I thought you were off this weekend. Sam's curious voice comes from where he's leaning against the doorjamb in the open doorway between Donna's office and mine.
Donna's back to work on Monday. I wave my hand at the teetering stacks of paperwork. If she sees this, I'll be sleeping on the sofa for a month.
My aversion to sleeping on the sofa is the sole reason I left Donna and her parents at the diner this morning after breakfast. I have spent the last two hours organizing policy memos.
Do you want some help?
If you've got time, I point at the stack of papers on the sofa. I could use some, yeah.
Sam glances around for a spare bit of floor. Unable to find any, he picks up a handful of files. Where are Chris and Debbie?
Filing the stuff I've already gone through. You want to divide them into piles by topic. Give them to me and I'll subdivide them into the Moss System.
The Moss Filing System.
It's the bane of my existence. Donna based her filing system on outlines and I'm not a big fan of outlines, therefore, Donna's filing system.
Take education initiatives for example.
Education is its own heading, which is then broken down into preschool, primary, secondary and postsecondary education. From there it separates into private, religious, public or all. Next the files are separated into active and inactive, before finally being filed by its focus or sponsor. If the topic is inactive, it is further divided by the year the document was produced. The college tax credit we started working during the election is still an active file, so its file is under Education PostSecondary All Active Tax Credit. The voucher program we're trying to scuttle is Education Primary/Secondary Public Active Vouchers.
I think.
Personally, I thought it would be easier to file it as HR 1296. But as Donna points out, we would have to have a file for SR 9011, which is its Senate version, a file for original White House proposal and the amendments and this and that. Honestly, she talked in so many circles when I brought it up it gave me a headache and I ceded the battle.
Did your brotherinlaw get situated? Sam calls, settling on the floor in my office near the doorway.
Yeah. His roommate's from Mississippi, so there's some culture shock going on. I think he'll be okay.
Budget Medicare Reimbursement Drugs Inactive 2000 Senator T. Harrison (Democrat/New York).
Budget Homeland Security Community Support Active First Responder Training.
This is the way my morning fades into afternoon, amid the shuffle of paper and quiet sounds of Sam mumbling under his breath as he sorts briefing memos and reports.
Sam fills the silence with his simple question.
I answer. Leaning back in Donna's chair, I stretch my arms over my head and exhale.
Sam is standing in the doorframe, taking a break. How long are you going to be pissed at Leo for dating your mother?
First of all, I begin defensively. I'm not sure he's dating my mother. Second of all, I'm not pissed at Leo. Third of all, how long are you going to bug me about it?
Sam snorts. Third of all?
Seriously, I'm okay with it, I insist, ignoring his dig on my grammar. Not that they care what I think.
Who are you trying to convince, Josh? Sam asks. Me? Or yourself?
He drops the subject when I return to shuffling papers.
Campaign Ritchie Inactive 2002 Shit.
This never should have left my backpack.
How the hell did it get into the middle of this mess?
I flip through the pages and account for every one. Thank God it's all here, considering I'm still denying the very existence of this file. Hoynes wants it so bad he can taste it. There is stuff in here that would make your skin crawl and while my ethics aren't always the greatest, there's a line I would never cross without the strongest provocation. This stuff is so far over that line you can't see the line anymore. That's why Bruno and Hoynes didn't know it existed and never will.
Grabbing a large manila envelope, I stuff the file inside, seal it and scrawl my initials with the date across the flap.
I'll be right back. I tell Sam, stepping over him on my way to Leo's office and his document safe.
Margaret has taken a rare Saturday off, so the threshold is unguarded. I rap my knuckles twice on the doorframe and await permission to enter.
Leo calls.
I need to put a file in your safe. I look at my shoes, the file, out the window everywhere but at Leo.
he inquires, not looking up from his own work.
A file got mixed in somewhere it shouldn't have, I answer vaguely. Leo knows the file exists, but not what's in it.
Can you leave it on the desk? He looks up.
I shake my head and meet his eyes for the first time.
Leo nods and scoots his chair back. The safe is built into his desk, where a normal file drawer would be. The click of the tumblers precedes rumble of the drawer sliding open.
I silently hand the file over. Leo looks at the plain envelope curiously. Do I want to know what this is?
The file on Ritchie, I reply simply. I'll pick it up on my way out tonight.
I thought you were taking the weekend off? he questions.
We're getting the bullpen squared away.
Leo surveys me for a breath before dismissing me. Get back to it then.
I return to find Toby standing in the middle of the bullpen, hands on his hips, glaring at Chris and Debbie. They are scurrying about filing the stuff I've already sorted. CJ is sitting on the floor leaning up against the wall next to Sam.
We're making it a group effort, CJ informs me cheekily.
I appreciate it. I sit down at Donna's desk heavily, feeling suddenly lightheaded.
Are you okay? She gets up and follows me into the office.
Yeah. Why? I blow it off, despite the shakes I can barely control.
What the hell is the matter with me?
CJ frowns, but retreats to her place on the floor. You went all pale for a minute.
Sam's eyes peer over the desk at me. You don't look very good.
I'm fine, I insist. Let's get back to work. This shit isn't going to file itself.
***
Parents on the way back to Wisconsin?
Check.
Fred safely back on campus?
Check.
David down for his morning nap?
Check.
Husband stashed at work?
Check.
I collapse on the couch and plant my aching feet on the coffee table. I'm supposed to go back to work Monday and I'm utterly exhausted. I haven't been this tired my whole maternity leave. Now all of a sudden my feet hurt, my back aches, my breasts are sore and I swear I've gained ten pounds.
The ten pounds part doesn't really bother me, considering I only gained 19 pounds the entire time I was pregnant with David. Dr. Williams is threatening me with bed rest if I don't gain more this time.
I lean my head back against the cushions, relaxing in the peace and quiet.
Which lasts all of thirty seconds before the phone rings. The callerID displays my motherinlaw's cellphone number.
Hello, Elisa
Donna dear, how are you?
I'm having a day, I answer with a smile. Josh is at work, if you're looking for him.
Elisa snorts on the other end. I highly doubt Joshua is any more willing to talk to me today than he was last week or the week before.
Josh's Sunday conversations with Elisa are becoming increasingly terse, to say the least. Josh has worked himself into a serious lather over the past couple of months regarding his mother's relationship with Leo and he just won't let it go. Elisa hasn't been much better, refusing to discuss the situation with him, continuing to reiterate it's her life and not his business.
