IMPORTANT: If you're coming to this story for the first time, please read this note first:

Dear readers:

Until last year, my practice was always to finish a story before beginning to post it. I broke this long-standing habit with "Lighthouse Christmas," which I thought was going to be a fluffy, four-chapter Christmas family-fic, but soon turned into something much darker and much, much longer than I'd intended. I found the pressure to post on anything like a regular time-table difficult, and the amount of time it took to finish the story overwhelming, so I told friends afterwards that I would never do that again. It would have been wise if I'd stuck to that decision.

But, as you know if you've been reading this story, a few months later I found myself wanting to write another Christmas fic. I had some stuff in my drafts folder that I'd been trying to piece together for a very long time. There were quite a few bits and pieces, I'd finally figured out how I thought they should fit together, and I decided to take the plunge again.

That was a big mistake. The pieces I'd written-some of them years ago-have turned out to be far less compatible with each other than I'd thought. Others have become redundant: I began this story a long time ago, and ended up using some of my ideas, and even, it turns out, some of the sections I'd drafted for it, in other stories since then. To make matters worse, in trying to get through a section I hadn't written but knew I had to, I wrote a chapter in response to a current news story, posted it immediately, and realized the next morning that I'd created a whole new set of problems for myself that I didn't know how to work through. I'm afraid I still don't.

I do know that Matt Santos would never countenance torture. I'm quite certain that, faced with the news that the C.I.A. had been mistreating prisoners overseas, he would have immediately issued an executive order banning all forms of coercion and requiring that all prisoners be treated as they would in the U.S. I never meant to imply anything less for him-but that's one of the problems with posting as you write. You produce something that doesn't really add up, and then you're stuck with it.

I've been trying to think of ways to finesse that, but everything I come up with just creates a new set of problems. And I'm afraid I've lost the thread now. I don't like this story anymore, and I can't seem to take it where I wanted it to go-which was not, I hope you realize, to show Josh and Donna falling apart, but to show them working through some of the problems I thought might come up for them, working in those impossibly demanding jobs, and not having resolved their issues before they began. (The fact that Donna isn't wearing a ring in that scene where she wakes him in "Tomorrow" has always suggested to me that they really hadn't made a full commitment at that point.) I wanted to write a more realistic take on Josh in that first year than I did in "Life after Paradise," and weave that together with a plot line about him having to deal with Goodwin's rivalry for Matt's attention, and Matt having to make a real decision about which one of them he was going to listen to-because it drove me crazy that on the show we saw Matt not only seriously considering ditching Josh towards the end of the campaign, but putting Goodwin in charge of the transition and listening to his advice over Josh's, even when he wanted Josh to be his Chief of Staff.

I was interested, too, in Helen's attitude towards Josh, which I wanted to show eventually changing from the hostility we saw earlier in the campaign-though I thought that at first it would probably be increased by the move into the White House, which she obviously wasn't happy about. And then there were other characters whom we were either shown Josh making enemies of, or who seemed very likely to become enemies under the circumstances the show set up in that last season. That's what I wanted to explore with the anonymous letters that I was starting to show him receiving. They were meant to cause a lot of tension at first, but ultimately to become the catalyst for everyone's having to re-evaluate their understanding of Josh-which, as I guess has become more than obvious by now, is usually where I want my stories to go.

But I can't do it. At least, I can't do it now, and I really don't think I'm ever going to be able to. And I'm mortified. Starting to post a story and not finishing it is the one thing I've always promised myself I wouldn't do as a writer, because I absolutely hate it when other writers hook me in and leave me hanging, but in this case, I think it's probably better to draw a line and tell you now that I can't do this, rather than leave you waiting any longer, or risk sucking in any more readers and disappointing them.

I want to apologize to all of you for dropping you into my messy writing-process like this. I'm so sorry. I've always thought that, if nothing else, at least I had a reputation for finishing what I began, and I hate to let that go. But I don't want to keep you hanging, and I don't want to throw together a lousy story just for the sake of getting this done, either. It seems better to embarrass myself and admit that I made a mistake in starting to post this when it wasn't finished. I've posted enough that embarrasses me already, not to want to add something I know is bad from the start to the pile.

