***
New York City
April
***
C.J. paced the square of her kitchen as far as the phone cord would let her.
Refrigerator, sink, stove, dishwasher. Tiny table. Dumbwaiter. Cabinets. "Yes, I
can do the pre-interview stuff in D.C. tomorrow if Matt can't get up to New
York. That's no problem. Just as long as I'm done by noon, because I'm flying to
San Francisco tomorrow night and I'll be there for about three weeks."
"Thanks." Josh sounded absent-minded. C.J. could almost picture him standing in
his darkened apartment, frowning at nothing the way he did when something was
incredibly wrong and he was trying to tamp down the anxiety.
"Are we going to talk some more, or are you just going to, you know, breathe at
me?" C.J. asked, trying to keep the tone playful. "Because if you're just going
to breathe at me, then I'm planning to make a tape of it and play it at meetings
when I get bored."
"I'm sorry." Josh was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. "I signed
today."
"Signed...?"
"The divorce papers. It's done."
Shit. Someone should've told her. She hated being this far out of the loop. "I'm
sorry. I wish I could say something to make it better."
He sighed. "It was sent to the office. Sam read it, and he said to sign it. I
used this pen...and after, I couldn't keep it. I threw it away. I think someone
important gave me that pen..."
"Josh," C.J. said soothingly, wishing she could reach the wine rack.
"She kept going back to Canada. How did I not see it coming? How did no one see
it coming?"
It was time to come clean. She'd had this eating away at her for more than a
year, like acid on the soul. "I saw it coming," she said. Josh didn't answer.
"I...actually, I knew it was coming."
"How?" he asked, exhaling.
She closed her eyes tightly and tried not to remember how much she'd wanted to
throw Amy out the nearest plate glass window. "She told me," C.J. admitted.
"She told Sam, too. I mean, right before."
"She told me earlier than that. That's what I'm trying to tell you. She told me
- well, it was over a year ago."
Silence.
"She'd called me about doing an interview with some people from Amnesty
International on Angela's behalf. And somewhere in there, she let it slip."
"You didn't tell me?" Incredulous. Angry.
"She said she was going to tell you that night, or the next day."
"She didn't!" Josh exclaimed.
"I know that! But the day after she and I talked, Leo died. And Amy - and you
have to give her credit for this, Josh - didn't think it was a good time, so she
stayed with you."
"Yeah, she did me a big favor."
"Josh, listen--"
"And in the next twelve months, did you ever pick up the phone and say, 'By the
way, Josh, there's a little problem with Amy that you might want to know about,'
or anything that would clue me in that my whole damn life was about to
collapse?"
C.J. groaned. "It wasn't my story to tell."
Bad choice.
"So of all the other stories that aren't yours, the ones that net you a couple
million dollars a year because you tell them on NBC, this was the one you
decided to store away? Knowing that someday I'd have to sit in my apartment and
have Amy tell me that she loved someone else, that she was packed, that this was
it?"
"I promised--"
"You promised? That's nothing! She promised! SHE promised!" Josh was screaming
now, and C.J. could hear the pounding of his fist on the wall. "She promised to
love me forever, and look how much good that promise did!"
"I understand, and I know why you're angry at me, and I don't blame you."
"You know what?" Josh asked, breathless. "I don't care about your understanding
and I don't give a damn about who you choose to blame."
Now it was C.J.'s turn to lose her breath, and she had to force air into her
lungs. "If it was the wrong thing to do, then I'm sorry--"
Josh's words, softly spoken as they were, tore through her like broken glass.
"Fuck you, C.J."
And the phone went dead.
"Oh, my God," C.J. gasped. She hit Josh's number on the speed dial. Got his
voice mail. "Josh, please...pick up, please," but to no avail. With fingers
shaking so hard that she could scarcely touch another key, she called Toby. No
answer. That's right, Ellie was in Manchester with her husband and new baby, and
they were going out for dinner. She tried Josh again, only this time she
listened to a pleasantly modulated mechanical voice saying the phone was
temporarily out of service.
No, no, no.
She fumbled with the phone, crying, nearly unable to feel the buttons. Finally
she heard Nina's voice, thick with sleep. "C.J.? is that you?"
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I need to talk to Sam. Please."
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. It's...it's Josh."
C.J. heard Nina whisper something, then seconds later Sam was on the line.
"What's going on?"
"I need you to go to Josh's and make sure he's all right. The divorce papers
came, and he's--"
"C.J., he was over here for dinner. He's a little down, but he's fine."
"Well, he wasn't fine by the time I got through talking to him." She didn't wait
for Sam's request for clarification. "I told him something. That I'd known about
Amy. Last year, in fact, just before Leo died."
"You knew and you didn't tell him anything?"
She flinched. "I went over this with Josh already. You can beat the shit out of
me tomorrow. What you need to do now is get to Josh's place soon as possible.
He's done something with the phone and I can't get through, and we fought. Sam,
I've only heard him like this once before."
"I'm on my way," Sam said in a frightened whisper. He hung up, and C.J. began to
pace around the kitchen again.
Don't hover, Donna had said after that wretched Christmas. It embarrasses him.
Dammit, where the hell was Donna?
No, not her fault. Donna had done the right thing, withdrawing to a discreet
distance after Amy's departure.
C.J. wondered if she could have her research department track Amy down and
throttle her. No, not her fault, either. She'd suffered enough, was still
suffering, on the lam with a woman whose husband wanted to mutilate their
daughter. And Amy certainly didn't mean to bring this on Josh; that's why she
had stayed so much longer than she'd intended, to keep him from having exactly
this breakdown.
Her legs began to tremble as she looked over at the clock. What if Josh had hurt
himself? What if he was lying on the floor, blood coming from God knows where?
He didn't have a gun, did he? Pills? No, that's not Josh's style, he wouldn't
just dope himself into oblivion. He'd do something spectacular. Like running his
hand through a window.
C.J. sat in the little chair by the breakfast table. Stop, stop, stop. Don't
borrow trouble. It's okay, Sam's on the way. Sam's on the way.
So intent was she on this new mantra that the phone made her jump up, hand over
her heart. She grabbed the receiver. "Sam?"
"Yeah. Josh is okay. I can't talk now."
"What happened?"
"Tore the phone out of the wall and threw it out the window. C.J., look, I
can't--"
And then she heard it. The terrible, hopeless sound of Josh's broken sobbing.
