The Peace Maker

by Michele Chynoweth

  Still, when she walked into Darren’s private room and stood by his bedside, all of that left her when the look he gave her nearly struck her with the force of its hatred.

  He couldn’t talk, with an oxygen mask covering his mouth, but his eyes told her everything he was feeling—that she was to blame for what had happened to him and that she would pay.

  Chessa couldn’t even find any words to say to him, knowing they would all sound shallow. Of course I feel sorry for him, she thought, knowing at that instant that he could read her expression, which only served to heighten the malicious gleam in his eyes.

  And so she wordlessly stood at his bedside for what seemed like the right amount of time and then quietly departed his room to invite his parents in. Too afraid to cry, Chessa pasted a teary-eyed smile on her face, dabbing her eyes with a tissue as she passed them in the doorway, faking grief but not despair.

  Darren’s open-heart surgery was successful, the doctors said, but he would need to stay in the hospital for about ten days to recuperate and rebuild his strength.

  With the election looming just sixteen days away, Pete Connor was in to visit daily and consult with him on press briefings. The eyes of the world were on New York Presbyterian Hospital, waiting on the word as to whether Darren Richards would retain his candidacy given his confinement to a hospital bed, while his opponent was healthily and actively campaigning.

  Of course Pete did his magic and spun the stories to proclaim that Darren Richards had only had a very minor “hiccup” with his heart, that the surgery had gone extremely well, that he was otherwise in perfect health, and that the candidacy would proceed full steam ahead.

  Meanwhile, Janine Secour became the newest media darling, outshining Darren and Leif in her showmanship. The public suddenly adored her. She called on Jordan Greene to debate and won handily against the shy Republican vice-presidential candidate carrying the weight of his father’s baggage.

  News reporters who weren’t camped out at the hospital or tagging along Janine’s tours hung out at Leif Mitchell’s campaign headquarters and the governor’s mansion. However, they were dismayed when Logan Reese or Governor Mitchell gave them little in the way of a publicized reaction.

  Leif continued to visit cities and towns across America. But instead of capitalizing on his opponent’s weakness, he stuck to his platform, which bore the slogan: “Leif Mitchell: God. Country. Service.”

  Polls showed most of Darren’s supporters remained sympathetic, but as each day went by, his popularity waned a little. Americans wanted a strong, healthy president, even if they weren’t originally behind the renegade candidate who had less experience in office.

  Each day for Chessa was agonizingly slow as she forced her way through a charade of wifely visits. After their first “talk”—which nearly became a shouting match that ended with Darren having a coughing spasm, elevated blood pressure and Chessa calling a nurse—they agreed to mutually stay silent and do their own thing during their pretend “visits.” He would often read over the daily news and press briefings, and she would read a good book that would take her mind away from the present time and place to anyone else’s drama but her own.

  Darren’s health continued to improve gradually, but the doctors told Chessa confidentially that her husband’s heavy drinking had already caused chronic damage to his heart, as well as his liver and kidneys, and that as a result his progress would be slower than normal and a bit more complicated.

  Being the dutiful wife, Chessa had to relay the message to her husband. “Darren, your doctor asked me to tell you the latest prognosis.” She vowed to stick to the facts, not allowing her emotions to get the best of her. When he didn’t say anything, she continued. “He said that you already have a lot of damage to your heart, liver and kidneys so your recovery from surgery might go a little slower than usual.”

  “Because of my drinking?” Darren sat up straighter in his hospital bed, glowering at her. “Go ahead and just say it. I’m sure you want to lecture me even now, when you couldn’t care less how I am or how I feel. Why don’t you just go back to Kentucky and be with that loser Leif Mitchell.”

  “Darren, that’s not fair.”

  “Not fair? I’ll tell you what’s not fair.” His voice seethed with anger but he kept it low so as not to bring in the nurses. “It’s not fair that I’m married to a back-stabbing, nagging, ungrateful, selfish, spoiled brat of a wife who has never appreciated me. It’s not fair that just as I’m about to win the presidential election I have a heart attack. It’s not fair that Leif Mitchell, some nobody from the backwoods of Kentucky who only knows how to play a guitar and clean horse stalls and is totally unqualified, is waiting to take advantage of my condition and slide into office. I’m surprised you’re not with him right now. This is all his fault… all your fault. You’re probably hoping I just die here…” Darren put his hand over his chest and heaved a deep, ragged breath.

  Chessa felt panicked and she drew closer to his bed, then saw Darren’s breathing slow to its regular rhythm. The monitors bleeped irregularly for a few moments, then settled back to normal.

  She reached out and put her hand on his. Darren didn’t draw his hand away but turned his face sideways, away from her. She felt a stab of guilt and grief.

  “That’s not true, Darren. I’m sorry for all you’re going through.” But I didn’t cause it, she silently reminded herself. His drinking did. He just can’t see it. Or won’t see it. Suddenly Chessa felt genuinely sorry for him. “I hope you get better. And nothing happened between Leif and me.”

  Darren turned his head to look at her again, a mix of resentment and resignation in his eyes. He pulled his hand away from hers. “I don’t need you to pacify me anymore Chessa. I can tell we’re over. You’re free to go.”