If the site lets me, I'll leave this note up for a week, and then-assuming I can figure out how to do it-take this story down. If I ever do get it written, I'll put it back up in its entirety, but I'm afraid at this point that seems pretty unlikely. If anyone still wants to know more about where this was going, just send me a PM, and I'll fill you in on what I had in mind-unsolved problems, warts and all.

My thanks to everyone who took the time to read this, especially to those of you who took the time to post encouraging comments, or to write to me privately with them. I appreciate that more than I can say.

With apologies and regrets,

Chai

Note: There's something about this time of year that always makes me turn back to Josh and Donna, even though I keep swearing I never will again. I'm going to try posting as I write again, too, though I'm not sure whether that's a good idea or not. I'm also not sure how long this story will be, or when I'll be able to get the rest written and up. Please bear with me as I work on it.

My thanks to Liz, Laura, and Arpad Hrunta, who at different times have heard about or seen parts of this story and commented on them. Liz even provided one of the lines I gave Abbey here. And I'm afraid I filched another one from Dorothy Sayers' "Gaudy Night."

Feedback is, as always, much appreciated.

Anonymous

By Chai

Prologue

(December 18, 2006)

Abbey Bartlet was well aware of the long-standing White House tradition that called for the sitting President and his wife to entertain his newly-elected replacement and his (or, someday, she hoped, her) family shortly after the November election. She had been grateful for the kindness Jed's predecessor and his wife had shown her family when they were the newcomers. As they approached the end of their eight years, she'd vowed that, even if the next occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue was a Republican, she would issue a similar invitation promptly after Election Day.

But Leo's death meant the Bartlets hosted a wake instead. Neither Abbey nor Jed felt much like giving a party after that, and everyone on their communications staff thought it would be unseemly to try to entertain the Santoses in the usual way until at least a little time had passed.

On the other hand, they were both well aware that Leo wouldn't have wanted them to go into mourning for him, and would probably have insisted that their last Christmas in the White House be an occasion worth remembering. And so, in the middle of December, when the White House was decorated for the season and looking its splendid best, Abbey asked Matt and Helen Santos to join them for a tour of the mansion, followed by drinks and a casual buffet dinner afterwards. They invited some of Matt's key staff, and some of Jed's, as well.

Lights were twinkling from every mirror and picture-glass in the second-floor Center Hall sitting-room of the Residence, and a brass-and-string arrangement of traditional carols was playing quietly in the background as Abbey ushered her guests over to a long table the staff had set up in the middle of the room, and handed Helen a glass of wine.

"So," she asked, quietly, "how are you doing with all this? Really?"

Helen Santos looked down at her glass and stifled a sigh.

"I'm fine," she said. "Finding the school was the chief thing. It's a relief to have that settled, at least."

"They're going to a public one?"

"Yes, Ben W. Murch. On 36th Street, in North-West."

"I know it. It has a good reputation."

"We're very pleased with it. I'm so glad we've found an alternative to the whole private-school thing. I want Peter and Miranda to know all kinds of people, not just the privileged offspring of the pedigreed and powerful."

There was a flash of resentment in her voice that wasn't lost on Abbey.

"Well, if you can make this school work, that will be a very good thing," she said, evenly.

Helen flushed a little, remembering too late that Abbey and Jed could both trace their families back to the Revolution, were more than comfortably well-off, and had sent their daughters to private schools.

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean-" The stem of her glass twisted in her fingers, and her face twisted with embarrassment, too.

"There's nothing to apologize for. Jed and I are good Democrats, you know; we believe in public schools. We started all the girls at public elementaries in Manchester, and had every intention of keeping them there. But Elizabeth was dyslexic, Ellie needed more of a challenge in math and science, and by the time it was Zoey's turn, Jed was governor, and the other kids wouldn't let her forget it. We tried three different schools before we found one where she felt at home, and it was private. But every child and every school is different. If you've found one that will work for your kids, that's wonderful. Just be sure to listen to what they're really feeling about it, and if something isn't working for them, don't hold them hostage to a political ideal. But I'm sure I don't have to tell you that."

