Title: HEAVEN AND HELL, "An Ill Wind" (Chapter Twelve)
Authors: Westwinger247 and Enigmatic Ellie
Webpage:
Notes: This is a follow-up story to THE QUEST. Thanks to those who have followed us from one story to the next.

The White House

Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff

9 p.m.

   Josh scribbled a note to talk with Leo about the language that was bogging down the minority leader in committee on the proposed energy bill.  He had read through his notes 10 times since arriving at the office after his latest battle with Donna, and he couldn't remember much of what he had gone over.  Her phone call earlier, while less harsh than her acidic words at the house, left a cold knot in his stomach.  He knew what was wrong and a simple break from the city wouldn't change things.   He shook his head and looked again at the briefing book in front of him.  He knew there was something he was supposed to tell Leo about the committee…

   "Wow, that is some serious concentration," Amy Gardner said, appearing without warning at the corner of his desk.  "I never knew that energy was so riveting to you."

   Josh looked up, grateful for the break from the reading.

   "I spent the first hour of reading wondering why the Justice Department's quarterly crime stats were missing from the mark up on the crime bill," he admitted.

   "You'd think all that discussion of utility reform would have tipped you to the right department," she noted.  "So are you going to tell me what the problem is?"

   "Yeah, it's not the crime bill at all, it's the energy bill," Josh yawned as he tipped back in his chair to stare at the ceiling.

   "I covered that," she said.  "I meant what's wrong with you.  You were supposed to go over the…"

   "Damn it," he sighed, recalling 12 hours too late that he was supposed to meet with Amy to discuss some concerns for Abbey Bartlet.  "I'm sorry.  I was supposed to see you about the California deal.  I completely forgot.  Let me…"

   "No," she stopped him.  "You're this out of it and you think I want you working on anything that the First Lady thinks is important?  No, no.  The President lets you do this zombie thing and that's his business, but I have standards."

   "Tomorrow?"

   "Sure," she nodded then perched on the side of the desk.  "Now, about tonight."

   "What about it?"

   "Jay, if I say it again I'll have asked you this three times and it wasn't even funny the second time," Amy continued.  "What's bothering you?  Don't say nothing because you're a horrible liar and I'm a lot smarter than you give me credit for most of the time.  Are you dying?"

   "Dying?"

   "Yeah," she asked, sounding casual.  "You look hollow lately, like something is eating you alive.  There's a rumor that you've got a brain tumor."

   "Anybody feel bad for me?"

   "Not really, but a few folks want your office," she informed him.  "So do you?"

   "No," he answered, tossing his briefing book aside.  "I'm not dying either.  Sorry to disappoint the crowd."

   "They'll get over it—you can't live forever," she shrugged.  "So what is bothering you?  Are you having an affair?"

   Josh smirked.  Not that he considered doing so, but at least having done something he knew was wrong and could put his finger on as a specific reason for hating him would make his wife's resentment of him make some sense.  He knew Amy was not the person he should discuss something like this with and yet he couldn't think of a single reason why he shouldn't.  Amy was a friend, someone who was always brutally honest with him and someone who knew him well. Granted, their personal history was something others might find too close for this kind of discussion, but whom better than a former lover would know what it was he did to make the women in his life usually adopt the title of "former" anything in relation to him?

   Amy waited for a response and sensed none was imminent.  With a sigh, she edged closer to him and perched on the side of his desk.

   "So you heard this thing about Leo?"

   "What?"

   "About his wife," Amy continued.  "I mean, his ex-wife."

   "Is he back with Jenny?" Josh asked.  He knew such a thing was not possible, yet some part of him hoped it was true—it would lend confidence to him that bone deep, irreconcilable differences could somehow be fixed.  The word impossible, he noted, was getting a wider and wider definition lately.

   "No," Amy shook her head.  "Samuelson told him in a meeting tonight that she's seeing this guy, Donald Curtis."

   "I know that name," Josh remarked.  "Who is he?"

   "New York banker type," Amy said.  "He's the one who said the thing about the World Bank and got the U.N in all that…"

   "Right," Josh nodded, recalling the comment.  "He's a jackass."

   "He's her jackass now," Amy said.  "Apparently, it's been going on for a while.  I don't think even Mallory knew."

   "Samuelson told Leo?" Josh asked with concern as he chastised himself for hoping for the best previously.  "I should go see…"

   "He's in the residence with the President," Amy informed him.  "He'll be fine."

   "His wife is…"

   "His ex-wife," she corrected.  "What is it with you guys?  You with your parents, Toby with his wife and Leo with his.  Look, some times things are just over.  It's sad and it hurts, but it's over and you have to move on with your life.  Women can do it, why can't you?"

   Josh said nothing as he looked around his room.  There was a picture of his parents on the far wall.  It was taken at an anniversary party for them years earlier, before the word cancer became a part of their world.  He thought of Toby and Leo, both of whom still wore their wedding bands.  He looked down at his own hand and observed the shiny gold wrapped around his finger.  He then looked around the room again.  There were no pictures of Donna in this room, he noted.  There was nothing of her at all and this was the place he spent most of his time and this place he felt most comfortable.  He sighed at the implications.

   "What happened?" Amy asked quietly, sensing he was ready to talk.

   "I think I just separated from my wife," he said plainly, surprised at how nonchalant he could be.

   "Why?" she asked, not surprised.  There were many rumors in the office in recent weeks.

   "No idea," he said. 

   "Then that's your reason," she replied.  "You just never figured it out, did you?"

   "Figured what?"

   "The relationship is more than the chase," Amy said.  "Josh, you're one of those guys who loves the challenge and as soon as you've mastered it, as soon as you've won, you are so uninterested in the game that you dismiss it entirely.  You can't do that with someone's heart.  It's not fair; actually, it's cruel.  How is it you never learned that intimate relationships require constant care?"

   "I don't do that," he argued weakly. 

   "Yes, you do," she countered quickly.  "You're the master of cut and run.  You like headlines, Josh, the hot news story.  You like the build up and the proclamation, and then you want the next day's news.  Being married isn't like picking up a copy of the paper.  It takes more than just reading the stuff above the fold.  A marriage is supposed to be a documentary film; an epic.  You don't think anything is permanent so at the first sign of hole in the plot you want to flip the channel."

   "You're mixing media metaphors," he shook his head.

   "And you gave up before you even got through the opening credits," Amy said sharply.  "I've got to tell you, when I learned you got married to Donna, I said it would never last.  She's a nice person, but she couldn't possibly keep you interested and challenged."

   "Don't say that about her," Josh said firmly.

   "That wasn't about her," Amy stated.  "That was about you.  Donna is a smart and vivacious woman.  She's come a long way in a short time and she has so much going for her, but she fell under that spell.  That Joshua Lyman Jinx.  It sneaks up on you and one day you wake up and you realize that you've got the hots for the one of the most arrogant and insensitive men in the city."

   "Flirt."

   "But you're not that guy," Amy continued, ignoring him.  "You can be, a lot of the time, but there's more to you than that.  And it's right about the time that she realizes that there's more is when the trouble starts; that's when those impulses get dangerous because that's when she falls for you, and it's a long way down, let me tell you.  I thought what a lot of other people thought when you were suddenly married."

   "Shot gun wedding?" Josh shook his head.  He had heard the whispers himself.