"Is he hurt?" Stupid question. "I mean--"
"He didn't do anything. Not to himself. I got here in time."
"Sam!"
"It's going to be okay, C.J. I'll take him home with me and tomorrow we'll think
of something."
"I'll call Toby again. Have Abbey bring Josh out to the farm."
"That's a good idea." Sam finally didn't sound angry anymore, just tired and
apprehensive. "I've got to go now."
C.J. swallowed and nodded, neither of which would help Sam understand that she
was saying good night, and thank you, and please take care of Josh and tell him
I'm sorry. But as she hung up the phone, her shoulders shaking, she knew that
Sam was doing all of those things, and more, because that's who Sam was.
***
Manchester
The next afternoon
***
Toby met Josh at the gate. Shook his hand, because they weren't the sort to
embrace, ever, even when something horrible was going on. "Josh, it's good to
have you here, although I'm certainly sorry about the circumstances. Jed's been
anxious to see you."
"You call him 'Jed' now?" Josh asked, and the lift of his eyebrow reassured Toby
that Josh Lyman's spirit was still in his body, after all.
"It took a while," Toby admitted. "But every time I called him 'sir' he gave me
a lecture. At first it was on literary allusion in Pre-Raphaelite paintings. But
when he started in on the smallest monetary units of Pacific Island nations, I
gave it up."
"I hear you." Josh paid the cab driver and shouldered his backpack while Toby
grabbed his suitcase and headed away from the house. "Wait, aren't we going
inside?"
"They converted the old carriage house into a guest house, with a guest room
inside to make it utterly redundant."
"Yeah," Josh smirked. "I heard something about them throwing you out because of
the noise."
Toby stopped in his tracks, scratching his eyebrow with his thumbnail. "Who told
you?"
"Sam. He got it from Donna, who got it from, of all people, Gary Tennenberg."
"The cab hasn't driven away yet, has it?" Toby asked hopefully.
"Seriously. I'm sorry about the...thing. With C.J." Josh nudged Toby's arm as
they walked down a gravel path to the guest house. "I should call her. I said
some pretty crappy stuff."
"I don't blame you, Josh. I was pretty pissed, myself." Toby had exchanged more
than a few words, some quite heated, with C.J. over the propriety of letting
Josh continue to believe that his wife was actually in love with him. Only
because C.J. was so distraught did Toby end the lecture and suggest that Abbey
call Josh early the following morning. "We're having dinner with the Bartlets -
they went to the airport with Ellie, Tom, and whatshisname, but they'll be back
in a few hours."
"'Whatshisname?' The...baby?" Josh asked.
"Yeah." Toby turned away so Josh couldn't scrutinize his face. He couldn't help
thinking it was a pretty damn cute baby, especially when Toby could hand it back
to its parents when cute turned into messy. "Micah."
"They named their baby Micah? Seriously? Because, when people bring presents,
they can say this is for Micah. Formica."
Toby glared at Josh, who was smirking. Again. No wonder Amy had walked out. No
one should have to live with that smirk. "Anyway," he said, helping Josh put his
things away in the guest room, "We're having dinner, and then I'm helping with
the memoirs over chess and brandy."
"What will I be doing?" Josh asked, both eyebrows now raised.
"Abbey would like to have a talk with you."
Josh bolted toward the window. "The cab hasn't driven away yet, has it?"
Toby watched the slump of Josh's shoulders as he placed his palms on the
windowsill. C.J. has sounded nothing short of hysterical when she'd called
during the night, painting Josh as a desperate man on the edge of suicide. Sam
had been more pragmatic - concerned but not frightened. "But I think a few days
away might be good for him," Sam had declared.
So tickets had been reserved and Josh had been summoned in a way that made it
clear that he had no choice in the matter. Sam told Toby that Josh seemed to
agree with the plan, that he had packed quietly and without argument, and let
Sam drive him to the Amtrak station.
And now he was here, and Toby had very little idea what to do for him. What to
say to him.
Yes, Andrea had divorced him. But that was over personalities, over work habits,
over religion. She hadn't left him because of his gender. And of all the people
in the world who were unlikely to take that kind of dismissal well, he couldn't
imagine anyone being more freaked out than Josh.
It would've been easier for Toby to deal with the angry Josh who had terrified
C.J. so much. Certainly easier to deal with the self-destructive version who'd
spent the night haunting Sam and Nina's condo. What left him feeling helpless
was how passive Josh was. Too quiet. And if not for the flashes of humor that
broke the sullen pallor of Josh's face, Toby would have been terrified. He knew,
all too well, that the people who were least vocal were the most likely to die
at their own hands.
He hadn't said that to the relieved C.J., nor to Sam. Instead, he'd called Donna
and asked her to revisit the Ghost of Christmas Past. What did you see? What
made you go to Leo? What did he do between stitching up his hand and coming in
on the 26th?
Would you recognize if it were happening again?
Donna had recited the facts in a dull monotone, had given Toby a concise
run-down on PTSD symptoms and the phone number of Stanley Keyworth, just in
case. But beneath the professional surface Toby could sense her anguish. Her
helplessness. Just as he'd felt when he watched Josh relive the shooting while
Yo-Yo Ma played. Sonata for Unaccompanied Trauma.
Toby cleared his throat and walked over to Josh, putting a hand on his shoulder
- the most contact they'd had in years. "Josh, I can't...begin to imagine what
you're going through right now. But if you need--"
"It's okay." Josh didn't turn, didn't acknowledge the pressure of Toby's hand,
just kept looking out the window. "It's like I told Sam last night. I've had
worse things happen to me."
I need...I need a doctor! I need help!
"I know," Toby whispered, watching the here-and-now Josh, not the one whose
pleading, terrified eyes haunted his dreams still, all these years later. "I was
there."
"Some days I don't know how I feel about that." Josh finally turned around. He
was pale, with dark circles under bloodshot eyes. "Some days I don't know
whether to thank God you found me or whether to kick your ass for not letting me
die right then and there."
"I had the same feelings on more than one occasion. Especially when you
disagreed with me when I was, as always, right."
They shared a rueful laugh, and Josh's expression brightened a little. "I'm
supposed to be getting fresh air, and it looks like you're dying for a cigar.
Why don't we split the difference and take a walk while you smoke?"