"Of course not." Helen sounded surprised. "We'd never do that."

Abbey glanced at her sardonically, but softened her expression almost at once. Helen was nervous enough about all the changes that were happening to their lives; she didn't need Abbey weighing in with the cynicism engendered by eight years of experience with White House compromises-or with Abbey's private opinion that the Santoses were already holding their kids hostage to their political ideals. In her view, sending the President's children, Secret Service detail and all, to an ordinary public school was close to insane. On the other hand, she'd never heard anything but good about Murch, and she supposed it was possible that Peter and Miranda wouldn't encounter any more difficulties there than at Sidwell or St. Albans.

"Mallory taught there for a while, did you know?" she said, instead. "She enjoyed it."

"I didn't know that. I'm afraid I don't really know Mallory very well. She kept her distance from the campaign."

"She was so busy with the baby. And she doesn't like politics much. I don't think she's ever quite forgiven Jed for what Leo's job did to her mother and their marriage."

"I thought it was Leo who talked your husband into running?"

"It was. And there were plenty of times I wanted to strangle him for it, believe me-showing up with a campaign slogan on a napkin and turning our lives upside-down like that! But you can't expect Mallory to think of it that way. She's his daughter, and she loved him as much as she loved her mother. The divorce was hard on her, especially coming so soon after her own."

Helen shook her head.

"I'd have wanted to strangle him, too," she said quietly, setting her glass down and glancing across the room. "I'm surprised you didn't. They just don't get it, do they?"

"Who doesn't?" Abbey Bartlet asked, reasonably sure the expression of distaste flickering across her guest's face had nothing to do with either the White House cellar or the Christmas tree, laden with glittering ornaments and twinkling with seasonal good cheer, that Helen seemed to be looking at.

"Them." Helen tipped her head towards the groups of people standing between them and the tree. "The ones who got us into this."

Abbey followed Helen's gaze to Josh, who was talking with Sam and C.J. Nearby, Donna and Annabeth were chatting with rather forced-looking animation to Cliff Calley and Amy Gardner, while the rest of the Santos staffers-Otto, Bram, Edie, Ronna, and Lou Thornton-were hovering around the far end of the table, keeping each other entertained and making serious inroads into the hors d'oeuvres. Abbey saw with some amusement that Barry Goodwin had already managed to pin both her husband and Matt Santos between the piano and the tree, and was clearly trying to make the most of the opportunity to advance himself in their-or possibly just Matt's-presidential good opinion.

Jed looked up at the same moment, catching her eye with a look she knew well. It was hard not to smile. After thirty-odd years of marriage and eight years as what some would call the most powerful man in the world, he was still looking to his wife to get him out of conversations he wasn't enjoying.

His ego was feeling the pain of replacement, she knew. He liked Matt Santos well enough, and of course with Leo on the ticket had voted for him, too, but he thought his successor was wet behind the ears and sadly lacking in intellectual heft; it had stung him more than a little that, when Josh left to find a candidate of his own to run, he hadn't chosen someone more like Jed himself. And he'd never been a fan of Goodwin, who'd been angling unsuccessfully for a Cabinet position or senior White House staff job for years.

"What don't they get?" Abbey asked, shaking her head at Jed to indicate that no, she wasn't going to rescue him this time.

"Any of this. They light a fire under our husbands to make them run, and they don't think about who's going to get burned along the way."

"I don't think anyone could actually have made Jed run, if he hadn't wanted to," Abbey said, a wry note in her voice that hadn't been there before.

"Or Matt either, of course. But they didn't think of it by themselves, did they? I don't know how you could have been friends with Leo after he did that to you. I'd have been furious with him."

"I was for a while," Abbey admitted. "But I couldn't go on and on like that. You can't go on and on being angry with someone like Leo. He was such a good man. Everything he did was because he thought it was best for the country. And he paid for it dearly. The divorce hurt him every bit as much as it hurt Jenny and Mallory."

