Part 6

April 29, 2000

As it turned out, there was no chance to tell Dan Saturday morning.  Trixie had intended to wake up before he did, wait for him to wake up, and then just tell him.  No beating around the bush, no waiting until after they made love or ate breakfast or toured the entire Smithsonian.  She was just going to tell him.  It’s not like he wasn’t used to her blurting things out without prelude.

But it didn’t work out that way.

Her phone rang just before seven o’clock.  She automatically fumbled toward it, struggling to reach it as she lay entwined in Dan’s muscular arms.

He grumbled in his sleep and held her closer.  Her fingertips could just barely touch the phone as it vibrated across the bedside table out of her reach.  Gently pulling one of Dan’s arms off of her, she stretched out, grabbed the phone and flipped it open.

“Agent Mangan.”

“Wuz goin’ on?” Dan asked sleepily as she listened to the official voice on the other end of the line.

“Yes, sir.  No … that’s not a problem.  No, I understand.”

Dan stretched his arms above his head and yawned, then rolled over, ducked his head underneath the sheet and began working his lips slowly down her body, stopping to give the tattoo at the small of her back an extra kiss.

“Yes, an hour will be fine.  I’ll be there.”

Dan stopped his ministrations.  Trixie closed her eyes, silently praying for some kind of peaceful strength.

The covers whipped back.  “You’ll be where in an hour?”

“The White House.”

“Are they giving away free White House floaty pens?”

Trixie suspected he meant it as a joke, to keep the moment light, but his tone was sharp and his dark eyes already showed a flicker of anger.

“I’m sorry, Dan.  I have to go in.”

“You’re supposed to be off this weekend.”

“I know that.”  She reluctantly got out of bed and began searching in her closet for something clean and comfortable for work.

“Trixie.”

Pulling a pair of slacks off a hanger, she turned back to face him.

“You’re supposed to be off this weekend,” he repeated.

“Dan, it’s my job.  If we were in New York and you got called in, you’d go.”

“If we were in New York, we’d see each other more than once a month.”

Trixie tossed the slacks onto the end of the bed and turned her back on Dan to rummage through the dresser for clean underwear, a bra, socks, and a shirt, throwing each item onto the top of the dresser with more force than necessary. 

“I meant if I was in New York this weekend, visiting.”

“I know that,” Dan growled back.  “You think I don’t know what you meant?”

She spun around and snapped, “Then why did you say that?”

The sudden movement created a wave of nausea that she forced down as she tried to maintain her balance as well as her emotional equilibrium.

She had almost forgotten.

Forgotten what? she asked herself.  Forgotten that she was pregnant?  Or forgotten that she still had to tell Dan?

Dan didn’t answer her question.  He simply shoved the sheet back, got out of bed, and stalked off into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Now what?” she murmured as she raked her fingers through her tangled curls.  She couldn’t tell him she was pregnant now.  Not when she was about to walk out the door.  Not when they were both angry.

She gathered her clothes in her arms, not caring what might get wrinkled, and went out to the bathroom.  Instead of checking to see if the door was locked, she simply tapped on the door and said, “Dan, can I come in?  I have to take a shower.”

The door opened immediately.  Dan brushed past her and back into the bedroom.

Without thinking, she blurted, “God, you’re acting like a child.”

Turning on his heel, Dan snarled, “I’m not allowed to be angry about this?  I haven’t seen you in six weeks and I’m supposed to be just fine with you getting called into work on your weekend off?  I’m sorry, but I can’t change gears that fast.”

She was starting to feel queasy again.  “I don’t have time for this,” she mumbled under her breath.

Dan’s caustic laugh brought her eyes up to meet his.

“You never have time, Trixie.  I’m trying very hard to be supportive but this isn’t working.  We have to make time for this—for us to figure out how we’re going to make this work.”

She closed her eyes and tried to focus on settling her stomach.  There was too much going on and she had to get to work.  “Later,” she whispered.  “I—”

The word “promise” was swallowed up by the gunshot slam of the bedroom door.  Unable to control her nausea any longer and with the argument effectively tabled by Dan’s refusal to even look at her, Trixie dashed into the bathroom, locked the door behind her, and fell to her knees in front of the toilet.

