“You shouldn’t be eating that,” I told her, trying in vain to get her to eat healthier.
She made a face at me and kept eating it.
“I was thinking about wearing my long black evening gown.” I opened my closet, and since it was color-coded, I knew exactly where to find it.
“You’re so boring.”
I smiled. “What would you wear to a reception at the White House?”
“If my mom was the social secretary for the president and I’d been invited to a congressional reception in the East Room?” She lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her voice monotone with sarcasm. “I can’t even imagine.”
I had showered in the locker room at work, and my hair was still damp. It curled around my shoulders, since I kept it shorter in 2001 than I did in my other paths. A simple clip would have to do. Taking the dress and hair clip into the bathroom, I changedquickly, leaving my street clothes on the floor—something I would never do if I had time to spare—and secured one side of my curls up off my face.
“Don’t forget to put on a little mascara,” Delilah said. “Who knows who you might meet tonight.”
It took a few minutes to put on some makeup, and then I had to find my black heels.
“I think I’m ready,” I said as I grabbed a small black purse and put my lipstick, cell phone, and a few dollars inside.
Delilah followed me back to the front door, a forlorn look on her face. “I wish my mom invited me to the White House as often as yours does.”
“Has your momeverinvited you to the White House?”
“You know what I mean.”
I opened the door and stepped out into the hall, closing my purse. “Hey, I have a lot to tell you when I get home, so wait up for me, will you?”
“Is it about one of your other paths?” Delilah leaned forward, her brown eyes filled with curiosity.
“Both of them. There’s so much going on.” Mr. Cooper and Dr. Philips came to mind, but I didn’t plan to tell her about the two men I had met. I could talk to Anna, but she’d been so preoccupied with her grief these past three years that I didn’t want to trouble her. Delilah was easier to talk to.
She laughed and shook her head. “What a strange existence you live, Meg.”
“I also found out that I am being considered for the residency position in the surgery department at GUH.”
“Yay!” Delilah grinned. “Another reason you should stay in 2001.”
I playfully rolled my eyes and smiled. “See you later.”
“Have fun!”
I closed the door and rushed down the steps to my car. Mylife in 2001 was busy and stressful, but at least there wasn’t a war looming.
It was almost eight o’clock by the time I made it to the White House. Traffic had been a bear, and it was impossible to find a place to park near 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. I had to walk several blocks from my parking spot to the Executive Mansion as the sun slowly sank behind the horizon.
I passed St. John’s Church, still boasting its yellow stucco and white columns, and paused as I took in Lafayette Square. The home I occupied in 1861 stood on the corner of H Street and Vermont Avenue. It looked much the same in 2001, but there had been some changes over the years. The three-story house was now yellow with green shutters and white trim. A black, wrought-iron porch faced the square on the main level. Just seeing it made me miss Papa—though I’d see him when I woke up tomorrow. I could envision him sitting on that porch, waiting for me to come home.
Shaking off the thought, and thankful that the roads were now paved and there was no mud, I hastened across the square to the White House. Mom had placed me on the guest list, as she so often did since she’d been appointed Social Secretary by GeorgeW. Bush when he’d taken office in January. Mom was at the height of her career as a caterer and events planner and took her job very seriously. She was responsible for planning, coordinating, and executing the official social events held in the White House. It was a big job, and she worked closely with the White House Chief Usher and the domestic staff to make sure they came off without a hitch. I rarely saw her since she’d taken on the role, so nights like tonight, when she invited me to attend, were meaningful.
I just wished I wasn’t so late.
Having been through security at the White House before, I knew what to expect as I stepped through the southeast entrance off Executive Avenue. The thought of simply walking in the front door, like I had done in 1861, was laughable in the twenty-first century.
There were other guests still arriving, though the crush of people had probably arrived an hour ago. Thankfully, the guards allowed me to pass without trouble. I walked along the East Colonnade and then through the East Garden Room, my heels clicking across the checkered tiles. A long red carpet stretched down the Center Hall, and I took a right and climbed the stairs to the large East Room, where the congressional reception was being held. The State Dining Room, where I had dined with Mr. Cooper and the Lincolns, was on the opposite side of the White House on this same floor.
It was a marvel that I had been in this same building one hundred and forty years ago, though to me it had only been two days. So much had changed in the building—and in the country.
The East Room was filled to capacity with congressmen and women, aides, and their guests. Fresh flower bouquets sat atop a handful of high tables. Gold drapes hung from the large windows, and the cream-colored walls boasted beautiful trim work. A massive buffet table had been set out with appetizers, and a bar was situated in one corner. Live music came from a trio of musicians in the opposite corner. Everyone looked like they were having a good time and it was due, for the most part, to my mom. Pride filled my chest at the thought.
