***
PART THREE
***

Donna and Sam sit across the aisle from me so I can stretch out and close my
eyes. I zone out for most of the flight, napping at odd intervals, and awaken at
the flight attendant's voice asking me to sit up and fasten my seat belt. "I'm
sorry, Mr. Lyman, but we're about to land."

"Yeah. Yeah, thanks." I smooth down my hair and turn to see that Sam is twisted
across both seats, his hands buried in the cushions. "Hey, we're landing."

"I know. I'm looking for the other half of the seat belt." He frowns, his
forehead crinkling, and he indicates two identical pieces of hardware. "I always
do this, I always get two buckles or two latches instead of one of each."

Donna gets up from behind him and scrabbles around between the seats. "There.
Buckle up." She grins at Sam and he gives her a dismissive wave. She takes the
vacant seat next to me and fastens her seat belt. "You slept?"

"Yeah. I'm more tired than I thought."

"Leo arranged for a driver to pick us up. We'll be at the house before too long.
Don't worry about anything."

"Should I call my mom's lawyer? Decide what to do tomorrow?"

"Nope, we have you covered. The driver's going to come back for us around
nine-thirty. There's a memorial service at ten, and then people are coming over
to your mom's from noon to about two. Margaret called a moving company to
arrange for boxes and stuff so you can start packing, and your mother's lawyer
is flying in to talk to you about the specifics."

There's this twitching in my left eye. I squint, hoping it'll go away, but no
such luck. We're descending now, almost as fast as my heart is plummeting, and
Donna suddenly hands me a stick of gum.

It's not my ears, it's my soul that's popping, but I take the gum anyway and put
it in my mouth. "I'm not sure how much of that legal stuff I'm going to be able
to listen to, Sam," I tell him as spearmint washes away the bile.

"I figured I'd just talk to the guy myself. If you don't mind me acting in the
capacity of your lawyer."

To cover up the latest surge of emotion, I raise my eyebrows at him and smirk.
"Like I can afford you. You billed out at...?"

"Five hundred an hour." His grin is sheepish as he listens to Donna's gasp.
"I'll take it out in trade. Nice house by the beach, some seafood." He looks
down at his hands as he traces the pattern of the seat cushion. "Chance to help
a friend."

That's Sam, measuring his worth in good deeds. Donna pats him on the arm,
lightly, smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt.

We touch down, bouncing once or twice before the ride smooths out as much as the
cotton of Sam's sleeve. I keep my head down as we brave the crowds.

A guy holds up a sign with Donna's name on it - smart of Leo, because someone
might recognize Seaborn or Lyman. The name tag gives the title of his company
and his first name, which is Dave. Dave the Driver doesn't talk much, just
shakes hands and mumbles something like "My condolences" while we go to pick up
our bags.

***

It's dark outside as we zoom along I-95. Even when we're driving next to the
beach on the A-1-A, we can't see anything. I stare into the night sky,
remembering something from my childhood. I used to look up and imagine that one
of the stars was Joanie, spreading light to me the way she'd done when she
brought a nightlight into my room to keep me from being afraid.

I must've told Sam the story one drunken night, or else it's one of the fanciful
notions he's picked up over the years, because he nods at me and smiles up at
the velvety blackness overhead. Of course, knowing Sam, he's probably just
trying to hold back a dissertation about astronomy.

Donna looks out the window, gaping a little as we pull into the
electronically-fenced entrance of a faux Spanish villa overlooking the ocean.
She's been trained well enough not to say anything, but she still shudders a
little as we park in the circular driveway and two servants greet us. "You'll be
fine," I assure her, and she suddenly becomes graceful and elegant, drawing
herself to her full height when one of the servants hands her out of the car.

We're met in the foyer by a middle-aged woman in a dark dress and white apron.
"Mr. Lyman, I'm Rosemary Watson - I'm the Barrington family's housekeeper, and
they've asked me to look after you."

Sometimes we all forget that the First Lady had a prior identity. Tom Barrington
is her brother, a plastic surgeon, and his wife, Virginia, is a pediatrician.
They've been to the White House and I remember them as bright, witty, caring
people. Tom offered to "revise" my scar, but I'm not in any hurry to have
someone point a knife at me again.

"Sam Seaborn." Sam introduces himself, shaking Rosemary's hand and nodding
toward Donna. "This is Donna Moss, Josh's assistant."

"Pleased to meet you." The women shake hands and Donna relaxes a little. "The
Barringtons asked me to extend their sympathies. They also wanted you to know
that their house and staff are entirely at your disposal for however long you
are able to stay."