I'm starting to realize where Josh gets his obstinate streak. And it's not all from his father.
Anyway, let's not talk about my pouting, overgrown excuse for a son, shall we?
I sigh.
she tries to stop me.
I shake my head at her, despite the fact she can't see me. This is part of Josh I see far more often than she does his fear of rejection. It's the reason he took so long to tell her we were dating in the first place. She's the only part of his childhood he has left and he's terrified of losing her approval.
David and I have discussed this problem extensively and I think I finally hit on the root of the matter. It's the not knowing that pushed him over the edge. He hates not knowing things, there's no quicker way to drive him into a frothing frenzy than by deliberately not telling him something he wants to know. He sees Elisa's refusal to tell him about her relationship with Leo as rejection of his concern for her, née disapproval of his response to their friendship or whatever.
God, I need to go back to work I've been psychoanalyzing my husband with an infant over breast milk.
Elisa, I'm going to say this whether you want to hear it or not. I know he's being unreasonable, but I don't think he's acting this way just because he thinks you and Leo are a thing. He loves you more than almost anything else in the world and he's acting this way because he feels you are shutting him out. He can't get over it because he doesn't know if it's real or not and every time he tries to find out, someone tells him it's none of his business.
My motherinlaw remains silent on the other end of the phone for so long I start to think she hung up on me.
I'm not, you know. Shutting him out, she finally whispers softly.
I know you're not, but Josh he needs to know the truth, whatever it is.
***
After almost two hours of organizing weeksold paperwork, I peer around the doorframe at Josh he's still deathly pale. Sam gives me an encouraging look, motioning for me to get the show on the road.
We're not just here to help with the filing.
This is an intervention.
Josh? Can you come here?
The First Lady suggested giving him the benefit of his own turf to make it less hostile.
He runs one hand over his face and through his hair: Joshspeak for you're interrupting me so this better be good.'
Sam and I both get to our feet.
Have a seat, Sam points to Josh's chair. Toby appears from the bullpen and closes the door while I shut the one from Donna's office.
What the hell is going on? Josh demands, crossing his arms defiantly and ignoring Sam's suggestion to sit.
We're worried about you, I begin. The thing with Leo. There's too much tension, too much uncertainty. It's not good for business.
Josh's brown eyes flash nearly black as he stares stonily at the three of us before turning on his heel and ripping the connecting door open. Stalking through it, he slams it shut.
That went well, Toby remarks dryly. I'm going back out there to spend the rest of my Saturday making the juvenile delinquents nervous.
Everybody needs a hobby. I look at Sam, who shrugs and lowers himself back down to the floor.
All three of us are accustomed to Josh's temper tantrums when things don't go the way he wants them too. We also know his silences are indicative of barely constrained rage.
Tell me again what they're doing with the ductwork and the Mess? Sam changes the subject without even looking up from the papers he's once again organizing.
Plopping down beside him, I grab a sheaf of memos. We've got over three hours before our next meeting. Something about redistributing the carbon monoxide output of the gas stoves. Do I look like Julia Child?
***
Damn, meddling
Why the hell can't people just leave well enough alone.
First the President. Now Sam, CJ and Toby
It's not like I want it to be this way. It just seems like it has to be. Leo and Mamme obviously don't want to include me in their relationship. That's fine. That's their decision. Leo and I can still work together.
Damn, I seriously don't feel well. I don't know what Matt sees in the biscuits and gravy.
Of course, it's almost 2 o'clock and I haven't eaten since seven this morning. Maybe I should go down to the mess and get something
***
How did it go?
We've assembled in Dr. Bartlet's East Wing office. Its emptiness is a desolate reminder that her staffers have lives and families to spend a late summer Saturday with.
We were glared at. Sam's sour expression matches his rumpled khakis. And not just any glare. The glare he saves for Lillienfield and Claypool.
Abbey leans against her desk and scowls. He wouldn't talk at all?
Toby and I shake our heads in unison as I continue. He slammed the door and hasn't come out. That was three hours ago.
Tell me again. Why are we doing this? Toby asks. He's clearly uncomfortable meddling in people's personal lives.
Because my husband is driving me nuts about it, Abbey sighs. Thanks for trying, guys. I guess it's on to Plan B.
Sam looks curious. He has no compunctions about sticking his nose into his friend's problems. Plan B?
The First Lady allows a tight smile to grace her lips. Plan B.
***
It's just after 5 o'clock when I realize I can no longer hear Sam and CJ bitching about the volume of forests destroyed by the White House Operations staff.
Giving into the headache, fatigue and nausea I've been fighting all day, I gather my things and high tail it out of the building.
***
Josh staggers in around 5:30, looking like Bram Stoker's Dracula the living dead. He's whiter than usual, sweating and even his eyes look glassy.
Do you feel okay? I ask worriedly, taking his backpack in one hand and grabbing his elbow with my other to guide him toward the couch.
Better than I did earlier, Josh admits, accepting my pampering without complaint.
Do you want something to eat? I kneel down to help him with the shoes he can't seem to reach. Glancing up, I see him shake his head.
I'll get you a blanket.
It only takes me a minute to grab an afghan out of the closet, but in that time, Josh falls sound asleep.
***
The apartment is pitch dark when I wake up and stumble blindly into the bedroom. A check of the clock before I collapse into bed with Donna reveals it's just after one o'clock. Wrapping myself around my wife's warm, naked body, I decide I feel almost human again.
***
David is sleeping six hours at a stretch. In the Lyman household that constitutes through the night.' We moved him out of our bed and into the cradle when it became obvious neither Josh nor I needed to get up in the middle of the night anymore.
I awaken just before 6 a.m. and discover Josh came to bed at some point last night. Slipping out of my husband's arms, I collect David and go into the living room to avoid disturbing Josh.
A click of the remote turns the television on at full volume and I hastily ratchet it down.
The Weather Channel promises another hot and muggy August day. I can see the haze settling over the city already this morning. David eats his fill while the sky shifts from pink to blue. I can't believe how much he's grown in the past 11 weeks even though he only weighs just over 6 pounds.
Good morning, Josh's gravelly voice precedes the kiss he presses to the top of my head.
Are you feeling better? I snuggle against him when he sits next to me on the couch.
he decides, reaching over to tickle David's feet. I am.
Our son smiles at Daddy's attention and flails his legs around.