   "You're a stand up kind of guy," Amy smiled.  "Only when it was obvious that that wasn't the reason, I looked at it differently.  She's been with you through so much and you trust her and…  You cared for her—probably more than you even realized—and that jealousy thing you have…"

   "I don't get jealous," he argued.

   "It's your competitiveness," Amy informed him.  "You don't like to lose what's yours."

   "So why didn't I propose to you?" he asked.

   "I was never yours," Amy said simply.  "When did it start?"

   "What?"

   "The end?" she asked.

   "May," he said.  He had been thinking about it for a long while and he was certain that it all started in May.  "She wanted a house.  She wanted to start settling into a life that…  I…  That's not my life.  This.  This room, this building, this is my life.  I don't care about hardwood floors or a marble fireplace.  My life happens inside these walls and up on the Hill.  But that's not her life.  She wants something else, something more than this.  I don't understand someone who wants more than this."

   "So you figured that you'd try and keep control of things by not participating at all in her life," Amy nodded.  "Now, how did I know that?"

   "Psychic?"

   "No," Amy said. "I know it because I've been there; it's step one in the 'Josh is leaving' scenario.  I went through it twice.  I have to tell you, it's that first step that hurts the most when you realize what it is.  You start cutting people off emotionally, Josh.  That's rough because you don't give a lot in that area to begin with, my friend.  So what you did here was you treated your marriage like it was still you office fling that no one knew about, but you made a big miscalculation there."

   "yeah?"

   "Yeah," Amy informed him.  "Donna heard you promise out loud that you would love her and be with her forever.  She knows you as a man of your word.  It's one of the sexy things about you, that level of trust people have in you when you tell them you will do something.  You don't fail in that often.  But I've watched you, Jay.  You pulled away from her.  You probably did it thinking that would make things more comfortable for you, only she tried to pull you back.  She got the house because she wants a home with you.  She probably started trying to pull together little things you could do together outside of work: dinner in a restaurant that isn't a business meal, a trip together to some place where you're not that guy from the White House.  Don't look shocked that I know this.  I know this because that's what a married couple does, Josh.  They're together.  Not two separate people who happen to function under the same roof.  They're a single entity who functions in tandem; a team.  It's not just about you having someone who listens to you talk about what your brilliant plans are for the legislative session who you know won't run to the press.  In fact, it's precisely about her not being just that person for you and you becoming more than the guy who gives her orders at the office for her."

   Josh stared back at her in amazement.  It was reasonable, rational and accurate.  He had viewed Donna's clinginess and desires at a home life as constricting and overly conventional—as though she was trying to live up to some standard she thought was necessary for this town.  It never occurred to him that having a home and a home life was something she wanted for her.  He had fought this change from his old life into the one she was devising at every turn because it was precisely what he did not want.  It was apparent to him that he and Donna wanted very different things and the current state of their relationship was only a prelude to more strife as the separate course continued.

   "How bad is it for you?" Amy asked.  "You look like you don't sleep or eat.  You look like you've been sick for two months and are trying to rally back without anyone noticing."

   "I don't know how much more I can take," he said softly.  "Everyday is a fight and it's never over anything that seems worth fighting about to me."

   "You don't get to decide those terms by yourself," Amy said.  "It's important to her and you are making her crazy.  You probably haven't noticed, but she's fine around everyone else.  She's actually a better liar and fake than you are.  She's better at controlling herself than you."

   Josh scoffed.

   "Control?  Boxes on the floor are worth this?" he asked heatedly.  "I get my head taken off because she wants to unpack everything in a manner of hours after the boxes arrive at the house?"

   "That's what you hear but that's not what she's actually telling you," Amy said with pity as she shook her head.  "She wants her home to be settled because she's hoping that it will bring some stability to her marriage.  It's a coping mechanism, Josh.  She doesn't have a home and you've shut her out at every turn she took to have one with you.  She left everything that was hers to join you and I'm guessing you never showed up—not really.  You did the big romantic gesture with the surprise wedding, but then you went back to being you and your own insular world where your needs come first.  She forgot that you married this job first; I'd bet she's feeling pretty scorned about realizing that you love it more than you love her—I know I did."

   "That's not true," he said.

   "Yes, it is," Amy replied.  "You know it is; I can see it on your face.  Don't look surprised.  You know she's your second priority… maybe third.  That's not how she thinks about you—at least, that's not how she used to thin about you.  Then you pulled your disappearing in plain sight thing on her.  So she's mad and she has every right to be.  I think she wanted to create a place that you would be as important to you as this building so that she would rate in your precious little world.  But you shut her out and now…  You left."

   "She wanted me to leave," Josh said difficultly. 

   "I didn't mean tonight, but hey, who could blame her?" Amy asked.  "You didn't show up at all, Josh.  You quit before the game started.  You looked at what you'd be asked to do and you knew you'd fail so you took the easy way out."

   "I didn't," he said and looked away. 

   "Does it surprise you at all that you don't even want to fight to keep this?"

   "No," he said firmly, feeling the exhaustion in his bones and in his mind.  "I don't want to fight.  I don't want to fight for anything anymore.  You want to know the truth?  I can't take it.  Between the idiocy of congressmen from Georgia, a CPI that is giving the President heartburn daily, half of State getting twitchy with Leo about our cousins in the Middle East and the constant scorn I get every time I go to the place I'm supposed to call home, I don't want it.  I never minded the chaos, but I can't take it any more.  I need it to stop.  I need a moment of peace.  That's all I want and I can't find it.  So, no, I don't want any of it anymore if this is how it's going to be.  I don't have it in me any more to fight.  I don't sleep; I can't eat and I can barely think straight—which doesn't bode well considering these files on my desk and what Leo and the President are asking of me right now.  Everybody wants things from me that I can't give them.  I've got nothing left.  I hold it together with… I don't even know what lately and I'm afraid I'm going to reach down for whatever it is some day soon and…. there won't be anything left."

   Amy paused and observed him with greater concern.  She knew of no one in the District as strong as Josh and yet as frail.  He seemed to draw strength from those weak spots in him, finding the most intricate and ingenious ways to cope and compensate.  But those skills were failing him and it was showing. 

   "Are you talking to someone?" Amy asked slowly, not sure how much she dare pry but realizing that it needed to be done for his own good.  "I mean someone who is not me and knows about this stuff?"

   "Don't worry about it," Josh brushed off the inquiry.

   "I do," Amy replied.  "Maybe you and I weren't ever going to take a trip to Greece, but I do care about you.  I also care about this government and you spend more hours advising the President on a daily basis than most anyone else.  You staff him nearly every day and he listens to your advice.  You're not allowed to have a bad day, Josh.  You don't get that luxuary."

   "I know," he said quietly, laying his head back in his chair and closing his eyes.

   "It's not fair, but you don't get fair," Amy replied.  "You're Josh Lyman and that's just how it goes; you've said it yourself.  So, as I friend, I'm saying you should talk to someone."

   "I did," Josh admitted.  "I am;  I've been…  I arranged it for after hours so that...  Just don't say any-…"

   "I wouldn't, and you know that," Amy replied, relieved.  "I don't know what's actually going on in your head, but from a friend, you should know that you're stronger than you think and you're a better man than this."

   "Yeah?"

   "I don't have that kind of degree, but there are some things I just know," she said as she stood and walked toward the door. 

   "Care to tell me what I should do?

   "Yeah," she smiled.  "Come eat.  I'm getting sushi."

   "In this heat, it'll be cooked by the time they get it to the door," he remarked.