"That's very kind," I murmur. "We'll only be here a couple of days at the most."

"Take as much time as you like," Rosemary says, smiling. "There's a car you're
welcome to use, and any of us on the staff would be happy to give directions if
you want to get away for a bit. Now, your mother's place, the Dorchester, is
just a few miles south of here on Ocean Parkway."

"Yeah, I was here at Thanksgiving - I think I can remember how to get there."
Suddenly I feel my legs becoming shaky. Sam exchanges a glance with Rosemary,
who smiles again and indicates the stairs to the second floor.

"But of course you're all exhausted. I've got your rooms all ready for you and
your bags should be in them by now. I'll show you upstairs."

We follow her up a curving flight of stairs. "This is the guest hall. Ms. Moss
and Mr. Seaborn, you're on this side, and Mr. Lyman, you're in the main guest
room." She opens the door to show me a spacious room with a huge bed, a desk,
bookcases, and a muted television tuned to CNN. "It has a view of the ocean, but
of course you won't be able to see it until morning. There's a little patio
through the glass doors, and if you like, I can arrange for you to have
breakfast there so you can have some fresh air and privacy."

"Before the funeral" is what she doesn't say. The absence of the words, kindly
intentioned though it may have been, stings more sharply than even I could have
imagined.

"Thanks." I turn to Sam and Donna as Rosemary makes a discreet exit. "You want
to get settled?"

"We can do that in a few minutes." Sam leans over so that he can see the
television. CJ's on camera. In the early, heady days of the administration, we
always stopped whatever we were doing to watch her in front of the curtain, then
at some point we decided it was geeky to be all that amazed and we learned to
multitask while she briefed the press.

Sam turns up the volume. CJ looks into the camera as she says: "Deputy Chief of
Staff Joshua Lyman has been temporarily excused from the hearing following the
sudden passing of his mother earlier today. The President, Vice-President, White
House staff - and, I'm certain, the press corps - extend their deepest
sympathies to Josh at this sad occasion." She gazes straight into the camera for
a moment and even though this was taped earlier, I still have the strange yet
comforting feeling that she's communicating with me. She takes a question.
"Katie."

"Is it true that Sam Seaborn went along with Josh Lyman, and if so, for what
official purpose?"

"Yes, Sam Seaborn is with Josh, but not for an official purpose - they've known
one another for many years and he's going as a friend, not as a member of the
White House Staff. Donnatella Moss, Josh's assistant, is traveling with them,
and I'm sure she has her hands full." A few reporters chuckle. "And to head off
your next question, the trip is on commercial air and was paid for by private
funds, and the three of them will be staying in a private residence."

"Good for her," Sam murmurs.

"I can't believe anyone would bring something like that up at a time like this."
Donna's voice is high-pitched and indignant.

"It's their job, Donna," Sam tells her, swiping a weary hand across his
forehead.

"Yeah, well, they can take their job and--" She shakes her head as she cuts off
her words. "We should all unpack," she says, changing the subject with a slight
yawn in my direction. "I'll come back and check on you before I go to sleep,
okay?"

"That's not really necessary."

"It is necessary - for me. It'll keep me from having to answer the phone in the
middle of the night when you can't find your bathrobe." She tosses her banter at
me, and I want to catch it, but I'm way off my game.

"I'm good. Thanks." I usher them to the door. They turn around to look at me so
I give them as good a smile as I can muster. "Night, guys. And thank you for
coming with me."

"Goodnight, Josh," they say almost in unison. Moments after I close the door I
hear two doors across the hall open and then shut, and we're separated. I'm
alone.

I'm alone. Really alone, no connection to anyone, anywhere, and the feeling of
freefall is like emotional vertigo. Cold, a horrible, painful chill, creeps
through my veins and I have to sit down because my legs don't work anymore. I
collapse onto the bed, shuddering, hoping I'm not going to cry, but there's no
chance of that. Tears come. I hate crying, but this time it feels good, the wet
heat warming my face. My chest aches as sobs follow, ripping their way free.

There's a stirring out in the hall, doors opening, susurrence, one deep voice
and one light one. Over the pounding of my heart I hear a knock on my door and
the slight creak of the hinges.

"I'm okay," I mutter to whoever is there before opening my stinging eyes.

It's Sam. He stands in the doorway, tie gone, shirt collar open, sleeves rolled
up, rumpled and sad and aching in his own way. "Josh," he whispers.

"I'm okay," I repeat, but this time it's an airless, stifled gasp. "I...need
to...can't..."