Thankfully, her morning sickness truly had been limited to the mornings so far.  She’d wake up, get it over with and continue on with her day with little impairment.  She kept a bag of saltines in her jacket pocket, just in case, but hadn’t really had occasion to use them for anything other than actual hunger.

By the time she got to the White House and down into the Secret Service conference room in the basement, the briefing had already started.  She slid into a seat in the back and tried unsuccessfully to focus on Butterfield’s well-modulated voice as he ran through the day’s change in schedule.  A quick glance around the room confirmed that she wasn’t the only off-duty agent who had been called in.  Tired eyes, hangovers and otherwise disgruntled expressions peppered the room.

She kept looking, trying to determine who wasn’t there—someone she could call in to cover for her so she could get back to Dan.  She might have to call in a few favors, do a little begging, but she’d do what she had to do.

“Agent Mangan?”

Startled out of her perusal of the room, Trixie jerked her head up and towards the front of the room where Agent Butterfield was awaiting her response.  “Yes, sir?”

“I can count on you?”

A crease of consternation appeared between Trixie’s brows.  She hadn’t been paying attention to the details of whatever it was she was supposed to be counted on to do but that wasn’t the real issue.  She didn’t want to be counted on, not today.  And yet she knew she couldn’t—wouldn’t—say no.

She nodded briskly and as Butterfield dismissed the agents, she lingered in her seat, waiting for the room to clear out a little before she rose and went to talk to him.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Mangan?”

“I was wondering if—I mean, you can definitely count on me today.  I’m here and I’ll do whatever it is I need to do.  I was just wondering—if I can find somebody to cover for me—if I can get out of here later this afternoon?”

“Are you not feeling well?”

“I feel fine,” she said honestly, though she imagined her face was pale and that was why he was asking.  “It’s just that I was supposed to be off this weekend and my husband is in town and … well…”

“You know the job, Mangan.”

He didn’t say it unkindly.  Trixie knew he was married and had three school age children at home.  He was devoted to the job—even more than she was—and his family had had to take a backseat on many occasions, she was sure.

But Ron Butterfield’s family lived in Maryland.  He saw them almost every day.  He got to go home for dinner, help his kids with their homework, kiss his wife goodnight.  Maybe not every night, but more than once every six weeks, that was for sure.

“Yes, sir.  It’s just that … well, we haven’t seen each other in about a month and a half.  I’m not asking to go home right now.  I’m just asking for a regular shift and the day off tomorrow as I had originally planned.”

Butterfield was hard to read, damn near impossible.  That’s why he was such an excellent agent.  Trixie held his level gaze as steadily as she could.  She wasn’t a wimp.  She wasn’t an overly emotional female agent.  She wasn’t unreliable.  She hadn’t even let the news of her pregnancy stop her from doing her job and doing it well.  But, dammit, she was pregnant and she had to talk about that with Dan.

Finally, he nodded.  “If you can get someone to cover for you, go ahead.  I suspect you’ll be owing somebody a big favor, though.”

“I can live with that.  Thank you, sir.”

She hurried out the door before he could change his mind.

It took most of the morning, most of a busy morning in which she had scant time to even make the necessary phone calls.  Finally, she was able to sweet talk Jeremy Kessler into taking her overnight shift.  She gritted her teeth as he kidded her about cutting out of work for a booty call and clenched the phone just a little tighter as he made her promise to take all of Memorial Day weekend, his birthday weekend in July, and one more shift he’d call in at a later date.

But when he promised to show up that evening, Trixie offered him a genuine thank you, hung up, and called Dan on his cell phone.

It rang several times before he picked up.  “Yeah?”

“Dan, it’s me.”

“Yeah, I know.  What’s up?”

She frowned at his dark tone.  “I just wanted to let you know that I got someone to cover for me.  I have to work until six but then I’ll be off.  Tomorrow, too.”

His silence did little to relieve the anxiety she was feeling.  She stopped short in the hallway and an intern had to do a fancy sidestep to avoid running into her.  The West Wing was always busy, even on a Saturday morning, and she stepped back against the wall so as to be out of the line of traffic.

“Dan?”

“Trixie, I’m home.”

“Home?  Do you mean New York?”

“Of course I mean New York.  Do you think I consider your apartment in D.C. home?”

She winced at the verbal slap.  “Why did you go home?”