He's holding his head up pretty well, Josh observes.
He'll be dating before we know it.
Ladies and gentlemen, David Dakota Lyman International Man of Mystery. The devilish twinkle in Josh's eyes belies his solemn pronouncement.
Shagadelic, baby, I laugh. Why don't you set up the gymthingy for him?
I ordered this baby gym from an online catalog last month. David can lie on the floor on his back and grab at all sorts of dangling toys.
It keeps him entertained for longer than I thought possible.
The only downside is the thing takes up all the floor space in the living room, so we can't leave it set up.
Josh is getting pretty good at putting it together and this morning it only takes 5 minutes before the child is entranced by the red, black and white patterns and the soft toys.
Too bad they don't make something like this for adults. Josh grins from his spot on the floor next to David.
***
We can make our own fun, Donna purrs at me. If you feel up to it.
As a younger man, I always imagined my sex life would get stale and boring after I got married and had kids. Thank God that proved to be wrong. Spongebob still pops to life at the very thought of making love to Donna.
Race you to the bedroom, I taunt, jumping to my feet and dashing through the kitchen with Donna at my heels.
We crash onto the bed in a giggling tangle of limbs, tickling one another until the tears come from laughing so hard.
When we finally stop to catch our breath, I lean over and press my lips to Donna's. She parts them for me and her tongue meets mine with unrestrained enthusiasm. It's familiar territory for both of us, but I can never get my fill of her. My hands concentrate on the smooth skin of her hips, the faint stretch marks still a fresh novelty.
***
How are things with Leo? I'm tracing the scars on Josh's chest, hoping he'll open up.
He sighs, his own fingers lazily drawing intricate patterns on my back. I don't know what to do, Donna. I don't know if I should apologize or if I should even be the one apologizing.
You could apologize for being an ass, I volunteer, teasing him before turning serious. But there are concessions to be made all around, I think.
It's just She's my mom and I worry about her, but It's like I know she doesn't entirely approve of me working at the White House still, but I don't shut her out of my life over it.
You feel like she's shutting you out because you don't like her dating Leo? I want to clarify what he's rambling about.
His fingers wander from my back to my hair. And it's not that I don't like her dating Leo. It's I hate not knowing.
Can I read my husband like a book?
If she'd just tell me, then I could get used to it and all. But the not knowing he shrugs. It feels like she doesn't trust me anymore.
You should tell her what you just told me, I advise.
We lay together peacefully for a few more minutes, Josh lost in thought while his fingers continue their patterns.
I'm going to check on David, he announces, pressing a last kiss to my belly button. Then I've got to get into the office.
***
As hard as I try to not to pry into the personal lives of the staff, this time I can't help it. My husband is a busybody and has decided whatever is going on between Josh and Leo requires his, therefore my, intervention.
I brushed him off as long as possible, but finally gave in. Mostly because Josh and Donna remind me so much of Jed and I when we were younger and I want to help them.
My first plan met with stiff resistance from Josh. I expected as much, so I had already concocted Plans B and C.
Plan B will be executed today; Plan C, I'm saving for tomorrow.
***
With any kind of luck, I can get this crap finished in another hour or so. At least the cleaning out of Donna's office part.
If I don't puke all over the rug.
I thought I was over feeling this shitty. I mean, I felt fine at home.
My head is pounding again, too. A brief search of the desk drawers turns up Donna's secret stash of Tylenol. There's no coffee and I don't have the energy to find some water, so I dry swallow four gelcaps.
Mr. Lyman? Chris knocks twice before sticking his head in the room. The First Lady wants to see you in her office.
What could she possibly want? More to the point, how does she even know I'm here? I haven't left this office since I got here at nine this morning. According to my crappy watch, it's nearly 4 o'clock.
Keep filing, I growl at both Chris and Debbie on my way to the East Wing.
***
The first thing I notice when Josh appears at my door is how horrible he looks. I've seen cadavers with more color.
Close the door, then sit, I order.
From the way he slumps into the antique Queen Anne chair, it's selfevident he doesn't feel well.
Are you getting any sleep? No new parent gets enough sleep, even workaholics from the Bartlet Administration.
Yes, ma'am. I got about ten hours last night, he answers. What can I do for you?
Josh, I'm going to stick my nose somewhere it clearly doesn't belong and I trust you'll understand I'm doing it for the good of my own marriage.
Ma'am, if this is about Leo
That's as far as he gets before he turns even paler and bolts out of the room.
***
I make it out of the First Lady's presence, but not much further. I collapse under her chief of staff's desk and grab the trashcan just in time to retch my guts out.
Not that I've eaten since breakfast yesterday.
How long have you had this? Dr. Bartlet's sure hands steady me.
I gag, trying to spit the remaining bile from my mouth. But I felt fine this morning.
You're going home. Can you drive or do you want me to call Donna? The tone of her voice leaves no room for argument.
I can drive. I roll from my knees to a sitting position and lean back against the cool wood of the desk.
Dr. Bartlet lifts my eyelids and takes my pulse. You're not driving anywhere.
***
I'm in Sam's office helping him write a position paper on sanctions against North Korea when Nat, an intern from the First Lady's office, appears in the doorway.
Mrs. Bartlet needs you both! Right now! he exclaims. Mr. Lyman is sick.
Lead the way, I motion for him to go.
Plan B? Sam wonders aloud.
I highly doubt Plan B involved Josh getting sick, I reply.
No, CJ. I mean do you think the reason we're heading toward the East Wing is because she was executing Plan B?
I don't have a chance to answer because we arrive to find Josh sitting on the floor with his head between his knees.
Dr. Bartlet is squatting next to him, talking to him and rubbing his shoulders. She looks up when she hears us approach.
Can you two get him home? she asks us, standing up and helping Josh to his feet.
Sam and I nod to each other and then to the First Lady.
She turns back to Josh. If you feeling like this tomorrow, I want you to see a doctor.
Yes, ma'am, he agrees meekly.
We flank him down the halls, stopping only long enough to grab his backpack. Josh digs the keys to the Mustang out of the front pocket and hands them to me.
You can drive a stick, he explains his choice.
I'll follow you in my car, Sam says when we part ways in the parking lot.
***
Are you going to make it? CJ asks when I fumble for the seatbelt.
Feeling to horrible to answer, I settle for shaking my head no' I'm going to die, I can tell.
