Chapter 6

Her parents sounded surprised when she called at almost a quarter after eleven on Friday night and told them she was two blocks from home, but the surprise in their voices didn't compare to the shock on their faces when they opened the door and Michael walked in behind her carrying her two suitcases and garment bag. She put on her best fake smile and announced that they were trying again, avoiding her mother's eyes and trying not to flinch when Michael put his arm around her waist, holding her tighter yet somehow less securely than Josh had with a simple hand on her back.

Neither her mother nor her father did anything to hide the fact that they didn't approve of Michael's presence, but they didn't kick either of them out, and for that she was grateful. Her father was the first to hug her, pulling her tightly to his chest and whispering, "Welcome home," into her ear. She hugged her mother briefly, pulling away quickly and claiming she was tired and needed to unpack, then turned to Michael who, treading carefully, told her he'd call her the next day and take her to lunch. She nodded and closed her eyes when he kissed her cheek so she wouldn't have to see his face, then closed the door behind him and took a deep breath before turning around to face her parents again. There was a long, awkward pause until her father grabbed her suitcases and hauled them upstairs towards her room.

"It's good to be home," Donna said nervously, her eyes skimming over her mother's face and moving down to the floor as she picked up the garment bag and followed her dad to her room. Her mother watched from the bottom of the stairs, still having said nothing since she'd walked in.

She stopped at the door to her room, watching her father look for someplace to put her suitecases. "I'll just…" he put them in a corner near her closet and she nodded.

"That's fine, thanks," she said, walking further inside and taking off her shoes.

He smiled hesitantly at her. "Your uh… aunt and uncle were here last weekend, but I think your mom changed the sheets."

"Ok."

"And…" he glanced over her shoulder towards the door. "Marcia's maternity leave starts in a week, if you want to come assist your old man while she's away. I'm sure it's not as exciting as…"

"That sounds great. Thanks Dad."

He nodded at her before walking up to her and kissing her forehead. "It's getting late, why don't you get some sleep?"

"Kay." She turned to watch him leave, her mother making room for him in the doorway where she stood. He leaned into her as he passed her, kissing her cheek and telling her goodnight as his fingers skimmed her chin, and Donna hated that it hurt to see.

Neither said anything until they heard her parents' bedroom door close and then for the first time they made eye contact and Donna flinched, looking quickly away. "It was a long drive," she said in an overly cheery voice as she pulled a suitcase over and up onto the bed, unzipping it. "We started last night but were too tired to get very far, so we ended up driving fourteen hours today. I'd kill for a hot bath and some flannel pajamas."

She pulled out her toiletries and a pair of flannel pajamas, still not looking at her mother, still filling space with pointless words. "It'll be nice to sleep in a bed that I know," she said, pulling off her shirt and pulling the pajama top over her head. "I don't think there's a single hotel on the eastern side of the country with a decent …"

"Did someone hurt you?"

Her mother's voice was quiet and controlled and she froze in place, her hands on the button of her jeans, and looked at the bed, tears stinging her eyes.

"Because I know you're not putting your relationship with Michael back together." She heard movement and her mother's voice was closer yet quieter. "So I'm asking you Donna, if someone hurt you?"

She didn't say anything, couldn't, and the silence grew thick for several seconds until she dropped to the bed and shook her head slowly from side to side.

"No one… Josh… he didn't do anything…"

She turned her head, tears soaking her cheeks, her eyes boring into her mother's. "Josh would never hurt me," she said slowly with a quiet strength.

The room went quiet again while her mother sat down next to her and studied her for what felt like a lifetime. She finally nodded, her face relaxing, and cupped Donna's cheek in her hand, her thumb wiping away tears. "You'll tell me when you're ready?" she whispered.

Placing her hand over her mother's, she closed her eyes and nodded, and her mom gently pulled her into a hug and whispered to her, telling her she'd be ok, that she was home now, rubbing her back softly and letting Donna cling to her as her tears continued falling.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

She cried at least once each day for the first thirty-three days, usually late at night in bed where the darkness and silence took away any distractions from the ache in her heart. When memories came flooding back and she could almost smell his aftershave and hear his laugh. She wondered what it meant that she actually felt a little better when she devoted a few minutes of her day to cry for him.

Her mom hadn't pushed, hadn't asked her again what happened to make her leave the campaign, and she still hadn't told her. It wasn't that she didn't trust her, she just felt stupid and naïve and foolish, and putting voice to those feelings would only serve to humiliate her, so she kept them inside, not even whispering them when she was alone and crying. And some nights her mom would hear her, and she'd come into her room and sit on the edge of the bed, softly pushing hair behind her ear with one hand while holding her hand with the other, and it was in those times that she didn't need to say anything, that her mom knew just what to do anyway.

No one had been surprised when she broke-up with Michael again on day thirteen, but maybe they'd just been too worried about the concussion and sprained ankle to wonder why he wasn't around anymore. He called a few times after that but she suspected it to be out of obligation; she was sure he'd gotten the message when she told him in a quiet unwavering voice that he'd never be the man she needed him to be and they shouldn't keep pretending he could be. Everyone was surprised however, when he agreed to pay her tuition, although no one more than her surprise at even having the audacity to ask, and she thought maybe that meant she was getting stronger.

And maybe she was, because on the thirty-fourth day she didn't cry. She worked late that night, helping her father prepare for a presentation to a new client, not leaving the office until a few minutes after ten and riding home with him since she hadn't received the insurance money for her totaled car yet. They'd gotten home just in time for Letterman and afterwards she'd barely crawled into bed before falling into a deep sleep.

She was at work the next afternoon before she even realized it, that she'd gone an entire day without hurting that deeply, and she wondered if it meant she'd soon stop walking around like a zombie, content to simply exist instead of live. If it meant the soft worried looks her mother gave her and the kid gloves her father used with her would end soon. And it was sad in a way, she thought, because wasn't he worth more than a month of tears?

But then the next night, the local news covered Governor Bartlet's speech after winning the Illinois primary and she cried herself to sleep picturing him laughing and cheering, and not even noticing that she wasn't there.

zzzzzzzzzzzzz

It was hot; the first really hot day they'd had, and it was clear to everyone that the small classroom wasn't equipped for it. She felt bad for not paying better attention, especially with finals a week away, but the sight of paper fans fluttering combined with the soft rattle of the air conditioner on its last leg had her mind wandering to anything but what the professor was saying.

She shook her head and tried again to focus, but the sweat forming on his bald head dripping down behind his ear was too much to take, so she looked out the closed window at a young guy chaining his bike up to a bike rack by the wheel. She rolled her eyes; it'd be gone within the hour.

Finally, and hour and fifteen minutes into the two-hour class, the professor dismissed them, as unable to concentrate as the fifteen students in the small summer class. She stood up, shoving her tape recorder and what few notes she'd managed to take into her attaché case and wondering what to do to kill time before her next class in an hour. Smiling politely at the few students in the class she knew, she left and went directly to the restroom, splashing cool water on her face and neck, trying to get the ick off.

She looked at herself in the mirror and winced. She'd gotten so thin over the last four months. The bones in her cheeks stood out and almost made her eyes look sunken in. It was like looking at a much older woman. She wiped at dark circles under her eyes, finally reaching inside her purse for her compact. She put it on thickly, embarrassed that she'd let herself get this way. And her mom had noticed too, she was sure of it. Recently, she'd been offering Donna food at every turn, making her favorites for dinner, still watching her with worried looks.

She left the restroom and made her way through the building and out the doors where the ninety degree temperature actually felt a little better than being indoors, especially with the gentle breeze. She started walking towards the building of her next class, hoping the air was working better there, and passed the bike rack chuckling, nothing but a tire chained to it.

"Ms. Moss," she heard from behind her, and turned to face her professor, sweat still apparent on his head.

"Professor," she said politely.

"A little warm out," as said as he closed the distance between them.

She smiled; it wasn't a real smile, but she doubted more than a few knew her well enough to know the difference. "I enjoy your class, Sir, but I must admit I was happy to be dismissed early today."

He laughed lightly at her. "I have the first draft of your final paper, if you'd like the comments."

Her eyes perked up a bit and she nodded. She'd planned on spending the entire weekend finishing it up and studying for finals. "Yes, please."

He stooped down, pulling papers out of his briefcase. "It's coming along quite nicely," he said, still searching. "I was concerned, seeing as how it's been several years since you've taken these classes, but you seem to be up to speed." He stood up and handed the paper to her. She took it from him and started leafing through the ten pages.

"Thank you," she mumbled, glancing at notes written in red several pages in.

"It's quite a liberal view you've adopted."

This caught her attention and she looked up at him. "Yes. You said our actual view wouldn't be judged so long as we could validate it?"

He smiled and nodded. "It's fine, Miss Moss. It just stood out. Most of the others took a more moderate approach. May I ask," he said, pausing for her acknowledgement, "What made you decide to tackle the foster care system?"

She tensed her jaw. "Foster care is state-run. It's not a system, it's 50 systems and all 50 are failing. Don't you think it needs to be tackled?"

He quirked an eyebrow and nodded at her. "I do, but less money for families, more placement freedom for social workers, money for group homes, IEP's, scholarships… you're proposing an expensive program, Ms. Moss."

She glanced away for a second, the hint of a real smile tugging at her lips. 'They need to be our top priority. Pre-school through college. Our top priority.' "A politician once told me that kids need to be our top priority. You don't think he meant these specific kids?"

He smiled and nodded at that. "Well Ms. Moss, I can't say as I agree with your conclusions completely, but you've proven them rather well. Tighten it up a bit and I'd say it's a well-done paper."

She nodded, opening her attaché case and putting it inside. "Thank you Professor." Glancing at her watch, she looked back up at him. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to be late for my next class and I need all the help I can get with China in World Politics."

He chuckled. "Sounds exciting. I'll see you on Thursday, Ms. Moss."

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

She ran inside, slamming the door behind her and running up the steps two and three at a time. "Am I missing it?" she yelled on the way.

"They haven't introduced him yet," her mom shouted back. "Any minute now!"

"Coming!" she shouted from her room, pulling off a high heel with one hand and unbuttoning her dress shirt with the other. Once her shoes were off, she walked across the room towards her dresser as she unzipped her gray skirt, letting it fall to the floor, then pulled shorts and a t-shirt out of her third drawer and slipped them on quickly.

It had actually worked out well, working with her father. Marcia had come back to work part time after her maternity leave and she and Donna split the job, which worked well for Donna's school schedule. And between her full class load and studying, twenty hours a week was about all she could handle. Her parents were great, insisting she live with them and refusing to take rent money. It seemed no matter how many times she detoured her life, they were always there to help her find her way back.

She practically ran into her bathroom, taking out her contacts and throwing her hair into a half-bun, half-pony tail before grabbing her glasses and running back down the stairs. Her mother was already in the living room, the Democratic Convention on quietly, holding a pad of paper and a pen. Donna walked into the room and paused when she noticed the purple note-cards from February's debate on the end table next to her mother.

Her mom looked over and saw her staring down at the cards. "So we can see if he's changed anything since the debate."

Donna nodded dumbly, still looking down at the cards. She closed her eyes and remembered sitting in the kitchen with her mom, mesmerized by those purple index cards. Spending the next day packing what she thought she'd need for a few months of envelope stuffing, leaving a voicemail for her boss at McCalister and Combs that she wouldn't be back in, standing in the snow that Monday morning before dawn, hugging her mom while her father loaded her suitcases and a garment bag into her trunk, walking into the campaign headquarters Tuesday afternoon and trying to steal a bumper sticker, answering a ringing phone … After all of it, the hard work, the lack of sleep, the tears… she didn't regret it for an instant. More times than not, she wondered what it would be like to go back.

"If you want something to eat you should get it now. The governor's on after Senator Enlow."

The name pulled her out of her reverie and she looked up at the screen. "Windbag," she said, walking off towards the kitchen.

Her mom chuckled. "How do you know?"

"I met him," she half-yelled through the condo, opening the refrigerator door and looking around for something that sounded appetizing before deciding on just a can of diet coke. "He's a senator from Illinois. He was at the fundraiser I organized in Chicago. He's big into space exploration." She walked back into the living room pouring the can into a glass. Her mother was staring at her, amused. "Trust me, you don't want to get stuck talking to him."

"You met him?" her mother asked laughing, gesturing to the television as if it were a big deal.

She wiggled her eyebrows. "The mayor of Chicago's thinking of running against him in the midterms."

Her mom's eyes widened and smile grew. "How do you know that?"

Donna plopped down onto the couch. "One of his aides told me while he was hitting on me so he could get a meeting with Josh."

"Hitting on you to get a meeting? How cliché, tell me it didn't work."

Holding the glass of diet coke between her two hands, she looked down into it and almost smiled. 'For future reference, men who look at you like that don't get meetings with me.' "It didn't work."

"Good for you."

She nodded, not correcting her mom that it was actually Josh who refused to meet with the guy. Some things were better left unsaid, she reasoned. Governor Bartlet was introduced soon after, where he officially accepted the party's nomination for the candidacy and spoke of his platform and vision for the future of the United States. He introduced John Hoynes as his running-mate and she watched as they stood in the center of the stage with hands clasped together over their heads, wondering what Josh thought about the pairing.

There were limited commercial interruptions, but when the governor finished speaking an hour later, there was one and her mom stood up. "How about I make you a sandwich?"

Donna tore her eyes from the television. "Hmm? I'm not really hungry."

"We've talked about this. I'm making you a turkey sandwich," she said, walking towards the kitchen. "And Pamela called. She hasn't heard from you about the cookout this weekend."

It had been the first week of the second summer session when her mom had walked in on her dressing, her eyes widening in fear at the sight of Donna's ribs and pelvic bone easily visible underneath her skin. That was the day she sat her down and told her she wasn't about to watch her only daughter starve to death right in front of her eyes. Since then, Donna had been putting forth an effort to eat at least twice a day, and her mom had been watching her like a prison guard to make sure she did.

She got up and followed her mom into the kitchen. "I actually ate lunch today. And I'm not going to the party."

Her mom had her head stuck in the refrigerator and emerged several seconds later with turkey, muenster cheese, a tomato, some lettuce and a jar of mayonnaise. "That was lunch. Now it's dinner time. And of course you're going. You always go. It's the Bennett's Labor Day party."

She sighed. The last thing she felt like doing was going to a party, pretending to be social while all her neighbors asked about Michael. "I just started classes; I need to get a jump on studying."

"Donnatella," her mom said, spreading mayonnaise on two pieces of bread and not noticing Donna flinch at the use of her full name. "It's Labor Day weekend. Everyone on the block goes. And there's apparently going to be someone there she wants you to meet," she said with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm not interested in being fixed up by my sixty year-old neighbor," she snapped back quickly.

Her mom seemed startled and paused for several seconds as the room went silent. Then she went back to making the sandwich without another word before turning slowly and looking up at her with questioning eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. Her mom only nodded. "I am. I'm sorry. I just… I want to concentrate on me for a while. I want to finish school and not worry about guys. Is that ok? To just… take a break?"

Her mom watched her for a few seconds before smiling softly at her and handing her a saucer with the sandwich on it. She put her hand on Donna's cheek. "That's fine, I'm all for you concentrating on you." Donna smiled at her and they stood like that for a few seconds. "Now eat."

"Fine," she said in mock exasperation. "I'll eat."

They went back into the living room and sat down as a Peter Jennings commented on what they'd seen so far that night. His comments were mostly complimentary and Donna took a bite of her sandwich as she and her mom listened.

"…convention and John Hoynes, the once presumed democratic presidential candidate and now Josiah Bartlet's running mate, is about to address the delegation. The Bartlet camp has been tight-lipped about this match since press began speculating on it almost two weeks ago when the senator dropped out of the race for the nomination. Tonight we have Joshua Lyman with us, a senior advisor for Governor Bartlet and one-time advisor for Senator Hoynes, to discuss this match and what it means for the campaign and the voters."

She'd only been paying half attention to the commentary while eating her sandwich, but his name caught her attention and she found herself frozen staring at the television screen as it split in half and Josh appeared on the right half with a microphone clipped to his shirt. "Thanks for joining us tonight, Josh."

"My pleasure Peter." Her breath caught in her throat as she sat stunned. As she looked at brown eyes she'd only pictured for the last five and a half months and heard a voice she thought she remembered correctly but had forgotten had the slightest bit of husk to it.

"Is that your Josh, Donna?" She vaguely heard her mom say something but everything other than Josh was fading quickly into the background.

"First off, congratulations on the nominee."

"Thanks Peter, the governor's thrilled." His dimples came out then and she found herself smiling back at him even as the first tear spilled out over her eyelid and gently rolled down her cheek. Those she had remembered perfectly. Oh, how he'd used those to his advantage.

"Josh, you've worked with both the senator and the governor. Can you tell us why the governor chose Senator Hoynes to be his running mate and what you'd like him to bring to the ticket?" Tears started falling steadily but quietly then, a slow, hard, ache instead of shaking and sobbing, and she figured it was because she wasn't devastated or crushed, she was just… broken.

God she missed him. It was the only thought she seemed to be able to focus on as she pushed everything except him out of her mind. That she missed his voice and his smile and his teasing her and his eyes. His warm, inviting eyes. That she missed working with him and talking with him and watching him with the others. That she'd never taken a breath before meeting him and hadn't taken another since leaving. "Senator Hoynes is a respected member of the senate. He has an impeccable voting record; he's consistent and honest in his voting practices, he's loyal to his constituents in Texas, he's a fine leader and he'll add another viewpoint to the ticket. We're all excited to have him on board."

She brought her hand up to her mouth, her lips trembling as her fingertips rested on them. She could hear him speaking, but could only hear his voice, not the actual words he was saying and she hoped her mom was taping this. She thought her mom might have said her name again, but she couldn't waste a second to look away from the screen and acknowledge her. All she could do was watch him while tears continued falling uninhibited down her face.

There was a blur of something passing between her and the television and then she felt the couch dip down. "Donna," her mom said quietly. "Should I turn this off?"

"No!" she pleaded with a shaky voice. "No, please. Please don't."

"What role does him being from Texas play in the decision?" Peter Jennings said from the television, bringing her focus back to the television.

"Donna," her mother said softly.

"Shh…" she said, wiping tears from her cheeks.

"Obviously the senator's popular in the south, winning the majority of those primary races. But it's less about trying to secure those votes and more about trying to relate better to those voters."

"Honey, you're…"

"Shh…" she said again, cutting her off.

And then there was a hand holding hers, but it wasn't his hand. It would never be his. He'd only touched her hand a few times, once when she was so exhausted that he took her suitcase from her and twice when they'd danced. And they'd never dance again and he'd never touch her hand again and she'd made a mistake. She never should've left him.

"We're almost out of time. Can you tell us what you personally are excited about seeing from these two together?"

Her mom whispered her name again, but she might as well have been miles away, because Donna heard nothing, saw nothing, but him. She knew for certain he'd never looked as good to her as he did right then. He was absolutely beautiful sitting there looking exhausted and wrinkled and over-worked. He wasn't running his fingers through his hair, but she could tell by looking at him that he had been and would be again soon, and she wished she could be there to see it.

"They've spent the last week comparing and their contrasting education plans, combining the best parts of both of them into a comprehensive plan that I think is going to be incredible."

"Alright. We'll look forward to that. Thanks for joining us Josh, and good luck with the upcoming campaign."

"Thanks Peter." The split screen ended then and he was suddenly gone, as if he'd never been there in the first place. And it was then that her breathing became shallow and her shoulders started shaking. Her mom was stroking her hand and shushing her, and once Peter Jennings had wrapped up the segment and cut back to the convention the television went black and she assumed her mother turned it off.

They sat there for a few minutes until the crying had slowed down, her head on her mother's shoulder and her mom stroking her hand. When she was calmer, her mom put a pillow in her lap and patted it lightly. "Come here," she whispered.

Donna looked up at her and tried to smile, then lay down on the couch, her head on the pillow in her mom's lap, and her mom started stroking her hair while she tried taking deep, steady breaths.

It was several minutes before her either of them said anything else. "This is why you left?"

"Yes," Donna whispered, facing the black screen of the television and feeling numb.

"You're sure he didn't feel the same way?" she whispered back.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. 'It looked like something my sister used to do.' "Yeah."

"You could have told me."

"I felt stupid."

Her mom pushed some hair behind her ears. "Love isn't stupid. It's a gift."

She nodded, tears falling again, and wiped at her face. "I th… thought I was getting better."

"You are. You're eating again, you're sleeping better, you're crying a lot less. If we could just get you smiling and doing something other than work and study, we'd be all set."

"Yeah."

"I'm gonna be on your case a little bit more about that, now that I know what the problem is."

Donna sat up, wiping her eyes with a tissue from the end table and giving her mom a tiny smile. "You're gonna make me go to that Labor Day party this weekend, aren't you?"

Her mom smiled back. "I'm going to strongly suggest it, yes." She groaned and her mom laughed. "But I'm not going to let Pamela Bennett fix you up."

"Promise?" she asked, pouting a bit.

"Honey," her mom said, patting her knee. "No one should have to get fixed up by a sixty year-old woman."