Helen picked up her glass again and drained it. Abbey poured her another one, ignoring the waiter who tried to step in to do it for her.

"You knew him before, didn't you?" Helen asked, cradling her glass and frowning into it.

"For years. He and Jed had been friends forever."

"I didn't know Josh at all. I'd never met him until he crashed into our lives last Christmas. Matt had just decided to leave Washington and stay in Dallas with us, and the children were so happy. We were all so happy."

Someone cleared his throat behind them. Helen paused, and Abbey turned to find Charlie standing at her elbow.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mrs. Bartlet, Mrs. Santos, but Zoey sent me to warn you that she can't keep the kids out any longer," he told them, the laughter in his eyes belying his apologetic tone.

"Oh, goodness," Helen said, just as her two children, who had been exploring the White House with Zoey and Charlie as their guides, babysitters, and partners in crime, ran into the room, giggling. Miranda plunged between Ronna and Otto, who were still talking at the far end of the hors d'oeuvres table, and disappeared under its layered skirts. Peter more circumspectly dodged around them, then got down and crawled in from the side.

"No, Peter! Come out of there, Miranda," Helen urged them, but Abbey smiled and told her to let them be.

"They have to be comfortable in their new home," she pointed out.

A moment later Zoey appeared, and started opening cupboard doors and looking under the furniture. Charlie glided across the room and whispered something in her ear. She listened, smiled, and continued searching, carefully avoiding the food table, whose skirt was dimpled with large bulges that didn't seem to want to stay still, and were accompanied by giggles and the occasional "Shhh!"

"I understand what you're feeling," Abbey said, returning to their earlier subject. "I didn't want Jed to run, either. Especially not with his condition."

"Of course you didn't. It must have been terrible for you."

"He promised me it would only be once. I was furious when he decided to run the second time."

"I'd have killed him."

"I was afraid it would. And when he was shot . . . And when Zoey . . ." Her voice thickened, and she had to pause to compose herself.

Helen nodded again, her eyes filling. "That's what I mean."

They were silent for a moment then, watching Zoey looking in the most improbable places while ignoring the shaking underskirts of the table in the middle of the room. She seems perfectly fine now, Helen thought, but could a woman ever really be all right again after what she'd gone through? Such a lovely girl; it was too horrible to think about. And if anything like that ever happened to Miranda . . . .

Spots danced before Helen's eyes, and her glass trembled in her hand.

"They'll be all right," Abbey said, taking it from her and putting it down on the table between a Paul Revere candelabra and a three-tiered stack of canapés. "Congress voted that big budget increase for the Service, so they're in a much better position to protect the children. They've completely re-thought their procedures for doing it. And you're lucky, really, that it's happened when they're so young. It's much easier to look after them at their age, when they don't need so many freedoms. It won't be the same as it was for us."

"I hope not."

"They'll be all right."

"They'd better be. I—"

Abbey reached out a comforting hand. The two women stood together for a moment, Helen struggling to keep the tears back, Abbey silently squeezing her hand.

"I must not be as a good a person as you are, Mrs. Bartlet," the younger woman suddenly burst out.

"What do you mean?" Abbey asked, giving her hand another squeeze. "And please, call me Abbey."

Helen tried to nod. "Abbey, I mean," she corrected herself. Abbey had asked for her first name several times before, but Helen found it hard to remember to use it, in spite of her own distaste for formality.

"I'm not a particularly good person, Helen, I promise you."

"I-" Helen started, but a stentorian voice behind her cut her off.

"Good evening, Mrs. Bartlet, Mrs. Santos. And how are you two lovely ladies doing tonight?"

Looking up, Abbey saw to her dismay that Jed had apparently managed to rescue himself, at least from Barry Goodwin. The former DNC chair and current manager of the Santos transition team was no longer stuck to his side, but was leaning across the table and smiling at her unctuously.

