***
PART TWO
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My hands look like hell. Jagged cuticles, the corner of one thumbnail ripped off
from trying to open a soda can with it, scars where IVs have been.

I have to say something, do something.

But I can't move. I can't stop looking at my hands. People always said I had
Mom's hands.

Leo's weight leaves the sofa and somehow, amidst the sirens and screams in my
head, I hear him call for Margaret. I smell the bourbon in the glass Margaret
presses into my palm. But I still can't move.

"Should I get him?" Margaret asks, and out of the corner of my eye I see Leo
nodding.

Seconds later, there's another pair of hands on my shoulders, and there's a
different fragrance in the air - fine wool mixed with a hint of leather and some
expensive, unidentifiable men's cologne. That combination belongs to only one
man.

"Josh, I am so, so sorry," President Bartlet murmurs.

I try to get up, but the synapses connecting my protocol to my knees refuse to
cooperate and I sort of crumple back onto the sofa. "Sir...I..." I can't talk, I
just sit with one hand covering my eyes and the other letting some very costly
bourbon spill like bittersweet tears.

"It's all right, son, it's all right." The President of the United States is
calling me 'son' and taking the glass away, saving Leo's carpet from my shaking
hands. He says it again. "It's all right," but it's softer, and he's patting my
back.

I want to cry, to expel the acid flooding my body and brain, but not here, not
with this man's arm around me. My hands are shaking so badly that I can't even
cover my face anymore, so I control my breathing as best I can, will my fingers
to be still, and sit up. He's looking at me with concerned, compassionate eyes.

"What can we do for you?"

"I...do?" I curl my fingers into my palms and knock them against each other. "I
don't know. I don't...where's Donna?"

Where did that question come from?

He understands the non sequitur. "She's over at your apartment with Sam, packing
a bag. We had to book you on commercial air since this is personal business and
we have...well, you know about the press peering over our shoulders. Best I
could do was to have us buy out First Class so you'll have the section to
yourselves."

"Ourselves?"

"Well, Sam and Donna were arguing about who should go with you, so in order to
keep the peace I'm sending them both. The First Lady's brother and sister-in-law
have a place in Palm Beach. They're out of town, but their staff knows you're
coming and they'll be ready when the three of you get there."

"That's...kind of you, sir."

"Well, I always say that if you're going to do something, then you might as well
do it right." He smiles and places his hand on my arm. It's just like the night
of the Illinois primary, and, oh, God, it's for the same reason.

"I can't go with you myself," he continues, turning away from me to give me a
second of privacy. "Some nonsense about running the country, I don't know - but
this is the next best thing." He takes in a breath and looks up into my eyes.
"Let me do this for you, Josh."

It's hard to remember that, once upon a time, I did not love this man.

I find my voice, grainy and uncertain. "Thank you, sir."

"You'll be leaving in an hour or so - the flight's at eight. I hope you don't
mind, but Leo took the liberty of calling your mom's lawyer back in New Haven,
and he told us your mother made very specific arrangements. You don't have to
worry about anything."

"Good. That's...good." I rub my eyes but it feels worse.

Leo joins us, sitting on the small chair next to the sofa. "The President told
you about the house, I take it?" he asks. "You'll want to stay with Sam and
Donna there - I mean, you wouldn't want to stay at your mom's, right?"

"Yeah. Thanks." I'm exhaling and talking at the same time. There's a fist around
my heart, squeezing, and I try to remember to breathe deeply so the panic will
dissipate. "Oh, man, the condo. She just moved there last year. I'll have to, I
dunno, sell it, or something...I can't think about that right now."

"Of course you can't," the President murmurs. "Tell you what - I'm going to ask
the First Lady to come down and have a few words with you, is that okay?"

He's sending a watchdog. Oh my God, this is what he thinks of me.

"Sir, I'm not going to..." I draw a nervous pattern in the air.

"I know that. But I'd like for her to have a look at you." He gets up and pats
Leo on the arm. "We'll be back in a few minutes. Oh, and Toby's waiting outside,
if you're up to seeing him."

"Yeah, that's fine, that's good." I lean back, making a bigger mess out of my
hair by running both hands through it.

Toby, master of the written word, is appallingly inept at interpersonal
communication. He walks over to me but he's looking at his shoes while his face
registers a variety of uncomfortable emotions. "I'm so very sorry for your loss,
Josh." I've seen Toby look like this before, when he came to see me in the ICU.
For all his bluster and prickliness, he has the softest heart of any man I've
ever known.

