Chapter 7
She didn't see him again until election night. She'd gotten up early that morning so she could vote before her nine o'clock class, wearing the Bartlet for America t-shirt she'd borrowed from him and never returned over a long sleeve white turtleneck that was far more appropriate for Wisconsin Novembers. Tuesday's were her long day; a morning class followed by six hours at the office and then two more classes in the evening, and by the time she'd gotten home, the west coast voting sites were closed and states on the east coast were already declaring winners.
It was almost three a.m. before they called it. As per usual, it all came down to Florida, and her parents had given up and gone to bed around midnight, her mom looking at her as if asking a question. She smiled slightly, nodding that yes, she'd be ok, and stayed up the last three hours on her own, waiting...
And then President-elect Bartlet was walking out onto a stage in a hotel in New Hampshire that had blue and white balloons hanging from the ceiling. People were screaming and waving signs and she found herself caught up in the excitement, goose bumps forming on her arms and a huge grin on her face. She'd been a part of that for a short while. So often when she thought of those six and a half weeks, she thought only of Josh, but this was the man for whom she'd actually left home, and although they'd only met twice, she'd always be grateful to him.
He started speaking, his wife standing just behind him next to their three daughters, one son-in-law, and two grandchildren, and she listened proudly as he talked of a greater America, of stronger security, better healthcare, and improved education. And as she sat there listening, she believed without a doubt that he'd accomplish it all; he did have Josh.
Then he talked about the hard work of the people who got him there as the camera pulled out and showed more of the stage. And there he was, standing between Sam Seaborn and CJ Cregg, with rolled up sleeves and wild hair, clapping and smiling and even putting his fingers in his mouth at one point and whistling.
And it could've been because she was expecting to see him, was looking for him even, but she preferred to think that the reason she didn't cry was because she was healing, because she was stronger and happier than she'd been a few months earlier when the democratic convention had aired. But either way, instead of tears, she found herself smiling as she sat on the floor close to the television set hugging her knees, biting her lip and whispering hi, focusing only on him even as the camera panned away and he was in the very corner of her screen. And when she'd gone to bed an hour later when the coverage was finally over, she'd been melancholy, but she still hadn't cried. Mostly, it had just been nice to see him.
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"Most experts would agree that the only trustworthy polling data comes from external polling. Still, an average political campaign will spend up to 25 of its budget on internal polling, and it begs the question of why."
Donna glanced around the old lecture hall, thirty or so students scattered throughout, before raising her hand.
The professor raised an eyebrow. "And someone takes the bait. Your name, miss?"
She liked this professor, perhaps more than any professor she'd had in the year she'd been back in school. He was witty and charming and reminded her of her father. "Donna Moss."
"Ok Ms. Moss," he said gesturing to her. "If the only official polling numbers come from outside polling, why do politicians bother with internal polling?"
"Because they can ask the questions they need answers to," she said confidently.
"Such as…"
"Well, for instance…" she closed her eyes briefly, trying to remember exactly what had happened, but it had been almost a year and a half and once Mandy had walked into the hotel, she'd attempted to block out all noise. "A poll comes out showing that a candidate who's courting college students trails his opposition significantly in 18-35 year olds, thus calls a media consultant in to find out where he's going wrong. However, an internal poll the next day shows that while the candidate is trailing in 18-35 year olds, he's actually ahead in 18-22 year olds. The first poll, an outside poll, wasn't asking the question they needed answered."
"Well done," her professor agreed, nodding. "Although, I hope their next poll asked what he was doing wrong with 23-35 year-olds." There were a few chuckles throughout the classroom before the professor continued. "So, Ms. Moss brings up a valid point, but if internal polling is more accurate, as it was in Ms. Moss' example, why isn't it used as official polling numbers?" Nobody answered and he looked back at Donna. "Ms. Moss?"
