Title: Heaven and Hell: Eulogies and The Lazarus Factor (Chapter 14)
Authors: Enigmatic Ellie and Westwinger247
Webpage: http://wing_nuts.tripod.com
Email: e_allen@hotmail.com or minorleeg@yahoo.com
Notes: This is the sequel to the award-winning sequel to The Quest. For our faithful (and vocal) fans: We're writing as fast as we can. Thanks for the interest. Reviews are encouraged—they make us write faster sometimes.
Lyman HouseWednesday, 7 pm
Mallory O'Brien walked up the sidewalk towards the house. The air surrounding the home seemed different. It was still and quiet where she expected there to be a sense of commotion. There were no cars in the driveway, no visitors paying their respects. The only indication that anyone was home was the faint glow of lights visible deep within the house. Mallory knew Josh's mother had arrived late that morning and did not think she would be traipsing around the District visiting under the circumstances. She approached the front door with a growing feeling of unease. Part of her wanted to turn around and leave before anyone knew she was here. She felt like she was intruding. Perhaps everyone had stopped by earlier and had been sent away so that Donna and her mother-in-law could have some privacy. Mallory wasn't sure what the protocol was for this situation. She was raised Catholic and those traditions dictated there should be a gaggle of people in the home comforting, consoling, reminiscing and taking care of whatever needed to be taken care of, but this was a different situation. That was obvious just by looking at the home. There was no wreath adorning the outside of the house like the way Mallory recalled from the death's of her own family members in the past. It was odd to think of a thing like that, she noted. She was not a religious person herself and never knew Donna to be so. And Josh was never…
Mallory shook her head. She had known him for a long time and known about him even longer. Still, some part of her felt he was a stranger. Josh was not an easy person to know, in her estimation. He had always seemed so predictable—she always knew precisely what he might think or say about any subject. She came to know him better as he became her father's protégé and even then there did not seem to be much under the surface. He was like every other politician in Washington, but her eyes were opened as the years passed. Much of that was due to her friendship with Sam. Sam knew Josh in a way few people in that town ever could. Sam himself said it best, they were like brothers. She knew Sam was in great pain and taking tremendous strides not to show it right now. She paused at the steps to the home as she pictured the speechwriter with that same ghastly expression—the one that was still hoping all this was a bad dream—sitting at his desk trying to write a final good bye for someone who was not supposed to leave this soon.
With a deep sigh she release those images from her head and made her way up the few steps of the porch and rang the bell. After several moments, Donna opened the door with a drawn and listless expression.
"Hi Donna," Mallory smiled wanly. "If this is a bad time…"
"Mallory," Donna said solemnly. "Please, come in."
Mallory noticed how pale and sickly Donna looked. She also took stock of her appearance. Donna was clad in a Yale sweatshirt and sweatpants. Her hair was knotted limply at the back of her head. She looked battered and defeated.
"I brought cookies for you and Mrs. Lyman," Mallory offered, holding up the bag. "It's not much, but…. I wanted to do something and this is what I managed in a pinch."
"Thank you," Donna stated as she made her way into the kitchen. "You really shouldn't have."
"I wanted… I needed to do something," Mallory said. "We're you asleep? I didn't mean to wake you."
"No, I couldn't sleep even if I wanted to," Donna replied though she looked and sounded exhausted. "Toby stopped by and asked Anna if she'd like to go to temple with him. I know I should have offered to go, but…."
"It's okay," Mallory said as she placed hand on Donna's arm. "I'm sure she understands."
Donna nodded and took a seat in the breakfast nook.
"Thank you for stopping by," she said after a moment. "Are you on your way home?"
"No," Mallory replied. "I'm staying at my Dad's place tonight."
"How is Leo?" Donna asked.
"Putting up a good front," Mallory responded. "It's crazy at the office right now so he's… Forget about that. I just meant that he misses both of them like crazy. He'd rather have died himself."
Donna brushed a small tear from her cheek as she listened. Leo and Josh had not always had the smoothest relationship. There were times, many times in her estimation, where Leo took Josh for granted. But Josh would never have agreed with that; his loyalty to Leo was without bounds and he had spent the better part of the previous six years doing whatever Leo bid him to do.
"It's not his fault," Donna said softly.
"My father isn't very good at showing how he feels and he can be very gruff sometimes," Mallory said. "But he does care about the people he works with; Josh was very special to my father."
Donna nodded. She had not spoken with Leo yet. He had called but she let the machine pick up. She couldn't speak to him any more than she could speak to the President. She wasn't prepared for that yet and wasn't sure she would ever be. Even speaking with Sam, something she had done several times, was unbelievably painful. Toby had sent a message to her and Josh's mother, but Donna had not read it. The tears that spilled over Anna's cheeks as she read the note told Donna all she needed to know so that when he arrived to get Anna she had stayed in the bedroom until they were gone. She feared that seeing anyone from the office again would start her crying and unleash a pain so deep she might never stop. The more she thought about it, the more Donna just wanted everything to be over with quickly. Going through an unending round of sympathy from others would make her angry at Josh for being so well known and even well liked by some of those who were offering their condolences—and she wasn't prepared to be mad at him just yet. That would come in time, she knew.
"So…?" Mallory began, picking up a section of The Washington Post. "What are you looking at?"
"Stuff," Donna said, taking the paper from Mallory. "I'm trying to keep up on current events."
"Donna," Mallory soothed. "That was the real estate section."
"I've been doing some thinking," Donna said, rubbing her eyes.
"Donna, I'm sure you've got a thousand concerns and worries right now," Mallory sighed. "But there will be time for that soon enough. Right now, you just have to take things one day at a time. And if there's anything you need, you have a lot of people right here waiting to help."
"I've been looking at our financial…," she began but Mallory cut her off quickly.
