Zachary's Christmas

by M. L. Buchman

“The surprise is mutual, Ms. Day.” Anne suspected they could even become friends, which was an even greater shock. Anne had plenty of friends back in Tennessee, but they were more for socializing with. Aside from her mother—who she’d discovered to be a wonderful and thoughtful woman once they’d both survived Anne’s terrible teens—Anne had enjoyed more heart-to-hearts with astonishing women in the last week than in the prior decade.

  “Will we be seeing you on the plane, Ms. Darlington?”

  “Anne. And I don’t know yet. I’d best go talk to my brother and see if he can help me decide.”

  “He left for the Hill an hour ago. He’s not expected back until after it would be time to depart for the airport. Would you like me to try and reach him for you?”

  Anne shook her head. She didn’t know if he’d be of help anyway, but her options were running a tad bit thin. She certainly wasn’t going to talk to the President about the implications of her sex life with his VP.

  Cornelia’s phone rang.

  Anne waved for her to take it, “I’ll go wander the halls and see what inspiration strikes.”

  “Good luck,” Cornelia mouthed as she lifted the phone. It looked as if she meant it.

  # # #

  “The CIA analyst is here for your next meeting, Mr. Vice President.”

  Zack waved a hand for Cornelia to send him in without looking up from his notes. “Find out what they’d like for lunch and order two of them, would you?”

  “Peasant under glass. Make it a cute one.”

  Zack glanced up to see Alice Darlington grinning at him. “I’ve been following up on the conversations we had last week, so they sent me to brief you.” She plummeted into the chair across his desk in a way that he was learning was a Darlington-woman trademark—native-born or married-in. Alice wore a red cardigan with a brown moose knit in above her left breast. Knitted snow slipped down from the white collar in tiny stitches of white, some landing on the moose’s back and antlers. She wore a matching knit hat that did little to control the brown curls of her hair.

  “If you can’t find a cute peasant, I’ll take a turkey on rye and a Coke. Thanks, Cornelia.”

  His assistant disappeared.

  Zack looked down at the thick files Alice was holding and did his best not to wince. What he wanted to do was track down Anne and talk her into going with him, hours had gone by and he still hadn’t heard her decision about Italy. Instead, he’d focus on climate change and pay attention to the present. “Please tell me there’s a short version to those files.”

  Alice had shed her hat so her cheerful nod swirled dark hair over her green eyes. “No, wait, these are the short version.”

  Zack gave a dutiful groan and hoped she was teasing.

  “Or we can talk about my sister-in-law.”

  He glanced at the door, saw that Cornelia had considerately closed it, and he turned once more to face Alice. Did he dare? Was it cheating to talk to one woman about another? Or even worse, discussing Daniel’s sister with his wife? He decided that he didn’t care.

  “I’d like that.”

  “Good! Eleven days you’ve been playing house together, if you count the first night before she moved in as well. Please tell me you have done more than had sex with her.”

  Zack had to blink hard to catch up with the conversation.

  “Of course I have. We’ve eaten, slept, showered, watched football. A wide variety of other activities.”

  “So, playing house with the pretty lady. But what about her?”

  “What about her?” One of his specialties was his ability to anticipate and even control the conversation. He’d crossed from the Colorado Senate into the Governorship in only three years. He’d stopped strikes, proposed and passed wildfire legislation, even managed to lead migrant workers and union leaders to the same table and hammered out accords between them. Keeping ahead of Alice Darlington was being another challenge entirely; he wasn’t even sure what the conversation was.

  Alice thumped the stack of files down on his desk, crossed her arms, and flipped enough hair aside to glare at him with one eye. “You do know why she came to Washington DC, don’t you? And before you answer that, no, it had nothing to do with you.”

  Zack had lost sight of that. He thought back to that first meeting in Daniel’s office. She’d been…sad. She hid it well beneath that wall of easy humor, but the sadness had been there. And lonely.

  “Two such lonely people,” she’d said.