   "Great, so you're buying, right?"

*****************

Lyman House

7 a.m., Saturday

   Donna closed the door after saying her goodbye to Will Bailey.  She felt guilty on many levels and felt the sudden urge to scour the house top to bottom, as if that could remove the ugliness that pervaded the walls now.  She went to the living room and started to clean.  She grabbed the empty wine bottle and the dirty glasses from the coffee table and brought them to the kitchen and grabbed a cup of coffee before returning to pick up the pillows and blankets that littered the couch.  Will had arrived at a vulnerable moment the pervious night.  Josh had been so distant on the phone and though he had agreed to her request, she felt it was merely because he didn't want to fight any longer.

   Pushing the previous night about of her head, Donna continued to return the room to some type of order that she could stomach.  She was tossing the sheets and blankets down the laundry shoot when the doorbell chimed.  With a burst of hope, she ran to the door, expecting to see Josh standing there waiting for her.  She pulled open the door, not at all surprised that he would not know which key opened the door to find not Josh but Sam.

   "Oh, it's you," she sighed as she opened the door.

   "And good morning to you," Sam said brightly.  He knew not all was well within these walls.  It worried him.  "Did I just see Will Bailey pulling out of your driveway?  Did he have the thing from 802? I was looking for it all morning and I think I left it at the OEOB at my last meeting."

   "No," Donna said simply, ushering him into the house. 

   "Then what was he doing here so…," Sam began then looked at Donna more carefully.  She was dressed still in pajamas and looked as though she had just woken up.  There was also a nervousness about her.  As he passed he kitchen, he observed two wine glasses sitting on the shelf beside and empty wine bottle.  "Oh…  I… uh….."

   "Josh isn't here," she said unnecessarily, and tried not to meet his eyes.  "What can I do for you?"

   "I'm supposed to meet Josh," Sam said.  "He called and said to meet him here."

   "Did you see him last night?"

   "No," Sam said.  "I got a message from to meet him here at seven today.  He didn't come home?"

   "Figured that out, did you?"

   "Donna, is there anything I can…."

   "No," she said quickly.  "Sam, it's complicated and it's private.  Look, you can…  Just wait for Josh in his office.  It's the dark room at the end of the hall.  He'll be there eventually."

   She then walked away, going back to the living room to finish her work.  Sam's look of innocent shock gnawed at her.  He doesn't know; he doesn't understand, she kept telling herself.  He was looking at her like all this was her fault, and maybe it was, but she didn't know that for sure and her husband (such as he was) was the one who walked out.

*****************

   The weekend passed in a slow and agonizing fashion.  Josh returned home for his meeting with Sam then spent the rest of the weekend either at the White House or hold up in his office at the house.  Donna was never certain when he was in the house; she had to keep checking the garage to see if his car was present.  When they did meet, usually by accident, the moments were awkward as they were both taking extreme pains not to say or do anything that the other might find objectionable.  Donna concluded this must be what it's like to work at the U.N.

   Throughout the week they functioned as they always had, though quieter than usual, at the office.  Donna found time to complete the plans for the trip Josh promised he would take with her.  She wasn't sure he would remember agreeing so she took a most diplomatic approach (via a post it note on his schedule two days before they were to leave) about reminding him of their weekend plans.  He made no comment, though she was relieved to see his bags packed and sitting in the hallway at home the night before they were to leave.  She didn't see him that evening as the President had him working late.  Not that she would know when he came home anyway.  He had not slept in their bedroom since their last fight.

   Donna awoke on the day of  travel, half expecting to find a note taped to the refrigerator, stating the President had vetoed his vacation and would be working the rest of the weekend.  However, as she entered the kitchen, she found him reading the paper and speaking with Toby on his cellphone.  From the gist of the conversation, he was making sure all was well for the brief period he would be out of town. 

   Once he completed his call he sat silently while she ate her breakfast.  She found it unnerving but kept her tone pleasant as she spoke to him.

   "I'll be ready in just a few minutes," she said.

   "Okay," he replied.  "Where are we going?"

   "To the airport," she said cautiously.

   "We're flying some place?"

   "Well, we're not driving," she remarked.  A day-long ride in a car with Josh would tax her patience more than she thought she could handle at this point.  She wanted to work things out, but there was only so much one woman could handle, she surmised.

   "You haven't told me where we are going," Josh said.

   "I know," she replied.  "It's sort of a surprise.  I told you to pack for possibly chilly weather or possibly warm weather."

   "So we're going to New England," he guessed.

   "Maybe," she said trying not to let on that he was correct though from the brief smug grin that appeared on his lips and disappeared quickly she knew she failed.  "You just don't know where."

   "Boston," he guessed.  "I like Boston.  I love Boston, actually.  I've spent a lot of time in Boston.  I completely approve of Boston."

   "That's nice," Donna answered as she left the room to retrieve their bags. 

   The ride to the airport was quick and uneventful, as was the flight to Boston.  However, Josh's smug and approving air about divining their destination disappeared quickly as Donna steered him toward the rental car desk and retrieved their automobile for the weekend.  She had explicit directions from Isaac in hand and would not tell Josh anything more than he needed to know.  He was told when to go straight, when to turn and nothing more.  However, when they entered the area surrounding the town of Woods Hole, he no longer waited to the prompts of when to turn.  He navigated them to the ferry landing without another word from her. 

   They took their place on the ferry.  The sky above was flannel gray but the sun was thrusting its nose through the blanket as the boat edged out to sea.  No sooner were they free of the dock when Josh got out of the vehicle.  Donna sat alone, puzzled by this.  Her curiosity grew as she watched him move toward the front of the boat and stand facing the oncoming waves.  He had been, what seemed to her, unnaturally quiet as they had boarded the ferry and had not said a single word since then.  Donna remained in the car for the rest of the lengthy ride.  Josh returned as they neared the land.  His air less troubled than when he left the car.

   They arrived on Martha's Vineyard to find the town not quite done with the season.  The vast majority of the tourists had spent their last holiday on the island two weeks earlier.  However diehards and locals still filled the streets.  Donna directed Josh to cottage she was able to rent.  Though it was not precisely the one she had sought originally, it was equally as quaint.  The cottage was small and cozy and not far from the shore.  The center of town was not too far yet there was enough privacy that she felt like they were nearly alone on the island. 

   They entered the cabins and surveyed the set up.  Donna loved the setting.  Josh made no comment.  She opted not to read anything into his silence and politely asked him to get the bags.  Dropped his backpack and cell phone on the table he obliged.  Donna looked at her watch.  It was barely 1 p.m. on Friday yet the morning felt weeks away.  She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not and decided not to dwell upon it.  As she made this decision, Josh's phone trilled.  Out of habit, she answered it.

   "Hello, Josh Lyman's office," she said.

   "This is Connie Mendez from Morgan Greene's office," the woman replied.  "Is Josh Lyman available?"

   "No," Donna said cautiously.  "May I take a message?"

   "Please have him call Morgan Greene at his earliest convenience," the woman replied.  "We need to reschedule his Monday appointment."

   "His Monday appointment," Donna repeated as her hands began to tremble.  "Right.  And what time was that again?"

   "Six p.m.," the woman obliged.  "Mr. Greene has to go to California for another client.  He hopes very much that Mr. Lyman will understand."

   "That's quite alright," Donna replied mechanically.  "I will let Mr. Lyman know so that he can reschedule."