"This is what I'm talking about," Mallory cut in. "Donna, now is not the time to worry about that kind of stuff. If you're worried about Josh's will or anything like that, I'm sure Sam can help. He's quite good and he would gladly help. So put that out of your mind. You need to take care of yourself right now and not worry about anything else just yet."
"I'm not worried about Josh's estate," Donna said. "He updated his will in July after we bought the house and if there are any problems we have an attorney. I mean, Anna has one that she trusts. His name is Ira Rosen; he's from Josh's father's old firm, and I'm calling him tomorrow."
"Why so soon?"
"I need things in order quickly," Donna replied. "I'm selling the house."
"You're what?"
"I'm selling the house," Donna repeated. "It's… too big."
Mallory sighed and swallowed the lump in her throat as she watched Donna fight to keep her composure. She looked around at the bright kitchen and recalled the first time she saw the house—just a month after they moved in. Mallory had been envious of Donna then. She was in love and had just had what was probably the most romantic wedding Mallory had ever heard about and was moving into a beautiful home to start her new life. Now, what she saw was likely on par with Donna's vision: large, lonely rooms and no one to share her life with any longer.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Mallory said. "Maybe at some point in the future, but I…."
"I need to do this," Donna said firmly.
"Okay," Mallory replied cautiously. "Is there anything I can do? I can help you look for an apartment."
"I'm not getting an apartment," Donna said. "I'm leaving Washington."
"What?" her guest questioned. "Why? Where are you going?"
"Florida," Donna stated.
"Florida?" Mallory asked. "Donna, you have your job, your friends…"
Donna stared out the window and sighed as she answered.
"I can't go back to the White House," she said softly. "I won't. I don't have a job there."
"Of course you do," Mallory replied. "They won't fire you; my father will see that you have a position."
"I don't work for Leo," Donna said simply. "I don't work for the President. I worked for Josh."
"Donna…"
"He won't be there, Mallory," Donna said as wiped another errant tear from her lid. "I couldn't live with it. Day in and day out, walking the halls and knowing he's not there… that he's not ever going to be there again. That building was his whole life. It ran through his blood. He lived for his job and…."
"The job wasn't his entire life, Donna," Mallory ardently. "He had you."
"Yeah," Donna said absentmindedly pulling a cookie from the bag Mallory had brought.
"Why are you going to Florida?" Mallory asked.
"Because of Anna," Donna said. "I love my family. They want me to come home, but Anna has no one. For the last few years, he's all she had. She has friends, but…. I can't leave her alone, Mallory. It would…. It would kill Josh to see her like this and I can't have that. She needs me Mallory and I intend to be there for her."
"When do you plan on leaving?"
"I don't know," Donna shrugged. "I'll turn in my resignation after the memorial service. I'll meet with a real estate agent after I talk with Mr. Rosen. This house should sell pretty quickly. I have a lot of packing to do but we barely unpack so it won't be too difficult to reverse the process. I will need Sam's help for one thing."
"What?"
"Josh's office here," she said nodding toward the hallway that led to the darkened room—the one she couldn't enter for the same reason she dreaded a return to the White House. "I don't really know what's in there and there might be…. stuff that should go to whoever the President appoints to replace Josh."
"They'll never replace him," Mallory offered feeling a sharp sting in her eyes as she fought off tears. "My father said that. They might get someone else to do the job, but no one could ever replace Josh Lyman."
"Thank you," Donna sniffled.
Mallory left her seat enveloped Donna in a hug and rubbed her back as the tears streamed down Donna's face.
"I'm sorry," Donna apologized as she pulled away. She quickly wiped her face dry. "I didn't mean to do that. I just…. I want him back and I can't have that."
"It's okay," Mallory assured her. "Donna, this has been the worst day of your life and it probably doesn't seem like it will ever get better, but it does. Don't ask me how or when, but it does. Josh knew that better than anyone else I know and he wouldn't want you to let grief get the better of you. Take your time. Lean on your friends right now. I understand that you want to help Anna, but I'm not sure selling the house and leaving Washington is wise so soon after… all this. You're acting out of grief right now and you're not thinking everything through clearly. I'm not saying you shouldn't go through with your plans, but maybe you should let a few more days pass before you start taking any big steps. All of us – Dad, Sam, Toby – you mean a lot to us, Donna. And it's not because you worked for Josh. You know that right?"
"It's what I have to do, Mal," Donna declared. "I to take care of some things but once that's over, I'm going to be with Anna. Selling the house will earn a good profit. I can use the money to get myself a place in Florida so I can be near Anna and get myself set up to start over."
"Okay," Mallory acquiesced. "As long as you're certain."
"I am."
"Are you sure that you don't want Sam to help?" Mallory asked. "You might not be in the right frame of mind. I know you said Anna has a lawyer, but I know Sam wants to do something to help."
"He's too busy," Donna shook her head.
"Please, let Sam help you," Mallory pleaded. "Donna, I know you're hurting, but he lost Josh, too. He's got it in his head that he needs to take care of you. Sam is an honorably kind of guy. I may not always agree with him, but he's a good man and he's been a good friend to you and to Josh for a long time. He wants to help you and… I think he needs to help you so that he can get through this."
"I don't want to be a burden," Donna said awkwardly.
Mallory shook her head. "I don't think that will be a problem. Josh meant a lot to Sam and he would move heaven and earth to help you."
Donna sighed. "I'll think it over."
*****************
Leo McGarry's Office
11:23 p.m.
Margaret reluctantly bid Leo good-night as she buttoned her coat. She didn't like leaving him, but she was exhausted. The immense hole left in the administration with the morning's news had been four time as much running around—some of it literally—in order to get even the most mundane tasks accomplished. Leo had taken the day in stride, which worried her as such things always did, but she was at least satisfied that he would not be alone. Mallory was going to stay with him, using some transparent rouse of her apartment being painted and the fumes bothering her. The secretary turned off her light and with weary steps left the office.