"Why, we're fine, Barry," Abbey said, giving Helen an apologetic glance, and a stern, "if-you-ever-want-me-to-be-your mother-in-law, get-over-here-now" one at Charlie. He left Zoey's side at once and moved across the room towards the First Lady. "But I'm just in the middle of explaining to Helen how the staffing roster works here. It's deathly dull but vitally important, so perhaps I could talk to you in a few minutes, when we're done? Charlie, will you get Mr. Goodwin a drink, and take him over to see Zoey? It's been such a long time since she's had a chance to talk to him."

Charlie met Abbey's eyes reproachfully, but she gave him The Look again, and he calculated correctly that it would be better to piss off Zoey by dumping Barry Goodwin on her than to ignore the woman he was, in fact, hoping to make his mother-in-law someday.

"Zoey was just saying how much she was looking forward to seeing you, Mr. Goodwin," he improvised, with a wild disregard for truth that made her mother's eyes gleam with amusement. Goodwin gave in gracefully enough, allowing Charlie to lead him off. Watching them cross the room, Abbey thought both of them were sporting something of a martyred air in the set of their shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she said, turning back to Helen. "What were you saying?"

"Oh, nothing."

"It wasn't nothing. You're upset. Would you like to go somewhere more private and talk about it?"

"No, really, it's all right. I shouldn't have brought it up. It's just-"

Why was it, Abbey wondered, that so few people could resist the temptation to finish a thought when they've just announced that they shouldn't say it? But she was curious enough to want to know what was on her successor's mind.

"Just what?"

"Just-I know I shouldn't say it. I shouldn't even think it. But-"

"Go on. No one can hear you except me, and you can trust a doctor to keep a confidence."

"I just can't stand that man. I can't!"

"Barry Goodwin?" Abbey asked, though she was pretty sure that wasn't who Helen meant. "Who can?"

"No. Josh," Helen sobbed, suddenly losing the battle with her tears. Abbey handed her a cocktail napkin. She scrubbed at her eyes with it, then balled it up and blinked back at Abbey with something like defiance.

"I—I know I shouldn't. I know I should be grateful to him for all he's done for Matt. But whenever I look at him, all I can think of is what he's done to us."

"What do you mean, exactly?"

"What you said about Leo, turning your lives upside down. That's what Josh has done to us. We'll never be the same again. We've lost our freedom, and most of our friends, forever. The children are going to be miserable when it finally hits them how much things have changed. Matt's going to be miserable-not all the time, of course, but often enough."

"He wanted the job, didn't he?"

"I don't know. He wanted to run, after Josh talked him into it, but neither of us thought at first that he had a chance of winning, you know. We just thought it would be a good way to get his ideas out there. And then he did so much better than we expected, and everything started to snowball, and neither of us had a chance to stop and really think about what we were doing."

"I'm sure he'll thrive on it. Jed has."

"I hope so. But it's a terrible job-you know how terrible it is. No one can take these responsibilities on and do everything right. Even the smallest mis-step will have such huge consequences, and the Republicans and the press will hound us every minute-they always do. We'll never have any peace again. But Josh is in his glory. It was all a big career move for him. And what's he had to give up for it? Just some sleep. That's all he'll ever have to give up for his job-just a little sleep."

"I think you're being a bit unfair there, Helen."

"Am I?" Helen sniffed, and wiped her eyes again.

Abbey took a deep breath. She wasn't about to get into the details of Josh's medical history with anyone he hadn't given her permission to discuss it with, so she had to content herself with saying, "Surely you remember what happened at Rosslyn."

Helen swallowed.

"Of course. Yes, you're right, that was unfair of me. But that was years ago. He's all right now, isn't he?"

Abbey didn't answer. Looking over at Josh, she noticed for the first time that evening how stiffly he and C.J. and Sam were standing together: the awkward pauses that punctuated their conversation, how stern and unsmiling Sam seemed, the nervous way C.J. was fiddling with her necklace and Josh was poking at the carpet with his shoe. Another casualty of politics, she thought with a sigh, remembering the warm friendship the three once enjoyed.

"He isn't like us," Helen went on. "Look at him there-he doesn't know how to get on with anybody, really, not even the people he's known for years. I don't think he has any real friends. He doesn't even have a family-just a mother somewhere, and he never goes to see her, poor woman. He'll never understand what other people are feeling, or what he took away from us. He doesn't know about anything except politics. He doesn't care about anything except politics. Or anyone."

