Chapter 3 The Ides of March
The words hung in the air for several seconds before he felt her breath tickle his ear, "Yes."
He pressed his cheek to hers, their tears mingling. "Love you," he murmured.
She pulled her face back to enough to meet his fuzzy gaze. "Love you."
The heart monitor beeped two score and more before McGarry gently smoothed the patient's hair.
"Leo," Josh exhaled.
"How're ya doing, son?"
"Could've been worse." He swung his gaze to his mentor, right eye-under a drooping lid-lagging behind the left. To Leo's cocked eyebrow he explained. "Ides of March."
Leo's grin didn't quite erase the worry from his face. "Julius Caesar would say you're damn lucky."
Josh grinned-or grimaced, it was difficult to tell-then locked gazes with
Donna before his eyelids fluttered shut. His face relaxed, breathing eased until, on the edge of sleep, he murmured, "Very lucky."
He awoke the next three mornings in the noisy fishbowl of the stepdown unit. On the fourth morning he awoke to the twilit quiet of a private suite. Leo McGarry and his bottomless checkbook, though now back in Washington, had, obviously, struck again.
"Good morning," Donna cooed on the morning of the tenth day, face fresh-scrubbed, hair pulled back into a pony-tail as she smoothed the duvet on the regular bed in the next room.
"Hey," he greeted, wrapping his hand around hers when she slipped to his bedside.
"How do you feel?" she pressed her lips to his forehead, stealing a kiss while checking for a fever.
"Sore," he grunted while raising the bed to a sitting position. "But not like before."
"It's amazing how much damage the concussion of a gunshot wound can do." Dr. E. H. Taylor' voice preceded her into the room. "How are you feeling?"
"When can we go home?" Josh grinned.
The doctor warmed her stethoscope in her hand before applying it to his back. "Feeling that well or that bored?"
"Yeah," he answered, leaning back while she inspected the new scar on his chest. Her touch was warm and firm.
"Looks good," she announced, stabbing at a handheld computer.
"Well," Josh prodded. "When can we go home?"
"That depends upon what you mean by home." Taylor pocketed the computer. "No air travel for at least a month and I doubt you're up to a four-day train trip."
"What about a hotel?" Donna asked. "Or renting a house?"
"Those are possibilities, but Leo and I think we've come up with a better solution."
Josh and Donna stared, fish-eyed.
The doctor swallowed. "You can come home with me."
"With you?" Donna finally responded. "Wouldn't that be a lot of trouble?"
The doctor shook her head. "My husband and I have a little farm out in Rosemark. Not long after we moved back here we converted the carriage house into a two-bedroom guest house. It's yours for as long as you need it."
"How much?" Josh asked warily.
The doctor smiled broadly. "That's between Leo and me."
The drive was only twenty miles but Josh Lyman had begun to list like a ship after five. By ten miles his head had sunk into Donna's lap. By fifteen miles he'd crossed his arms in front of his chest, desperately trying to hold his severed sternum together. By the twentieth mile, crunching up the gravel drive to the Taylor farm, he'd hiss at every bump despite the Demerol he'd taken before the trip. When they did finally stop, he held his breath, fearing another jostle.
"We're here," the doctor announced, then he heard gravel crunching underfoot and soft voices. The face of a young man appeared in the opened passenger door, gently pulling Josh to an upright position. Gingerly, he slid out of the SUV, standing still until the dizziness passed.
"Are you okay?" Donna appeared at his side, sliding her arm beneath his and leading him down a brick path. The gentle breeze was chilly and carried with it the scent of greening, of spring in the offing. Stars shone brightly, diamonds on velvet, and he could hear grasses rustling somewhere outside of the pool of light around the small cottage before them. With a groan, he lifted his foot over the worn door sill, allowing himself to be led to a soft bed framed by cotton-candy curtains. Donna kneeled, pulling the shoes from his feet, then helped navigate the step up to the bed. He sank heavily into the crisp softness, surrendering almost immediately to the exhaustion brought on by even this small trip. Donna pulled the coverlet under his chin and extinguished the light. Slipping quietly to the other bedroom she found her luggage and their hostess who offered her a tall, icy glass of tea with a greeting.
"Welcome to Hickory Grove."