"I think you'd better consider a shower and a change of clothes - dinner's going
to be a little early tonight. Usually we just wear whatever, but tonight's a
slightly bigger...thing than normal."
"Okay." Josh dug around in his luggage for a suit, which he put on a hanger. It
had been neatly packed - probably by Nina - and didn't seem the worse for its
travels. "Listen, before the shower and stuff, I should probably take a nap. I,
uh, didn't get a lot of sleep last night."
No kidding. Neither did the rest of us, as we plotted out your next week while
you weren't paying attention.
"That's good. I'm just going to read for a while. I'll be out there. Just a few
steps. At my desk."
"Toby." Josh managed a smile, a small one, that almost reached his eyes.
"Nothing's going to happen. I promise."
Toby nodded. "Good, then," was all he said, but he was less anxious. He was even
able to concentrate when he went over to his desk and took out a loose-leaf
notebook.
As they got ready to go to the main house, though, the anxiety began to
resurface. This time it had a different face on it.
"I should tell you something about dinner," Toby mumbled, talking almost
directly into his beard.
Josh, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, tying his shoes, looked up at him.
"Please tell me that we don't have even more people here tonight."
"No, it's just the four of us. But before we knew you were coming - before we
knew about Amy - we'd planned something. I wanted to let it go, but you know
Abbey when she gets her teeth into an event." He sighed again. "It's a birthday
party."
"For...whom?"
"For me." Spit it out, Toby. "I'm fifty."
"Ah." Josh mouthed the number a few times. "It's gonna happen to all of us."
"Yes, but to me, first. I'm the Lewis and Clark of old age."
Josh frowned, looking down at the floor as he spoke. "I'm sorry I'm putting a
wet blanket on your festivities. Babysitting me is probably the last thing you
want to do tonight, huh?"
"It's better than listening to the history of the camera obscura," Toby replied,
hoping his non-answer would do. "Besides, C.J. had to leave for San Francisco,
and I'd have just been here, all alone, no one to drink with." He indicated his
desk, barely visible from the guest bedroom. "Glenlivet. One bottle from Nina,
and one from Donna."
"Wow. You'd be willing to share?"
"Depends."
"On...what?"
He flashed a brief smile at Josh. "On how well you take your medicine tonight.
Be a good boy, promise to apologize to C.J., promise to keep in touch better
than you've been doing, and all this could be yours, my son."
"Shut up," Josh whimpered, but he was laughing, and by the time Bartlet welcomed
them into the house they were in a surprisingly cheerful frame of mind.
"Joshua," Abbey said as she rushed up to him and stood on tiptoe, putting her
arms around his neck and kissing him on both cheeks. "Thanks for coming."
"You didn't leave him any choice," Bartlet said with a smile. "And don't think
for a minute that I don't see you taking his pulse while pretending to hold his
hand."
"Ignore him," Abbey said breezily. "God knows I do. Now, let me see about
feeding you before you keel over. Have you eaten at all in the last day? No,
don't answer that - I'll just be horrified by your diet and jealous that you're
still so damn skinny."
"I'm fine, ma'am," he replied stoically.
"Not ma'am, please, not that. We've been over this and over this and over this.
Donna still practically curtsies when she sees me. I'm done with the
intimidating part of my life." With easy grace she put her arm through his and
led him to the dining room.
Toby, who followed behind with Bartlet, dreaded the decorations that might be
greeting him. To his surprise, the table was unchanged from the other times he'd
eaten there, other than the extra place set for Josh. Oh, thank God, he wasn't
going to be humiliated.
Far from it - he was ignored as much as anything else. Abbey was particularly
attentive to Josh, asking questions about everything but Amy. Bartlet had
specific inquiries into pending legislation and the possible aftereffects of
C.J.'s "revelation." The only concession to the day, apart from the more formal
dinner, came when Henry came out with a Black Forest cake lit by a single
candle.
Afterwards, fortified with cake and brandy, they went into the den. Toby
performed his nightly task of reading pages of Bartlet's manuscript in between
chess moves. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Abbey sit down with Josh
on the couch, trying without success to hear what they were saying.
Josh's expression was downcast, and once in a while he stopped to rub his eyes.
Bartlet intercepted Toby's glance. "Forget trying to eavesdrop. My wife has an
uncanny knack for being inaudible when stealth is called for. Something that
others might benefit from studying."
"I'm never going to hear the end of that, am I?"
"No, no, no." Bartlet moved one of the black pawns exactly where Toby had
thought he would. "Thanks for taking Josh in. It's less obvious than if we had
him here at the house."
"Josh is a pretty smart guy," Toby said, taking Bartlet's unprotected knight
with his bishop. "I think he may suspect our motives."
Chuckling, Bartlet captured Toby's knight and waved it in his face. "You're
slowing down a bit, old man."
"Simply becoming more devious in my old age." Abbey was holding Josh's hand and
murmuring something to him that made him smile, flashing his dimples at her.
Good. Toby moved his queen. Better. "That's checkmate, sir."
Bartlet studied the board over the rims of his glasses. "First-rate, there,
Toby. I hope you enjoyed your birthday present from me."
Dammit.
"Don't lie to him, Jed," Abbey scolded. "We do have a present for you. Josh,
would you mind reaching up on that shelf and getting--yes, that's the one. Thank
you." She came over to Toby and handed the box to him. "We can't even begin to
thank you for everything you're doing."
He looked at her, trying to show his feelings with his eyes rather than with his
voice. "You didn't need to...do this."
Bartlet stood and put his arm around Toby's shoulders. "Open it."
With trembling fingers, Toby undid the wrapping and found a glass case full of
pens.
"I know that you prefer the old-fashioned, Toby, so I took the liberty of having
some friends put together this collection."
He didn't know if he could say anything without losing his composure, so he just
nodded, running his finger over silver and gold barrels. He managed to smile at
Abbey, then he sat down and covered his eyes with one hand for a few moments.
They were thanking him. They'd taken him in when he had nowhere to go and
nothing to do. They'd built him, for all practical purposes, a house. They'd fed
him and consulted him on everything and made him part of their extraordinary
family. And still, they felt the need to thank him.
It was, surprisingly, Josh who got him out of his predicament. "Toby, I didn't
get a lot of sleep last night and it was crowded on the train, so maybe..."
Thank God for Josh Lyman, and how many times would he ever get the opportunity
to think that?