Leo saw her light go out and was comforted to know he had at least a few moments of quiet to himself. All day, it was a running battle to get things done and dodge asinine questions about how he was feeling. He was feeling the way everyone else felt: shock, sadness and anxiety. They were top-notched staffers and good friends. They were gone. It wasn't an easy thing to swallow if you were working in a tiny business that had little impact on the world around you. When you worked at the White House….
Leo sighed and tipped his head back in his high backed chair. Three times that evening, while still attempting to keep the country function and Congress in line with the administration's legislative plans, he had picked up the phone to call him or headed down the hall with a file in hand to get his take on things. He didn't think that would happen as much concerning CJ. She was more apt to come to him, but Josh had been his right hand—and left one some times too—in any political dealing the administration did. Leo had watched the way Josh had progressed through the political gamut over the years and with quiet admiration seen the immeasurable stores of potential in him. When the first campaign was ready to step up and actually become a contender, there was one guy he knew they needed. Everyone thought he was only Brennan's attack dog or Hoyne's point guard. But Leo saw something much greater in him. He was the type of political navigator who could strategically plot through the rough seas that few others dared to sail. Josh had had a knack for political maneuvering that was nothing short of a gift. He was smart and daring and he understood risk. And he was honorable and loyal—two things in short supply inside the Beltway.
"And now he's gone," Bartlet said from the doorway to the Oval Office as he spied the look on his friend's face.
"Mr. President," Leo said belatedly as he stood to greet the man. "What was that?"
"Reading your mind, I think," Bartlet replied, waving him down and taking a seat. "How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," Leo replied.
"Right," Bartlet said. "I'll have you know that I don't believe that and the reason I don't is that I'm not fine and I'm doing better than you are."
"Sir?"
"When is the official declaration going to be made?"
"Randall said in normal circumstances, the family needs to go to court after a sufficient period of time—four years—and have a declaration made," Leo replied. "No real way around that, but for all intents and purposes it's been done. They'll publish and official list of those presumed lost on Monday."
"Charlie said the Memorial Services were postpone from Saturday to Wednesday?" Bartlet asked.
"Anna Lyman asked that Josh's be on a Saturday," Leo recalled.
"The Sabbath, I completely forgot," Bartlet sighed.
"And Yom Kippur," Leo added. He too had forgotten until Toby pointed it out. "Sam will be grateful for the extra time. He'll have a hard time with this one."
"Toby, too," Bartlet replied. "Will you be speaking?"
"I don't think so," Leo said. "I honestly wouldn't have much to say."
"No?" Bartlet asked. "I should think you'd have quite a lot. These people were like family, Leo. I think we owe it to them to…"
"I wouldn't know where to begin or where to end, sir," Leo confessed.
"Have you spoken with Donna?"
"No," Leo shook his head. "Mallory said she's planning on resigning next week and moving to Florida to be with Anna. I know why she wants to do it, but it's the last thing Josh would want her to do."
"Maybe you should tell her," Bartelt offered.
"I don't think she wants to hear it and I don't think she wants to hear it from me," Leo shook his head. "Mr. President, I sent him away. I didn't create the storm and I didn't cause the flood, but I sent him away. I think she blames me."
"I'm not the one that matters, but I don't think that's true," Bartlet intoned. "Do you?"
*****************
Lyman House
Thursday, 8 a.m.
Donna sat on the couch wearing a combination of her clothing and those purloined from Josh's dresser. She loved wearing his sweatshirts as much as he disliked her wearing them. The look on his face was half the reason for taking them. She looked down at the coffee table. There were notes on it—scattered amongst empty tissue boxes—where she and Anna Lyman had made some decisions about a service to be held the following week. It was an exhausting process, laying the dead to rest. Donna didn't recall arrangements for her father draining her so much. She shook her head. I became a half-orphan, a wife and a widow all in less than a year. With a great sigh, Donna grabbed the stuffed animal sitting on the coffee table near the notes and discarded boxes hugged the furry creature.
"I can't believe you still had this," Donna said as she held back a yawn, looking at the floppy-eared animal. "Josh said he didn't have this anymore."
"He didn't," Anna said sipping her tea. No matter how much tea she drank and no matter how hot it was, nothing seemed to stop her shivering. There was coldness in her chest that she knew not even scalding oil could warm. "Noah had it."
"His father kept his elephant?" Donna asked the relented a brief and thin grin.
"Fwancis is not an elephant," Anna corrected her quietly.
"I'm sorry?" Donna responded and looked at the thing again. It took several moments before she realized the mistake. "Sorry, I mean his lellaplant."
"I'm sorry, dear," Anna sighed, patting her hand in comfort. "Old habit. It was a family joke. Most of Joshua's elocution problems or outright malapropisms were."
"Josh?" Donna asked with interest. "Speech problems? I don't understand."
"There were many instances when we didn't either," Anna recalled fondly. "Noah was always so concerned that Joshua's inability to speak properly would hold him back. I was never that worried. Embarrassed sometimes, yes, but never worried. He always seemed to be talking or thinking too fast to realize or understand what he had just said, or not said. Of course, this was when he was just learning to speak. He was fine by the time he went to school."
"You sent him to school early," Donna observed. "I mean, he was younger than most of his classmates."
"I needed a break from him," Anna confessed, both proud and ashamed at the same time.
She knew this drill all too well. You speak of the one you've recently lost, filling the void, and letting the hurt slowly subside until you didn't wake up crying in your sleep each night—that step was still a long way away, she knew, but this reminiscing part was a step toward that end. She was concerned that Donna was not doing much of this but reasoned her daughter-in-law was likely gaining comfort from the stories she told; adding the last of any memories she would ever hold of her husband. Anna desperately wanted to know what the last few weeks of his life had been like. She wanted to hear that he was happy and that finally everything in his world had been stable and comforting. However, any time she tried to raise the subject Donna asked another question about Josh's childhood.