"I thought he was going out with Donna now?"

"They are. For now."

"You don't think they'll last?"

Abbey hadn't seen much of either Josh or Donna this past year, and was curious what Helen thought about them.

"I don't think he knows what a relationship is. I can't imagine what she sees in him. Maybe it's a power thing-he's got it now, I guess, and some women seem to find that sexy. To be honest, until a few weeks ago I didn't think she even liked him."

"Really?" Abbey couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice.

"She didn't sound like it, when anyone was talking about him before the election," Helen said.

"How odd. I wouldn't have expected that from Donna."

"It's one of the reasons I thought Matt should put Barry Goodwin in as campaign manager after the convention, instead of Josh. Donna worked for Josh for years; if she didn't have anything good to say about him, then I didn't think he could be trusted with the staff. None of Matt's old staff could stand him. He fired poor Ned, you know, just a few weeks before the election. We saw him over Thanksgiving-he's still devastated by it. He didn't deserve that; he's such a nice man, always so good with the children. Everyone who knows him feels bad about it-except Josh."

"Decisions like that are always hard on people."

"I suppose they are. I just can't see why he had to make that one. In any case, Leo wanted to keep Josh, and Matt listened to Leo, and I suppose, as far as the election went, it all worked out in the end."

Abbey nodded. She was still thinking about the thing Helen had said earlier.

"But you said Donna was angry with Josh? Really angry, I mean-not just annoyed?"

She'd been angry with Josh plenty of times herself, of course, but Donna's devotion to him was something she'd thought nothing could change. She'd often wished Leo would find Donna a different job, since it was obvious that Josh wasn't going to be making any moves in that direction as long as she worked for him-a restraint Abbey had to admire, having spent most of her adult life watching with frustration the harassment attractive women of her acquaintance had to put up with from their male bosses or professional superiors. But Leo had always said that Josh's office was the key to their legislative success and he couldn't afford to disrupt it by pulling Donna out and leaving Josh with a less knowledgeable and effective assistant.

Abbey recognized the dilemma-no one ever wants to have to replace a worker who's as effective in a job as Donna was in hers-but in this case she'd thought Leo was being almost criminally short-sighted.

"He's in love with her, Leo," she'd told him bluntly on more than one occasion. "And she's in love with him. Really in love, not just some passing attraction. But I'm not sure either one of them knows how the other feels." She had Amy Gardner's thoughts on that to back her up, as well as her own observations. "It's not doing either of them any good, keeping them in this position where they can't do anything about it. One of these days one of them is going to crack, and then you'll have a mess on your hands that will be far harder to get everyone through than just training a new assistant would be."

"There won't be any mess," Leo had growled. "Josh knows what I expect from him-and what his father would have expected, too. Working for this administration is the greatest privilege any of us will ever have; we have to be willing to make sacrifices for it. When it's over, Josh and Donna will have the rest of their lives to make love to each other, if they want to. In the meantime, he needs to focus on his work, and she needs to focus on hers."

"Oh, Josh will focus, all right. That's what I'm worried about. You won't break his work ethic. But you might break his spirit-or his health."

"He'll be fine, Abbey. You worry too much."

"God, Leo. Are you this damned condescending to your own doctor, too?"

And Leo had laughed and said he was too busy to talk to his doctor, but he was counting on her to keep him healthy. And she'd lost her temper and left the room, throwing something back over her shoulder about him having a heart attack before Jed was out of office, and how he ought to think about whether he wanted Josh to go the same way, too.

Remembering all that now, she felt a terrible wave of sadness wash over her.

"Donna?" she said again, her voice suddenly husky.

"Oh, yes," Helen replied. "Definitely Donna. I thought she couldn't stand him, actually. And no wonder, when he'd been making her work such terrible hours, picking up his dry-cleaning for him, bringing him lunch! All for pennies, too-I saw her resumé, her salary was terribly low. He must be the worst kind of chauvinist to treat her like that."

