What Really Happened (23 page)

And as crazy as that sounds, it got even crazier.

Andrew was also employed by Nick Baldick at the 527. Andrew probably got a hefty commission on his Bunny money that he got for Nick. He also told me that when he started working for Nick, he got a raise and was making more money than he did working for the senator. Although, given the facts (and fiction) that later came out of Andrew’s mouth about money, I have no idea what was actually true about his employment with the 527.

On January 25
^th
, I got an email from a woman named Susanna that said:

Jon asked me to contact you. Dick Darman passed away this morning after a difficult struggle with leukemia. Jon, Emmet, and Willie all had an opportunity to say goodbye. Please keep the Darmans in your thoughts and prayers. I will be in touch as soon as arrangements are made.

Another note came two days later:

A memorial service will be held for Dick Darman at St. John’s Episcopal Church in McLean, VA, on Saturday, February 9
^th
, at 2 p.m. St. John’s is located at 6715 Georgetown Pike, McLean, VA 22101. All are welcome and encouraged to attend. Any correspondence for Jon or his family can be sent to [address]. Jon is so lucky to have such thoughtful friends. Hope to see you on the 9th.

I felt for my friend Darman. I know what it feels like to lose your father to cancer. I sent flowers to the address with a note saying, “My thoughts and prayers are with you.”

Johnny called me very early the next morning to tell me that he was going to announce that he was dropping out of the presidential race. His decision happened very quickly—it was like he woke up that morning and he was just done. He didn’t know when he was going to be able to call me again. Overall, he just sounded frazzled. He said, “I just decided I am out of this.” He was in full scrambling mode. “I haven’t told all the people that I need to. I need to go.”

I was unhappy about him neither having any way to call me nor not telling me of a way to contact him before we hung up. I was about to give birth to his child, and now he “had to go?”

“Okay.”

“Bye.”

I did not hear or see his “family-by-his-side,” out-of-the-race goodbye speech because I was at a doctor’s appointment. I was standing on the sidewalk outside the doctor’s office after the appointment when a friend rang me to tell me about his speech. She had seen it. Then I got some more calls, one from Rob Gordon, as Cheri drove me back to our big beige house in her new Lexus.

I did not hear from Johnny, which upset me. I felt abandoned. Nine months pregnant with his child, and he drops off the face of the earth?

Of course, he did call eventually. He was finally able to go to the beach house and call me from the beach landline. I think we didn’t speak for about a week, but it felt longer to me. He told me he was going to buy a disposable phone, one that he could just keep putting money on, with no permanent records involved.

Once Johnny had the disposable phone, he would just call me directly whenever he wanted and whenever he could. Andrew was no longer needed as telephone operator. Uh-oh—I had a feeling that someone was going to feel rejected. I suspected that not being able to talk to his great love was going to be a big problem for Andrew.

My due date, February 15
^th
, came and went, and my daughter was not remotely interested in joining me in the world yet. Missing my due date was emotional. For nine months I had expected and hoped to have a baby by a certain date yet there I was, still pregnant! On top of that, I was so, so uncomfortable.

After continual checkups, in which my doctor made sure everything was okay, he told me that he was going to let me go until February 26
^th
, when he was on call. Those last two weeks felt like an eternity! Normally I would have seen all the doctors in their practice and then whoever was on call would deliver my baby. But because I was a transfer, I saw only my doctor and I really wanted him to deliver my baby. He clearly had a lot of experience, something I could tell when he walked into a room. Out of all the doctors I saw, I felt blessed that he was the one to bring my girl into the world.

He told me I would go into the hospital on February 26
^th
to begin the process of induction. When February 26
^th
arrived, my friend Bob picked me up. We took pictures with the Youngs and their kids. It was my last night as a pregnant woman. I wanted photos of me weighing 166 pounds. I was fifty pounds pregnant! I had privately been photographing and documenting my belly as it grew and changed over the months. It really was an amazing, wonderful journey becoming a mom. It really was nothing short of a miracle. When I learned later that these pictures had been uploaded onto the Youngs’ computers without my consent or knowledge, and that they’d been making copies upon copies, showing them to God knows who, the violation I felt was beyond words.

Cottage Hospital Santa Barbara, CA, February 26
^th
, 2008. Just before the unbearable pain began.