"He was a lot to handle—the constant questions, the constant motion, the constant everything except silence," Anna said. "I wanted… No, I needed some quiet in my house again. I was giving piano lessons each week day and Between my students and my own children, I didn't feel I had a moment of peace in my day. Joanie was always around with a gaggle of friends and when you have a pack of young girls under your roof giggling and shrieking at who knows what and a little boy who…. Well, there's a term in vogue in recent years: high maintenance and that was my Joshua to a T. I needed a break to sustain my sanity. So when the school year started, I enrolled him. He was certainly smart enough and I think it did him good to have the challenge. Idle time seemed to set his mind to plots and ploys that caused him to be grounded quite often. He was constantly harassing his sister or getting into something in his father's office or… Oh, as that summer drew to an end, it was him or me. So I signed him up, but I was so afraid on his first day, though."
"Leaving him there or were you worried he'd take over the school?" Donna asked.
"A little of both," Anna chuckled and grimaced with pain at the memory. "Mostly I couldn't believe how small he was compared to the other boys. I can still see him, my little boy, wearing his baseball hat and backpack, staring back at me with this scared, little face that just about cried 'why are you leaving me here?' Oh, it broke my heart to walk away from him. I looked over my shoulder and saw him staring back at me like that and I started to cry. I went out to the car and I sat in the parking lot and cried for 10 minutes then I drove home quickly, sure the school would be calling me to come get him at any moment."
"Did they?"
"No," she said proudly but with a shade of sadness. "I went to his class to pick him up at the end of the school day ready to see the tears. And what did I get instead? The happiest child I'd ever met. He was energized and almost shaking he was so excited about telling me everything he had done that day and everything he was going to do the next day. He couldn't stop telling me all about his two new best friends Pete and Michael and how they liked baseball and they were all going to play for a real team some day. All the way out to the car, he kept telling me how much he loved school and how he was one of the smartest because he could already write his name. I think that broke my heart just as much. My baby was growing up and didn't need me as much as I needed him that day."
"He bragged about his skills even at that age?" Donna observed and sniffed. "He must have been obnoxious when he got his SAT scores in the mail."
"Three words haunted me in my sleep that week," Anna groaned. "Seven. Sixty. Verbal. I didn't hear the 780 math quite as much, but I think he was making a point that his little verbal gaffs of childhood were now to be retired into family lore and no longer be discussed."
"You said that before," Donna recalled. "What exactly did he say? I mean, Josh is… I don't recall him being inarticulate. There were time when he was better off not saying anything, but communication was never something I would say was his weak point."
"Not as he grew up, no," Anna said. "But there were so many minor—adorable as well—slips of the tongue. They were little things like calling his elephant a lellaplant. Joanie gave him such a hard time about that. She was so good with words so early. We noticed the difference between her and Joshua quickly. I guess we expected that he would speak as well and as clearly as she did at a young age. It didn't quite work that way. I suppose it should have been a sign. Everything always seemed to be a little more difficult for Joshua than it had been for his sister. She began speaking before she was a year-old. By the time he turned one, the only thing Josh did regularly with his mouth was bite people."
"Bite?"
"Oh yes," Anna nodded. "Joanie had been a more docile baby. Maybe girls just are. Joshua was aggressive, restless really; we went through a long and painful biting phase before he learned to use words. He didn't start speaking until he was 14 or 15 months. Only the words didn't quite come out the way they should. They would be words—sometimes—but not always the correct word. As he gained more words, the instances of misusing them grew as well. It tickled my father so much to hear Joshua and his malapropisms, but not everyone in the family shared that feeling. Noah never knew what Joshua would say and it worried him to no end."
"Leo has the same trouble during staff meetings," Donna said with a saddened chuckle then fell silent as she realized that problem was now solved.
"I can only imagine," Anna replied, shaking her head. "I sided with my father on this one. I thought his little word snafus were endearing. Of course, you couldn't correct him. You'd tell him the correct word and he'd look back at you so confidently and say 'that's what I said.' Let's see. What were some of them? Oh, yes. He used to call Ghaphilta fish, guilty fish; Passover was called turn over. Connecticut wasn't one word but two that sounded something like cannon guts. And, of course, elephants were lellaplants. And I don't care what he told you. He loved Fwancis and dragged it with him everywhere. Finding that little creature again was like seeing a dear old friend."
"Why did his father keep it?" Donna asked.
"He didn't exactly, I suppose," Anna said. "I'm not certain, but Joshua probably left it at Noah's office one day and either forgot about it or never asked for it back. Noah probably found it jammed into a drawer or something at his office so he put it in a box, meaning to bring it home, but likely forgot. So it stayed at his office in the box until…. until all his boxes came home. Most of those boxes went into the attic at the house in Connecticut still sealed with the packing tape. They were moved in the same condition to Florida. I started going through them a while ago—cleaning out junk. Fwancis was in one of the last ones I opened about a month ago. I thought it was empty it was so light. I found some pictures and Fwancis just sitting there waiting to greet me. I was considering sending it to Joshua for Chanukah… for his box."
Donna nodded. She knew about Josh's box. It was now actually three boxes and sat on the floor of the closet in his office. Donna glanced down the hall toward that room. The door was closed. She hadn't opened it since Sam had delivered the news. She couldn't go in there. The one good thing about this house at the moment, she felt, was that there was so little of Josh in it. He had been there so rarely since they moved in, but his office was the exception. She could get through the moments—and that's all she was doing, moving moment to moment—so long as nothing strongly reminded her of Josh. She was worried she wouldn't ever be able to go into the room at the end of the hall, and she was practically certain she could never go back to the White House again. He wouldn't be there, but his ghost would be. Donna didn't like ghosts.
"It's kind of funny—Josh having an elephant," Donna said looking curiously at the goofy face, worn and stained with a purplish color in some spots. "He didn't live that down for a long while after people saw the home movie."