"Thanks," I manage to reply.

Toby takes a black satin ribbon out of his pocket. I must look as bewildered as
I feel, because he says, "It's one of Ginger's hair ribbons. It was the only
thing we could come up with."

"Did you at least, you know, ask her?" I'm forcing a smile and Toby smiles back.

"No, Josh, I stole it from her very head and hoped she wouldn't notice.
Actually, I told her what I needed and she made me take it. Wouldn't let me have
a minute's peace until I brought it to you. She says...well, you know."

I imagine she gave him that wet-eyed, drowning kitten look that Toby claims
makes him want to strangle her. Toby grimaces as he tugs hard enough to rip the
satin into a small, jagged strip, and he puts the raw ends into my buttonhole,
above my heart. His hand rests there for a long time, and he looks at me with
those fierce dark eyes as if he can see into my soul.

"May the father of peace send peace to all who mourn, and comfort all the
bereaved among us," Toby murmurs, and we say "Amen" together.

Bereaved. I'm bereaved. I press my lips together hard, hoping to keep the tears
at bay. One betrays me, skidding down my cheek to the corner of my mouth, and I
lick it away. The salt feels hot and comforting.

"I appreciate this, Toby."

"You're welcome. I hope you don't mind, but I sent a list with Donna and Sam of
things you should have with you - I didn't know if your family
was...is...was..." Toby stumbles over the tense, rubbing his forehead with his
fingertips as he shifts from foot to foot. "I didn't know if you're observant.
If you needed a yarmulke, or some shoes that aren't leather."

"We re-reformed the Reformers, Toby." That hadn't always been the case, but in
the years after Joanie's death our faith had been shaken. Eventually it had
crumbled, as had our house and our hopes, into ash. I finger the ribbon. It's
surprisingly soft. "We're sort of...cultural Jews. This is even more than they'd
expect me to do. But thanks for asking."

"Okay, then." He takes a step backward, and I realize how close he had been
standing and how much strength I'd been drawing from that nearness. "So. Call us
if you need anything. Or...just call us. We'll be around."

"Yeah." I lower my head so I don't have to watch Toby leave, his shoulders
slumped. He says something to someone in the Oval on his way through there. I
look up just in time to see Abigail Bartlet standing in the doorway, her arms
extended.

"Oh, Josh, this is just awful," she says, beckoning me toward her. She has to
stand on tiptoe to put her arms around my neck but she hugs me, then pulls back
and pats my cheek. Her tone becomes brisk and professional. "Jed's going nuts,
he's so worried, so I told him I'd take a look at you. Give me your hand." She
puts her forefinger on the pulse point at my wrist, nodding as she looks at her
watch. "Your heartbeat is a little fast, but that's probably the shock. How's
your chest? Does it feel tight?"

"A...a little." I blink at her. "Ma'am..."

"We're off the clock, Josh. It's Abbey."

I can't seem to call her that, so I avoid calling her anything. "This isn't
really necessary, I'm fine." I have to choke off the "ma'am" that wants to spill
out of me.

"If you feel panicky or you're having trouble breathing, then I can write you--"

"I'm going to be okay. But thanks."

"Let's sit down for a minute." She motions to Leo's couch and takes a seat at my
side. "I talked to Dr. Armand Ballantine at Bethesda - he was on call when your
mother was brought in. From what he told me, it seems that your mother had a
stroke at home while a neighbor was visiting. The neighbor called 911, she did
everything right, but there was too much damage and your mother slipped away
peacefully. Dr. Ballantine wanted me to stress that to you; she didn't suffer.
She probably had no idea what happened to her, it was that fast and it was that
painless."

That fast and that painless, and she's gone. Mama.

"I know that doesn't mean much to you right this minute, Josh," Abbey continues,
stroking the back of my head and leaning close so that I don't have to meet her
eyes, "but eventually you'll take comfort in that."

"I know. They said that about my dad, too." And they had. "You know, those were
the first words Mom said when I made the phone call from Chicago: 'Your father
didn't suffer, thank God.' I can hear her voice. I can hear it, in my right ear
just like that night, but she's gone, she's never speaking to me again, she's
gone." I clear my throat. I can't let the First Lady watch me break down. I
conjure up a weak smile. "I'm actually okay, you know."