Donna's going to love this, she cracks, shoving the car into first gear and releasing the clutch.
I spend the rest of the short drive trying hard not to be sick again. Sam has to virtually carry me upstairs and CJ is right Donna gets upset.
She waits until our friends leave to light into me though.
You said you felt fine, Donna accuses, helping me get undressed and into bed despite her unsympathetic words.
I did, I protest. Honestly, I felt fine this morning.
She hmpfs, but brings a glass of orange juice to me, before pressing her hand to my forehead.
You're not running a fever. Concern has overridden her annoyance and gentled her tone. Get some sleep and see how you feel in a couple of hours.
Thank you, I tell her earnestly, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze.
I'll be in the nursery. You know, freaking out over tomorrow, she whispers, bending over me and brushing her lips to my cheek.
***
A couple of hours later, Josh pads quietly into the nursery where I'm getting David's things ready for the morning. Common sense tells me it will be hectic with Josh and I going to work and David going to daycare for the first time. I'm trying to get a jump start on it tonight.
Are you feeling better? I glance over my shoulder at his ghostly form.
A little, yeah. Josh shrugs. How about you? Are you ready for tomorrow?
I don't know. Did you get my office cleaned out?
Josh chuckles, bending over and picking David up off his play mat before sitting in the rocking chair.
I'll never reveal my sources, I tell him haughtily.
Mostly cleaned. I can't vouch for the filing though.
Did you tell Chris and Debbie I was serious about firing them?
I did. Are you packing his teddy bear?
Teddy bear, two changes of clothes, more diapers than you can shake a stick at and a supply of prefilled bottles.
He'll be fine, Donna. Josh reaches out for my hand and pulls me into his lap.
I know, I sniffle, wiping at my eyes.
Josh reaches up to kiss the tip of my nose. My day is pretty light tomorrow. I'll finish sorting the stuff in your office. You can ride herd on Dumb and Dumber and teach them to, you know, file.
He plays with David while I finish getting things ready. Once that's accomplished, we retire to the living room to watch the Sunday night movie of the week until Josh can't stop yawning.
I'm too anxious to sleep. It's finally hit me that I'm going to leave my baby with strangers for 10 to 12 hours a day for the rest of his life.
Part of me wants to walk into the West Wing tomorrow and resign. The louder voice in my head says that wouldn't be setting a very good example for my son, quitting when the going gets tough. I should seize the opportunity to influence domestic social policy while I have the chance.
Josh, on the other hand, snores all night.
Which worries me more than David starting daycare because Josh only snores when he's drunk or sick.
***
Dorothy Givens has run the federal daycare center in the Eisenhower Executive Office Building since before the building was called the Old Executive Office Building and Eisenhower was actually president. I've talked to her a couple of times on the phone in the past week and she's waiting for us when we arrive just before 7:30 a.m.
Now, you haven't had the tour yet. Is that correct? she asks, relieving me of the bag full of David's things. Our tour was scheduled the same week as our childbirth class: the week after David decided he was ready to take on the world.
I answer, looking around at the brightly colored murals. We need to fill out the paperwork, too. The copies you faxed us were lost.
Dorothy shakes her head in amusement. I've heard rumors.
So have I. I shoot a glare at Josh.
He looks down at his shoes. I should just stay here and fill out the forms, shouldn't I?
***
I dig the sheet of paper Donna gave me a couple of weeks ago out of my backpack. It's got all the pertinent information on it: David's pediatrician, our insurance information, addresses. The only things not on it are a local emergency contact and the names of anyone we want to authorize to pick David up if we can't.
Sam, CJ, Toby, and Mrs. B. are easy picks for that, but I leave the authorization section blank until Donna and I can sit down and talk about it. That reminds me I need to update my will, too.
A local emergency contact is a little harder. Three months ago, it would have been simple. Now? Not so much.
Sprawling back in my chair, I consider my options. Sam? No, if they can't reach me or Donna, they likely won't be able to reach Sam either. Or CJ. Or Toby.
The only person I can think of who would be around when I'm not is Leo and that takes me back to not so simple.
Running through the list of prospective friends again and again, I keep coming up with to Leo.
Burying my pride, I write Leo McGarry in the blank along with his office and cell phone numbers. According to the brochure, he's automatically authorized to pick up David in an emergency.
***
Dorothy's tour of the facility alleviates 99% of my concerns. Josh is actually worse than I am when it comes time to leave for work.
You be a good boy, he coos, reluctant to hand our son to Dorothy.
She finally just takes David from him, giving me an indulgent smile.
The big manly ones always turn into lumps of goo, she whispers conspiratorially.
He'll be fine, Josh. I grab my husband by the ear and drag him towards the door. If we don't hurry, he's going to be late. Senior Staff starts at 8:15 this morning.
I know, I know, he mutters, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
***
It's not that damn hard! I slam another file drawer shut.
Ed and Larry both jump at the noise and they're at the other end of the bullpen.
Everything is misfiled. How can two collegeeducated individuals be so filingretarded?
We've been at this since 8 o'clock this morning; Josh has been shuttered in my office finishing the initial sorting since the staff meeting ended at nine. Four damn hours without so much as a break. I wanted to go see David, but now I'm going to have to work through lunch.
I start explaining the system again when a loud thud from my office startles all three of us.
I call, trying to open the door from the bullpen. I panic when it won't open.
I start pounding on the door and calling his name, becoming more irrational with every moment he fails to answer me.
Sam appears at my side, having heard the commotion as he was cruising the corridors.
I call, continuing to bang on the door. Goddamn him, he swore to me he felt fine this morning.
Sam repeats grabbing my wrists and forcing my arms to my sides. There's another door.
Well, duh. Of course, there's another door.
We rush into Josh's office and through the connecting door.
Josh has collapsed in a heap against the other door.
Sam kneels next to him to make sure he's breathing.
He looks up at me.
More specifically, over my right shoulder.
CJ, call a doctor! He commands, then focuses on me. He'll be fine, Donna. I'm sure of it. He's probably just dehydrated or something. Didn't Dr. Bartlet say maybe this was the flu? He probably shouldn't have come to work today and just stayed home and rested.
Sam is babbling in his attempt to calm me down.
It's not helping.
He repeats his flu theory four times by the time the Navy corpsmen who staff the White House arrive. I don't know either one of them nor can I hear what they're muttering to each other as they give Josh a cursory examination.