As I bid them goodbye, I told the Youngs I would call them and let them know what was going on. I arrived at the hospital, checked in, began induction, and began about three hours of
“Oh my God, this hurts!”
I began to walk the halls until I couldn’t move anymore because the pain was excruciating. They gave me something for the pain but it didn’t help one bit. My body was acting like it was in full labor, yet I was only one centimeter dilated. They gave me an epidural but it didn’t work quite right, and Quinn’s heart started doing weird things. They broke my water to stick a monitor on her head, and I then went through the most terrifying couple of hours of my life, listening to her heart beat erratically, lying paralyzed as half my body was still feeling the contractions, looking into Bob’s eyes. He kept saying, “She’s fine, she’s going to be just fine.”

My doctor finally got to the hospital and told me he had been calling to check on me and waited on purpose. What was happening was not that uncommon. He said we could let it go a little longer, or I could opt for a C-section now.

“Get her out now.”

“Okay. Let’s get ready.”

Bob started putting on the scrubs they gave him (in order to meet me in the operating room) as they began wheeling me out of the room. I asked Bob to call the Youngs and tell them I was going in for C-section. I signed the consent papers as they wheeled me down the hall.

Cottage Hospital Santa Barbara, CA, Feburary 26
^th
, 2008. In labor—walking the halls.

The second we got into the operating room, Quinn’s heartbeat returned to normal. They said, “Wow, look at that! Her heart is beating completely normally—she’s fine.”

Quinn’s first day. My dear friend, Bob, took this picture—it’s my favorite.

My doctor opened me up and went in to get my girl. He said that she had the umbilical cord wrapped around her three times. I heard her cry, which brought tears to my eyes. They brought her over to my face and I was absolutely blown away by her beauty. I was not expecting her to be so beautiful, so pure, and so flawless. She took my breath away.

My first words to her: “You are so beautiful. I love you.” And then I kissed her cheek.

Welcome to the world.

And then I silently thanked God.

My sweet girl, Frances Quinn Hunter, came into the world on February 27
^th
, 2008, at 9
A.M.
on the dot.

What was so surprising to me—something that I had no way of knowing before that moment arrived—was that as much as I loved her father (more than I had ever loved any man), I hadn’t even begun to touch love until Quinn came.

EIGHTEEN

Changing Diapers, Changing Everything

“If you are going through hell, keep going.”

—
W
INSTON
C
HURCHILL

I
WAS IN RECOVERY for a long time before I was returned to my hospital room. A nurse handed me a phone from the recovery room wall. It was Johnny. I filled him in on my last twelve hours. We talked until a nurse said, “We have your daughter, and she is hungry.” I asked the nurse for just a few seconds and told Johnny that I needed to go. I remember that vividly because it would be the very first time—with millions to follow—that, when given the choice, Quinn won when it came to who got my attention.

I handed the nurse the phone and she hung it up as another nurse brought my daughter to me. Without any problem at all, Quinn immediately latched on to my breast and that was it—she was home. Breast-feeding is weird. It’s a feeling, a connectedness that is incomparable to anything I have ever experienced. It is incredibly loving, fulfilling, and draining—all at the same time.

I was in the hospital for a few days and did not sleep for a long time after the surgery. I was filled with adrenaline. The Youngs had my room overflowing with flowers and sent me a sweet card (which I still have) that read: “Jaya, congratulations on this precious soul that you have brought into the world. Quinn is such a beautiful angel and so lucky to have you as a mommy! Much love from all of us! We feel blessed to be a part of your and Quinn’s life. We love you! Andrew, Cheri, Brody, Gracie, & Cooper.”

Cheri stayed with me in my room the first night, sleeping on the little chair that pulled out to become a sleeper. She was great. I saw a side of her that I’d never seen before and have never seen since—protective and vulnerable at the same time. Her feet were freezing, so I told her she could borrow a pair of my socks, which she did. She had these big pink fuzzy knee-highs on. She complained to the nurses about how loud they were at their station outside my room and they eventually moved me to another room.

My recovery lasted a brutal seven weeks. It hurt so badly to move, let alone attempt to walk. And it became apparent immediately that Quinn never wanted to be away from me. They took her to the nursery to give me a chance to sleep, which lasted about ten minutes. They brought her back, wailing, and she calmed down as soon as she was next to me.