  Donna disconnected as the tears started rolling down her cheeks.  She placed the phone back on the table and wrapped her arms around herself. 

   "This is all of it," Josh said arriving from the car carrying the rest of their bags.  He placed them both on the floor and looked at her back, waiting for a reaction.

   "Great," she said quickly, surreptitiously wiping her eyes and gaining her composure. 

   "Now what?" he asked.

    Donna brushed her hair behind her ears. "It's a while before dinner. Care to take a walk along the shore?"

    "A walk?" he asked. "It's pretty windy out there."

   "I can go by myself," she said, hoping she didn't sound too meek.  She thought taking a walk by herself might be what she needed at this moment.

   "Alone?"

   "I'll be fine," she replied.

   There was something phony and forced out her tone and her expression that Josh did not like.  She was trying so hard, he knew, not to say something.  Though he had no interest in taking a walk along the rocky shore, he relented figuring it was his job to play the accommodating partner so that they didn't end up screaming at each other. 

   "No, I'll go," he shrugged.  "You might want to grab a sweater or something though."

   Donna obliged.  They left the cottage and made their way to the windswept shore.  It was a cragged coastline with several lonely ships in the distance.  The wind grew more intense as they walked toward the rocks in the distance.  Though the wind was warm, the velocity took some of the comfort from it and allowed it to cut through Donna's clothing.  She wrapped her arms tightly about herself as they continued down the beach.

   "It's beautiful," she remarked, pushing the phone call out of her mind and trying to enjoy the tranquility of the setting.  She found it odd that Josh would enjoy such a place. He never seemed to be at peace or still.  Such a setting seemed so diametrically opposed to everything she knew about him.

   "It's better in the summer," he said, clearing up her confusion.  "It's dead right now.  When the summer crowds are here, there's a lot more going on.  I used to go with my dad back to the center of town and listen to the locals talk politics with the tourists.  This is Kennedy country at certain times of the day—particularly when someone in the family might be in the area.  First time I met Ted Kennedy was here.  I was about 10 or 11; my dad sent me into the store to get him a copy of the paper and the senator came in."

   "That's why he calls you the paperboy?" Donna asked, finally getting an answer to a question that had confused her for years. 

   "Yeah," Josh said.  "He doesn't remember it, but I told Earl Brennan the story once and he told the senator at some DNC thing."

   "There's a story?" Donna asked.  "So the name isn't just because you were an errand boy.  What did you do?"

   "Nothing," Josh said quickly.

   "Josh."

   "I was mad because I wanted to go the shore, but my dad made me go with him on an errand for my mother," Josh recalled grudgingly, keeping the peace.  "He was sick of my grumbling about not being at the beach while he wasted the day talking with some guy he knew in town.  So he sent me into this store across the street to grab a paper.  It was the last one on the rack, and I picked it up just before the senator came in.  I knew who he was, but I couldn't believe he didn't just send someone to buy his paper.  I mean, how do they not have home delivery?"

   "What did you do?"

   "I answered a question," Josh said.  "A stupid one."

   "I'm sorry?"

   "He asked what a little boy like me was doing buying such a big paper," Josh said.  "I didn't like being called a little boy.  I wasn't little, so I told him so and said it was none of his damn business why I was…"

   "Josh!"

   "Look, my mother grounded me years ago, so you can put the face away," he said sharply and instantly regretted it.  "Sorry.  I…  Sorry."

   "That's all right," she relented.  She hadn't meant so sound so angry.  "I can't believe you swore at him, that's all.  I mean, today, sure.  But you were a child."

   "I was not a little boy," he argued.  "And technically that is not swearing and that's really not what I said…. precisely.  I was giving you the summation.  Anyway, it was a 10 second encounter that didn't mean anything to me or to him because he doesn't really remember it; it's just something he says now because Earl told him the story and they had a laugh at my expense."

   "So he didn't take you by the ear back to your mother to get grounded?" Donna asked, wondering how Anna Lyman had dealt with that situation. Josh probably needed to keep his father on retainer for the rest of the summer, she felt.

   "I told you, he didn't care," Josh said.  "Besides, who needed a US Senator to blow the whistle on me when I had Isaac the stool pigeon with me.  He was all bug-eyed about it, and he's the only reason my mom found out; guy couldn't keep a secret to save his life or mine."

   "He was with you?"

   "Yeah, he came with us one time--that year," Josh said.  "My mom felt sorry for him and I think she was afraid I wouldn't have any fun by myself."

   "And to keep the day lively, you accosted a U.S. Senator," Donna nodded.  "Sounds like an average day."

   "Yeah, and Isaac nearly drown so it was a real fun vacation."

   "He what?"

   "Well, maybe not drown," Josh said as they approached the rocks that acted as a breakwater to the inlet of the beach.  He picked up a handful of smooth stones and began skipping them along the surface of the water.  "We were running along those rocks over there one afternoon, and he tried to grab a piece of driftwood or something that was in the water.  He fell in and swallowed a lot of salt water.  He spent the rest of the day throwing up and whining like a baby."

   Donna refrained from defending Isaac.  She didn't know him well enough to judge whether Josh was being harsh for the sake of being harsh or if he was depicting an accurate portrayal of the story.  Nor did she care.  She looked along the coast and wished she hadn't left her camera at the cottage.  The windswept beach, the waves folding over each other and the fading light made for a mesmerizing picture.  She looked at the exposed reef that snaked from the shore out into the water and hooked slightly to the right.  She wondered if the angle was better out there to get a wider view of the beach.  If so, she intended to return in the morning with her camera to get a picture.  If the shots were any good, she would consider blowing them up and mounting them on the bare walls of the hallway at the house. 

   "Where are you going?" Josh asked, keeping his feet firmly on the sand and far from the lick of the waves.

   "I want to see something," she said, her arms still tightly about her fighting off the wind.  "I'll be right back."

   "Donna, don't," he warned. 

   "I'm just walking along here," she shouted over her shoulder as she made her way across the rocks.  They were wet with the spray of the waves.

   "You're gonna slip," he called after her.

   "No, I won't," she asserted. 

   She walked more than half way out onto the reef and dared go no further.  The waves seemed to be larger and rush faster here than they did just the few yards back on the shore.  She realized quickly that was due to the angle of the reef.  She surveyed the scene.  The picture from that angle would be much better, she thought.  She looked at Josh, standing alone on the beach, shaking his head.  He was waiting patiently and she thought it best not to provoke his taciturn tendancies so she decided to head back to shore.  She picked her way carefully along the spine of the rocks but the wind was pushing fiercely at her back and suddenly there was water rushing in at her feet.  She looked down, trying to concentrate on the more level places to put her feet.

   "Donna, I told you," Josh warned.  "You're gonna…"

   She never heard the next words.  Her own yelp as her feet hit a slick patch covered his comment.  She toppled over the side, banging her hip and elbow on the rocks before plunging into the water.  It was cold.  She sprang up quickly, glad to find the water was barely waist deep, and shouted in shock.  She moved, as quickly as the tugging water would allow her, toward the shore.  Her eyes stung from the salt and there was a horrible seaweed taste in her mouth.  Her nose also burned from the water that she had inhaled.  Her vision was blurry but as she got nearer the shore, she felt a warm dry hand latch onto her wrist.  She could also hear his failed attempts to stifle laughter.

   "It's not funny," she said sharply.

   "It really was," he assured her as he laughed. 

   "It's cold!"

   "It's the Atlantic Ocean in September," he said unnecessarily.  "Cold is really a relative term."

   "Shut up," she ordered.  "I'm cold.  I'm wet, and I think I swallowed a fish."

   He continued to laugh but did relent that she at least looked cold and asked if she was hurt.  She knew there were likely going to be big bruises tomorrow, but she didn't think anything was broken.  He told her to take of her sodden sweater, which she did and felt the bite of the wind.  It nearly sucked the breath right out of her lungs as it sliced into her wet skin.  He draped his windbreaker over her shoulders.  Using the sleeve, she wiped her eyes and got her first clear view of the once-pretty scene through eyes pickled in salt water.

   "I don't think I want that picture now," she said sternly.

   "I think you'll have pneumonia if we don't get you inside soon," Josh replied.  "You're limping.  Can you walk back?"

   "Yeah," she said and walked, slowly and painfully beside him.  "I'm not going to be able to move tomorrow."

   "The quicker we get back, the quicker you can get ice on… whatever parts of you was that…," he started laughing again and without thinking put his arm around her.

   "I'm here for your entertainment," she said, smirking and feeling as foolish as she feared she looked.  "So who was more graceful, me or Isaac?"

   "He got more points on degree of difficulty—he went over backwards and head first," Josh said.  "I'd give you more style points for artistic expression because you screamed and more on technical merit because you pulled yourself out."

   "I should get points for how cold the water is," she argued. 

   "Can't," Josh said.  "That goes with the whole costume issue.  Besides, to offer points for that would be to lend credence to the concept of the wet T-shirt contest."

   Donna huffed and wrapped his jacket more tightly around her.  Her joints were growing stiff and her ears hurt.  The wind was growing colder as the light faded.  She figured they were roughly a mile from the cottage and dreaded every step of the way back.  She knew it was not merely the overall moisture content of her wardrobe that made her shiver.  She could see Josh was chilled by the wind.  She could feel the occasional shiver in his arm as it rested on her shoulders. 

   The walk back to the cottage took what seemed to Donna like forever.  Even the cool air of the unheated cottage felt warm as they stepped out of the biting wind.  Donna felt her face with her chilled hands.  She could not tell if the heat in her cheeks was the onset of a fever or wind burn.  After a look in the mirror—which revealed her hair now rivaled the tangle snake mass popularized by Medusa—her cheeks were pulsing red.

   Without being told, Josh dutifully built a fire in the fireplace.  Donna watched with caution.  She wasn't sure how he could err by putting wood in the proscribed place and touching a match to it, but she kept an eye peeled just in case.  Thankfully, no emergency measures were needed.  Seeing the smoke rising properly up the chimney, Donna repaired to the bathroom in hopes of getting a warm shower.  However, her plans were quickly dashed as the water was barely lukewarm.  She stepped from the shower smelling slightly better but no warmer than when she entered.  She dressed in as many layers as possible and returned to the main room where Josh was on his cellphone.

   "I guess we could put out some feelers to see what they think," he said as he saw he enter.  "I actually have my notes in my bag…  No, it's, uh, I think it's still in the car….  Let me take a look at them and I'll call you back…  Okay, when then?....  Sure, an hour from now….  Okay, and Toby, would you find out about this thing I got a message about, something about a guy name Reichter…  No idea, but apparently when we go to Germany there might be a thing….  Yeah….  Okay."

   "Toby just can't live without you," Donna said as he hung up.  "Do we still have a country?"

   "For the moment," he replied from his spot on the couch.  "I'm no expert, but I think you'd be warmer if you stood closer to the heat source."

    "Huh?" she replied. "Oh yeah, sure."

    Donna made her way over to the couch and curled her feet under her. "I can't believe I was that stupid... I should've known better."

    "It was an accident," Josh said simply, continuing to read the newspaper. "You slipped."

    "Still..." she shivered.

    "Here," Josh offered, slipping an afghan off the back of the couch and wrapping it around her shoulders. "Wrap up in this.  You're still shivering."

    "Thanks," she said gratefully. "This is a lovely cabin, don't you think?"

    Josh tossed the paper aside. "Hmm? Uh, yeah."

    "Thank you," Donna said softly.

    "For what?"

    "Agreeing to come," Donna explained.

    Josh shrugged. "Yeah."

    "Josh..."

    "Yeah?" he turned to her.

    "Morgan Greene's office called?"

   Her words brought silence to the room.  He looked back at her with a guilty expression.  He considered trying to evade the truth but knew from her expression that would not work.  He knew she deserved to know the truth.

   "He's a…," Josh began but the words would not come.

   "He's one of the most powerful divorce lawyers in Washington," Donna said.  "I know Morgan.  I've met him a few times.  He's supposed to be highly expensive but highly discrete and keeps thing quiet and quick.  Half of Congress and the half's spouses have him on retainer."

   "I know him through Earl Brennan," Josh said for lack of anything else.  "I just…  I needed… I don't…"

   "They said that they needed to reschedule," Donna explained, taking a seat on the couch. "I understand why you called."

    "Well I don't," he replied honestly.

    Donna looked at him. "Is this what you want?"

    "I don't know what I want," he admitted.  "I just know that I can't go on like this.  What do you want?"

    "I wish I knew," she sighed.

    Josh ran his hands over his face, suddenly feeling very tired. "Do you know what you don't want at least?"

    "I don't want to feel like this," she confessed.  "I guess I didn't think that things had gone this far."

    Josh stared at the painting on the wall behind her. "I think that I make you miserable and that maybe this might be the best thing."

    "No, it's me," Donna argued. "I've pushed you too far.  I've been hateful to you.  It's just been so stressful and…  This whole year has been one… First my father dies and then you and I sort of fell apart and before I knew what was going on, we were in Greece and…  It was just so much in such a short time.  It made me act crazy."

    "You do that because," he paused, "you want me to be something I am not."

    "Yes… I mean, no," she admitted. "I didn't marry you because I thought I could miraculously change you."

    "I'm not blaming you," he assured her.  "I'm difficult.  I know that.  I mean, you get a lot of credit for hanging in there as long as you did, but I did this to you.  Well, most of it."

    "Do you still love me?" Donna asked.

   "Maybe that's just not enough," Josh said.

    "Fine," she sighed, taking a pen an paper off the end table beside her. "Simple Pros and Cons list for a divorce, okay?"

    "I…hadn't considered taking notes," Josh said uncomfortably.

    "It can't hurt," she said, pen at the ready.  "You first."

    "Okay, Pro," Josh said reluctantly.  "No more fighting every day at home."

    "Con – no more home," she countered, then added. "Pro – we can sleep easier at night."

    "Con – we don't sleep together any night," Josh pointed out.

    Donna scribbled down their points and counter points when Josh spoke again.

    "Pro," he sighed. "I won't make you miserable."

    "Con – I won't be there to lighten the mood," she replied. "Pro – no mortgage."

    "Con – alimony."

    Donna stopped writing. "What? I…I wouldn't ask for it."

    "And how precisely are you going to pay for the house?" he asked.

    "I thought you'd keep the house," Donna said.

    "I don't want the house," Josh answered.  "You love the house. I'd want you to have it."

    "Too big for one person," she shook her head.

    "There's a ton of equity in the house," Josh pointed out. "You could sell it and get yourself a better apartment to live in.  And speaking of finances, Pro: marriage tax penalty."