Does he take any medications regularly? Has he been sick lately? the younger of the two asks.
He takes an aspirin every day. The past couple of afternoons, he's felt sick. But in the morning he says he feels fine. I answer.
We need to get him to a hospital. He's dehydrated and his breathing is a little too rapid for my taste. You might want to call his emergency contact, the older medic explains while the younger one helps the just arrived paramedics wheel a gurney in.
I'm his wife, I tell him, straining to see over the man's shoulder.
He takes me by the shoulders and guides me into Josh's office. Stay here and I'll see if the paramedics will let you go with him in the ambulance.
Sam and CJ wait with me while the medics do their jobs.
Most of the staff has gathered in the bullpen by the time they wheel Josh out of my office. He's white and sweating and completely unresponsive.
Go with him, CJ instructs. I'll tell Leo and the President.
***
Alone in the cold, sterile waiting room, I pace from one wall to the other, fretting over all the terrible things that could be wrong with Josh. What if he had a heart attack or a stroke or an aneurysm? He's 41; it isn't unheard of.
What about David? I have no way to get back to work to pick him up.
What if Josh is dead?
Oh God, please!' I plead silently, finally collapsing into a molded, plastic chair. I bury my face in my hands and let the sobs consume me. Please let him be all right.'
I must be hearing things because that sounds exactly like my motherinlaw.
Who lives in Florida.
Lifting my tearstained face, I discover the woman sitting next to me with her arm around my trembling shoulders is, in fact, Elisa Lyman.
What are you doing here? I'm dumbfounded.
I came up Saturday afternoon. The First Lady called and thought my presence might be needed to resolve her marital problems, she says wryly. Have you heard anything?
I shake my head.
The two of us sit in a silence that stretches to 30 minutes before Sam and CJ join our vigil. Another 15 minutes of nothingness pass before a doctor appears.
Mrs. Lyman? I'm Dr. Hanson. He introduces himself and gestures for me to sit back down.
We're waiting on some environmental samples, but it appears your husband is suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning. His condition has been exacerbated by hypoglycemia, low blood sugar, he clarifies at my look of confusion, and dehydration. He's on oxygen and IV fluids. Once we get him moved into a room, you can see him. He'll need to spend a day or so with us for tests, to make sure there's no neurological damage.
I nod, not really understanding what carbon monoxide poisoning is or where Josh would have been exposed to it.
***
CJ called about fifteen minutes ago. I sense Jed's presence without even looking up from the blueprint in front of me. The dark blue lines squiggle across the diagram like a child's art project. They think its carbon monoxide poisoning. The HVAC people were reworking some exhaust lines from the kitchen and evidently hooked the line from the gas stove directly into the ventilation spur that feeds Donna's office. It was mislabeled as the exterior exhaust duct on both the blueprints and ductwork itself.
He's been sitting in that office for three days, Jed observes.
I agree, harshly. Annoyance at my friend's interference in my relationship with Josh finally gets the best of me. Evidently people kept bugging him about something he didn't want to talk about, so he kept the doors shut, too.
Jed begins, guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders.
No. Seriously, some times you should leave well enough alone, Mr. President. You can't fix everything and this, this thing between Josh and I and Elisa is between Josh and I and Elisa. You have no right, sir. None, I growl, standing and shrugging my coat on.
***
I whisper, leaning down and brushing my lips against Josh's forehead.
He's awake, but groggy. There's an oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose keeping him silent. He does manage to squeeze my hand weakly and his concern is visible in his brown eyes.
I'm fine, I assure him and explain the details of what happened. CJ got the word from the office while we were waiting for Josh to be moved out of the emergency room.
He nods and closes his eyes. Dr. Hanson told me they gave him a sedative to keep him relaxed and let more oxygen do something I didn't entirely understand.
I sit and hold his hand until his chest rises and falls with a regularity that only comes with sleep.
***
I have no idea if the daycare center will release David to me, but I figure the least I can do is try to give Donna one less thing to worry about.
Mr. McGarry? I'm Dorothy Givens. An older woman greets me at the front desk and offers me her hand. I assume you're here to get David Lyman?
How on earth
I checked their paperwork as soon as I heard about Mr. Lyman, she explains, without missing a beat. Proofpositive the gossip network in the executive branch of government is as good as it ever was. I thought they'd send someone to pick him up.
It's only a heartbeat before one of her assistants appears with David and his things.
I just need you to sign for him, Dorothy says with a smile, handing me a pen and a clipboard.
Should I be concerned that you're just giving me someone's child, I ask, suddenly worried about how easy this is.
Dorothy laughs. You're listed as the Lyman's emergency contact. You've been preapproved to pick him up, so to speak.
I am? Donna must have filled the paperwork out without Josh's knowledge. There's no way he would list me as his son's emergency contact these days. Josh barely tolerates my presence most days.
We wouldn't give him to anybody else, she assures me as we walk toward the door and my waiting car.
I suppose you ought to be in a car seat, I mutter as I climb into the backseat.
A tattered, old teddy bear sticks out of the side pocket of the bag Dorothy handed me and I pull it out with my free hand.
Do you want your bear? I ask the boy rhetorically, feeling rather silly carrying on an extremely onesided conversation.
He's fussing and crying. My experience with infants is so out of date as to be useless, leaving me unsure if he's hungry or scared or just doesn't care for me. I tuck the bear into the blanket with David, keeping a close eye on him ensure he doesn't suffocate or choke.
Elisa is waiting for me in the main lobby of the hospital. Let's get a cup of coffee, shall we?
I nod, knowing we need to talk.
They have Josh sedated.
She fills me in on his condition as we make our way to the cafeteria and a quiet table in the corner.
Are you hungry? Elisa coos to the tiny being in her arms. She finally took David from me when he started crying loudly. Leo, there's probably a bottle in the diaper bag.
I dig through it and find a small one. Elisa feels the outside. Satisfied, she pops the nipple in David's open mouth. He looks briefly surprised, but doesn't refuse it.
We need to tell Joshua the truth. She looks me square in the eyes and I see the steely resolve of a woman who has made her decision.
You don't think he's going to be upset we've been toying with him since Thanksgiving? I ask.
Any more upset than he is now?
Point taken, I sigh.
***
Elisa returns with Leo, who is carrying David.
Thank you. I give Leo a kiss on the cheek to express my gratitude after taking David from him.
