It was looking more and more like his latest boss, Senator Gordon, would challenge the President in the next election. It was Monday, Thanksgiving week. Knowing that the delegation had returned that morning, she knew exactly where to find the senator’s jet-lagged chief of staff. At her old home, in the Watergate. Walking through the neighborhood of Foggy Bottom from her office, she barely felt anything. Darkness had fallen, and dampness was in the air, surrounding the streetlamps with globes of soft silver haze. This had been her beloved route just over six months ago. She had loved the small brick houses, the feeling of a village, the proximity of the Kennedy Center…both she and Andrew had been mad about opera, had had season tickets. She used to walk home from work every day. She would buy tulips at the flower shop, to put on the hall table, a symbol of how she wanted her life to be. On November nights like this, feeling the Potomac chill, she would hurry past the shops and cafes, eager to be home.