She sees right through me. "I'm not a Congressman - don't try and bullshit me.
It's been rough for you. Your father, then the shooting, then these damn
hearings, and now this. It's normal for you to feel like your edges are a little
blurry. Take as much time as you need. Don't try and rush through this, Josh."

"Thank you, ma'am."

She shakes her head. "Abbey. But you know what? Your mother trained you well.
You gave her so many reasons to be proud." She stands up and motions toward the
door. "I'm going upstairs to talk to my husband. Will you be okay for a few
minutes, or should I send someone in?"

"I think...I think I'd like to be alone, if Leo doesn't mind giving up his
office for a few minutes."

"I understand. Be careful on the trip, Josh. Don't overdo it."

"I won't. Donna and Sam will be with me."

Abbey smiles. "Good. They'll keep you in line. You'll be in our prayers, Josh."
With that, she closes the door behind her and leaves me alone in Leo's office.

My legs shake when I get up to walk around the room. The light feels like an
assault on my burning eyes. I flip switches until the only illumination is the
waning daylight. Then I stagger back to Leo's couch and collapse into a
protective ball.

Mom.

Dad.

Joanie.

"Josh?"

It's CJ's voice this time, and I yank my heavy body upright, groaning, grousing.
"It's like Grand Central Station in here," I complain even as I scoot over so
she can sit next to me.

But she doesn't. She leans halfway in the room with her hand on the doorjamb. "I
can come back."

"Nah, come on in. It's fine." I pat the place at my side and she joins me. Her
face is drawn, her eyes shimmering with sympathetic tears. I need her, need the
strength and compassion and wit that makes her the backbone of our staff, and
when she opens her arms to me I go into them gratefully. I need the sharp edge
of her collarbone against my cheek and she senses this as she holds me close and
strokes my hair with her strong, capable fingers.

"I don't know what to say," she whispers against my temple.

"There's nothing to say, really. I'm just glad you're here. I have to go in a
little while, whenever Donna and Sam get back from my apartment."

"I wish I could go, too. But they're calling me to the Hill in your place,
starting tomorrow, and as much as I'd love to blow them off--"

"Blow them off or tell them to--"

"Josh!" CJ chuckles. She squeezes me tighter and for the first time since Leo
dropped the bombshell I don't have the terrifying sensation that I'm about to
fly apart. "Sam's got a statement for me to read to the press. He's pretty
shaken up, Josh, I gotta tell you. He and Donna, between the two of them, may be
operating on one shared brain cell."

"That's one more than I've got, so I'm happy to have them along."

"Carol said they phoned and they're on their way back. There'll be a car and
driver waiting for you at the entrance. No press. No one's going to know what's
going on until after you're airborne."

"I appreciate that." I rub my eyes, but it just spreads the intolerable
itchiness around. "Onerato and Bruno will find some way to include this in his
list of the administration's many transgressions."

"That's why you're on Delta instead of--"

"Hold on a second, CJ. I just thought of something." I look at her, my head
cocked to one side. "Who's paying for this?"

"Josh, that's not--"

"I mean it, CJ. If this isn't government business, then who pulled out a credit
card--"

"I'm not at liberty to divulge that information," she says, giving me her best
"face of the administration" expression.

"Ah, come on, you can't pull that press secretary crap with me!"

"You just saw me do it, Joshua."

"You're playing hardball."

"And you love me for it." She smiles down at me, holding my face in her hands.
"Day or night, Josh, I'm here for you."

And it's gone, the momentary lightheartedness of our banter, gone under a wave
of sorrow. I find myself swiping tears away with the back of my hand. "Dammit."

"It's okay. No cameras here."

"I think you're wearing a wire. I think I should search you."

"In your wildest dreams." She turns to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with me. Our
arms touch, and CJ puts her hand over mine.

"I know you've got stuff to do, so..." I say, sounding hopelessly needy.

"Babish wants my lawyer to run me through a few more hoops before the Circus
Maximus tomorrow. Nothing I'm not very, very willing to delay."

"Kick their asses, would you?" I run my thumb back and forth over her hand,
relishing the softness.

"With the greatest of pleasure. Hey, look who's back."

Sam and Donna stand in the doorway to Margaret's office, looking for all the
world like a pair of startled deer. I lift my chin. "It's okay, come on in."