After good-nights had been exchanged with the Bartlets, Toby and Josh returned
to the carriage house in silence, Josh scuffing his way across the gravel path
while Toby looked from him up to the stars. "Thanks," he mumbled.
"You're welcome. I know you'd do the same for me." Josh opened the door - with
this much security on the property, a lock would have been superfluous and
almost insulting - and immediately went to one of the Glenlivet bottles. He
opened it and poured two glasses, one for himself and one for Toby. "Happy
birthday," he said.
The scotch felt wonderful, soothing his tight throat and itchy nerves. Toby sat
down in the leather desk chair and motioned for Josh to find a seat. They drank
the first two glasses in silence, then moved on to their third by toasting C.J.
"I should call her," Josh slurred.
"Not now." Toby was pleasantly buzzed, but Josh was beginning to look sleepy.
"Wait until you're not, you know, plastered."
"'Kay." Josh wasn't usually such an agreeable drunk, but then it wasn't every
day that he was left by a wife who decided she didn't need him or any other man.
That had to suck.
To get his mind on other things, Toby asked, "How's the bipartisan commission
coming? Are you actually able to accomplish anything, or is everyone too busy
complimenting each other on staying out of trouble?"
"No, it's good. it's really good. Sam's amazing." Josh took another sip, then
upended the glass to get the last drops out. "He stands up at the table, and
everyone in the room takes notes. Two sentences later, they're hooked, and at
the end of five minutes he's got them on their feet. He can get more done, can
get more people to follow his lead, than anyone I've ever known."
Toby pointed in what he hoped was the direction of the house. "Even him?"
Josh was either considering the question or trying to stay vertical. He paused,
furrowing his brow. "Yes. Even him."
That was a lot - if he could believe that Josh was operating on enough brain
cells to make that kind of evaluation. Toby opened the second bottle and poured
some into both glasses. "Looks like we're going to pick up a lot of seats in the
midterms."
That made Josh smile for real, and he chuckled into his glass. "We're going to
rule Congress. And even the Republicans we can't beat want to get in on the
action to get social programs going, because to turn their backs on 'the people'
would be suicide."
"Hmm."
They sat quietly for a few minutes. Then they looked at one another. Two minds
forming the same conclusion. One that sobered them both up.
"Seaborn for America."
They said it together. And again.
"Seaborn for America."
Oh, God, this was going to be so good. Toby scooted his chair closer to the desk
and started searching for legal pads. And one of the new pens, a gorgeous
Pelikan that he filled reverently with the finest black ink he owned. Josh stood
up, wobbling a little, and began to read over his shoulder.
"Yeah, that's good. That's good, too. And...that." He leaned over and pointed to
something. "What about health care?"
"I'm getting to that!"
"And we need a strategy to mobilize the South. They're not going to give up the
old ways without something really, really good."
"Working on it."
And they did, far into the night, arguing genially and not so genially, eating
leftover cake and drinking strong, black coffee. But even caffeine couldn't keep
them up forever and eventually Josh staggered to bed while Toby collapsed on the
sofa.
***
"Did we," Josh asked blearily the following morning as they nursed hangovers at
the kitchen table, "actually form the Committee to Elect Sam Seaborn last
night?"
"I'm pretty sure that was a major part of our evening."
"Hmm." Josh took a sip of coffee, then made a face and set it aside. "What,
exactly, did we formulate? And how stupid will we feel when we go back over it?"
"Don't know." It hurt to talk. It hurt even more to get up, but Toby meandered
to the desk and brought back the yellow pad. All one hundred pages were covered
in his handwriting and Josh's sloppy circles and stars. "Here."
They pored over it. One would point to something and the other would nod, and
Toby made corrections in the margin with pencil as they went along. An hour
later Toby's headache had subsided and Josh looked positively gleeful.
"Know what's amazing?" Josh asked, bouncing a little in his chair.
"That we can spell when we're drunk?"
"Nope." Josh turned his head and flashed a brilliant smile, the one he brought
out when he was about to score a major victory. And in spite of the weary lines
on his face and the red rims around his eyes, Josh looked like a teenager
getting the keys to his first car. "It's that this looks even better when we're
sober."
Toby grabbed the phone and pushed some buttons. He asked to speak to Senator
Seaborn, and was surprised to hear from Ginger that Sam had gone home for the
day. "Is he sick?" Toby asked.
"Not that I know of - he got a call, then he just said he needed to go home and
to cancel his day. You have his number, right?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Ginger." Toby hung up and spent a few moments stroking his beard.
"What?" Josh asked. He was way, way too wired for the morning after a major
drinking binge, Toby thought.
"Sam left for the day. Went home."
"Huh." Josh didn't seem impressed. "Well, call him."
"Okay." Toby dialed Sam's home number and waited until someone picked up. "Hey,
Sam, it's me."
"Toby! Is Josh okay?"
"Josh is fine, he's standing right here, and we want to talk to you about
something. Something serious. Not dangerous, serious, but...important."
Sam seemed distracted. Toby could imagine the crinkles in his forehead as he
spoke. "Serious? Is this a thing? 'Cause there's something going on here..."
Josh grabbed at the phone, but Toby kept it in his firm grasp. "Sam, listen. We
think you should run for President. We've got a lot of strategy already mapped
out."
"Yeah, that sounds good."
"What did he say?" Josh asked in a stage whisper.
It was Toby's turn to look distracted. "He said he thinks that sounds good."
Into the phone he said, "Sam? What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"Sam, did you hear me when I said you should run for President?"
"Yeah."
Josh shifted his weight from foot to foot, making a "what" gesture with both
hands. Toby shrugged and tried again. "Want me to call you back later?"
"Sure." Sam took a deep breath. "Toby?"
"Yeah?"
"Nina just told me...we're pregnant."
"Pregnant?" Toby exclaimed.
Josh's eyebrows went straight up.
"Yeah. We're having a baby in December. I gotta go. And happy belated birthday,
Toby."
Sam hung up. Toby hung up. Toby exchanged a stunned glance with Josh.
"Something tells me," Josh said, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling, "that you
and I are going to have to handle this on our own."
Shrugging, Toby reached for a fresh legal pad. "You up to it?"
"I got nothing better to do." Josh sat on the edge of the desk and reached for a
pencil. "Let's elect a President."