    "Con: No marriage to penalize."

    Josh paused briefly. "Con – new assistant."

   "You'd fire me?" she asked innocently.

   "I thought you'd quit," he shrugged.  "Wouldn't it be too awkward?"

    "Probably," Donna admitted. "Con – new boss."

    "This list isn't working," Josh admitted as he exhaled tiredly.   "Look, just answer me this:  Was it a mistake?"

    "It can't be," Donna whispered uncertainly.

    "It could," he contradicted. "It's one explanation for why things are so screwed up.  I wonder if maybe… for so long we were there, under each other's skin. Maybe we read things wrong. When I do things impulsively, they're not usually the right thing."

    "Why can't this be the right thing?" she asked simply.

    "It doesn't feel right anymore," he said, and knew he was echoing her unvoiced fears.

    "Neither, do I," Josh agreed. "But you should be ready to face the possibility that we can't fix things."

    "I know," Donna said softly.

    "Losing people is a part of life," Josh explained. "Sometimes it's not because they died."

    "Do you still love me?" she asked frankly and feared the answer.  When he spoke, it was worse than her worries.  It was honest and possibly disastrously truthful. 

   "I don't think that matters," he said.  "That one thing isn't enough."

   "But you do," she asserted.  "I still love you, too."

   "What does that matter if we don't like each other anymore?" he asked pointedly.

   "It should count for something," she said meekly.

   "Bad things shouldn't happen to good people, but that's not how the world works," Josh replied.

   Donna could not argue with that, even if she had the strength, which she didn't.  The cold was setting into her bruised body and making her shiver.  Josh graciously ran into the small town and found pizza for them.  He returned and they ate in virtual silence.  Donna remained on the couch as darkness fell.  She vaguely recalled Josh assisting her to bed an leaving her in the room alone.  She awoke in the morning to the sound of rain pelting the windows and soreness engulfing her right leg and hip.  Her back and head ached as well.  There was no breathing through her nose and her eyes felt puffy and gooey. 

   "I'm dying," she said stuffily as she spied Josh standing in the doorway staring at her.

   "So you're not dead," he nodded.  "Guess you'll want your coffee."

   "I can't move," she groaned. 

   "I bought you some aspirin, too," he said obligingly as he entered the room and handed her the pills and cup.  "I'll bet you aren't up to any sightseeing today."

   "You sound pleased," she remarked, gulping to lukewarm liquid and the pills.  "This is almost cold."

   "It's about four hours old," he informed her.  "It's nearly noon, Donna.  Do you want to leave?  We can catch the next ferry and go back to civilization.  Do you think you need to see a doctor?"

   "I'll be fine," she sighed as she admitted to herself that relaxing weekend to get their lives back on track was now ruined.

*****************

The White House

Saturday, 10 a.m.

   "…And a guy named David Schulman left a message that he has to speak to you," Ginger reported to Toby as he returned from a breakfast meeting with the President that had not gone well. 

   While Toby normally thrived in meetings with the President, this one should have been Josh's to take.  Leo had dropped the latest revisions for the Energy Bill in Toby's lap at five o'clock the previous evening when it appeared Josh would not be back in time to brief the President the following morning.  The speechwriter was wondering how much Josh had managed a weekend off with Leo's blessing without being half dead.  It was not that Toby did not comprehend the bill or the changes it was facing.  It was more the President's jovial mood and desire to pontificate on the history of energy—in all it's forms throughout history—that vexed Toby so much.  This was the kind of abuse the President should have reserved for Josh, Toby felt and saying so during the meeting only seemed to drag things on longer he noted. 

  Now, he was supposed to get back to working on the speech the President was to deliver at in Germany in three weeks time but his brain was filled to capacity with stories of peat bogs and the precise dimensions of the blades of windmills in Holland.  So it took him several seconds to digest and decipher what his assistant had said.

   "Wait," he said after a moment.  "Schulman?  Rabbi Schulman?"

   "He didn't say," Ginger responded.  "Maybe he's a rabbi.  The name sounds Jewish, doesn't it?"

   "Just a little," Toby sighed.  "Call him back.  And find out what he wanted before I speak to him."

   "So he's someone?"

   "Oh yeah," Toby groaned and tossed aside any thoughts of writing at that moment.  "And get CJ.  She might know what this is about."

   "Okay," Ginger nodded then turned to leave.  "But if he's a rabbi it's probably about Texas."

   "I'm sorry?"

   "The band in Texas," Ginger said as if that simplified matters.

   "I need more than Cliff Notes," Toby urged.

   "There was a high school marching band in Texas that did a thing last night," she explained from the brief she had caught on the news just before Toby started his meeting with the President.  "They were doing a world cultures thing, or maybe it was something to do with the nations that fought in World War II…"

   "Ginger?"

   "Right," she said, returned to the point as his glare grew sharp.  "They played the national anthem of Nazi Germany and waved the flag with the swastika."

   "I'm sorry," Toby with an aghast expression.  "They did what?"

   "It was on the news," she said, pointing over her shoulder.

   "Get CJ."

****************

Martha's Vineyard

Noon

    "So why aren't we condemning the band leader?" Donna asked in a raspy voice.  She had managed to maneuver from her bed to the couch in a painful fashion and the bruises from her fall had blossomed overnight and a mighty cold had settled into her head and chest.  Josh had spent a good deal of time on the phone with Toby and CJ and Leo regarding an incident at a Texas football game.  Donna wasn't entirely certain what was going on.  She was finding it difficult to concentrate as she kept dozing off.  She was just grateful to find that Josh had brought her soup—it reminded her of a similar gesture many months earlier.

   "We're not saying anything other than it was a poor choice of music," Josh replied, not entirely pleased with the White House response but knowing it was the correct move politically.  There were First Amendment landmines all around this event.

   "So we don't think they were advocating the Nazi machine?" she asked as she listed to the wind rattle the shutters on the cottage as the storm continued to roll off the coast.  She was fighting to stay awake as she stared at the flickering embers in the fire.  Despite the pain, she was comfortable.  She had wedged herself under Josh's arm and nestled herself close to him, mostly to keep warm. 

   "The band director states that they were merely representing all those nations involved in the conflict," Josh replied.  "It wasn't precisely the Nazi anthem so much as a piece of music closely associated with Hitler and the propaganda parades."

   "And the flags?" Donna asked.

   "Apparently they did the same thing last week for the Civil War and no one seemed to care that much about the Confederate Flag flying next to the U.S. Flag," he said. 

   "What do you think?" she asked, having heard how difficult it was for him to remain in his role as political advisor during the conversation with his co-workers.  She was certain both he and Toby took this issue more personally than the others in that meeting.

   "I don't know," he lied.

   "You don't mind that a public school was parading hate up and down the field as half-time entertainment?" she asked then sneezed.

   "What I think is that you're getting sick already," he observed.

      Donna shook her head. "No."

    "You have a cold already," he repeated.  "Maybe we should go.  You can see a doctor before this gets serious."

    "I don't have a cold," Donna stated through her stuffy nose.

     "And why not?"

    "Because I don't have time to be sick," Donna said, and then paused.

    "You think you really never get colds?"

    "Yeah," Donna nodded. "When you were 'dying' during the campaign, did I get a cold? No, I did not."

    "It was an extremely virulent strain that affected only certain people," he said haughtily.

    Donna smiled and leaned back against him. "Ah, I see. So, it picked its victims."