  Somehow, this beautiful charismatic woman thought she was alone in the world. He’d watched her laughing with Alice, the First Lady, and even the agents, Beatrice and Detra. He’d seen her tease her brother until the Chief of Staff was at a complete loss for what to do next—and Daniel always knew what to do next.

  “Ah, the light goes on!” Alice pointed to the ceiling as if she controlled the sun itself.

  Anne had come to tell Daniel she was done with the family farm, but never a word about what came next. They were practically living together and Zack suddenly understood just how little he knew about her. Her hesitation at breakfast this morning suddenly made perfect sense, as if she was finding her way in the dark—one step at a time. And he had left her alone on her journey.

  “I have to go find her,” he pushed to his feet just as Cornelia opened the office door carrying a lunch tray set up for two.

  “She’s with the First Lady, Mr. Vice President,” Cornelia set the tray down and looked at him levelly. The anger and mistrust that had simmered all week and flared every time Anne was mentioned had disappeared. Instead…

  Zack slowly lowered himself back into his chair as the two women watched him.

  “Well, I wouldn’t presume to interrupt her there.” At his nod, Cornelia withdrew, but he suddenly wondered who’s side she was on. He pulled over a sandwich and a bag of chips. “Let’s see what’s in those files, Alice.”

  “As you wish, Mr. Vice President,” and she opened the first one.

  # # #

  Anne had wandered for much of the morning. Detra had caught her mood and faded into the background. Anne’s badge gained her admittance to much of the complex and she let the ebb and flow of the Christmas tide carry her along. The West Wing was a hive of activity and purposefulness that rapidly drove her toward the Residence. She discovered the China Room and the Map Room, but neither held her attention.

  She spent a while sitting with the main White House Christmas tree in the Blue Room. It was a peaceful corner, well out of everyone’s way. The eighteen-foot blue spruce was even bigger than the farm’s traditional monster. The White House had elicited ornaments from fifth-grade classes in every state capital. Tens of thousands of white balls had been sent out and the best of each school had been chosen to travel to DC. Hundreds of red-nosed reindeer, green-clad elves (who weren’t spiking Santa’s eggnog), and cheery Santas adorned the tree. Some bore the state fish or bird; it was a very merry tree.

  “What if?” she asked the tree. It was a fairly obvious question.

  What if she and Zack became a couple?

  What if he was elected President at the end of Peter Matthew’s second term?

  Would she be sitting here some few years in the future and the grandest achievement of her year would be the theme of a White House Christmas tree? She’d rather be back on the farm if that was the case. There, at least, she knew what was needed and expected of the only Darlington daughter. The farm needed her, or could at least make good use of her, but she didn’t need or want the farm.

  She—

  “Look!”

  Anne glanced over to see a tour was entering the room. Cameras out, snapping pictures. Except they weren’t looking at the tree, nor photographing it.

  “It’s that woman.” “The Vice President’s girlfriend.” “Oh, she’s so much prettier in real life.” “Can I get your picture with us?” “Can I�
�”

  Anne put on her best happy face, and retreated as quickly as possible without being rude. Down the Central Hall. Past the Vermeil Room and the Library. She almost ducked into the latter, but the open doors and cloth ropes indicated that tours would invade there as well.

  The double doors at the end of the hall plunged her into yet another crowd forming up.

  “It’s the Visitor’s Lobby,” Detra had magically appeared at her elbow and Anne almost cried out in relief. “We need to get you out of here. Let’s go see the Kennedy Garden.” And with a casual looping of her arm through Anne’s they were out into the freezing cold and fluttering snow even as people were calling her name. She’d never even had a chance to see the decorations.

  “You’re kidding me,” her teeth were chattering before they’d gone five steps. Her parka was hanging in Daniel’s outer office back in the West Wing.

  “Sorry, best I have on short notice.”

  The rose bushes had been pruned back to little more than twigs rising from the soil. The grass was hidden beneath snowy paths. A dozen fake reindeer, in full harness, were standing in the central path of garden. One of the two lead reindeer was leaning forward as if to nibble a rose bush. A mighty sleigh filled with giant bags overflowing with ornaments were at the far end of the path.

  “At least you’re wearing boots,” Detra commented.

  Anne looked down at the agent’s shoes, barely as high as the snow and definitely not up to making the crossing with dry feet. Anne felt bad for saying anything.

  In moments, they were through the garden and an agent had a door open into the East Wing. Anne ducked inside and did her best to suppress her next shiver.

  “Might I suggest a coat next time you want to visit the gardens in mid-December, ma’am.”

  She looked up and recognized Beatrice who was clearly amused by the situation.

  Anne had to admit that it was hard not to be. “Seen a lot of protectees running scared?”

  Beatrice and Detra both nodded, “From crowds of tourists? All the time.”

  Anne turned to her agent who was trying to be circumspect about knocking the snow out of her shoes. “Thank you, Detra.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  Then Anne figured out the implications of Beatrice’s presence. The East Wing was the First Lady’s domain and if the head of her Protection Detail was here, so was the First Lady.

  Well, with Daniel on the Hill and Alice locked away in some cloister out at CIA headquarters in Langley, she was down to two options. She could call Ma and have a nice whine together; that would cheer her up but probably move her no closer to an answer. Or she could see if the First Lady was available. Anne remembered Geneviève’s easy kindness every time they’d met, but that wasn’t enough to tip the scale in favor of approaching the daunting First Lady. However, her comment to Anne the first time they were alone together came to mind. “Do not be afraid.”

  She was and she didn’t like it.

  Maybe Genny Matthews—she no longer thought of her as Geneviève nor the First Lady, but Genny—was the woman she needed to talk to.

  “I don’t suppose that…” No, she must be as busily scheduled as the President.

  “She has just ordered lunch,” Beatrice informed her. “She is part French and does not believe in working through lunches. Let me see if she’s available. I can easily make the order for two.”

  Moments later, Anne was being escorted up the stairs and into the second floor of the East Wing. Down a long corridor that was little more than a blur of door signs: Calligraphers Office, The Office of the Social Secretary, Social Media Director, Event Coordinator. She was shown into the First Lady’s office without even a pause to catch her breath; which was just as well as it also precluded any chance to second guess herself.

  Like Daniel’s, it had a southwest corner exposure. Except it overlooked the Kennedy Gardens with its plastic reindeer, the Residence, and the White House grounds rather than West Executive Avenue and the Executive Office Building.

  Like Daniel’s—in a crowded building where space was at a premium and size denoted importance—it was a large and comfortable space.

  Unlike Daniel’s it was immaculate, intensely feminine, and had a communications center that looked as if it could run a war.

  Chapter 6

  “What in the world do you do here? Fly the space shuttle?”

  “Bonjour, my dear Anne,” Genny turned from her desk, which faced the view, and rose to greet Anne. Her dress of pale rose linen looked both practical and fashionable. Her easy hug was thoughtlessly welcoming, simply a natural extension of Genny’s warmth. “Non. But at times I think that perhaps I could have while it still flew. Such fine technology as this still does not limit the nonsense that it can convey. The many countries of the UN must talk and talk and talk before they can make even the smallest decision.”

  It was easy to forget that the First Lady was also the UN “Ambassador” for the UNESCO World Heritage Convention. She was the chief peacekeeper and dealmaker for the thousand World Heritage sites and the hundreds under consideration. No wonder she needed so much conferencing equipment. There was little that couldn’t be done at the Darlington’s farm with a phone or a tactfully worded e-mail; this was a very different-colored horse.

  Genny waved her to a small side table. Unlike the monster at the Vice President’s residence, this table could seat only four, six in a pinch. However like Zachary’s home it lacked…

  “What happened to Christmas?” All Anne could pick out was a two-foot tall Christmas tree standing on a low side table and a small quilt of a polar bear staring upward at a starry sky.