***
Part Five
New York City
April
***
C.J. paced the square of her kitchen as far as the phone cord would let her.
Refrigerator, sink, stove, dishwasher. Tiny table. Dumbwaiter. Cabinets. "Yes, I
can do the pre-interview stuff in D.C. tomorrow if Matt can't get up to New
York. That's no problem. Just as long as I'm done by noon, because I'm flying to
San Francisco tomorrow night and I'll be there for about three weeks."
"Thanks." Josh sounded absent-minded. C.J. could almost picture him standing in
his darkened apartment, frowning at nothing the way he did when something was
incredibly wrong and he was trying to tamp down the anxiety.
"Are we going to talk some more, or are you just going to, you know, breathe at
me?" C.J. asked, trying to keep the tone playful. "Because if you're just going
to breathe at me, then I'm planning to make a tape of it and play it at meetings
when I get bored."
"I'm sorry." Josh was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. "I signed
today."
"Signed...?"
"The divorce papers. It's done."
Shit. Someone should've told her. She hated being this far out of the loop. "I'm
sorry. I wish I could say something to make it better."
He sighed. "It was sent to the office. Sam read it, and he said to sign it. I
used this pen...and after, I couldn't keep it. I threw it away. I think someone
important gave me that pen..."
"Josh," C.J. said soothingly, wishing she could reach the wine rack.
"She kept going back to Canada. How did I not see it coming? How did no one see
it coming?"
It was time to come clean. She'd had this eating away at her for more than a
year, like acid on the soul. "I saw it coming," she said. Josh didn't answer.
"I...actually, I knew it was coming."
"How?" he asked, exhaling.
She closed her eyes tightly and tried not to remember how much she'd wanted to
throw Amy out the nearest plate glass window. "She told me," C.J. admitted.
"She told Sam, too. I mean, right before."
"She told me earlier than that. That's what I'm trying to tell you. She told me
- well, it was over a year ago."
Silence.
"She'd called me about doing an interview with some people from Amnesty
International on Angela's behalf. And somewhere in there, she let it slip."
"You didn't tell me?" Incredulous. Angry.
"She said she was going to tell you that night, or the next day."
"She didn't!" Josh exclaimed.
"I know that! But the day after she and I talked, Leo died. And Amy - and you
have to give her credit for this, Josh - didn't think it was a good time, so she
stayed with you."
"Yeah, she did me a big favor."
"Josh, listen--"
"And in the next twelve months, did you ever pick up the phone and say, 'By the
way, Josh, there's a little problem with Amy that you might want to know about,'
or anything that would clue me in that my whole damn life was about to
collapse?"
C.J. groaned. "It wasn't my story to tell."
Bad choice.
"So of all the other stories that aren't yours, the ones that net you a couple
million dollars a year because you tell them on NBC, this was the one you
decided to store away? Knowing that someday I'd have to sit in my apartment and
have Amy tell me that she loved someone else, that she was packed, that this was
it?"
"I promised--"
"You promised? That's nothing! She promised! SHE promised!" Josh was screaming
now, and C.J. could hear the pounding of his fist on the wall. "She promised to
love me forever, and look how much good that promise did!"
"I understand, and I know why you're angry at me, and I don't blame you."
"You know what?" Josh asked, breathless. "I don't care about your understanding
and I don't give a damn about who you choose to blame."
Now it was C.J.'s turn to lose her breath, and she had to force air into her
lungs. "If it was the wrong thing to do, then I'm sorry--"
Josh's words, softly spoken as they were, tore through her like broken glass.
"Fuck you, C.J."
And the phone went dead.
"Oh, my God," C.J. gasped. She hit Josh's number on the speed dial. Got his
voice mail. "Josh, please...pick up, please," but to no avail. With fingers
shaking so hard that she could scarcely touch another key, she called Toby. No
answer. That's right, Ellie was in Manchester with her husband and new baby, and
they were going out for dinner. She tried Josh again, only this time she
listened to a pleasantly modulated mechanical voice saying the phone was
temporarily out of service.
No, no, no.
She fumbled with the phone, crying, nearly unable to feel the buttons. Finally
she heard Nina's voice, thick with sleep. "C.J.? is that you?"
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I need to talk to Sam. Please."
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. It's...it's Josh."
C.J. heard Nina whisper something, then seconds later Sam was on the line.
"What's going on?"
"I need you to go to Josh's and make sure he's all right. The divorce papers
came, and he's--"
"C.J., he was over here for dinner. He's a little down, but he's fine."
"Well, he wasn't fine by the time I got through talking to him." She didn't wait
for Sam's request for clarification. "I told him something. That I'd known about
Amy. Last year, in fact, just before Leo died."
"You knew and you didn't tell him anything?"
She flinched. "I went over this with Josh already. You can beat the shit out of
me tomorrow. What you need to do now is get to Josh's place soon as possible.
He's done something with the phone and I can't get through, and we fought. Sam,
I've only heard him like this once before."
"I'm on my way," Sam said in a frightened whisper. He hung up, and C.J. began to
pace around the kitchen again.
Don't hover, Donna had said after that wretched Christmas. It embarrasses him.
Dammit, where the hell was Donna?
No, not her fault. Donna had done the right thing, withdrawing to a discreet
distance after Amy's departure.
C.J. wondered if she could have her research department track Amy down and
throttle her. No, not her fault, either. She'd suffered enough, was still
suffering, on the lam with a woman whose husband wanted to mutilate their
daughter. And Amy certainly didn't mean to bring this on Josh; that's why she
had stayed so much longer than she'd intended, to keep him from having exactly
this breakdown.
Her legs began to tremble as she looked over at the clock. What if Josh had hurt
himself? What if he was lying on the floor, blood coming from God knows where?
He didn't have a gun, did he? Pills? No, that's not Josh's style, he wouldn't
just dope himself into oblivion. He'd do something spectacular. Like running his
hand through a window.
C.J. sat in the little chair by the breakfast table. Stop, stop, stop. Don't
borrow trouble. It's okay, Sam's on the way. Sam's on the way.
So intent was she on this new mantra that the phone made her jump up, hand over
her heart. She grabbed the receiver. "Sam?"
"Yeah. Josh is okay. I can't talk now."
"What happened?"
"Tore the phone out of the wall and threw it out the window. C.J., look, I
can't--"
And then she heard it. The terrible, hopeless sound of Josh's broken sobbing.