I need to spill the salt water that contains my DNA and my father's, and my
mother's. But I can't allow myself to cry in front of Sam, for all that he's my
closest friend.

He nods, his stance a little defeated, his solemn eyes at half-mast. I stand up,
hunching over the roiling pain in my stomach, and incline my head toward him. I
can't look into his eyes, can't bear the compassion and concern I'd surely find
there.

Sam closes the gap between us with hesitant, uncertain steps, then opens his
arms to me. His embrace is strong. He holds me up as I lean into him, feeling
and smelling the starch in his crisp shirt, and he pats my back in a slow,
steady rhythm. "Do you want me to get Donna for you?"

The stubble on my face rasps against Sam's shirt as I shake my head. "It's
not...I just can't do this in front of either of you," I manage to whisper. "I
think I have to be alone tonight."

"I know." He pulls away, his hands on my upper arms, looking me in the eye.
"Although, if you change your mind, I'm here. Well, I'm not here, I'm across the
hall, but you know that."

"I know that." I clear my tear-clogged throat. "I know that," I say again,
softer, as I take a step backward and break the connection between us.

He doesn't say anything else, just gives me a sad smile as he heads for the
door. I lift my chin at him, waiting until he is gone before taking out the
manila envelope I've never opened.

It's not her will, which I haven't seen since she updated it, but a copy of
Mom's last wishes. It's pretty straightforward, in the legalese she picked up in
all her years as an attorney's wife. Like my father, she's willed her body to
science and her remains will be cremated and sent to me at some point along the
way, to be placed beside Dad's in the little columbarium we had built next to
Joanie's grave.

There's room for me, too. I've seen the plot. I just...

Dammit. Here it comes. I set down the envelope and collapse into bed, fully
clothed, and for the first time since I was a little boy, I actually cry myself
to sleep.

***

I'm still fully clothed when unwelcome daylight wakes me. Falling asleep in my
clothes happens more often than not these days, and even opening my eyes to
broad daylight would've escaped my notice except that there's a lot of it, too
much for my apartment, and it's coming from the wrong side of the bed.

I turn over, gazing blearily at the alarm clock. From somewhere close by I get a
whiff of fresh-cooked eggs. And ripe strawberries. There's no mistaking that
aroma--I woke up to it enough times in my childhood...

And in one sudden, horrible moment, I remember why I'm in this big bed and
what's going to be happening in the next few days. Oh, God, it hurts, and only
the fear of being late to my mother's memorial service keeps me from losing it
right then and there.

I drag myself out of bed and fish around for my bathrobe. I'd rather be boiled
in oil than call for Donna, so I keep digging until it turns up, then head for
the shower. Being clean helps, I think, as I lather myself a couple of times to
wash away the day-old sweat from the hearing. Hard to believe that, just
yesterday, the hearing was my biggest worry. Shows you how much your life can
change in just a matter of hours.

I slump against the shower wall for a few minutes, breathing through my mouth,
until the panicked sensation passes. By the time I get into my clothes, I hear a
light rapping on the door, and Donna's voice.

"You decent?"

"Nope."

"Good, then we're coming in." She and Sam enter together. Sam looks a little
anxious and he's fiddling with the knot in his charcoal tie. His suit is almost
the same color of gray as Donna's dress. She's got some sort of black shawl
thing around her shoulders. The darkness just emphasizes the circles under her
eyes.

"Did you sleep?" Sam asked, checking me out from head to toe.

"Yeah, actually. I kinda dropped off and I'm pretty sure I slept through the
night."

Donna's gone to the balcony and opened the doors. Sure enough, there's ocean to
be seen, and a light, salty breeze comes into the room. "They left your
breakfast on a tray outside."

"You guys ate already?" I look at my watch as Sam goes out to retrieve the tray
and then brings it out to the balcony.

"Well, I was up early. Just in case you couldn't find your bathrobe."

"Voila." I point to the bathroom door, where the robe is hanging up to dry. "I'm
not a complete basket case, Donna."

"I never thought you were." She usually swipes something off my plate when I'm
eating, especially if she doesn't have food of her own, but today she just sits
with her legs demurely crossed at the ankle and watches seagulls dive into the
foam.

I butter a piece of toast and hand it to her. She starts to cry.

Sam moves from his perch on the balcony railing to crouch beside her and put her
head down on his shoulder. At least he can comfort someone. It's something he
needs to be able to do.

"Did you want marmalade instead?" I ask, cocking my head to one side, and Donna
laughs through her tears.