    "Strategically, yes," he agreed, pulling a blanket around her more snuggly as she shivered.  "I told you it was like a Republican cold."

    "A Republican cold?" she yawned. "That's new."

    "I think many Republicans are cold," he smiled.

    "You think all Republicans are cold," Donna pointed out.

    "No," he corrected, "I think they're all misguided."

    "I stand corrected."

    "You're actually sitting," Josh smirked. "Delirious with the cold already, huh?"

    Donna began to drift off. "Josh, you don't have to be so literal."

    "My metaphors get me in trouble," he said and then waited. Josh glanced down and noticed that Donna had drifted off to sleep. He gingerly stroked her hair and stared at the fire.

****************

The White House

The following week

   With the vacation over and no definite course set for their future, Donna returned to work feeling battered but hopeful.  She was able to move, slowly at first, so long as she didn't bump the corn of her desk or any file drawers.  There as a brief moment of agony when one of the interns clipped her hip with a mail cart, but other than that she was able to function, which put her ahead of so many others in the office.

   A virulent strain of a stomach virus was makings its rounds in Washington.  Two schools were closing their doors for at least two days to control the epidemic.  Those with children or contact with them were coming down with the crippling 72 hours virus as well.  Though the actual sickness was lasting only 48 hours, it packed a punch that left one needing several days to recover sufficiently to return to work.  From what Donna learned it hit the phone operators first then slowly started to move its way through the building over the weekend.  The cleaning crew was down to half staff and some anecdotal evidence showed nearly every intern and secretary in the OEOB was starting to run a fever.

   With her immune system already possibly compromised by what she might admit was the slightest touch of a cold, Donna was extra wary and considered wearing a doctor's mask at her desk.  However, the stern look from Josh when she suggested it vetoed that idea swiftly.  He started to change is tune slightly as the week dragged on.  The Texas band story was not disappearing as hoped and he found himself in several meetings with CJ who, in his estimation, was no longer pale so much as light gray in color.  When Margaret succumbed after fainting at her desk on Wednesday afternoon, even Leo was prepared to admit that perhaps this virus thing was not just a simple autumn cold event.  By the time the President had to see a doctor on Thursday morning, everyone was willing to concede the bug had gotten the better of them.

   It was decided that CJ would not do the briefing, mostly because she wasn't sure she  could stand that long, but also to show that this was a real thing and the President staying in bed for a day or so had nothing to do with MS.  The fortunate break came when most of those in the Press Room also started in with the symptoms. 

   Donna struggled through the week, feeling more and more tired with each day, and placing a thermometer in her mouth more than a fork or spoon.  When she hit 101.3, she surrendered.  She dragged herself into work on Friday morning and prayed that she could make it to the end of the day and vowed to not crawl out of bed until the following Monday.  She thought she might even pull it off as Josh seemed unaffected by the bug—only he and Sam and Toby appeared immune (Ginger, in her withered state announced it was because there were either too mean or too hostile to get sick). 

   Though she felt like death was around the corner, Donna was satisfied to have Josh back at home.  She wasn't sure how much of it was due to his desire to be as it was his worry that she not be left alone.  Twice he expressed a fear that she looked so unsteady on her feet that she might fall down the stairs.  By no means was he a wonderful nurse, but at least he brought her Tyleno and water when requested and the mere fact that he was there and trying mean the most to her.  However, not long after arriving on Friday she fielded a phone call that stripped her of any remaining will to plod through the day.  She left a note on Josh's door that she had gone home sick.  She had left a second message on his desk—so that he might be persuaded that one note had nothing to do with the other—stating that Morgan Green was confirming their dinner meeting that evening at 6 p.m.

**************



The Lyman residence
Friday,
11 p.m.

Donna sat on the seat of the bay window, her back facing the street, with one dim lamp illuminating the living room. She listened mournfully to the ticking of the grandfather clock and the quiet clinking of her wedding rings as she rung her hands together. Josh wasn't home. She knew he wasn't at the office either. He had one thing on his schedule for the evening: Morgan Greene. She had overheard Josh confirm the appointment.

So this is D-Day, she thought.

Sometime that evening, Donna would learn if she would be signing her name on a divorce petition.

She sighed heavily and placed her face in her hands and wondered how things had gone so wrong. She didn't know where the train left the tracks. Her life with Josh as merely his assistant had gone much more smoothly than it had as his wife.

Sure, he irritated and annoyed me with his little nuances before, but I wasn't the one starting a war of words back then. Those annoying traits - like never being wrong or never admitting he was wrong or somehow managing to make his mistakes into more work for me without him still being technically wrong - were part of his charm.

As a plethora of such instances sprang to her mind, she smiled, at first unconsciously. Then she realized what she was doing and felt a wave of tears well up in her eyes and her throat tightened.

Why is it that they don't annoy me now but if he was right here I'd be screaming at him instead of smiling? Maybe he's right. Maybe I am losing my mind.

She thought they had made progress on their weekend trip to New England. She thought that until she realized he was keeping his appointment to speak formally to Morgan Greene.

She wanted to find the words to tell him how much she loved him; words that would make him understand that she was going through something she didn't understand but that didn't change how she felt for him deep in her heart. But she wasn't Toby - she couldn't get a succinct, persuasive statement together; and she wasn't Sam - her words didn't have the power to move him and open his heart.

Not that she had given him much of a reason to listen to any plea she made. She could see now, in the cold, stark light of reflection, how terribly she had treated him. She had done it with so little warning. It seemed to her as though she just woke up filled with this ire and pent up rage toward him one morning. It didn't appear to have any root cause, but she blamed him all the same. She blamed him because it was easy and it felt good to let that emotion out.

That is, until after she had said something.

Without fail, each time she exchanged a verbal barrage with Josh, she felt remorseful and depressed and sick inside. But rather than it compelling her to apologize, it only made her angrier when she spoke with him next about the incident. She didn't think she resented him, but she could come up with no other reason for her behavior…except that there was something wrong with her emotionally.

She regretted deeply, almost to the point of sobbing despair, the hateful way - and hateful was the only way she could describe saying such a thing to him - with which she attacked him. She in turn retaliated with the most evil thing she thought she could say.

I told him 'I hate you.'

She said it but it wasn't true. She didn't hate him. Couldn't.

He hadn't said it to her, but she wasn't sure about his feelings. Josh kept his feelings close and hidden. He would open up at the most unexpected times and only with those he trusted most.

The last several months had been a whirlwind of emotions for her. Her father's slow deterioration from a man whom she thought hung the moon to a helpless individual broke Donna's heart; Josh's sudden and abrupt breaking off of their agreement shattered her spirit. Then two weeks later, Josh surprised her with the sudden revelation of his true feelings and it gave Donna a revived sense of being. Finally, the culmination of events occurred when he placed the ring on her finger. Donna never thought that she could be so much in love and completely happy; everything was right with the world again.

The quiet suddenly became too much for Donna to handle. She rose from the window seat and headed for the entertainment center. She picked up the remote and accessed the CD player and hit the shuffle button. The strains of Etta James' Stormy Weather came through the speakers and engulfed the room - a fitting tribute to tonight. She flicked off the lamp and noticed that it had begun to rain.