"I'm afraid the salary and hours, and the things like picking up dry-cleaning and bringing in lunch, all go with the job. I didn't know Donna resented it. All the White House assistants are over-qualified, but I've had the impression that most of them view it as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see things they'd never get to see otherwise, and to make a difference in a way most jobs just don't let you do. There's a lot of competition for work in the White House, you know, even for the mail room jobs."

And Donna's job, Abbey thought, still baffled by what Helen was telling her, had been a long way above the mail room. Special Assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff was one of the top positions available at the assistant level. Only Margaret's and Mrs. Landingham's had carried more prestige. Given her lack of qualifications when Josh had hired her, the First Lady couldn't help wondering what more she could have expected.

"She said it was nice to be out of the kitchen for a change, doing something worthwhile. She never spoke about him without sounding bitter. And then suddenly she was off on a vacation with him, and when they came back they were together."

"There's a lot of history there. It's complicated."

"She told me once she'd asked him again and again for more responsibility, but he just brushed her off with things like that Gaza trip-and you know how well that worked out for her. She said there wasn't any reason for her to go at all, but it was the kind of thing Josh did, tossing her a trip somewhere and thinking that would keep her happy, when she wanted something real to do. And where did he have to send her, but one of the most dangerous places in the world! She almost lost her life there. She's still in pain from that leg at times, you know. It's no wonder she was so angry with him. I can't believe she'll be happy with him, not for long."

Abbey sighed, feeling suddenly old and tired and more than a little angry herself. If Leo had just listened to her-or if Jed had listened to her, and had been willing to make Leo listen-then two intelligent, hard-working, decent people could have been happily making babies together, instead of finding themselves caught up in this twisted, unhappy mess that she was sure must have hurt both of them far more than Donna's new boss had any way to understand. Abbey had no idea how to begin to explain it to her. She just hoped Helen was wrong, and the hurts of the past wouldn't spill over and damage what Josh and Donna had together now.

As for God, who had let that bombing happen, she'd like to give Him a piece of her mind, too. Donna hadn't deserved it. But neither had Josh, who hadn't deserved a lot of other things that had happened to him, either, and who would undoubtedly be happier and easier on himself and the people around him if they hadn't. But they had. And if he had the slightest idea that Donna had blamed him, even for a minute, for sending her to Gaza-

Dear God, she thought, don't let him find out that. Don't let him think that. But she knew with a sudden, chilling certainty that Josh would think it whether anyone told him what Donna had thought, or not.

"It was a bad break," she said, focusing on the one thing she might actually be able to make better. "She should be doing more therapy, if it's still troubling her. I expect she's been so focused on the campaign that she hasn't had time for it. You might want to make sure she takes care of it now."

"I will. Can you recommend someone?"

"Not offhand, but I'll ask around, if you like, and get some names."

"I'd appreciate that. I like her a lot. She's a lovely young woman, and she's been such a help to me."

"I'm sure she has. You need someone who knows how things work around here, and Donna certainly does by now. Socially and politically."

"Yes. She proved that on the campaign."

"And long before, too."

"Even if that pig over there didn't notice."

"Helen-"

Helen heard the remonstrance in Abbey's tone, and flushed.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't talk about him like that. I keep forgetting you've known him a long time, and probably like him much more than I do."

"Like Josh?" Abbey looked down at her glass and turned it thoughtfully between her fingers. "I haven't always liked him, Helen. There've been times when I've been absolutely furious with him. But-"

But whatever it was she was going to tell Helen about the complicated feelings of annoyance, anger, concern, tenderness, admiration, and genuinely deep affection that Josh had evoked in her over the years was lost and went forever unsaid, because at that moment Zoey made a sudden lunge across the room, a volley of squeals and giggles erupted at Abbey's feet, and the laden table in front of her shuddered, heaved, and tipped over, everything on it—candlesticks, china, crystal, food, not to mention Helen's half-finished glass of wine—crashing spectacularly to the floor.

Zoey told her mother afterwards that really, all things considered, it had been one of the more entertaining White House parties she could remember.