Lady returned her attention to Anne, “the man who has so touched your heart. Mais oui? He is what you cannot account for.”

  Anne did not like being so thoroughly transparent. However her likes and dislikes appeared to be of little consequence in this case. She toyed with Zack’s tie a bit and felt a sense of comfort that only reinforced her growing feelings for him. She’d barely taken it off except to shower before dinner. Now she wished she’d run while she’d still had the chance.

  “Here they are,” Alice returned with the large box of homemade Christmas cookies.

  That’s when Anne remembered just what was in there. “Perhaps we should send down to the kitchen instead…” She reached for the box, but Alice held it away out of her reach as she sat down.

  While Beatrice joined them, facing the door, and the First Lady poured, Anne tried to signal Alice about just what kind of cookies were in the box.

  Alice merely smiled and began slitting the tape. After three years with Daniel she knew exactly what sort Anne always made for her brother.

  # # #

  “No games happing in the Eastern Conference, Mr. President,” Frank announced.

  “How about some Scrabble?”

  Zack opened his mouth to say it wasn’t really his game, but he’d be glad to take on the President—but Daniel cut him off.

  “Don’t! No, Mr. Vice President,” Daniel began pulling beers out of a small mini-fridge. “Don’t even think it. He and the First Lady would play at international levels if they could afford the three days for the World Championship. With their pseudonyms they anonymously rule the online Scrabble world.”

  The President was doing an impressive job of looking innocent and shocked. He was a skilled enough politician that Zack might have bought it…if he hadn’t seen Frank Adams shaking his head warningly from close behind the President.

  “How about Western Conference?” Zack went for the safe play.

  “San Diego State is facing down Colorado State tonight,” Frank announced.

  “If they win,” Harvey noted, “that will knock the Air Force Falcons completely out of the running after the whupping they took from Stanford.”

  “Hey,” Zack did his best to glare at his agent. “I thought you were supposed to defend me?”

  “Only from bad guys, Mr. Vice President,” Harvey answered easily. “Bad teams, I’ve got no help for you.”

  “They weren’t bad. They just…” It was a losing argument anyway, because…

  “…got their butts kicked,” the President wasn’t being helpful either.

  “I could have outrun those guys,” Harvey muttered, “and I’m not talking about back in the day.”

  To tease Zack, Anne had rooted for Stanford during the game when they’d watched it last night. Last night? Had it been so recently? He tried counting back the days, but it didn’t work. He reached two and that was as far as it went. The concert at the Conservatory and last night. He’d never, well, not since his Air Force days, slept with a woman on their second date.

  Last night he may not have slept much, but he’d certainly made love to Anne Darlington. As memorable as those moments had been, they were not the highlights that came first to mind. Much more strongly he remembered her lying in his arms on the Library couch wearing only his tie and one of his dress shirts unbuttoned, curled up together beneath a blanket and content to just watch the game as if they’d done it a thousand nights before.

  But most of all, he remembered when she had turned from his photo to look at him. I think Mr. Vice President that it is dangerous for two such lonely people to stand here in such silence.

  He had been raised beneath a shroud of impenetrable silence. He had escaped and filled his world with his own achievements: Air Force, state Senate, Governor, and Vice President. But Anne had seen past that so effortlessly. She’d also seen the boy he’d thought was carefully hidden—so deep that Zack himself only saw him on rare and particularly lonely nights.

  A bright laugh sounded from across the hall just as Frank turned up the volume on the television.

  “Tonight,” one of the announcers spoke snidely as if he knew the Vice President had just tuned in, “San Diego is expected to trounce Colorado State with a projected sixteen point spread and secure their place in the playoffs.”

  Bad news all around.

  # # #

  When they opened the cookie box, sharp ginger and sweet sugar overwhelmed the scent of the chamomile tea until it was thick in the Dining Room. Anne wanted to hide her head in shame as the other three women howled with laughter over the cookies. Even Beatrice’s serious demeanor had cracked as the first of “Anne’s Specials”—as her Christmas cutout cookies were known in the family—were revealed.

  Alice picked up a decidedly sneaky looking elf spiking Santa’s eggnog. That wasn’t too bad.

  Beatrice’s selection was a pair of gingerbread reindeer lying together as if exhausted by sex. A little too reminiscent of Anne’s own position in Zack’s arms last night.

  Then the First Lady reached into the box and unearthed Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Santa was bent down as if peeking under his wife’s red royal icing dress complete with white trim.

  The three of them were laughing and comparing the cookies.

  Anne resisted hanging her head, “I made them to embarrass Daniel, not me.”

  “And how is that working for you?” Alice bit off the sly elf’s head.

  “About as well as usual,” Anne suddenly felt very sad. Nothing was going the way she’d planned this holiday season. She’d always enjoyed Christmas, it was a wonderful time on farm, but this time all she felt was misery.

  “She needs a
cookie,” Beatrice nudged the box across the table.

  Anne reached in without looking. For a moment she didn’t even remember making this cookie, but it had her trademark style. And then she remembered the painstaking decorations she’d done. Gingerboy and gingergirl stood hip to hip with their arms around each other’s waist. She’d decorated it to be Alice and Daniel; after all, the box had been intended for them. It was the one sweet cookie in a box of questionable elves and sated reindeer.

  She tried to hand the cookie over to Alice, “You should save this one, I made it of the two of you.”

  Alice studied it, but didn’t take it from her. “That doesn’t look like me, that looks like you.”

  “No it doesn’t,” but even as she said it, Anne was studying the cookie. The gingergirl didn’t have the curly brunette mop that always looked so cute on Alice, instead she had long blond hair like Anne’s own. Why had she done that? And the gingerboy didn’t look like Daniel, but instead was mostly faceless with non-descript hair.

  Geneviève leaned in closely and rested a hand on Anne’s shoulder. “Now that you know what your true love looks like, you can finish this cookie and make it idéal!”

  It would take only the tiniest bit of royal icing to draw in Zack’s dark hair and beard, his warm brown eyes would be hard to match for they were so alive, and of course a silver tie, for she would always think of him in it. Then it would be—

  “My what?” The First Lady’s words had finally sunk in like a hammer blow.

  “Twelve seconds,” Alice looked up from her watch. “You have an impressive reaction time, sister. Slow on the uptake, but your recovery time was far better than mine. When Emily told me that I loved Daniel, I heard her sooner, but it was at least a minute and a glass of wine about so large,” she held her palms way apart, “before I was able to respond.”