Donna enters first, after Sam gives her a guiding push at the small of her back.
She navigates Leo's office with small, hesitant steps. Her quavering smile is
about to shatter my heart, and with CJ's help I get up to fold her in my arms.
Her hair, which is soft and slightly damp against my cheek, smells like rain.
"Don't cry," I whisper, surprised to be saying that to her. "Donna. Really. It's
going to be okay."

"I'm sorry. I thought I was all cried out," she sniffles, taking a handkerchief
out of her pocket and wiping her nose with it. Sam's initials are on the Irish
linen square. I smile at him over Donna's shoulder.

"You're always prepared, Sam."

"Not for this, though," he whispers, looking at me with sorrowful eyes. "God,
Josh, I don't know what to say. She was a terrific lady."

"I know." My facial muscles, stiff from trying to smile, finally give out, and I
hide my face in Donna's hair for a moment. Please, don't let me cry, don't let
me cry...

Her arms tighten around me, supporting me with their surprising strength, and
the gnawing, aching grief snaps my control in two.

I'm surrounded, by Donna, Sam, and CJ, then by Leo and Margaret, who come
hurrying back into the office at my first sob. Comforting hands, soft voices,
but none of them is my mother, my last link to a family. The last of my family,
lying cold and still in a Florida funeral home.

"Josh," Leo says in a raspy voice that reminds me that other people mourn the
loss of Marjorie Lyman, "it's time to go. The car's waiting and we can only hold
the press off for so long."

"Okay. I'm fine, I'm...fine." I wave them all off, even Donna, trying to give
them a brave, reassuring smile, but from the looks of utter desolation on their
faces I know it's a failure. "Thank you for everything you're doing, Leo," I
struggle to whisper.

"Get going or you'll miss your flight. And don't strain yourself."

Surely I should say something else. But opening my mouth brings me perilously
close to fresh tears, so I just nod at them all as I let Sam lead me into the
hallway.

Several dress Marines gather at the door, helping us into the waiting limo.
Donna shares my seat, with Sam sitting opposite.

"We don't need sirens, right?" I ask the driver in what I hope is a controlled
tone of voice, and the driver shakes his head.

"Not for this. We're traveling under the radar - the President was very clear
that he doesn't want you tailed by the press. Just try to relax as much as
possible and we'll be at National as soon as we can."

No one says anything for the first few minutes. Finally, Donna turns to me and
asks, "What's the ribbon for?"

"Rending our garments, only we use ribbon instead of tearing up our actual
clothes - it's part of the mourning ritual. Nothing you need to worry about,
Donna. Or you, Sam."

"Toby said that the best thing we can do is to stand back and try not to be so
conspicuously Protestant," Sam says with a small, rueful grin at last breaking
up the sadness of his expression. "I think we could pass for Jewish, don't you?"

The sudden image of Sam wearing a yarmulke, and Donna standing a head taller -
and a blonde head, at that - than the little old ladies of Palm Beach, makes me
grin. "Not a chance."

Donna pouts a little and Sam shakes his head. "Toby told me the same thing,
actually," he says in that mild, slow pattern he uses when he wants to say three
hundred things but is settling for one instead. "I just wish there was something
more helpful we could do than just stand back and be, you know, a couple of
WASPs."

"You're doing everything I could possibly hope for. More than I deserve."

"We're your friends, Josh." Sam sounds astonished that I would accept any
limitations on his friendship. Ah, Sam.

"I know that. I...know that." My voice cracks and I run my hand through my hair
again and again until Donna stills me by wrapping her fingers around my wrist. I
press my lips together and squeeze my eyes closed as if to seal in the tears,
staying silent until the driver enters the airport, presenting all sorts of
paperwork to someone who leads us straight out to the tarmac.

"Mr. McGarry arranged it so you'll using the pilots' entrance," the driver says
as if this is an everyday occurrence. "They've got the rest of the passengers on
board, so you don't have to worry about cameras or questions."

Leo's thoroughness is no surprise. I blink at Sam as we get out of the car. "Leo
arranged this, huh?"

"Well, Margaret did. 'In Loco Leo.' The President said for him to take every
measure necessary to ensure your privacy and comfort, Josh." Sam pats me on the
back, guiding Donna with a hand on her elbow.

Two baggage handlers are taking our things out of the car. Usually I carry a
laptop on the plane. Under ordinary circumstances Donna would have a satchel
full of magazines and file folders, and Sam would be sporting some thick,
leather-bound tome on a noble subject only he or the President could possibly
care about. But tonight we go on board with empty hands.

***
To Part Three