"Really?" Anna smiled. "He only complained to me about it for a few months."
"CJ…," Donna started then paused for a moment, shaking the thoughts of CJ being gone from her head. "She started leaving GOP buttons on his desk and sticking their bumper stickers into his briefing books. He blamed Toby for a week or so. Then he thought it was my fault. I'm not sure when he figured it out that it was CJ. I don't know what he did in retaliation, but they called a truce. I think they were so serious about it that she had him write it down—like a contract."
Anna nodded and looked at the clock. The hours were slipping away. She didn't recall time moving this fast the last time. When Joanie died, the minutes were so long and agonizing. Not that there wasn't agony this time, but time was speeding along. She found it incomprehensible that he had been taken from her so long ago; that she had known for so many hours. It was nearly as unbelievable as the knowledge that he had left her and she hadn't somehow known the precise moment when it happened. Odder still was that it was not hard to accept that he was gone. Some part of her had feared this day most of his life—that he would be taken from her.
"Anna?" Donna asked, moving closer to the woman as the downcast look appeared on her face.
"I should be ashamed," she replied shakily.
"No," Donna said emphatically.
"Yes," the woman said. "I'm mad at him, Donna. I'm so God-awful mad at him when I should be mad at myself. I want to blame him for this because I told him. I told him so many times, but he never listened. I could never get through to him. He was so independent. I couldn't tell him anything. I always wondered if it was because I left him first. I wasn't there when he needed me so he took it upon himself to not need me."
"What?" Donna asked, perplexed, as she took the woman's hand. "He loved you so much, Anna."
"I don't doubt that," she sniffled. "But he didn't need me, and he didn't understand my fears. Why should he? I left him and when I came back he was not the boy I knew."
"I don't understand."
Anna took a deep breath and grabbed a tissue from the newest box on the coffee table to dab her eyes. There were many kinds of pain in her heart right now and they were all the more sharp for her near perfect memory of all the causes.
"After we buried Joanie, I was beside myself with grief," she confessed. "I didn't know what to do. I couldn't crawl out of my pain. I blamed myself for what happened, and I couldn't see past it. I couldn't stop crying. I didn't think it was good for Joshua to see me like that; he was so confused, so quiet, about what was going on. The only person who could get him to speak more than simple yes or no answers was his grandfather. He started teaching Joshua German at that time—for all the wrong reasons—but at least Joshua would speak with him. I could barely look at my baby without bursting into tears so I thought it best if I went away for a while. It was selfish, I know, but I thought I should rest and pull myself together. My sister had a house in the Hamptons and I went there. Noah quickly made arrangements to move into the new house and for his father stayed at with him and Joshua—so that someone would be there for him whenever Noah was working."
"He never told me that," Donna said. "He didn't really talk about that much."
"I know," Anna said in a more controlled but still-devastated tone. "I was only gone for 10 days, but it was 10 days longer than I should have. I missed Joshua and Noah so much. I called every day, but Joshua wouldn't come to the phone. They always said he outside or not home when I called. I knew they were lying. They were trying to protect me from the truth: Joshua wasn't speaking to me—that's what he was doing; he was refusing to speak to me. So I came home. I decided my grief was no more important than theirs, and they needed me as much as I needed them. I was shocked by what I found when I came home. I mean, I had only been gone for a few days, but my baby was gone entirely."
"He ran away from home?"
"In a way," Anna said sadly. "He was there when I arrived. I expected he would come running to me. I know I wanted to hug him and never let go. But he stood in kitchen, perhaps 10 feet from me at first and gave me this appraising look that was too old, too mature and too knowledgeable to come from my little boy."
"He didn't want to see you?" Donna asked. "Oh, Anna, I don't believe that. He was just confused. He loved you. I don't think he ever didn't love you."
"Thank you," she said gratefully. "But he was so angry with me; I don't think he understood why he felt that way—there was so much chaos in his world at that time and he was far too young to cope with it alone, but he did it all the same. No, he gave me this chilly look for several very long moments until his grandfather said something to him in German. Joshua looked back at him and answered then slowly came to me. That night, before he went to bed, he nearly reduced me to tears when he asked if I was going to be there in the morning of if I was going to leave him again. It tore what was left of my heart right out of me. I think when I left is when he started blaming himself for Joanie's death. It wasn't his fault, but because I left something in him said it must be and that was why I left. I was selfish, and he's punished himself ever since. That's the moment when I started to lose him. The child I came home to wasn't the little boy I left behind. It wasn't just that he knew about the awful things that can happen to you, but something in him changed so drastically that I never saw my little boy again; I lost my Joshua. From that moment on, I lived with Josh—the new boy—who only seemed to speak to his father when he was troubled; who kept everything from me unless it was perfectly good news; and who never seemed to smile or laugh the way my Joshua had. Nearly overnight, that happy, little boy who used to follow me around and ask questions about everything I was doing and would laugh in a way so infectious that I would have to leave the room and stop what I was doing to compose myself, was gone. He was replaced by a skeptical child who paused frequently before speaking, and the laughter? Virtually gone. He no longer smiled so much as he would smirk; there was no more innocent wondering aloud about nonsense—instead, there was the budding sarcasm and witty comments to control and deflect situations. Never again was I asked to tend a scraped knee or make the fever go away. He was always fine; he could take care of himself."
Donna shuddered at the picture Anna painted. She recognized it easily as the Josh she knew. She had known for a long time that those aspects of her personality were defense mechanisms, but hearing about their birth was more painful that she imagined. Despite all she knew about him, Donna had always perceived Josh to be a happy man. It was chilling to confront the reality that the darkness of his past was something he carried with him every day and that he had been able to become such a caring man made her own heart ache all the more for him.