“Because you got called into work.  I wasn’t much in the mood to sit around all weekend without you.”

“But I got off!  I’ve been busting my butt all morning to get off!”

“I’m sorry,” he said shortly.  “I didn’t know you were going to do that.”

“Well,” she said, fumbling for her words as her brain scrambled for a solution.  “I could—maybe I could get a flight up there.  I don’t get off until six but maybe I can find something.  I’d be in late but—”

“Don’t bother, Trix.”

“What?”

“You won’t get up here until midnight or later.  We’d have a few hours together on Sunday and then you’d be flying back and I'd be going into work Monday night.”

She blinked back the tears that threatened to blind her and turned her back to the hallway.  It wouldn’t do for the whole West Wing to see a Secret Service agent getting all hormonal.

The silence between them was endless.  Trixie could hear every copier and printer, every conversation, every hum of every fluorescent light in the vicinity while she waited for Dan to say something.  Just when she thought the call might have been dropped, he spoke.

“I’m sorry, Trix.”

She bristled slightly.  He didn’t truly sound like he was sorry.  And he should be sorry.  She had already apologized for having to go into work.  And work was important.  He had packed his bag and run home like a spoiled child.  She could feel her cheeks heating up with resentment.

Wonderful, she thought grouchily.  First the tears, now the mood swings.  How am I going to be able to do this job while I’m pregnant?  Who ever heard of an emotional Secret Service agent?

Struggling to contain her feelings, Trixie let out a quiet breath and murmured, “I’ll try to reschedule for next weekend.”

“I’m working next weekend.”

She bit back the sarcastic complaint that rose to her lips and said simply, “The following weekend, then.  Here or in New York?”

“Whatever you want to do, Trix.”

She gently tried to bring out his softer side.  “If I come there, then they can’t call me into work unless it’s an absolute emergency.”

It was the wrong thing to say and his peeved grunt made that clear to her.

“Yeah, unless it’s an absolute emergency.  We must not be paying enough taxes if they can’t staff the White House with enough agents to keep you from running back to Washington every time there’s a minor snag in the system.”

“Dan, I’m low man on the totem pole.  I’m young.  I’m a woman.  And I was lucky enough to get a pretty key position at the White House.  There’s a lot of resentment and I’m just trying to do my job well enough to overcome all that.  I want them to respect me.”

There was a long pause before Dan grumbled, “Even if you lose your husband’s respect in the process?”

This time there was no mistake.  The call wasn’t dropped.  Dan had hung up.

May 1, 2000

It was early evening on Monday when he finally called back.  Her parents and younger brother had called to wish her Happy Birthday early in the morning, their conversation so light-hearted that it was obvious they hadn’t heard about Dan’s aborted visit.  Mart called mid-afternoon after classes were out at Winthrop and he was also cheerful and unaware of the tension in the marriage made up of his almost twin and his best friend.  Brian and Honey called, Diana sent a musical e-card that almost made her laugh, and Hallie had sent her a Happy Birthday text.

But she hadn’t heard from her husband.

So when the phone rang at six thirty, while she was waiting for the pizza delivery boy to bring her birthday dinner, she was ready to believe it was Jim and not Dan.  She leaned down to pick up the phone, noted the caller id on the display screen and hesitated, letting it ring a couple more times before she finally picked it up.

“Hello?”

“I’m sorry.  Happy Birthday.”  Dan’s voice was soft and sincere and made her heart ache for him.

“You’re forgiven.  Thank you.”  She wanted to say more, needed to say more, but at the moment she felt like crying, so she simply held it all in.

“I wasn’t thinking.  I had no idea you’d be able to get out of work.  I forgot all about your birthday.  I was just upset and if I hadn’t been such an ass, I wouldn’t have disappeared so quickly.”

I wish you had stayed.

Letting her anxieties out in a long, quiet breath, she murmured, “I understand why you left.  Heaven knows, I understand about impetuous and emotional behavior.”

His low, throaty chuckle made her smile a little.

“I think you’re rubbing off on me, Freckles.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” he said earnestly.  “We’ll make up for it next time.  You can come here.  New York is better anyway.  At least then they can’t call you in to work at the last minute.  And we had a great Friday in Washington.”

“Yeah, we did.”  Except that I didn’t tell you something really important.

“We can go sightseeing here, if you want,” he teased.  “Be all touristy like we’ve never seen the Statue of Liberty.  I’ll show you all the sights, buy you an ‘I Heart New York’ shirt.  I have to work this weekend but maybe next weekend?  It’s Mother’s Day and I’m sure your mom would love it if you were here. So would Honey, since it’s her very first Mother’s Day.”

“I’ll try.  I promise.  I really need to—”  She bit her lip.  She didn’t want to blurt out news like this.  Not over the phone, not like she blurted out other things so easily.  This conversation deserved a real heart-to-heart.

“Trixie?”

“I just really need to see you, spend time with you, just you and me.”

“Well, you don’t have to come to New York if you don’t want to.  I know we’ll get roped into family stuff again.”

Trixie sighed noisily.  “No.  You’re right.  Moms would be thrilled if I were home on Mother’s Day.  Let’s just try to make some time for just you and me, okay?”

“Okay.  Trix, I’ve gotta get to work.  Call me tomorrow?”

“Sure.  I love you.”

“And I love you.  Today … tomorrow … forever.”

She hung up but before she had time to mope over her lonely birthday, the buzzer rang.  She punched the intercom and automatically said, “Upstairs, second door on the left,” and rang the pizza guy into the building.  She cracked open the door and went to the dining room table to pick up her purse, digging inside for a twenty she knew was in there somewhere and cursing herself for not putting it in her wallet where it belonged.

“Don’t tell me.  Mart spilled the beans that I was coming.”

Spinning around, Trixie’s eyes lit up when she saw the familiar face in her doorway.

“Jim!”

She was so happy not to be spending her birthday alone that she threw herself into his arms without a second thought.

Jim returned her warm hug, yet his face looked concerned and surprised when she pulled away.  “Trixie, what’s wrong?”

She reached her hand up and quickly dashed away the traces of tears trickling from the corners of her eyes.  Smiling as brightly as she could manage, she said, “Nothing.  It’s just … I just can’t remember ever spending my birthday alone and I was just feeling a little sorry for myself.”

“You haven’t been alone all day.  Wasn’t Dan here?”

She bit her lip and shook her head.  “I got called into work Saturday and he got mad and went back home.”

“Oh, Trix.”  He pulled her close for another comforting embrace and as the tears began leaking again, Trixie took the opportunity to wipe them away with his shirt.

“Did you guys work it out or do I have to go pummel him?”

Trixie sniffled as she pulled away and tried another smile.  “We worked it out … two phone calls and 48 hours later.”

“All right, then.  So why are you upset now?”

“Because he was supposed to be here all weekend.  Because I got pulled into work Saturday.  Because I spent hours trying to find somebody to cover for me and then I got that jerk Kessler, who wouldn’t trade me back when I found out Dan was gone, because he’d coerced me into covering for him for three weekends.”  The door buzzer rang again and Trixie threw her hands up in exasperation as she went to ring the visitor in.  “And because I’m sitting alone in my crappy apartment having pizza for my birthday dinner!”

She leaned against the wall by the door, staring in bewilderment at the crumpled twenty in her hand and wondering how it had gotten there.

She was still staring at it, lost in her thoughts, when the delivery boy knocked.  Jim took his wallet out of his pants pocket and pulled a twenty out.  He opened the door, gave the delivery boy the cash and told him to keep the change and give the pizza to somebody else.

“What’re you doing?” Trixie asked.

“You’re not thirteen.  You’re not having pizza for your birthday dinner.  I’m taking you out.”

“I don’t even know why you’re here.”

She had heard about pregnancy brain or mommy brain but she had been very skeptical about it. Honey hadn’t been scattered when she was pregnant.  Well, not any more than she usually is, Trixie thought.  Besides, she had just found out she was pregnant a week ago so it was probably just psychosomatic.  Still…

“Why are you here?”

“There are some hearings this week about funding reform for private schools.  Dad thought I should be here for them since he’s in London this week.”

“Oh.”

“So, I thought this would be the only chance I could catch you.  I assume you have to work since you were off all weekend.  But if you can get away for lunch or dinner or a drink…  Or if you need to vent or a shoulder to cry on…”

Trixie looked sharply at him.  Nobody but Dr. Lambeth knew she was pregnant.  “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would I need to cry on your shoulder?”

“Didn’t you just tell me you and Dan had an argument?  I know you’ve worked things out but you still might want to talk.”

“Right.”  Maybe there was something to this pregnancy brain.  “I’m okay, really.  I just got off the phone with Dan before you got here.  I’m going to reschedule our visit for Mother’s Day weekend.”

“Okay, then.  So … dinner?”

“What happened to my pizza?”

“Trixie, are you all right?  I told the delivery guy to give it away so I could take you out to dinner.”

“Right, right.”  Okay, she did believe in pregnancy brain.  “Let’s go to dinner.”

She grabbed her coat and purse off the table.  Pushing down the myriad emotions and worries racing through her brain, she forced a smile to her face and turned back to Jim.

Ignoring the look on his face that told her he was fully aware that something more serious was going on, she gestured to the door and said lightly, “I get to pick because it’s my birthday, right?”

He stared solemnly at her for a moment before smiling and answering, “Sure.  But don’t pick pizza because I just gave one away.”

 

May 9, 2000

“Hi,” Trixie greeted tentatively.

She and Dan didn’t go a day without having some type of connection.  They had both been very busy this past week, however, and actual conversations had taken a backseat to emails and texts.  And there were still things left unsaid that hung heavily in the distance between them.

One thing left unsaid, Trixie thought with chagrin.

She knew Dan needed to know but she just couldn’t bear to tell him over the phone.  What she had to say tonight would be hard enough.

“Hi, beautiful.”

His voice was soft, forgiving, understanding and it only made Trixie feel more guilty.

Pressing her lips tightly together to hold back a sob, she simply listened as her husband spoke.

“I’ve had a really miserable week.  How about you?”

“Yeah, pretty rotten.  I’m so sorry about last weekend and...”

“I’m sorry, too.  It’ll get easier, right?  And we can try to make up for it this weekend.”

Trixie tried to keep her sigh inaudible but either he heard it anyway or her silence told him all he needed to know.

“You’re not coming home this weekend.”

Trixie didn’t answer because she knew it wasn’t a question.  There was a long silence on both ends of the line.  Trixie didn’t know whether to speak or just wait until he worked it out for himself.

Finally, he spoke.  “How long are we going to do this?”

“Do what?”

“Is this just an adjustment period?” he went on.  “How long do we struggle to adjust before we admit that we’re going to have to do something different?”

“Dan, you already transferred once.  Do you really want to transfer again?  And then again when my tour of duty here ends?”

“No, but I don’t want to be apart from you, either.  Not if it’s going to be such a strain on us.”

“It won’t be.  We’ll figure out a schedule.  We’ll learn how to find time for each other.  I promise.”

“Trixie, I’d rather transfer and move to Washington than go through all that.  Making time for each other shouldn’t be such a trial.  Life will be busy enough with the two of us devoted to our careers.  Adding in the distance just makes it harder than it should be.”

Trixie bit her lip and thought for a minute.  Was he serious about moving to Washington?  Or was he just desperate for something to change in this impossible situation?  A situation that was about to become even more impossible.  A situation that could change more rapidly than either of them expected.

She didn’t want to raise a child alone in Washington.  Maybe she should be supporting Dan’s idea to move instead of discouraging him.

“I know you think you wouldn’t be happy in Washington but I bet we could find something you’d like.  Even Jim was impressed and you know how much he hates big cities.”

“Jim?”

“Yeah.  He said there were a lot of nice towns in Maryland and Virginia that are close to the city and accessible by the Metro but still rural enough to make you feel like you’re way out in the country.  Like Sleepyside is to New York.  Same thing.”

“When did Jim say this?”

“I don’t know.  Sometime last week when we had dinner or lunch together.”

“He was in Washington?”

“Yeah, didn’t he tell you?”

“No,” Dan said shortly.

“He had some things with the school going on down here.  Funding or something.  But he took me out to dinner for my birthday and I took him to a couple of touristy spots, too.”

“And you had lunch.”

“Yeah, Tuesday when we were out and Wednesday, too, just before he went back to Indian Lake.”

“It sounds like you and Jim spent a lot of time together.”

Trixie’s brow furrowed in bewilderment.  “He was only here for two days.  He had things to do, I had to work, but we spent a little time together.  Why?  You’re not jealous, are you?”