She glanced down at the notes she'd taken, hoping to find something in them, and not finding it, looked back at him. "Because the questions are too detailed?" she asked more than answered.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Good try though." He turned his attention back to the rest of the students in the lecture hall. "Would anyone like to rescue Ms. Moss?" He paused and then went on. "If an administration can form the questions in an internal poll, wouldn't it make sense that they can word just about any question in a way to make themselves look better?"
She winced, she should've known that. Polling had been her thing. It wasn't that she loved it so much as that it came second nature to her, and she needed all the help she could get in Political Communications. It was the only class she was taking for the summer, the only one she still needed that was offered in a summer session, and she was glad, as it was turning out to be unbelievably difficult.
She continued taking notes until the professor dismissed the class with a reminder about Friday's test, then left for the law library to study for a few hours before going into the office at noon. She loved the law library. Not only was it well air-conditioned and quiet, it had an aura to it that was hard to explain. The high ceilings and cherry wood bookshelves along with long cherry tables and burgundy leather reading chairs gave it an important feel, making her feel smarter to simply be there. She walked quietly towards the back corner, her favorite corner where few others wandered and no one would see her drinking her bottled water, and unloaded her backpack. Then she headed into the stacks, stretching to her toes and pulling out a book from the top shelf behind several other books of a completely different subject. She figured she should've felt bad for stashing it there, but some books weren't allowed to leave the library and she only had four months before taking the LSAT; there really wasn't time for remorse.
Sitting back down, she opened the LSAT prep book to the page she'd left off at the last time and started reading and taking notes. Something caught her eye a few hours in and she jotted it down on a purple index card and then placed the card on top of two others she wanted to research in greater detail. She wasn't sure when she'd gotten in the habit of cross-referencing certain topics with Josh's name, but she justified it. He was, she learned, the Deputy Chief of Staff at the White House. His name could easily be used in a bibliography, and she trusted his opinion on a topic more than other experts whom she'd never met. And since it had stopped hurting to see his name in print or his picture in a newspaper, she'd gotten used to at least taking his views into consideration before forming her own opinions.
"Ms. Moss?"
The quiet voice saying her name startled her and she jerked her head up with wide eyes.
"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to startle you."
She blinked and looked at him closer. He was fairly tall, short black hair, dark brown eyes, about her age, and she thought maybe he looked familiar, but couldn't place him. "It's… fine. I just…" she glanced down at her watch and then back up at him. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"
He smiled and sat in the chair next to her. "We're in Political Communications together."
"Ahh…" she said nodding. That explained the 'Ms. Moss.'
"You did a good job taking on Professor Ashton today."
"Until he totally stumped me, you mean," she said, standing up and starting to pack her backpack.
He laughed slightly and stood back up quickly. "Yeah, well he stumped me long before he stumped you."
"It's a tough class," she said, concentrating on the rubber band she was putting around her index cards and already thinking of an excuse to give when he asked her out.
"Tell me about it," he said, watching her. "I'm Adam, by the way."
She glanced over at him and smiled politely. "Donna."
"You don't prefer 'Ms. Moss'?" he asked teasingly.
'That guy was hitting on you.' She shook her head and chuckled. He wasn't the most subtle, but he wasn't the worst either. "Hardly."
"So Donna, when are you taking the LSAT?" he asked, picking up the book she'd been studying.
She zipped the backpack and turned towards him. "November, you?"
He grinned at her. It was a moderately cute grin, as cute as dimple-less grins could be, she figured. "What makes you think I'm taking the LSAT?"
"The fact that you're in the law library," she said, smiling back as she took the book and headed into the stacks with it. He followed, watching as she reached back up to the top row and slid it back into its hiding place.
"Ah hah," he said in mock indignation. "I see what's happening here."
She shrugged and headed back to her backpack and purse. "It's out of print and the new guides aren't as thorough."
He hopped up onto the table and crossed his arms over his chest. "I could give you up, you know. Turn you in."
"For the large reward?" she asked with a smirk before picking up her backpack and heading towards the front of the building.