"He was growing up," Donna offered after a few moments of silence, though she knew it would do no good. "For what it's worth, I wouldn't have changed him for the world."
"I would," Anna said guiltily. "Not much of him, but I'd have taken away that pain. I think I could have done some of that if I had just stayed with him. When he needed me most, I wasn't there. I abandoned him. Noah always disagreed with me, but I knew. I was his mother and I knew. I could feel it. My child was in pain and nothing could make it go away. It became a part of who he was, and I believe he was a wonderful, compassionate, brilliant man, but he only had the happiness he deserved for such a short time. At least you gave some of that back to him, Donna."
"Me?"
"I could see it in his face when I watched your wedding," she wept. "I could hear it in his voice whenever he spoke about you. He found happiness again with you. I'm so glad that he did. I had great hope for you both. I had dreams—grandchildren."
Donna swallowed hard and looked at her hands. The sting of tears welled up in her eyes again and the choking pain rose in her throat.
"It wasn't meant to be," she said softly.
*****************
CJ Cregg's Office
Thursday, 9:30 a.m.
"I've done this before—better than what I have here—and I never made myself cry," Toby confessed, looking with misty eyes at the notes in his notebook. "I guess that's because I didn't cry because of what I wrote."
He looked up his companion, floating leisurely in the fishbowl. He stared at Gail and satisfied himself that she thought him no less of a man for his moment of weakness several minutes ago. He had cried initially in his office, after receiving the news from Leo. He recalled finding himself back in his office alone and waiting for Sam to answer the summons on his pager. That was more than 24 hours ago, and Toby was certain he would cry again, but upon entering CJ's office for the first time and sitting there alone with Gail, the tears had started again as he looked over his notes. Now, he wasn't ruling out the possibility that it could happen again at anytime. The tears that initially came were not directly from the news—though surely that was the root of the cause. No, it was the harsh and sudden obligation he felt to make the notes in his notebook—the ones that would become the backbone to the phrases he knew he must write, that only he could write, in tribute to those lost—that brought the tears. As the hours had passed, he found his eyes dried and he was making more notes—so many that he was on his second notebook. Jotting down a phrase here and an idea there as he moved through the day. By the next morning, an unspoken division of duties had formed between him and Sam. Toby would craft the President's words on behalf of CJ; Sam would see to Josh's tribute. It seemed most appropriate. Both would do the revisions to each other's work and let the President be the final word on what each piece needed. After all, he would be the ones speaking them.
Still, Toby felt he should be writing something on his own behalf for her, for both of them. He had spent time earlier in Josh's office, searching for some inspiration to find his own words, but found none. It was too quiet—too still—in that office. There had been nothing quiet or still about Josh. Other than the photos and diplomas on the walls, Josh was not in that room. Josh was an entity, a force; something that filled the air; an electricity that could spur you on when you were drained, warm you when there was a chill or sting you without warning if you weren't careful. He had needed operating instructions before handling. Toby found none of that in the darkened office.
CJ was different. Though she was equally missing in the halls, a sense of her serene spirit, the one most often felt late in the day when she was still standing after the battle and came to this space, was apparent here. It was the mood, the atmosphere of the room. It was orderly and controlled despite the chaos around it. Even the fish in the glass bowl on the corner of her desk seemed to swim with a disciplined precision. Toby gazed thoughtfully at the creature, who stared back just as intently at him. Gail was looking kind of pale and flakey, he thought. Carol insisted that was how the fish was supposed to look, but Toby wasn't sure. The creature looked crusty. Fish weren't supposed to look crusty in his opinion.
"You're too small to be a fish stick," he stated. "I'm not sure you're supposed to look breaded."
"Hey," said the forcefully casual voice of Danny Concannon. "Carol said you were in here. Can I…?"
"Yeah," Toby answered from behind CJ's desk as he quickly shook his head and stood. He suddenly felt as though he was intruding. "I just… I needed a pen and… She has pens. In here."
"Yeah," Danny nodded quickly. His voice was strained and his eyes red from fighting back tears for the last day. "I just wanted to offer… I know it's not my place, but if you wanted any help on the thing…"
"The memorial piece?"
"Yeah, the eulogy," Danny said taking a sharp breath. "I'd be glad to… you know."
"Thanks," Toby politely declined. "Your piece today was thorough."
Danny nodded. He had thrown himself into the story, needing to know as much as possible what authorities believed happened in that valley four days earlier. He had to know; some part of him was still clawing for more answers than the few sketchy reports he was able to gather. He felt an even greater need, a nearly consuming urge, to get every detail right. It wasn't enough to have the bare facts this time. He wanted, he needed, to know what caused this and what those final moments were likely like—though he noticed that none of that information had made its way into the story he filed.
"Sam's working on something for Josh?" Danny asked though he knew it to be the answer. He had just been in Sam's office, watching the man delete every other sentence he wrote. "It's not easy."
"To be Sam?" Toby remarked. "No, I don't' suspect it is."
"Have there been any decisions about…."
"We aren't making personnel decisions yet," Toby said. "When this is official, the President and staff will observe a respectful period of mourning. It would be in appropriate to…"
"No," Danny cut him off. "I didn't mean about the job. I meant about when any services will be held. They just had a prayer offered up before the session started today on the Hill. Rabbi Schulman and a Reverend Calloway spoke. I guess the Senate Chaplain wasn't…"
"He hated Josh," Toby remarked. "It's not a secret, but that's off the record."
"So he didn't want to…"
"No," Toby corrected him. "I mean, yes, he wanted to. He offered to do the remarks, but Congressman Rivera thought it would be in bad taste if he was the one speaking considering the man's opinion of Josh. And that started a thing so…"
"Josh wouldn't have cared," Danny said confidently.
"Yeah, I know," Toby said. "I think Rivera knows that, too. He and Josh were pretty tight. I think he just…."