The silence on the other end of the line made her gasp in surprise.  “Dan!  You’re not serious?  We’re married.  You know I love you.  Please don’t tell me you’re doubting that just because we had a little disagreement.”

“I don’t doubt you love me, Trix.  I’ve never doubted that.”

But his voice wasn’t comforting.  It was flat and devoid of emotion.

She was getting frustrated and that made her raise her voice a little.  “Then why are you so mad because Jim and I had lunch together, for Pete’s sake?”

“I’m not mad because you had lunch with Jim.  I’m not jealous because he took you out to dinner.  I don’t think you’re having an affair or contemplating an affair or ever would have an affair.”

“Well, you’re sure acting like a jilted lover,” Trixie grumbled.

“I’m sorry.  You’re right.”  His voice was so quiet and so level that Trixie knew he was holding back his temper.  The restraint didn’t last long.  “I am jealous of Jim.  Not because I think you’d cheat on me but because he’s just spent more time with you in the past two months than I have.  I haven’t spent any real time with my wife since March!  Your damn job screwed up my visit. It’s screwing up this weekend.  I don’t want it screwing up our marriage!”

The force of his words hit her like an icy winter wind, making her eyes tear up involuntarily.  “Do you think our marriage is screwed up?” she asked in a small voice.

Dan’s sigh was apologetic and when he spoke his voice was gentle once again.  “No, I don’t.  I just don’t want it to end up that way because we chose to ignore the problems.”

“It’s only been four months,” Trixie reminded him.  “We have to give it time.  I mean, I might not even be here four or five years.  I might end up getting transferred somewhere else if—”

She stopped short and bit the words back.  She wasn’t telling him she was pregnant over the phone.  She couldn’t.

“If?”

Thinking quickly, she said, “Zoey’s thinking of doing a year in France at the Sorbonne.  But I won’t go.  I swear I won’t.”

“What if Zoey wants you to go?”

“She very well may.  But she’ll understand why I can’t.  President Bartlet isn’t a tyrant.  He won’t make me go if I don’t want to go.”

“And they’d send you back to New York?”

“I don’t know.  They might.  Or maybe I can just use that opportunity to ask for the transfer.”

“Trix, you can’t give up just because—”

Trixie laughed, not sure if she meant it to be genuine or caustic.  “I’m telling you I can find a way for us to be together and now you’re telling me to stay in Washington?”

He laughed too, though his was shorter and definitely on the drier side.  “Babe, you love your job.  I know that.”

“You’ve wanted to be a police officer longer than I’ve wanted to be a Secret Service agent,” she reminded him.  And I won’t be able to perform protective duties for much longer. 

“Yeah, but I can do that job in Washington.  Or New York or Fargo, North Dakota.”

“But not in France.”

“Probably not,” he admitted.  “But if it’s what you really want to do, I’ll support you and I’ll follow you.  I could probably do something in the line of private security.  Or maybe I’d give it all up to become a starving artist.  Buy a beret or something.”

The mood lightened considerably and Trixie giggled.  “If your French accent is anything like your Irish one, the Parisians would hate you.”

“They’d toss me in the Sane or throw me off the top of the Iffil Tower.”

Trixie chuckled again then said more seriously, “I know you don’t want me to give up, but I don’t want you to give up, either.  Let’s just tough it out for a while longer before we make any rash decisions about moving or changing careers or buying berets.”

“All right.  But we have to try to find time to visit each other more often, okay?”

“Deal.”

Dan paused then gently pressed her.  “And you’ll try to reschedule this weekend … soon?”

“Definitely.”  I have to. 

She couldn’t keep putting this off and if they didn’t get together soon, she’d have to tell him over the phone.

 

BACK

NEXT

HOME

Author's Notes

Part 6 (5,094 words)

I have a White House floaty pen.  But I didn’t get it at the White House.  They don’t even give tours anymore, so I’m not sure they’d give away floaty pens.  Though I am hankering for some of those M&M’s with the Presidential Seal on the box!

Ron Butterfield’s family is not West Wing canon.  I don’t think any family he had was ever mentioned.

Except for my created characters (Jeremy Kessler), all characters either belong to Random House (Trixie Belden) or Warner Brothers (West Wing) and are borrowed lovingly and with full respect.