"Is he hurt?" Stupid question. "I mean--"
"He didn't do anything. Not to himself. I got here in time."
"Sam!"
"It's going to be okay, C.J. I'll take him home with me and tomorrow we'll think
of something."
"I'll call Toby again. Have Abbey bring Josh out to the farm."
"That's a good idea." Sam finally didn't sound angry anymore, just tired and
apprehensive. "I've got to go now."
C.J. swallowed and nodded, neither of which would help Sam understand that she
was saying good night, and thank you, and please take care of Josh and tell him
I'm sorry. But as she hung up the phone, her shoulders shaking, she knew that
Sam was doing all of those things, and more, because that's who Sam was.
***
Manchester
The next afternoon
***
Toby met Josh at the gate. Shook his hand, because they weren't the sort to
embrace, ever, even when something horrible was going on. "Josh, it's good to
have you here, although I'm certainly sorry about the circumstances. Jed's been
anxious to see you."
"You call him 'Jed' now?" Josh asked, and the lift of his eyebrow reassured Toby
that Josh Lyman's spirit was still in his body, after all.
"It took a while," Toby admitted. "But every time I called him 'sir' he gave me
a lecture. At first it was on literary allusion in Pre-Raphaelite paintings. But
when he started in on the smallest monetary units of Pacific Island nations, I
gave it up."
"I hear you." Josh paid the cab driver and shouldered his backpack while Toby
grabbed his suitcase and headed away from the house. "Wait, aren't we going
inside?"
"They converted the old carriage house into a guest house, with a guest room
inside to make it utterly redundant."
"Yeah," Josh smirked. "I heard something about them throwing you out because of
the noise."
Toby stopped in his tracks, scratching his eyebrow with his thumbnail. "Who told
you?"
"Sam. He got it from Donna, who got it from, of all people, Gary Tennenberg."
"The cab hasn't driven away yet, has it?" Toby asked hopefully.
"Seriously. I'm sorry about the...thing. With C.J." Josh nudged Toby's arm as
they walked down a gravel path to the guest house. "I should call her. I said
some pretty crappy stuff."
"I don't blame you, Josh. I was pretty pissed, myself." Toby had exchanged more
than a few words, some quite heated, with C.J. over the propriety of letting
Josh continue to believe that his wife was actually in love with him. Only
because C.J. was so distraught did Toby end the lecture and suggest that Abbey
call Josh early the following morning. "We're having dinner with the Bartlets -
they went to the airport with Ellie, Tom, and whatshisname, but they'll be back
in a few hours."
"'Whatshisname?' The...baby?" Josh asked.
"Yeah." Toby turned away so Josh couldn't scrutinize his face. He couldn't help
thinking it was a pretty damn cute baby, especially when Toby could hand it back
to its parents when cute turned into messy. "Micah."
"They named their baby Micah? Seriously? Because, when people bring presents,
they can say this is for Micah. Formica."
Toby glared at Josh, who was smirking. Again. No wonder Amy had walked out. No
one should have to live with that smirk. "Anyway," he said, helping Josh put his
things away in the guest room, "We're having dinner, and then I'm helping with
the memoirs over chess and brandy."
"What will I be doing?" Josh asked, both eyebrows now raised.
"Abbey would like to have a talk with you."
Josh bolted toward the window. "The cab hasn't driven away yet, has it?"
Toby watched the slump of Josh's shoulders as he placed his palms on the
windowsill. C.J. has sounded nothing short of hysterical when she'd called
during the night, painting Josh as a desperate man on the edge of suicide. Sam
had been more pragmatic - concerned but not frightened. "But I think a few days
away might be good for him," Sam had declared.
So tickets had been reserved and Josh had been summoned in a way that made it
clear that he had no choice in the matter. Sam told Toby that Josh seemed to
agree with the plan, that he had packed quietly and without argument, and let
Sam drive him to the Amtrak station.
And now he was here, and Toby had very little idea what to do for him. What to
say to him.
Yes, Andrea had divorced him. But that was over personalities, over work habits,
over religion. She hadn't left him because of his gender. And of all the people
in the world who were unlikely to take that kind of dismissal well, he couldn't
imagine anyone being more freaked out than Josh.
It would've been easier for Toby to deal with the angry Josh who had terrified
C.J. so much. Certainly easier to deal with the self-destructive version who'd
spent the night haunting Sam and Nina's condo. What left him feeling helpless
was how passive Josh was. Too quiet. And if not for the flashes of humor that
broke the sullen pallor of Josh's face, Toby would have been terrified. He knew,
all too well, that the people who were least vocal were the most likely to die
at their own hands.
He hadn't said that to the relieved C.J., nor to Sam. Instead, he'd called Donna
and asked her to revisit the Ghost of Christmas Past. What did you see? What
made you go to Leo? What did he do between stitching up his hand and coming in
on the 26th?
Would you recognize if it were happening again?
Donna had recited the facts in a dull monotone, had given Toby a concise
run-down on PTSD symptoms and the phone number of Stanley Keyworth, just in
case. But beneath the professional surface Toby could sense her anguish. Her
helplessness. Just as he'd felt when he watched Josh relive the shooting while
Yo-Yo Ma played. Sonata for Unaccompanied Trauma.
Toby cleared his throat and walked over to Josh, putting a hand on his shoulder
- the most contact they'd had in years. "Josh, I can't...begin to imagine what
you're going through right now. But if you need--"
"It's okay." Josh didn't turn, didn't acknowledge the pressure of Toby's hand,
just kept looking out the window. "It's like I told Sam last night. I've had
worse things happen to me."
I need...I need a doctor! I need help!
"I know," Toby whispered, watching the here-and-now Josh, not the one whose
pleading, terrified eyes haunted his dreams still, all these years later. "I was
there."
"Some days I don't know how I feel about that." Josh finally turned around. He
was pale, with dark circles under bloodshot eyes. "Some days I don't know
whether to thank God you found me or whether to kick your ass for not letting me
die right then and there."
"I had the same feelings on more than one occasion. Especially when you
disagreed with me when I was, as always, right."
They shared a rueful laugh, and Josh's expression brightened a little. "I'm
supposed to be getting fresh air, and it looks like you're dying for a cigar.
Why don't we split the difference and take a walk while you smoke?"