  “But….”

  “Go.”

  Chessa slowly stood, and started to head out the door. She turned back in the doorway to look at her husband one last time before leaving. “Goodbye Darren.” Then she closed the door behind her and walked out.

  On his tenth day in the hospital, with just another ten days to go until the nation voted for their next president, Darren had another heart attack in the middle of the night. This one was fatal.

  He died within fifteen minutes, with no one at his bedside except a team of doctors and nurses who tried their best to revive him.

  When Chessa and the rest of the Richards family arrived at the hospital, they were too late. Dorothy and Deborah Richards wailed and moaned in their grief while Chessa quietly cried, mourning the loss of the love she had hoped for but never really experienced, and despite all of the self-knowledge she had gained through her Al-Anon program, the feeling of having somehow failed.

  Donald Richards and Pete Connor worked together to make sure the coroner’s report did not reveal anything other than that Darren had suffered another heart attack. The autopsy, however, stated that the patient’s second attack was caused by the collapse of his aortal artery working overtime to compensate for all of his organs, which had deteriorated over the past few years due to acute alcoholism. But the autopsy would remain forever sealed in a vault.

  Darren’s funeral took place unlike that of Ray Silas’s just a few months earlier. It was more understated, more private, and less populated at the request of his wife, who had the final say in such matters according to Darren’s living will.

  Chessa nearly had a shouting match with her in-laws over her decision to bury her husband quickly and without fanfare. Chessa conceded to an open casket viewing for one day at Washington National Cathedral. A semiprivate funeral would be held the next morning, to which only a handful of selected members of the press along with a few hundred family members, friends, colleagues and campaign staff would be invited.

  Janine Secour automatically and seemingly effortlessly stepped into Darren’s shoes as the Democratic presidential candidate, choosing the US Senator from California who had come in second to Darren in the primaries as her vice-president
ial choice.

  It was an unprecedented event, a presidential candidate dying just days before an election, but just as in theater, the political show went on with the understudies waiting in the wings, ready to take the stage.

  So, with just a week left to campaign between the funeral and Election Day, Janine and Leif went head-to-head in thirteen of the largest cities across the nation.

  It was Democrat versus Republican, woman versus man, liberal versus conservative, right-to-choose versus right-to-life, increasing spending on the defense of government programs versus increasing spending on defense—and the two candidates, according to the polls, were like War Admiral and Seabiscuit, neck and neck approaching the finish line.

  But there could be only one winner.

  CHAPTER 17

  Leif Mitchell was declared the next president-elect of the United States at midnight November fifth after Janine Secour conceded defeat.

  Still officially in mourning, Chessa was thankfully allowed to abstain from showing up at the polls to support Janine, and managed to avoid the media’s attention, staying secluded in her Manhattan home.

  No one really expected her to do anything else. She was thankful that, for the first time since before she got married, she felt free and at peace again.

  God really does work in mysterious ways. She smiled to herself as she watched Leif take the stage in all his glory at the University of Louisville, where thousands of supporters had gathered, waving signs that read “One Nation Under God,” “Leif Mitchell for President,” and “God. Country. Service.”

  With Vice-President-Elect Jordan Greene by his side, Leif thanked everyone gathered and was graciously congratulated by Congresswoman Secour. Then, to growing cheers of “Sing! Sing! Sing!” Leif motioned for Logan Reese to bring him a guitar, which was concealed offstage, and to thunderous applause he sang. The song started out slowly, softly, like a ballad:

  “I’d be nothing without Him, He gave me all I have to give,

  He made me all I am, showed me why I have to live,

  He helped me conquer all the dark, led me with His mighty arm,

  Led me with the light of truth, sheltered me from every harm,

  This win’s for Him.”

  The song took off as Leif started strumming faster and louder, growing in momentum until it became a fast-paced rock song and had everyone on their feet loudly clapping and singing along with “This win’s for Him.”

  “Thank you, America,” Leif said into the microphone after the song was over and the room erupted in cheers again, red, white, and blue balloons and confetti flying as the country rock singer clasped his best friend’s hand and held it high in the air in a sign of victory.

  Chessa stayed home from work at Safe Horizon for two weeks, pretending to be in mourning.

  Secretly, she felt happy and free again and prayed for Darren’s soul and that God remove any hidden resentments against him she still might harbor. She decided to go back to Al-Anon meetings and resolved to start over, focusing on herself. I need to find myself, she thought, now that the alcoholic in my life is gone. For so long I was focused on him, his wants, his needs. I forgot what I wanted out of life.

  And she prayed to know what God wanted for her to do, to be.

  While she enjoyed her work at the shelter, she knew deep inside that God wanted something more for her, because she wanted something more, and felt in her heart that this desire must be God-given. But the “more” did not take shape for her in her mind’s eye as far as a career went. She did know that she was painfully lonely, and wanted to eventually find a husband and start a family. But it was a different, less painful loneliness, at least, than she had felt with Darren.

  And at least God never blessed us with children, she thought. We would have probably argued over everything when it came to parenting, or I would have practically been a single mom while he was busy running the country.