I fed him a bottle downstairs, Elisa says. He was pretty fussy.
I'm going to change him then.
Elisa hands me the diaper bag and I slip out of the room, confident Josh will remain asleep for a while longer.
***
Seeing Joshua lying there so pale and motionless causes my heart to ache. The dark circles under his eyes stand out like bruises inflicted in some cruel form of personal combat and his lips are blue under the breathing mask.
The other times I've sat at his bedside like this flash through my mind. The first time he was a child of only six. It was after the fire that took Joanie from us. The doctors kept Joshua overnight as a precaution. Noah and I spent the night with him and he clung so tightly to Noah, I wondered how he would ever get over his sister's death.
Thirtytwo years later, I received that terrible phone call from Leo.
Elisa? Are you watching the news? The name they won't release? It's Josh. You need to come now. They don't The odds aren't good.
His words propelled me on to the train from Connecticut to D.C. without even stopping to pack an overnight bag. I managed to arrive at the hospital just after Joshua got out of surgery. Donna and I sat together, praying, waiting for him to wake. He drifted in and out for almost two days before he opened his eyes and asked for Donna.
It's only been ninety minutes since he collapsed in his office and I feel as if it is the longest I have ever waited. Settling myself onto the bed, I take his hand, careful not to jostle the IV in his arm.
This is how Noah looked, I comment to Leo, brushing Joshua's unruly hair off his forehead. Those last few nights. So tired and weak from the chemo. He wouldn't let me tell Joshua how sick he really was. He didn't want Joshua coming home to worry over him. He followed the Bartlet campaign on TV and in the magazines and papers. He was so proud of what Joshua was doing and didn't want him to give it up. It was the first time I ever lied to my son, Leo, and because of that lie Joshua never got to say goodbye to his father.
It was what Noah wanted. Leo rests his hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. You shouldn't blame yourself.
But I knew it was wrong and I knew it would hurt Joshua. I'm not even sure if I'm talking about then or now.
Leo pleads, sitting next to me on the bed. It's in the past. It's done and over with. You can't fix the past. But you can fix this thing. What did you just tell me downstairs?
I nod because he's right. I take the handkerchief he's proffering because the tears have started. Joshua and his family are all I have left and I've given him precious little consideration lately.
***
There's a dullness in my brain, like it shut itself off and won't turn back on. I can't seem to open my eyes or move my arms. Cool air floods my mouth and nose and the annoying prick in my arm reminds me of an IV.
Probably because it is, you dumbass, I tell myself.
Someone is holding my hand. I squeeze it, hoping it's Donna.
My mother's voice.
Why is my mother here?
With considerable effort, I pry my eyelids open. Mamme and Leo swim into focus. She's holding my hand and Leo is sitting beside her, holding her other one.
There is no sign of Donna.
How long have I been out?
I remember waking up once and Donna was here. She told me she was okay and something about a gas line. I fight to concentrate on the scene before me. Mamme has been crying, what little mascara she wears has smeared and Leo looks equally serious. He makes no move to release my mother's hand when he sees I'm awake.
Donna went to change David, Mamme says. She relinquishes my hand and pats the top of it. The only noise is the rush of the oxygen flowing through the mask on my face and the rustle of fabric as Mamme fidgets with a handkerchief.
Thank you for sitting with him. Donna's voice invades the stillness, accompanied by David's gurgles.
It's quite alright, dear. We'll leave you three be. Mamme hastily gets to her feet.
I fumble for her hand, trying to tell her she can stay, but I come up empty. It feels like part of my soul is ripped away when she walks out the door with Leo trailing behind.
Mamme has always stayed with me when I've been in the hospital at least for the first night.
Stop it, I chastise myself. You're 41 years old. You can spend the night in the hospital without your mother.
***
I call his name to get his attention.
His eyes followed Elisa and Leo out the door and lingered there. When he focuses them on me, I can see the pain of rejection.
Oh, Josh, I whisper soothingly.
***
Elisa? Elisa! Stop! I call after her.
She slows enough for me to catch up.
What was that? I demand. The woman confounds me at every turn with her behavior. No wonder Josh is nearly neurotic.
I shouldn't Tears slip down her cheeks. The determination I saw downstairs has vanished.
You're his mother, I point out as we wander the hallways. You'll always be his mother.
***
The only thing I can offer Josh is comfort, but he seems to be finding that in David. The baby is snuggled against his chest. I'm watching them doze in the reflection of the window. From my vantage point, I can see the door open and Leo cautiously sticking his head in the room. He catches my eye and gestures for me to join him in the hallway.
What's up? I ask once the door has shut behind me.
Elisa went back to the hotel, but Leo shrugs uncomfortably.
You think she should be here? I finish questioningly.
She and Josh need to talk before this gets anymore out of hand.
I nod in agreement, trying to figure out how to force my stubborn husband and his pigheaded mother to talk. They're running a couple of blood tests right now. The results determine what they do next. How about I call you when they make a decision and then you can strongarm Elisa back up here. We can lock them in a room together until they kill each other.
Leo chuckles ruefully. You're as sick of this as everyone else?
Oh yeah, I nod, crossing my arms and glaring at the man who terrified me so when I first started working for Josh. But don't think I don't blame you for some of this.
We don't have to wait long for the test results to come back. Dr. Hanson delivers them in person. Along with the news that they're prepping the hospital's hyperbaric oxygen chamber for Josh.
The pressure inside the chamber allows your blood cells to absorb more oxygen than under normal circumstances and essentially cleanses the body of the excess carbon monoxide, the doctor explains. The therapy session will last about an hour. Afterwards, there'll be another blood test and we'll know where we go from there.
***
The bright spot is I get to travel in a wheelchair, as opposed to on a gurney.
You aren't claustrophobic, are you? the technician asks, waiting for me to get comfortable on the platform.
You aren't exactly inspiring me with confidence, I retort. No. I'm not claustrophobic.
Have you ever had an MRI?
Not while I was conscious. Can we just do this?
The guy glares at me but consents to sliding the platform into the tubelike chamber. Once I'm inside, he fits a gas mask like contraption over my face and tells me to breathe normally. The door closes with a whoosh and after a couple of minutes my ears pop from the pressure.
With nothing to do but breathe for the next hour, my mind starts to wander. Work considerations quickly fade and refuse to resurface, leaving me to ponder the recent complications in my personal life.
