Eleanor & Harry

"Eleanor."

My finger continues to swirl invisible patterns onto the box of chocolates he brought for me. A condolence gift. As if somehow the sugary bliss of a truffle will chase away the grief that has hollowed my insides and invaded my mind.

My eyes continue to scrutinize the floor. The powder blue linoleum is peeling at the corners of the room. It's pathetic, even by a trauma center's standards. The nurses blame the humidity. I decide in this moment, a secret I will take to the grave, that I hate Georgia. I blame the state in its entirety for taking my husband from me. Without looking up, I prepare myself for a slight smile. Regardless the circumstances, a lady is meant to be polite.

He inches closer. I steel myself and stand. "Harry." I give him a curt nod, and the forced smile. Frankie knew I hadn’t warmed to this man yet; I’d gotten the impression that Harry was the kind of person who lets politics define the man he is, instead of allowing his character to define his politics.

"I was so sorry to hear..." his arm lifts to the bed, then drops back to his side when he realizes Frankie is no longer there. "I was so damn sorry to hear about the stroke. I came as soon as I could."

Guilt punches at me. I did not come as soon as I could. I stayed in Washington to deliver a speech, and then was brought to Georgia, rushed to Warm Springs' Trauma Center, angry the whole trip that those meant to protect me hadn't told me all of the details.  By the time I arrived in his room, his last few breaths had been long extinguished. The body was taken elsewhere, but I was allowed to stay in this room to collect my thoughts. One of the perks of being the First Lady, I suppose.

The chipped green paint reminds me of moss. The room is stagnant, and a faint odor lingers in the air.  I imagine the smell is a mixture of death and sweat and frantic last measures. The thought overcomes me, and it feels like I'm suffocating. Through the window, I watch a frazzled nurse scurry down the hallway; her nursing cap is askew and her apron is missing. I take a deep breath, swallow the guilt that has crept up my throat, and ask the question we both know needs to be addressed.

"What now?"

Harry looks confused for only a moment, then recognition settles into his features.

"I'll step forward and choose a Vice President. I'll do my best to make President Roosevelt proud."

A new emotion takes the reins, one I welcome given the current state of my being: irritation. "Harry, had I assumed the answer were that simple, I wouldn't have asked the question." The look of bewilderment on his face merely inflames the annoyance I feel. "There is no law saying the position should be placed on your shoulders. I'm aware it's tradition, but we both know I've been the captain of this presidency for the last 12 years."

A reaction I can't quite place flashes across his face. Offense? Bemusement? Pity? His lips harden into a straight line. He says nothing.

"Oh, come now, Harry. You've clearly got two cents; out with it."

His cheeks redden slightly. "Eleanor, we both know you couldn't even captain your marriage. Franklin had several mistresses..."

I interrupt. "As did I."

He falters, and I keep talking. "Our spousal contract has naught to do with my ability to run the country. Clearly you aren't so stuck in the past that you would equate my wifely duties to my presidential ones." His expression doesn't change. I realize that's exactly how he feels. "I see." There's an awkward edge to the air.

Harry tries to peddle backwards by explaining it's not his sentiment, but what the people will ultimately think of my ability to serve when the details of Frankie's reunion with Lucy Mercer are exposed. I delicately pick up the box of chocolates and carefully study my options as he flaps his lips. I select a darker truffle. He's still talking. I take a bite, allow the sugary bliss to carry me elsewhere for a moment while he bumbles on.

Eventually he peters out and offers me a half-hearted shrug. "We have several enemies already, let's not add each other to that list."

"And we would become enemies, if I challenged your opinion that it is you who is best suited to take Frankie's place?" His expression speaks for him. I finish the truffle and shove the box into his hands.

"Then I am done. If you expect me to help you merely because you believe you are better qualified for this position, I will turn my back on politics entirely."

I walk to the door, he calls for me as my hand reaches the handle.

"Eleanor, I don't mean to cause any trouble..."

I briskly turn to him. "Oh Harry, you've inherited a world war and a weapon we can't possibly fathom. It is you who is in trouble now."

The door slams shut behind me. The linoleum amplifies the clicking of my high heels on the way out of the trauma center.

***

"And on this day, the 15th of March 1946, we hereby appoint Eleanor Roosevelt to the position of United States Representative to the General Assembly of the United Nations." The announcement reverberates throughout the small room.

Harry turns to me with a smile. "You really turned your back on politics, Eleanor."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, don't ruin it, Harry."