"I'm so sorry, Josh. I don't know what came over me." She does that weird thing
women do with their fingers when they want to dry tears without smearing their
makeup. "It just sneaks up on me once in a while, when I least expect it. I need
to fix my face, okay?"

Before I can say anything she's gone. Sam looks at her empty chair, then at me.
His face is a giant question mark as he waits for me to enlighten him.

"Donna's mother died when she was in college. Not long after that, Donna took up
with Seth - that schmuck who let her drop out to pay his way through med school
and then dumped her because she wasn't educated."

"Wow. I didn't know that." Sam sits opposite me and munches slowly on the piece
of toast that had started the episode. "It explains a lot about her." He reaches
for another piece of toast.

"Feel free to, you know, consume my entire breakfast."

He's not deterred. "Donna's a very compassionate person. And I think you're
going to need that in the next few days."

I want to tell him that he's no slouch in that department, but before I can work
up the nerve his cell phone rings. With an irritated groan he reaches in his
pocket. "Sam Seaborn." He covers the receiver for a moment. "It's Toby," he
tells me. "What? When? Okay, calm down - wow, you really shouldn't use that word
over an unsecured phone line...yeah. Okay. I'll look. I'll tell him."

"Tell me what?" I ask around a mouthful of strawberries as Sam hangs up and
slams the phone back into his pocket.

"That he's...thinking about you."

"Sam."

"Yeah."

"I may have a bad poker face, but you're the worst damn liar on the face of the
earth." I get up and head for the television. "I take it something's in the news
cycle that we wish would go away."

"Josh, yeah, there's something. And I need you not to get crazy, okay?"

I snort as I turn on CNN, fumbling with the remote to get the sound on. It
doesn't work, so I start punching buttons on the television. Donna enters at the
same time and stands next to me as the three of us watch whatever this is
unfolding. At first it doesn't look like much - a freight train derailment that
didn't injure anyone seems to be the lead story, so I turn my attention away
from the picture to look at the bewildering array of control buttons.

Donna points to the screen. "What's he going on about? And why's there a picture
of Mrs. Landingham?"

Finally I get the sound working in time to hear the voice of Congressman
Schuller from Indiana, someone even the Bartlet-haters think has gone way over
the edge since the M.S. disclosure. "I think an investigation is called for,"
he's saying into a hand-held microphone someone has thrust in his face. "I think
that the deaths of two people close to upper-level figures in this scandal is
probably not coincidental. That they occurred in such a short span of time may
well indicate that the administration will do whatever it takes to cover its
tracks."

Sam slaps the power button with so much force that the entire entertainment unit
rattles. I push his hand aside and turn the television back on.

"Josh, don't..."

"I wanna hear what this asshole has to say."

They're on CJ now, and I can tell by the space between the White House emblem
and her head that she's tired enough to have taken off her shoes. Her glasses
are a little askew. "We've just heard about the Congressman's remarks and we are
prepared to make this statement."

The camera pans to show Toby standing next to Carol, glowering. He looks as if
he'd be happy to eat any reporter who makes a comment right now.

CJ continues. "The groundless accusation implicit in Congressman Schuller's
remarks is not only without merit but also completely inappropriate at this time
of sorrow and loss - or, for that matter, at any other time. As a United States
citizen protected by the First Amendment, the Congressman is free to make
whatever speeches he wants - up until his comments become slanderous, at which
point the White House Counsel will take any and all necessary steps to force him
to cease and desist. In the meantime, we will not dignify this horrendous
breach of common decency with a response."

With that, CJ stalks off the podium. The room is eerily silent. Not one reporter
has asked for clarification.

"I think that about wraps it up," Sam says, his voice gentler than his words,
and he waits for me to nod before turning the television back off.

"I bet Toby's having a conniption fit right about now." I inhale through my
mouth. "You should really be there with him, Sam."

"Nah. I'd only restrain him. This way we get some entertainment on the road and
some stories for when we get back." He gives Donna a little smile, but she's
determined to be angry.

"That's so sick," Donna murmurs. "What kind of person could think something like
that?"

"The kind of person who hates everything we stand for. Everything we've worked
for." Sam's eyes flash the way he does when he's well and truly wound up about
something. "Toby says they're taking care of it, and not to worry."

"The President must be...wow, I can't imagine the level of fury." I shake my
head.

"I don't want you to worry about it, Josh," Sam reiterates.

Rosemary turns up at the door, which Donna has left open. "I'm terribly sorry to
intrude, but if you're going to get there in time, then..."

I put my hand on Sam's shoulder for a moment.

"I think I have enough to worry about already."

***
To Part Four