Like I haven't been thinking about that enough lately.
***
Josh looks significantly better when they bring him back to his room. The deathly gray cast his skin had is gone and his eyes are more alert. The IV is gone and the nurses let him change into the pajamas CJ brought over for him.
He's still on nasal oxygen because the doctors don't want to take any chances until they run a CT scan tomorrow.
I called Leo while he was in therapy and we decided it was probably best to let Elisa calm down some more and for Josh to get a good night's sleep before forcing the two of them to talk. Leo assured me he'd have Elisa at the hospital by the time Josh was done with his CT scan in the morning.
***
CJ, Sam and Toby all stopped by this evening. It helped alleviate the intense boredom. Toby even brought me some work, which is all that's keeping me sane since I sent Donna home. She said she would stay, but with David and all today's excitement, I played the keeping David's routine' card and insisted she go home.
Mostly I want to brood and it's increasingly difficult for me to exercise that aspect of my personality in front of my wife and son. During my little stint in oxygen therapy, I came to the conclusion that I'm actually incredibly grateful this happened to me. Had it not, Donna would have been the one affected and what carbon monoxide poisoning would have done to our unborn child sends an uncontrollable shudder down my spine.
With luck, the CT scan will come back normal and I can get out of here tomorrow afternoon. Get out of here and start cleaning up the mess my relationship with Leo and Mamme has become. Nothing like a neardeath experience to make you realize how trivial things really are.
Truthfully, I just want my mother to be happy.
***
I arrive at the hospital early. The CT scan is scheduled for eight and I want to talk to Josh beforehand. David has been abnormally fussy since we left the hospital last night. He cried and screamed most of the night, presumably for Josh because I wasn't able to calm him much.
He's been a little better this morning, mostly because I think he's running out of gas. It takes a lot of energy to be so upset.
Josh is up, but I can tell he didn't sleep much last night. He takes David from me and talks to him until the baby falls asleep.
I hate you, I tease him with a chuckle. How on earth do you do that?
Josh's mysterious powers over our son are mind boggling.
he shrugs. How are you feeling?
I sit on the right side of the bed and take his hand. Tired, but okay. You? It doesn't look like you slept much.
I've been thinking.
Mamme and Leo and everything. He's looking down at our linked hands, running his thumb over the back of mine.
Did you decide anything?
Josh will toss a problem like this around in his head for days and weeks before finally settling on a response. I sometimes wish he'd do that in his professional life, it would save me immeasurable grief.
I need to talk to my mother. He shyly meets my eyes when he says it.
I can arrange that, I nod. After the CT scan?
***
You look better. My mother waits until the orderlies have left before she speaks.
I feel better, I concede, grabbing the pair of boxers set out on the bed and ducking into the bathroom long enough to don them.
If this is better, I'd hate to see what I looked like yesterday, I think, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Mamme's eyes linger on the faint scars bisecting my chest when I exit the bathroom.
You scared me, Joshua. She admonishes me as if I were still a little boy and my gaze falls immediately to my slippers.
Those four words echo an incident in my childhood when I broke my mother's antique vase playing baseball in the living room. Terrified at what my parents would say I ran away from home, taking with me only Bear for company. He and I were going to become hobos and hop trains all across the country. I returned the next morning, having spent the longest night of my life hiding in the bushes near my elementary school. Dad had wrapped his arms around me and told me nothing I could do was so terrible that he and Mamme would ever stop loving me. Mamme had simply looked at me and said those words. You scared me, Joshua.'
They were the same words she had spoke when I woke up after the shooting, too.
You scared me, Joshua.'
I have a different perspective on those words now, I guess. Before I always thought she was scared for me, scared I didn't appreciate the consequences of my actions. After the shooting, I came to understand she meant she was scared of losing me.
I don't have any idea what my mother means in this case. Does she mean simply what she says? I doubt it. Things with my mother are never as simple as they seem on the face. If they were, we wouldn't be here, metaphorically speaking.
Is it an admission of how much she loves me? Possibly, Mamme has always been straightforward with her affection, rarely resorting to cloaking it within jokes and stories, usually only when my ego demands to be taken down a few notches. It is one of many things I trace directly to her, my ability to speak and think in layers of meaning.
I look up from contemplating the bright yellow Spongebob Squarepants slippers Donna got me as a gag gift for Father's Day and into my mother's watery, gray eyes. Joanie had our mother's eyes, I suddenly realize, and our father's infectious laughter. I have our father's looks and our mother's temperament.
***
It seems prophetic that Josh looks so much like Noah. Not much of me in my son's looks or his personality. Joanie had been a beautiful blending of my German ancestry and Noah's Polish origins. In family portraits long since gone, you could see the family resemblance. Joshua and Joanie were obviously siblings and when the four of us were together it was apparent the children belonged to Noah and me.
Subtract Joanie and Noah from the picture and you're left with two completely different individuals.
Only Joshua's demeanor conveys our relationship. He is deferential and humble in my presence; his covert attempt to communicate his position in my life. His father was the same way, which is probably where our son learned it. He seems to have learned most of his life's lessons at Noah's knee.
Joshua repeats his question, still standing before me barechested.
You should put a shirt on. I reproach him brusquely, clamping down on my resentment of Joshua's resemblance to my late husband.
I'm not at all surprised that he ignores me.
Why are you here?
Evidently the entire world thinks we need to talk.
If you don't agree with them, why make the effort?
Joshua matches my aloofness tit for tat.
I refuse to look down. Because I think they're right.
***
I've never seen my mother so vulnerable. I imagine this is what she looked like right after Dad died. By the time I arrived almost six hours later, she had collected her strength and begun making arrangements.
Without thinking, I reach out for her hand, seeking the reassurance I always found there as a little boy who was afraid of strangers.
So do I, I tell her. Gathering my recently learned diplomatic skills, I lick my lips and make the first concession. Mamme, I don't care if you and Leo date or whatever, but it is my business. You're my mother and I have a right, an obligation even, to be concerned about your wellbeing and your happiness.
Mamme looks up at me, meeting my eyes again as she considers my words.
Speaking of wellbeing, we should sit. You're supposed to have the thing on. She gestures to her own upper lip, indicating the nasal oxygen flow tube I'm supposed to be on for the rest of the day or until my CT scan results come back whichever comes first.