"Now that Josh would appreciate," Danny smirked for a moment. "Using his passing as a way to… I just think he'd enjoy watching the politicking that went on, I guess."
"Me, too," Toby agreed. "Schulman is there to meet with the senate committee and when someone realized he was there, they diffused the situation by having him say a few impromptu words. He's meeting with Josh's mother this afternoon; she apparently heard what he said and wants to thank him."
"She's taking it hard?"
"Harder than what?" Toby asked without venom. "She's just lost her son. For her sake, I hope they find the body and do it quickly."
"Just for her sake?"
"It's one thing for him to die, but to not have anything to… ," Toby paused as the wrenching tightness strained on his throat. "She wants to lay him to rest beside his father and his sister. I think not being able to do that will be as hard on her as the loss."
"You don't sound like you agree," Danny remarked pensively. "To have it all finalized might make dealing with it easier. At least, that's what the latest theory is. I would like to have… to have…. seen her again. It just doesn't seem real otherwise."
"I could live the rest of my life not knowing for sure," Toby admitted. "It's funny. I'm not often accused of being an imaginative or frivolous guy, but do you know what I keep thinking? I keep thinking, and this is crazy I know, but I keep thinking that…"
"A Gilligan's Island theory?" Danny ventured. Toby looked up startled; he hadn't spoken his insane desire aloud. "I'm not reading your mind. I just think that's natural. I also know that Sam was thinking the same thing. He told me so. And he told me he told you and that you didn't scold him. He thought you were just feeling sorry for him, but I know you, Toby. I sort of wondered if maybe you were on the bandwagon. I suppose there is some comfort in the delusion that they're some place, lost in the hills or the valleys, making their way to civilization slowly or maybe they just stay where they are but they're safe and through some fluke no one ever knows but at least they're alive."
"I don't find it comforting to realize that I seek solace in a Sherwood Schwartz plot," Toby said.
"Find comfort in the fact that you're willing to make any leap of faith to have your friends back," Danny said. "It's a sign of the love you had for them. And that's a good thing. It's also a natural reaction—not the whole Gilligan's Island thing though CJ could have made an interesting Ginger…"
"I was always partial to Mary Anne," Toby said.
"Everyone is, but I was a Ginger man," Danny said wistfully. "Red hair, I guess."
"Freak."
"You're the one who's hoping their castaways," Danny pointed out. "And that's what I was saying. It's natural to want that. It's the bargaining phase that follows the denial. It never works, but you have to do it. No one really knows why, I don't care what the experts say."
"Bargaining?"
"This morning I found myself staring in the mirror and talking to a God I'm not sure I believe in most days," Danny offered. As he spoke he lifted Gail's bowl off the desk and held it firmly in his hands. They were steady though his voice wasn't. "I'd give it all up—maybe even the chance of talking to her ever again—if he would just turn back the clock. Make it not happen. But the thing is, I'm a reporter and there's this rule. If you write it down, it happened. I wrote the story. So I don't get that deal with God."
"Someone asked me who I'll miss more," Toby said painfully as his felt his breath come shallow. "Can you believe that? Which one? As if, somehow, there was a way to make that kind of call. I'll miss them both more than I can say. You know the hardest part? Because I am the one writing her piece, I can't think about Josh; I won't let myself for very long because there's no room in here." He tapped his temple then placed a hand on his heart. "And there's too much pain in here. It's too much to swallow to take them both at once, so she's all I can think about and when I try to put it in words all I can come up with is that I will miss her for everything that she was. I will miss her for the way she batted you guys around in the briefing room and for the way she limped out of there beaten to a pulp a few times. I'll miss her for the way she would get indignant when she thought she was being treated like she wasn't being treated like one of the guys, as if that was somehow an insult. I'll miss that just as much as the way she'd get so angry when we did treat her like one of the guys, as if bringing her down to our level was even possible. I'll miss…. I'll miss her."
"She loved this job," Danny said, looking around the room and unable to think past the number of times she had cornered him and engaged him in a lip lock. "She made it hers."
"Big shoes to fill," Toby remarked then laughed at the pun. "I'd better not put that in the thing."
"Yeah," Danny said then started for the door still holding the bowl.
"Danny?" Toby asked. "The fish?"
"I have custody now," he said simply then walked back to the press room.
*****************
Sam Seaborn's Office
Friday, 3:37 pm
Sam stared at the computer screen. There were now no words on the page. He had had some words. Quite a few—for a while. But they weren't right. None of them were. He couldn't concentrate. There were other things he should be doing. Like work. There was a country to administer. He had duties that were a part of that and the team was a player or two short made for more work. Except Sam felt an obligation. He wanted to get these words, the right words, on this page. He wanted to write eloquent phrases that would lift the pain from his soul and bring comfort to others. But every time he started typing his fingers would halt, he brain would freeze and he would be left with one sentence:
He's dead.
Sam had known Josh Lyman since the beginning of his own political career. Sam had arrived in DC to find the place was not what he had presumed and there were not many friends to be had, but Josh had been one of those original few and of them he was the only one from the start Sam would still have trusted with his own life. It is said that in politics you can could your true friends on one hand and still have fingers left over; Josh had always been one of those people for Sam. Suddenly, here was room in his hand but no one could take that place.
CJ once called him the political equivalent of James Bond with a backpack, he recalled, his eyes filling with tears yet again; he was glad he wasn't wearing contacts today. CJ. Oh Claudia Jean… How do you replace people like that, Sam wondered and knew the answer. It was impossible. No person, no friend, is ever truly replaceable and for those fortunate enough to have known extraordinary people and been so lucky as to have called them friends… the loss was too deep and sharp for words.