  “The French and the Vietnamese are far more understated than Americans about the season. I decorate the Residence for Peter and for the photographers. I decorate my office for myself. For us, the season is about sharing and food.”

  And as lunch was delivered, Anne knew that she’d be hard-pressed to argue. A winter minestrone with thick slices of fresh-baked sourdough. A small cup of yogurt and melon drizzled with honey accompanied by small selection of cookies that were, thankfully, White House chef elegant rather than Anne Darlington outrageous.

  “You have reached the problem,” Genny was the first to break the silence of good food.

  She had. Apparently far too obviously.

  “We will ignore that while we eat. Instead, I will speak of what I am troubled by, so that you may stop worrying for a time.” And Genny began discussing the challenges of World Heritage site selection: limited funds, uncooperative governments, rampant poaching in the nature reserves, and no actual authority to implement solutions. “Everything it is a negotiation.”

  “Everything everywhere,” Anne agreed.

  The Darlington Estate had grown to encompass dozens of different efforts. Everything from horse breeding—they specialized in the Tennessee Walkers, tall majestic animals—to a fine dining restaurant with a menu almost wholly produced on the farm. Flour was one of the few things that was brought in from outside; honey or sorghum was used for sweetenings and wine was “imported” from the next valley over. There was an educational center for Slow Food and local farming techniques. In nearby Johnson City there was even a campaign center for lobbying Congress regarding non-GMO products, hazards of mono-culture farming, and the like. A hundred projects with a thousand demands.

  “Yes, it is just so,” Genny waved a hand toward the communication center behind her. “I must decide if the Pacific Island nations that are likely to be submerged by global warming have a higher claim to recognition than the primeval beech forests of the Ukraine. Both will be gone without UNESCO protection. Both may be gone even if it is granted. How am I supposed to make these kinds of decisions? Je ne sais pas.”

  A pleasant hour flew by as she and Genny discussed different ways to approach that problem and others. Over a second cup of tea and
the chocolate-dipped macaroons, Genny nodded as if reaching some decision.

  “Hmm?” Anne asked as she debated whether to stop or to try a chocolate sable cookie. Go for it.

  “You are as good at this as I thought you would be,” the First Lady abstained from another cookie.

  “As good at what?” Anne bit down and, at her intentionally amplified yummy sound, Genny Matthews caved and took one as well.

  “I know the site buildings and the regional history. But I know little of nature. On our farm in Vietnam we only grow coffee and what food we can for ourselves, but I never care for that just as you do not care for your farm.”

  “No. Wait. I—” At Genny’s raised hand Anne sputtered to a stop.

  “I do not say that you do not love it or do not wish it well protected, but you wish someone else to do it and not you. I know this feeling as much as you do.”

  “Right down to the heels of my boots.”

  “That is why I come to work for the UN. That is how I met your President. I try to force him to fix a problem with an ancient temple that Cambodia and Thailand fight over. I did not think he is going to marry me for seeking his aid.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I am saying that you care very deeply about the land, about any land. You do not care so much for the tending, but your heart has no question about the land. While you are in Italy, you must look at Mont Blanc Massif. When you return from Italy, we will talk of what you see.”

  “Italy?” Anne almost lost her china teacup at the sharp veer in the conversation’s direction. “I still don’t know if I’m going. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to—”

  “Piff! Of course you are going to Italy. It is so romantic a place. You will see Courmayeur. You will eat fine food in a tiny ristorante. You will make passionate love in an Italian villa.”

  “But…” Anne didn’t even know where to begin. “But…I don’t want to hurt Zachary’s—the Vice President’s reputation. The media will look at me and—”

  “I am a French-Vietnamese woman. I fall in love with your President after his very popular first wife is dead—though the stories I hear about her…” Genny shivered as if all of her office windows were suddenly open to the December storm wrapping its fist around DC. “You are American woman in love with an American man; your states are as close together as two pea vines compared to my country and Peter’s. This makes it much less of a trouble. Go! Enjoy Italy.”