"I think you'd better consider a shower and a change of clothes - dinner's going
to be a little early tonight. Usually we just wear whatever, but tonight's a
slightly bigger...thing than normal."
"Okay." Josh dug around in his luggage for a suit, which he put on a hanger. It
had been neatly packed - probably by Nina - and didn't seem the worse for its
travels. "Listen, before the shower and stuff, I should probably take a nap. I,
uh, didn't get a lot of sleep last night."
No kidding. Neither did the rest of us, as we plotted out your next week while
you weren't paying attention.
"That's good. I'm just going to read for a while. I'll be out there. Just a few
steps. At my desk."
"Toby." Josh managed a smile, a small one, that almost reached his eyes.
"Nothing's going to happen. I promise."
Toby nodded. "Good, then," was all he said, but he was less anxious. He was even
able to concentrate when he went over to his desk and took out a loose-leaf
notebook.
As they got ready to go to the main house, though, the anxiety began to
resurface. This time it had a different face on it.
"I should tell you something about dinner," Toby mumbled, talking almost
directly into his beard.
Josh, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, tying his shoes, looked up at him.
"Please tell me that we don't have even more people here tonight."
"No, it's just the four of us. But before we knew you were coming - before we
knew about Amy - we'd planned something. I wanted to let it go, but you know
Abbey when she gets her teeth into an event." He sighed again. "It's a birthday
party."
"For...whom?"
"For me." Spit it out, Toby. "I'm fifty."
"Ah." Josh mouthed the number a few times. "It's gonna happen to all of us."
"Yes, but to me, first. I'm the Lewis and Clark of old age."
Josh frowned, looking down at the floor as he spoke. "I'm sorry I'm putting a
wet blanket on your festivities. Babysitting me is probably the last thing you
want to do tonight, huh?"
"It's better than listening to the history of the camera obscura," Toby replied,
hoping his non-answer would do. "Besides, C.J. had to leave for San Francisco,
and I'd have just been here, all alone, no one to drink with." He indicated his
desk, barely visible from the guest bedroom. "Glenlivet. One bottle from Nina,
and one from Donna."
"Wow. You'd be willing to share?"
"Depends."
"On...what?"
He flashed a brief smile at Josh. "On how well you take your medicine tonight.
Be a good boy, promise to apologize to C.J., promise to keep in touch better
than you've been doing, and all this could be yours, my son."
"Shut up," Josh whimpered, but he was laughing, and by the time Bartlet welcomed
them into the house they were in a surprisingly cheerful frame of mind.
"Joshua," Abbey said as she rushed up to him and stood on tiptoe, putting her
arms around his neck and kissing him on both cheeks. "Thanks for coming."
"You didn't leave him any choice," Bartlet said with a smile. "And don't think
for a minute that I don't see you taking his pulse while pretending to hold his
hand."
"Ignore him," Abbey said breezily. "God knows I do. Now, let me see about
feeding you before you keel over. Have you eaten at all in the last day? No,
don't answer that - I'll just be horrified by your diet and jealous that you're
still so damn skinny."
"I'm fine, ma'am," he replied stoically.
"Not ma'am, please, not that. We've been over this and over this and over this.
Donna still practically curtsies when she sees me. I'm done with the
intimidating part of my life." With easy grace she put her arm through his and
led him to the dining room.
Toby, who followed behind with Bartlet, dreaded the decorations that might be
greeting him. To his surprise, the table was unchanged from the other times he'd
eaten there, other than the extra place set for Josh. Oh, thank God, he wasn't
going to be humiliated.
Far from it - he was ignored as much as anything else. Abbey was particularly
attentive to Josh, asking questions about everything but Amy. Bartlet had
specific inquiries into pending legislation and the possible aftereffects of
C.J.'s "revelation." The only concession to the day, apart from the more formal
dinner, came when Henry came out with a Black Forest cake lit by a single
candle.
Afterwards, fortified with cake and brandy, they went into the den. Toby
performed his nightly task of reading pages of Bartlet's manuscript in between
chess moves. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Abbey sit down with Josh
on the couch, trying without success to hear what they were saying.
Josh's expression was downcast, and once in a while he stopped to rub his eyes.
Bartlet intercepted Toby's glance. "Forget trying to eavesdrop. My wife has an
uncanny knack for being inaudible when stealth is called for. Something that
others might benefit from studying."
"I'm never going to hear the end of that, am I?"
"No, no, no." Bartlet moved one of the black pawns exactly where Toby had
thought he would. "Thanks for taking Josh in. It's less obvious than if we had
him here at the house."
"Josh is a pretty smart guy," Toby said, taking Bartlet's unprotected knight
with his bishop. "I think he may suspect our motives."
Chuckling, Bartlet captured Toby's knight and waved it in his face. "You're
slowing down a bit, old man."
"Simply becoming more devious in my old age." Abbey was holding Josh's hand and
murmuring something to him that made him smile, flashing his dimples at her.
Good. Toby moved his queen. Better. "That's checkmate, sir."
Bartlet studied the board over the rims of his glasses. "First-rate, there,
Toby. I hope you enjoyed your birthday present from me."
Dammit.
"Don't lie to him, Jed," Abbey scolded. "We do have a present for you. Josh,
would you mind reaching up on that shelf and getting--yes, that's the one. Thank
you." She came over to Toby and handed the box to him. "We can't even begin to
thank you for everything you're doing."
He looked at her, trying to show his feelings with his eyes rather than with his
voice. "You didn't need to...do this."
Bartlet stood and put his arm around Toby's shoulders. "Open it."
With trembling fingers, Toby undid the wrapping and found a glass case full of
pens.
"I know that you prefer the old-fashioned, Toby, so I took the liberty of having
some friends put together this collection."
He didn't know if he could say anything without losing his composure, so he just
nodded, running his finger over silver and gold barrels. He managed to smile at
Abbey, then he sat down and covered his eyes with one hand for a few moments.
They were thanking him. They'd taken him in when he had nowhere to go and
nothing to do. They'd built him, for all practical purposes, a house. They'd fed
him and consulted him on everything and made him part of their extraordinary
family. And still, they felt the need to thank him.
It was, surprisingly, Josh who got him out of his predicament. "Toby, I didn't
get a lot of sleep last night and it was crowded on the train, so maybe..."
Thank God for Josh Lyman, and how many times would he ever get the opportunity
to think that?