Sam took some solace in the knowledge, secret though it was, that at least one of his friends was not entirely lost. There was a baby on the way. Despite Donna's bizarre behavior, Sam was certain that would be a good thing for people to know. Not that he was planning on telling anyone, but still. Josh might be gone, but some part of him remained. Some part of him survived. The Lazarus Factor—Sam had been sure when he first heard the terrible news that somehow Josh would come out of this, by some miracle he would survive. Sam knew he had been correct; so maybe Josh himself wouldn't rise from the devastation, but his child would be borne and his legacy could be passed on to a new generation.
Sam meant what he told Donna. He would help—financially even if she needed it. He was thinking of possible means to set up a college fund, because this child would go to college. His (or her) father was an Ivy League graduate two times over; his child would be afforded those same chances—even if Sam went into the tutoring business to make sure the SAT scores and the essays were the best they could possibly be.
Not that Sam was worried; he put a lot of stock in genetics and between the parents, this child would be blessed and certain gifted—particularly in the realm of intellect. Donna existed in a realm of innocent brilliance that only someone like Josh could have spotted so quickly upon meeting her. That was one of Josh's many gifts, Sam felt making more notes on his computer that he hoped would lead to eloquent words. There were so many things Sam wanted to say about his friend but it was the simple and little things about him that Sam kept dwelling upon. What was astounding to Sam now, in retrospect, was Josh's ability to see into a person and size them up so quickly. It hurt him as often as it helped him politically, but it was a talent Sam devoutly wished he himself had.
He could admit it now. He had been slightly envious of Josh; his professional life and credits were certainly worthy of envy. He had accomplished much in his time in Washington; there were few men in this town, including those twice his age, who could list accomplishments the like and level of Joshua Lyman. Though Sam felt he himself was an intelligent and skilled politician, Josh's mind had been a different playing field entirely. In some instances, the most elementary concepts would be lost upon him and yet the there remained the still unexplained phenomena of the House vote to decide the presidential election, which was Josh's brainchild. He worked those back rooms. He cajoled and twisted arms and plotted the strategy to snare the votes that gave the election to the rightful winner. Constitutional scholars would be examining those actions for a century and might still never answer precisely how it happened. But Sam knew in two small words: Josh Lyman.
The X-factor that bewildered so many was simply the brain of a guy from Connecticut who would be the first to admit he was no genius; a mind that was more stable than many knew and still more fragile than others suspected. The labyrinth thoughts and knowledge in that mind had made him who he was. Josh was smart; more than smart, he was intelligent and clever—which as Sam knew were not the same things. Josh could see patterns and connections between things that eluded so many others. And it wasn't just that he could see those connections, but it was the speed and clarity with which he saw them that was so astounding. Chaos did not seem to baffle him. It practically invigorated him.
Beyond that was the heart of the man so few of the public knew even existed. But those who knew him best, those who truly cared for him and those who respected him (certainly not the same crowd in each camp), knew how much the man could care. His capacity for compassion and the fire of his passion for those things, those people, those ideas he held so dear was immeasurable. There was no fitting tribute for that
Or was there? Donna held the answer to that, he believed with this new life on the way.
Sam felt certain that some of what had made Josh the Josh he and others had liked and love had to be genetic; some configuration of synaptic pathways and chemical balances that allowed the exercise of the mind to achieve those results and for the heart to care in that way. With Donna being no slouch upstairs or matters of the heart either, the baby she was carrying must be destined for greatness or at least something beyond mediocrity, Sam felt. Which made Donna's behavior baffled him. She should be finding solace and comfort in her good news, he thought. It must be the shock, he kept telling himself. Except that he thought it might be more than that. Josh and Donna's relationship hit a bad patch at the end of the summer, he recalled. But that seemed to be fixed in recent weeks. And certainly some part of their relationship had remained intact for a baby to exist.
Maybe she's just afraid, Sam reasoned. She's afraid that something bad will happen and she won't even have this last part of Josh.
That made sense to him. While no expert on the finer and more utilitarian aspects of the female reproductive cycle, Sam was certain that the stress and strain Donna was under could not be good for her baby. He turned to his computer and without hesitation began prepping himself on the affects of stress on pregnancy and what could be done to mitigate undesirable results. This was something he could do for her; this was how he could help her. He would find out what she needed so that she didn't need to ask. He would be there for her—like a fairy godmother only less feminine. He was nearly an hour into his research when his phone rang.
"Hey, Sam," Mallory's voice carried over the line in a sigh. "How are you?"
"I'm researching," he said smartly. The gloom had lifted while he educated himself on the topic at hand. There was much about the reproductive cycle that had never been explained to him—in part he was grateful for that and knew that he now would never look any woman (including his mother) the same again.
"What?"
"Um, nothing," he said rather than try to form a plausible lie. He was too exhausted to try.
"That kind of day," she observed. "I understand."
"What can I do for you?" Sam asked. He had seen Mallory several times in the last 36 hours. She had given her condolences to Donna the previous evening and later done the same to Josh's mother when Toby brought her to the office were brought to see the President. She had informed Sam of Donna's relocation intentions, but Sam was unconcerned. This was just grief talking, he believed. He was going to have a private chat with Donna when the time was more appropriate.
"I was wondering what you thought about dinner tonight," Mallory offered.
"I'm working on this thing," Sam said regretfully. "If you want, you can maybe stop by here and we could…"
"No," Mallory interrupted. "I didn't mean with you. I mean… Well, yes, with you, but…. I wanted to do something for Donna and Josh's mother. I thought dinner might be nice. I don't mean going out. I just thought I'd bring them some food and maybe we could all just have dinner together; give them some other voices in that house besides just theirs. I know they have each other, but I don't think they should be alone right now. I don't want to intrude so I was hoping…."
"It's okay," Sam said soothingly as he heard her sniffle. "I understand. I've been to the house twice today and each time my glasses were foggy before I got to the door."
"Sure they're not just smudged?" she countered, recomposing herself. "I'll make lasagna. It's good."
"Sit by the phone," Sam assured her. "I'll call you back in a few minutes."
Up next: Chapter 15: