She's in with the President right now, making sure everything will be taken care of while we're in Dayton. Leo's gonna handle the few meetings CJ has scheduled that she can't cancel, and I've already found someone to deal with the press corps while I'm gone. CJ still hasn't spoken to anyone about her father. She hasn't even cried since Molly called her with the news. She's really starting to worry me.
The plane ride to Dayton is uneventful. She won't open up to me no matter how hard I push. After a while, she pretends to sleep so I will stop trying to get her to talk to me. We drive to her parents' house in uncomfortable silence; she won't talk to me and I'm tired of trying. She hasn't slept since Molly called and it shows. I can see it in her eyes and in the way she's standing there talking with her brothers. The bags under her eyes are even more obvious than normal. She needs to talk soon; it's tearing her apart.
We check into a hotel room later that night. One room, two beds. I had hoped that we'd be able to talk, but she goes straight to bed and pretends to sleep. I know she isn't sleeping, but I decide to go to the bar anyway. I wish she'd cry on my shoulder. I want to be the one she comes to, to be the one who comforts her. I wish she'd let me help her.
The funeral is tomorrow. She is asleep when I get back to the room. It's a fitful sleep. She's talking in her sleep and it's breaking my heart. She's talking to her father, apologizing for never being around. I don't think he would have known the difference in the end anyway. She's not crying, not even in her sleep.
Look at her up there, standing in front of everyone talking about her father. She can't look at anyone but me. I can't remember a time when we weren't each other's rock. We've always relied on each other for strength, and today is no exception. Maybe she'll open up today, let it all out. Our plane doesn't leave until tomorrow afternoon. The President offered to give her more time off to be with her family, but she wouldn't take it. We'll probably spend the time between the funeral and out flight in the room or at the bar. She told me that Molly isn't family, and she and her brothers don't talk much anymore. I'm the only family she's got, she said. That breaks my heart even more than her unconscious apologizies to her father. I'm all she's got. God.
She's way past drunk now, as we sits in this bar. She's drinking to numb the pain, just like I did. She asked me to drive her here after the funeral. She couldn't bear going back to the house where everyone else gathered. I didn't ask why; I didn't need to. She doesn't want to be around people when she loses it. And that's exactly what she's doing right now, back at the hotel. She's way past drunk and crying her eyes out on my shoulder. I'm amazed at all of the feelings she kept inside her, although it shouldn't suprise me. She's a strong woman who can take a lot of crap. It takes a lot for her to look the way she has the past couple of days--worn out and exhausted. What does suprise me is her request after she's all cried out. A simple request--"Hold me."
We lay in bed together, my arms around her waist and her head on my chest, like we've always been like this. But we haven't always been like this. I've spent my life searching for a place to call home, and I've found it here in CJ's arms. I kiss her forehead before closing my eyes and she whispers, "I love you, Toby." Yup. this is home. I don't know if she's ready yet, but I'll walys be here to dry her eyes and offer her comfort. She's home, whether she knows it or not. This is her home, too. Welcome home, Claudia Jean.