After good-nights had been exchanged with the Bartlets, Toby and Josh returned
to the carriage house in silence, Josh scuffing his way across the gravel path
while Toby looked from him up to the stars. "Thanks," he mumbled.
"You're welcome. I know you'd do the same for me." Josh opened the door - with
this much security on the property, a lock would have been superfluous and
almost insulting - and immediately went to one of the Glenlivet bottles. He
opened it and poured two glasses, one for himself and one for Toby. "Happy
birthday," he said.
The scotch felt wonderful, soothing his tight throat and itchy nerves. Toby sat
down in the leather desk chair and motioned for Josh to find a seat. They drank
the first two glasses in silence, then moved on to their third by toasting C.J.
"I should call her," Josh slurred.
"Not now." Toby was pleasantly buzzed, but Josh was beginning to look sleepy.
"Wait until you're not, you know, plastered."
"'Kay." Josh wasn't usually such an agreeable drunk, but then it wasn't every
day that he was left by a wife who decided she didn't need him or any other man.
That had to suck.
To get his mind on other things, Toby asked, "How's the bipartisan commission
coming? Are you actually able to accomplish anything, or is everyone too busy
complimenting each other on staying out of trouble?"
"No, it's good. it's really good. Sam's amazing." Josh took another sip, then
upended the glass to get the last drops out. "He stands up at the table, and
everyone in the room takes notes. Two sentences later, they're hooked, and at
the end of five minutes he's got them on their feet. He can get more done, can
get more people to follow his lead, than anyone I've ever known."
Toby pointed in what he hoped was the direction of the house. "Even him?"
Josh was either considering the question or trying to stay vertical. He paused,
furrowing his brow. "Yes. Even him."
That was a lot - if he could believe that Josh was operating on enough brain
cells to make that kind of evaluation. Toby opened the second bottle and poured
some into both glasses. "Looks like we're going to pick up a lot of seats in the
midterms."
That made Josh smile for real, and he chuckled into his glass. "We're going to
rule Congress. And even the Republicans we can't beat want to get in on the
action to get social programs going, because to turn their backs on 'the people'
would be suicide."
"Hmm."
They sat quietly for a few minutes. Then they looked at one another. Two minds
forming the same conclusion. One that sobered them both up.
"Seaborn for America."
They said it together. And again.
"Seaborn for America."
Oh, God, this was going to be so good. Toby scooted his chair closer to the desk
and started searching for legal pads. And one of the new pens, a gorgeous
Pelikan that he filled reverently with the finest black ink he owned. Josh stood
up, wobbling a little, and began to read over his shoulder.
"Yeah, that's good. That's good, too. And...that." He leaned over and pointed to
something. "What about health care?"
"I'm getting to that!"
"And we need a strategy to mobilize the South. They're not going to give up the
old ways without something really, really good."
"Working on it."
And they did, far into the night, arguing genially and not so genially, eating
leftover cake and drinking strong, black coffee. But even caffeine couldn't keep
them up forever and eventually Josh staggered to bed while Toby collapsed on the
sofa.
***
"Did we," Josh asked blearily the following morning as they nursed hangovers at
the kitchen table, "actually form the Committee to Elect Sam Seaborn last
night?"
"I'm pretty sure that was a major part of our evening."
"Hmm." Josh took a sip of coffee, then made a face and set it aside. "What,
exactly, did we formulate? And how stupid will we feel when we go back over it?"
"Don't know." It hurt to talk. It hurt even more to get up, but Toby meandered
to the desk and brought back the yellow pad. All one hundred pages were covered
in his handwriting and Josh's sloppy circles and stars. "Here."
They pored over it. One would point to something and the other would nod, and
Toby made corrections in the margin with pencil as they went along. An hour
later Toby's headache had subsided and Josh looked positively gleeful.
"Know what's amazing?" Josh asked, bouncing a little in his chair.
"That we can spell when we're drunk?"
"Nope." Josh turned his head and flashed a brilliant smile, the one he brought
out when he was about to score a major victory. And in spite of the weary lines
on his face and the red rims around his eyes, Josh looked like a teenager
getting the keys to his first car. "It's that this looks even better when we're
sober."
Toby grabbed the phone and pushed some buttons. He asked to speak to Senator
Seaborn, and was surprised to hear from Ginger that Sam had gone home for the
day. "Is he sick?" Toby asked.
"Not that I know of - he got a call, then he just said he needed to go home and
to cancel his day. You have his number, right?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Ginger." Toby hung up and spent a few moments stroking his beard.
"What?" Josh asked. He was way, way too wired for the morning after a major
drinking binge, Toby thought.
"Sam left for the day. Went home."
"Huh." Josh didn't seem impressed. "Well, call him."
"Okay." Toby dialed Sam's home number and waited until someone picked up. "Hey,
Sam, it's me."
"Toby! Is Josh okay?"
"Josh is fine, he's standing right here, and we want to talk to you about
something. Something serious. Not dangerous, serious, but...important."
Sam seemed distracted. Toby could imagine the crinkles in his forehead as he
spoke. "Serious? Is this a thing? 'Cause there's something going on here..."
Josh grabbed at the phone, but Toby kept it in his firm grasp. "Sam, listen. We
think you should run for President. We've got a lot of strategy already mapped
out."
"Yeah, that sounds good."
"What did he say?" Josh asked in a stage whisper.
It was Toby's turn to look distracted. "He said he thinks that sounds good."
Into the phone he said, "Sam? What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"Sam, did you hear me when I said you should run for President?"
"Yeah."
Josh shifted his weight from foot to foot, making a "what" gesture with both
hands. Toby shrugged and tried again. "Want me to call you back later?"
"Sure." Sam took a deep breath. "Toby?"
"Yeah?"
"Nina just told me...we're pregnant."
"Pregnant?" Toby exclaimed.
Josh's eyebrows went straight up.
"Yeah. We're having a baby in December. I gotta go. And happy belated birthday,
Toby."
Sam hung up. Toby hung up. Toby exchanged a stunned glance with Josh.
"Something tells me," Josh said, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling, "that you
and I are going to have to handle this on our own."
Shrugging, Toby reached for a fresh legal pad. "You up to it?"
"I got nothing better to do." Josh sat on the edge of the desk and reached for a
pencil. "Let's elect a President."
***
Part Five