  Stephanie called to ask if Chessa wanted to go out to dinner to celebrate her birthday. Although grateful her cousin-in-law and friend remembered, Chessa declined, saying she still didn’t feel comfortable being in public. So, not taking ‘no’ for an answer, Stephanie planned to come over to the house and cook dinner for her.

  Chessa was glad Stephanie was joining her, but dismayed she would not be celebrating her birthday with a mate. She was turning twenty-nine and felt her biological clock had started to tick, a feeling of which she had only started to be aware after Darren had died. She woke up late on her birthday, a cold but bright December Saturday, and was fixing coffee and toast when she heard the doorbell ring.

  She was amazed when a deliveryman thrust a huge bouquet of red roses in a large glass vase into her hands.

  Setting them on the granite island in her kitchen, she wondered who they could possibly be from before opening the tiny envelope attached and reading the card inside.

  It read “Happy Birthday, Chessa. Thinking about you…Leif”

  Chessa had tried hard to put the president-elect out of her mind since she had seen him on that fateful evening before her late husband entered the hospital.

  But she had nonetheless thought about him from time to time, secretly feeling thrilled that he won the election and proud of herself for helping in her own small way.

  Still, receiving two dozen roses from him on her birthday shocked her.

  How did he possibly know it was her birthday?

  No sooner had she pondered this question than the phone rang.

  “So do you like the roses?” Leif’s voice was filled with eagerness, and she could picture the look of anticipation on his face.

  “They are gorgeous. Thank you. But how did you know?”

  “Know you like red roses? I didn’t; I picked them, of course, because of the Kentucky Derby. You know—‘run for the roses’?”

  Now she detected a bit of nervousness in his chatter, and Chessa felt a warmth clutch her heart. “I meant, how did you know it was my birthday?

  “You forget how powerful I am now.” His voice was rich with humor. “I’m kidding, of course,” he hurriedly said. “I knew because I care about you, and I did some research.”

  “You mean had your people do research,” Chessa jabbed back at him playfully. “And no, I didn’t forget how powerful you are. Congratulations on your victory. I’m sorry I hadn’t told you that sooner, it’s just that—”

  “You’ve been preoccupied, I know.” He finished her sentence.

  “As have you.”

  “That’s an understatement. Still, I owe you a huge apology. I’m sorry I haven’t called to say I’m sorry for the way things turned out when we met. I just wasn’t sure at the time—”

  “That’s okay, I understand. Besides, all’s well that ends well, right? I didn’t call you either.”

  “It wouldn’t have been a wise idea anyway, since reporters seem to catch hold of everything and somehow might have heard about your call. And I know you’re a very wise woman, well beyond your age.” She could hear his broad smile.

  “And what if they hear about this call?”

  “I don’t really care. Let them think I’m calling in sympathy for your husband.”

  “And that the flowers are sympathy flowers?”

  “Okay, if that works. Although I’d be lying if I said I was sympathetic. I do feel bad for you that you had to go through all that. But I don’t feel bad for him. It makes me realize all over again that God has a plan and that He was looking out for you. Still…would you rather they be sympathy flowers?” Now she could hear the nervousness back in his voice, and she didn’t want to play games with him any longer.

  “No, I love that you thought of me on my birthday.”

  “Then come have dinner with me. I’ll fly you down to Kentucky. I’ll make sure it’s private.”

  Chessa was tempted, but knew it was out of the question. She knew there was no way he could keep his affairs private anymore. I took too much of a risk to help him win the election to tarnish it all now by
giving the media hounds fresh meat. She wanted to be coy and tell him that if he really wanted to see her on her birthday, he should fly up to New York, but knew that would be selfish and wrong.

  “I can’t, Leif. My cousin Stephanie is coming over to cook me dinner and help me celebrate. But thanks for the offer.”

  As if reading her mind, he said, “I’d offer to fly up to see you but I can’t. I have to sit in on Congress and figure out what they’re up to before I take office.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice. He has a wonderful sense of humor, she realized. Still…it’s way too soon. “That’s okay.”

  “I have a favor to ask you though.”

  “Ah…I knew there was a price to pay for the roses.” Chessa didn’t know why Leif Mitchell brought out her ornery side, but she enjoyed the fact that she could be playful with him. Even though they barely knew each other, they seemed to enjoy a certain easy humor and comfortable communication. It was as if they had become friends. Politics makes strange bedfellows, she thought with a smile.

  “I would like you to be present at my inauguration. No—more than present. I would like you to accompany me there, and at the Inaugural Ball afterward. I do need someone to dance with you know.”

  “Are you asking me on a date?” Chessa was sorry she asked the question even though she had meant for it to be playful. If the answer was no, she would feel embarrassed. If the answer was yes…well…she would have to say no. She didn’t wait for an answer. “Leif, you and I both know that even if I wanted to, it would not be a good idea for me to be there.”

  “Did you want to?”

  “That’s beside the point.”

  “Can you please answer my question?”

  “If things were different…yes, I would have liked to have danced with you.”

  Leif was quiet on the other end.

  Chessa finally broke the silence. “I hope everything goes well,” she said softly. “Congratulations again. I know you’ll make a fine president.”