Chapter 6 Tea with Alice
"I swear to you, Leo, Donnatella Moss was a Warrior Queen in another life," Josh Lyman declared, head propped up on a sea of pillows beneath a pleated canopy. "She is ruthless in pursuit of an objective."
"And what would that current objective be, Josh?" Leo asked.
"Her current goal is simple: bore Josh."
"How can you be bored?" the older man asked. "Hickory Grove may be in the sticks but I understand it has the usual amenities-newspapers, telephone, Internet access, cable television."
"Oh, it does," Josh ranted. "But, Queen Donna has taken control of all of that. She blocks all but the most inane of phone callers."
"Josh . . ."
"She censors the newspaper, Leo. She's only allowed me the Living and Sports sections since I left the hospital."
"Josh . . ."
"She's installed Net Nanny, Net Nanny, Leo, on my laptop and blocked all the news and political sites."
"Josh . . ."
"Most aggravating, though, is the cable situation: she's blocked CNN, Headline News, MSNBC, FoxNews, C-Span, everything. All she's left me is the movie channels, kids' channels and the standard networks. It's unbearable! I'm gonna have to put my foot down!" he concluded breathlessly.
Leo chuckled. "Don't you think she has your best interest at heart?"
"Of course she does," the younger man conceded with a gasp. "But, Leo . . ." His voice softened, slurring slightly.
Leo McGarry swallowed hard at the realization that his relentless protégé-who, during the campaign, had gone for days without sleep-- had become exhausted after such a short tirade. "Joshua," he called warmly.
"Hm?"
"Get some rest, okay?"
"Um-hm," Josh burrowed deeper into the pillows, the phone falling out of his hand while he thought about the canopy above him. It was blue, like the color of the sky, the color of her eyes, her eyes . . .
"He's asleep, Leo." Donna Moss picked up the phone then closed the heavy drapes in his bedroom against the noonday sun. "He fights it like a two-year-old."
"How's he doing?"
"Well," Donna pinned the phone between her shoulder and her ear and talked while she cleared away the lunch dishes. "He wakes up about eight and by the time he dresses, eats breakfast, walks for thirty minutes, pounds on the computer for about thirty minutes, talks to you guys for about thirty minutes, pausing to gasp for breath between each task, he's ready for lunch and an afternoon nap." She washed off their plates and stacked them in the drainer then picked up the dirty saucepan. "When he wakes up we start all over again."
"Is he ready to start easing back into things?"
The metal saucepan clanged loudly in the metal sink as it escaped Donna's wet grip. She propped her hands on the counter, closed her eyes and swallowed. Hard.
"Donna?" Leo called sharply. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," she sniffled, pinching the bridge of her nose to staunch the threatening tears. "Just take it slow, Leo," she whispered. "Nothing that will get him too wound up." Her voice strengthened with every word.
"And what would that be?" he chuckled and she chuffed. "I'll email him something this afternoon."
"You'll have Margaret email it, you mean," she teased.
"Yeah."
"Thanks, Leo," her voice went watery again. "Thanks for everything."
"Ah," he said, "it's what friends do for sons of old friends."
"It's more than that, Leo. It's more than that for him, too."
"I know," his voice softened then he cleared his throat. "Margaret will be sending that information in the next few minutes. And Donna?"
"Yeah?"
"You're quite a dame." The dial tone cut off her reply.
She returned the phone to its cradle then shuffled to the bedroom where she found Josh fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. "What are you doing?"
"Practicing," Josh's fingers worked thickly, trying clumsily to slip the button into the hole and succeeding only after a prolonged effort. "Ta-da!" he said sarcastically. "At this rate it will only take me an hour to get dressed. Of all the 'neural processes' to have dropped down the rabbit hole, buttons would not have been my choice. I much preferred forgetting how to tie bow ties."
"It could have been worse," she stretched out on his left side, propping her head on her right arm. He raised his eyebrows.
"Zippers," she explained saucily.
"Now that would have been infinitely more fun." He had almost finished the next button.
"I thought you were asleep."
"Nah," he started on the next button. "Just had to get horizontal."
She ran her finger down the healing incision. "Still hurt?"
"Just clicks a little when I move suddenly." He focused on her hand, then folded it between his, kissing the ring he put on it only two weeks before.
"I love my ring," she stroked his wrist with her thumb. "It was sweet of your mother to bring it with her."
"I've wanted you to have it for a long time," he said, quietly. "But I'd understand if you wanted to reconsider."
She lifted her head to face him. "Why would I want to reconsider?"
He shook his head, eyes focusing on the canopy above, while his tongue darted out over suddenly parched lips. She took his scratchy chin in her hand and turned his gaze to hers.
"Josh, why would I want to reconsider marrying you?"
He blinked several times before closing his eyes. "After Rosslyn, I was left with numbness on the right side and I couldn't remember how to tie bow ties."
"Yeah, well your right side is almost normal now. And I like tying your bow ties."
"This time it was more: it was buttons and poker and the letter Z and some of the members of the House." His hands left hers and continued on his buttons. "What will it be next time, Donna?"
"Josh . . ."
"I'm forty-one years old and I can't remember how to button my shirt." His voice rose. "Next time I could forget how to eat or how to make love to you or . . ."
"Stop it." Donna sat up, cross-legged. "Post-surgical depression is very common . . ."
"I'm not depressed, Donna." He tried to push himself up on his elbows but failed with a grunt. "Okay, maybe I'm a little depressed but I'm also being realistic."
"Why start now?"
He blinked, rapidly, mouth opening and closing noiselessly. "Excuse me?"
Her eyes flashed, "I mean it, Josh. You certainly weren't being realistic when you agreed to help an unknown New England governor become President of the United States."
He pushed himself higher on his pillows.
"And you really were being realistic when you hired a silly girl with a million majors and no qualifications."
"Donna . . ."
"Let's not forget how realistic you were when you tried to fix the Church of the Nativity on Christmas Eve. Or added funding for autism research. Or pocketed the Defense of Marriage Act. Or just deciding, day after day, that your best revenge against the heartless bigots who tried to murder you is to simply get up and live another day. Oh, yeah, you're so realistic."
His head lolled back with a sigh and he ran the tip of his tongue across his parched bottom lip. Suddenly, he grasped her hand and pressed it roughly to his bared chest.
She flinched, the staples holding him together making depressions in her hand. She tried to wrench free but he held her firm with a grimace. "This, Donna, this is my reality," he said sharply. "It's my yesterday, my today and my tomorrow."
"That's not all there is to you, Josh," she murmured, face lowered over his, hair forming a golden curtain around them.
"Maybe not," he admitted, eyes glistening. "But, right now, it's all I have the energy to see."
She smoothed gentle kisses across his moistened eyelids, pressed her temple to his, breath warming his ear, "Then look through my eyes."
He pulled her close, drawing what comfort he could, but Hope was nowhere in sight.