***
Joshua gets settled in time for breakfast to arrive, apparently he wasn't allowed to eat before the CT scan. His meal consists of a rather unappealing bowl of thick, lumpy oatmeal and a runny fruit cocktail.
Surveying the tray, Joshua screws up his face and dips his spoon in the oatmeal.
I watch him choke down the first bite, reminded of the way he used to eat vegetables when he was a boy.
he gags, poking the fruit cocktail.
I wait to address his earlier comments until he's eaten a few more bites and shoved the tray away.
Leo and I aren't seeing each other.
Shock is the first emotion I see flash across his face. Confusion is the last and I can't resist reaching out and closing his gaping mouth.
You aren't? he stutters.
I shake my head. You got so worked up over the idea at Thanksgiving that Leo and I thought it would be funny to just play it up to you. I certainly didn't mean for it to escalate into this, Joshua. Please believe that.
His jaw drops open again as he struggles to give words to his thoughts.
I spent a great deal of time thinking about that very question. It was the middle of the night last night before I was able to express my motivations.
At first I was just flattered you were so protective of me, I admit. And then it became a way to tweak you, revenge for all those times you aggravated me when you were a child. Then it became an independence issue. Who were you to tell me whether I could date someone? You're my son and as much as I love you, you don't get a voice in my love life.
Joshua is inspecting his fingernails as I speak. To anyone else, it would seem he wasn't paying any attention to me. To me it says I have his undivided attention. He looks up, cocking his head to the side when I finish.
I was wrong, I say simply. Donna told me the other day that she thought you were upset by because it seemed like I was shutting you out of my life, not because you thought I was dating someone.
He sucks on his lower lip for a moment, composing his response.
Donna's one of the four smartest women I know. Not just booksmart, but lifesmart. I'm incredibly lucky she's willing to share her life with me. I know you thought I was putting my career ahead of getting married and having a family, but I wasn't.
What were you doing? I ask the selfevident question.
Do you remember what I told you the day after I proposed to Donna last year?
Something about proving to yourself you could be the type of man your father was.
Right. But I was also looking for a strong, intelligent woman who would love me unconditionally yet tell me off in the next breath if I was being an ass. What I wanted more than anything in the world was what you and Dad showed me was possible, Joshua pauses, fiddling with the napkin from breakfast. I guess I thought that kind of love had to transcend death. Then Donna pointed out it didn't have to exclude the possibility of loving again. That you could feel affection, love even, for someone else without diminishing what Dad meant to you.
He has clearly given this a great deal of thought, far more so than I would ever have given him credit for, prompting my next question. Let me ask you something. If Donna passed away today, do you think you could find someone to love again?
***
I can't suppress a chuckle, remembering a conversation Donna and I had on that very subject several weeks ago.
I couldn't settle for anything less than what Donna and I have. Based on how long it took me to find it the first time, I'd have to say the chances of finding it again are slim to none. It doesn't mean I would refuse it if I happened upon it
It isn't the answer I gave Donna, but it is the truth of my heart.
That's the way I feel, son. Leo is a good friend and a comfortable companion, but we don't have what your father and I shared.
I nod my understand, my acceptance of her explanation.
I'm sorry for what this became, Joshua. I never meant for it to hurt you and I never meant for you to feel less than a vital part of my life, she apologizes.
Her hand reaches out to stroke my cheek and I capture it with my own. I'm sorry I made you feel like I was trying to control your life, that I disapproved.
I have a message for you from Leo. She hands me a large envelope with my name handwritten on the front. He said you should read it before you come back to work. Now, apparently, you're going to live?
I snort softly. Yes, Mamme. They think I'm going to live.
Dr. Hanson still has to go over the results of the CT scan, but the technician thought everything looked normal.
Then I'm going go. My flight home leaves in three hours. Mamme gets up off the bed and leans over me to kiss my forehead. You've got good friends, Joshua, and a strong family. I'm proud of you.
***
Leo and I are lurking outside Josh's room, waiting for something.
I'm starting to worry there hasn't been any yelling, Leo frets.
The door opens before I can reply and Elisa slips out, tearyeyed, but composed.
None of us says a word, but the message is conveyed. Things are better. Not the way they were before, but the journey to a full recovery has begun.
I'll drive you to the airport, Leo offers.
Elisa smacks his arm. You'll have your driver drive me to the airport, you mean.
She gives me a hug and kisses David before they set off down the hall together.
Josh is sitting up in bed, a discarded manila envelope on his lap.
Whatcha got? I inquire curiously, plopping down next to him with David cradled to my shoulder.
He looks over at me.
What do you have? I repeat, enunciating clearly.
It's a letter from Leo. He hands me a sheet of paper, then leans in to kiss David on the cheek.
Jenny was going through our old photos and she found these of the your family. She had Mallory bring them to me for you. You were probably three or four when they were taken. I expect you back to work on Thursday.'
The first one is of all four of them, Noah, Elisa, Joanie and Josh, sitting on a blanket in a park. Josh is in Noah's lap clapping at whatever his sister is doing. Elisa is sitting next to her husband and son, her eyes watching Noah revel in their children. Seeing the four of them together, the family resemblance is obvious.
Another is of just Josh and his father. Noah is sprawled out on the blanket asleep and Josh is curled up around him, resting his head on Noah's chest.
There are probably fifteen of the 5x5 black and whites in all, a hodgepodge of moments from one day.
Joanie would have been 8. Josh is holding a picture of his sister and his father, his thumb caressing the faded image of her face. If I was three.
Do you remember this day?
He shakes his head, sadly. No, it could have been any one of a hundred Sunday afternoons. I don't remember many details from before the fire. Impressions, really, vague memories I can't put into context.
I watch as Josh flips slowly through the stack of photographs.
Dad always used to say nobody would ever know we were all related unless you saw us together, he says, out of the blue, entranced by the first picture of the four of them.
There's no arguing with that, but I reach out to test the recently mended bridge. You and your mother are a lot alike, even though you don't look like her.
We argued a lot when I was a kid. Dad would always fix us afterwards. I guess it was inevitable that we'd have a falling out. You're right, we're a lot alike.
Can I ask you something?
You always call your dad Dad,' but you call your mom Mamme.' Why is that? I've frequently wondered about his pet name for him mother.
Dad taught me to say it, I guess when I was a baby. Instead of mama, Josh shrugs. I always gravitated to him for everything, and I think he wanted my mom to know she was as important to me as he was. So, he gave me a way to tell her.