After Afterall

29

Derek tells me about the time he spent in Montana with his family when he was younger as we drive to the cabin. "It was my dad's place," he tells me, his hand rested on my knee. His eyes are glued to the landscape out the window as we drove across snow-packed roads. Neither Grant nor Toby are driving; Derek hired a local guy who's used to the weather. He drives with ease while I try not to freak out about us driving off a cliff into a ravine.

"He loved fishing and hunting and he always wanted to retire to Montana."

"What did your mom think about that?" I ask.

Derek turns to me smiling. "She wasn't going to let it happen."

"Smart woman," I tell him.

For the next ten or so minutes, Derek tells me about waking up on Christmas morning when he was young and running down the stairs of their cabin to the vaulted, two-story living room with a fifteen foot Christmas tree and ripping open his gifts. The five kids would tear through the presents while his parents would happily watch, acting surprised with each Santa gift. The way he explains it sounds idyllic. I've never had a white winter and I've never really wanted to spend Christmas in a cabin in front of a fire, but hearing the joy in Derek's voice makes me think this might be my best Christmas.

When he started planning this trip, Derek had wanted to rent the cabin he spent time in as a kid. He made some calls, even using his President card, but the cabin is now privately owned and the owner's wouldn't budge, even when Derek offered to pay for them to go on a trip to anywhere in the world. I know he was disappointed, but to be honest that cabin would be too big for us—two-stories, seven bedrooms, two kitchens. We don't need all that space, so the two bedroom he decided on will be perfect.

We wind through the mountains and the view is truly beautiful. Everything is pristinely white and the sky is grey with heavy clouds, promising more snow tonight. We haven't passed an exit in forever and I haven't seen another car since we began climbing in altitude. Derek's hand slides up my leg and back down. He's practically bouncing. "We're almost there," he says.

As true as his word, within ten minutes we're five miles from the highway and pulling into a long driveway. I notice the area isn't gated or protected like Camp David was or like Derek's home in Maine, but honestly, I don't see how anyone could find us here.

After another mile or so, a wide, bright blue lake appears on the horizon and snuggled up to its shores are two cabins, both the same size with about five hundred meters between them. Both chimneys have rolling white smoke billowing out. Derek points to the one on the left, "That's for Grant and Toby," he tells me.

When I was waiting in the car for Derek, I asked Toby and Grant if they were going to miss their families over Christmas. Grant was the first one to tell me, "Actually, our significant others will be there waiting for us."

"Really?"

Toby smiled in the rearview mirror. "My girlfriend and Grant's wife. They know we have work to do, but the President believed we shouldn't spend our Christmases away from our girls."

I noticed the corner of Grant's mouth turn up.

"That President can be a romantic."

Neither said anything, but I can tell by the look I shared with Grant in the rearview mirror that he agreed.

Derek sits forward in his seat as we approach, probably to drink it all in. His hand squeezes my thigh. "It looks exactly like the pictures."

"It's beautiful," I tell him.

"You think?" Derek asks, turning his attention back to me.

"Of course."

"I know it's not your type of vacation, but—"