Donna made her way back to her seat and gazed out the window. There was something about the rain that used to make her feel warm and special. The night in Vermont when they made their deal to be with each other outside of the office gave her goose bumps each time she remembered it while she laid in Josh's bed. But her most cherished stormy occurrence came on a sidewalk just yards from the entrance to a gallery on South Street - the honesty in his words and sincerity in his eyes move her in a way nothing else ever could. Donna could not decide if that night or the wedding day was her most precious memory.

The rain streaked down the windowpanes, matching the tears that escaped from her eyes. Donna pulled her knees up to her chest and started sobbing. She wondered if Josh was coming home that night or if the next contact that she received from him outside the office would be from a process server.

Lawyers. She'd need to get one for herself if things continued on their present course. The only lawyers Donna knew in the greater DC area were the ones she worked with, Cliff Calley and her own lawyer from the congressional depositions three years ago, who didn't handle divorce proceedings.


Donna gazed into the face of the grandfather clock and noted the time: 11:07 pm. A flash of headlights briefly illuminated the living room causing her to face them. When it turned out to be a vehicle making a U-turn, Donna's shoulders sunk.

Not him.

   Three months ago, he would have been home in bed with me at this time of night. Now I only see him in the halls at the office. He's always out the door for the office before I'm even awake. Actually, I'm not even sure he's coming home every night. I heard Sam the other day and I saw that bag under Josh's desk in his office.

As the last notes of the CD faded away, Donna was left in silence to wonder and worry.

Minutes bled into hours; she became increasingly worried. She wanted to pick up the phone and call him just to see if he was okay but decided against it. She wanted to know how he was, not where he was. If he was still in his meeting, it would confirm her worst fears.

A slam of a car door signaled that someone in the neighborhood was home. Donna didn't look out the window to see if it was Josh. She wasn't letting herself become hopeful. Her father used to say hope was not a course of action. She never believed that until tonight. However, the rattle of keys in the door told her that Josh was indeed home. She heard the door open and quietly close. She heard the sound of the backpack being placed on the deacon's bench in the foyer followed by his footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors as he made his way down the hallway. Donna quickly wiped the tears from her face as the footsteps became louder. Josh walked into the living room and turned on the light.

"Oh my god!" he gasped as Donna's figured suddenly appeared. "What are you doing?"

"Thinking," she responded quietly as she stood.

"Oh, sorry," Josh apologized. "I'll leave you along. I was just going to watch TV. I'll go to my office."

"No," Donna said quickly as she tentatively made her way to Josh. "Stay. Please."

Josh shrugged and started to pick up the remote when Donna grabbed his hand. "Can we talk?"

"Uh, sure," he agreed, uncertain of what discussion lay ahead of him. He scanned his wife's face and noticed that it was stained with tears. He knew they were caused by him, and it hurt him.

He sat on the couch and Donna took a seat on the coffee table across from him. They stared at each other in excruciating silence.

"So," he began. "What did you need?"

"You," Donna said.

He sighed and shook his head, focusing his eyes on his shoes as his shoulders drooped.

"Please listen," she said in a rush. "I know you met with Morgan, but I want to say something."

"Okay."

Donna took a deep breath and continued. "Josh, I…I don't want this to end. And by this I mean us. I know things haven't been pleasant or enjoyable or even civil sometimes. Okay, a lot of time lately. It's not what I wanted for my marriage; I'm sure it's not what you expected either, but we can't just abandon it when times get tough. I don't want to give up and neither do you. I know you. You don't give up. You…you…you stick with things and…and…and you…"

"Don't give up?" he repeated as she stammered.

"That's right," she agreed emphatically as the tears blistered in her eyes again. "I know you don't believe me when I tell you nothing's wrong. And you were right not to. Something is wrong. It's me; I can see that now. I'm sorry. I want to fix it."

"Donna…"

"Josh, let me finish," she said interrupting him as she grabbed his hand. "I've thought all night and I've decided that I'm not going to give up on us. So I'm asking you not to give up on me. I know that it's a lot to ask considering how I've treated you for the last few months, but I want this to work out. I want to have a future with you. If that means that I have to see a professional, then I will. I'll do it because I can't stand feeling like this anymore and I can't lose you. Josh…I love you too much to let that happen."

She looked back at him expectantly, trying to read his expression. It was blank - his legislative face; the one he used when a Congressman had stepped out of line too often and now wanted to play nice. It was not a good face.

"I was wrong when I married you," Donna said nervously. "I mean, that is, I thought I could be like you. I've been around you so much, and I got swept up in your world and your ways so long ago I think somewhere along the way, I forgot in a little but important way that I was me still."

"I don't-" Josh began but was cut off.

"Please, let me just say this," Donna said quickly. "I have to say this. You… Josh, you make up your mind, and you are so definite. You know so much and you know what you want and how to get it. You make up your mind and BAM it gets done. You're so direct and that's admirable because you know. You just… you know. It amazes me sometimes about you. And I think that was what confused me. I promised you something that I shouldn't have; I agreed to something I shouldn't have last spring. I shouldn't have done it. Oh, now I'm not saying this right."

"You're saying that getting married was a mistake," Josh surmised. She looked up at him with the confession shining through the tears in her eyes.

"My heart was there, but I wasn't," she said. "My head, my reasoning, they weren't there or they were confused by what was happening around me. My heart was there but that's not always such a good thing. It was so busy dealing with everything that had happened-my father and this thing that was going on between us-there was a lot to deal with and I don't think I handled it well-any of it."

"I never thought of it like that," Josh said solemnly. "That's not how I am. I guess I just keep moving."

"I know," she said understandingly. "That's who you are. My heart works the way your head works. It knows what it wants and we go after it. We don't always think it through though. It has its good and bad results. It brought me to New Hampshire, but it's not always so successful."

Donna paused and drew a shaky breath. Her head was no longer as clear as it had been when she returned home. She was tired, exhausted, emotionally but she was determined to focus and say this.

"The difference between you and me is that you think," she said firmly. "You do. You think a thing from a dozen sides all at the same time. You surround it and scour over it; I don't when I lead with my heart. I latch onto something and it carries me away; I'm not the one in control.

"Being in Greece was like that," she continued as tears began to seep from her tired eyes with a sorrowful flow. "It was beautiful. More than that; I can't describe how it was to me. I don't have the words to express it and because it was so… overwhelming, I didn't think; I acted. I think if I had slowed down and made myself think things over, this all would be so different. I led with my heart, but I'm back together again-all my parts. My head picked a fight with my heart and this time my head won. I'm so sorry about all of this. I can't believe I put you through this, but now I'm ready to move on. I never meant to hurt you. It's just that part of me got lost, but I'm here now. I'm standing here and I'm saying this to you because I thought it out, logically, and because I know in my heart this is the truth and the right thing. That's what I had to say. That and I wish you wouldn't look at me like that; I hurt you and I'm so sorry. More sorry than I can say; more sorry than I've ever been."

"Are you finished?" he asked.

"No," she responded and lowered her head. "I know there is a lot more I should say. But I don't know what else I can say. I love you. Please don't do this."

"Okay," he said quietly.

"What?" she sniffled as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hands.

"Donna, look at me," Josh said sternly. She slowly lifted her head to meet his gaze. "I didn't meet with Morgan. I canceled."

"I'm sorry?"

"I canceled," he repeated. "I'm not to that point yet. We might still get there, but I … I don't know.  I'm not real good at giving up."

"Even if it's a lost cause?" she asked in a calm though slightly shaky tone.

"I'm a Democrat," he shrugged. 



Up next chapter 13 (finally!): Horatio