He grabbed his things and hastily followed. "You could probably convince me to keep your secret over lunch or…"
"I'm late for work," she said cutting him off, and at least this time it was the truth. "I was supposed to be there a half an hour ago."
"Oh," he said dejectedly before perking back up. "What about tomorrow night. I'm in a study group. We're getting together to study for the test."
"I can't," she said quickly, one of her typical excuses on the tip of her tongue.
"Really, Donna. You should come. It's not some sort of…" he trailed off and gestured between them. "We actually study."
She shook her head. "I have to…" but then she stopped and looked back at him. She didn't have anything to do the next night except study, and for the first time in a year and a half, she didn't want to make up excuses. "Actually, tomorrow might work well."
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They walked out of the airport and her mom immediately buttoned her coat to fight off the cold January air while Donna looked around with a smile on her face, barely even registering the temperature. She nodded slightly to herself; this felt right. Her mom hailed a cab and the driver got out to put their suitcases in the trunk wearing a Redskin's jersey over a white turtle neck and worn-in jeans. Yes, it felt right. She smiled at him and told him the name of the hotel before finally getting inside.
They both took in as much as possible as the driver took them to the Marriott in Georgetown, and as she watched out one window as they passed the entrance to Arlington cemetery, her mom squealed a little bit, catching just a glimpse of the Lincoln Monument out of her own. Donna looked over at her and laughed, positive her mom was as excited about this trip as she was.
They checked into their hotel and unpacked enough to hang up Donna's suits before visiting the concierge for a metro map and recommendations for dinner. It wasn't quite three, so they walked across the street to the Georgetown University campus, Donna's face still holding the smile that began at the airport. She could literally feel her heart beating just being there; this was it, she thought to herself. This was home. Would be. This was where everything would start.
They found the law library and some graduate housing before continuing their walk towards a metro station and stopping for coffee in a small shop several blocks off campus called The Baked and Wired. She stepped inside and the smile widened. Her first DC coffee shop. Her mom teased her and they had hot chocolate before venturing back into the cold.
They took the metro to Dupont Circle, and she decided she loved it. She loved being in a city that was busy enough for a subway. She loved that she could get anywhere she needed to go without driving. And as cold as it was, she loved the atmosphere; the circle with a statue in the center and traffic signs that seemed almost foreign, the boutiques and shops that sold the outrageous, the posh restaurants and twenty and thirty something's walking with purpose and an aura of self importance. They walked for a while before choosing one of the small restaurants with men and women dressed in business attire and drinking martinis as if they were better than everyone else in the building. It was completely different than Ruby Tuesday's and Chili's, and she made a mental note to look into what rent might cost in the area.
"So," her mom said as the snobby waitress brought her credit card back to the table. "What do you want to do tonight?"
Donna's near permanent smile widened and she looked out the window at the small street they were on. It was a quick trip. Four days, yes, but she had interviews at GW, Georgetown, American, and the University of Maryland, as well as job interviews with the Children's Right's Council and the National Children's Advocacy Consortium. "I'll do anything," she said cheerfully. "You name it."
Her mom shook her head and chuckled at her. "Well you know me, I'll be happy as long as I get to visit Lincoln."
'President Lincoln, the greatest of all presidents, American or otherwise,' her mother used to say. Donna had caught on to her adoration at an early age, choosing him as the subject for countless school reports and early political discussions. "Well then," she said, standing up. "Let's go see Lincoln."
They took the metro from Dupont Circle to a station a few blocks from the Mall, mildly surprised to see so many people still there walking between the Washington and Lincoln Monuments. It was dark by then, but there were lights in the reflecting pool, others shining up from the ground onto the Washington Monument, as still more inside the Lincoln Monument shining out onto the steps and she tilted her head and smiled. 'It's best at night. It's all lit up. It's… neat.'
They went past the Washington Monument and to the Vietnam Memorial, purchasing a flower from a nearby vendor and looking up her dad's step brother's name, finding it on panel 42 and placing the flower among pictures and poems and other flowers scattered across the long, sad wall. Then they went to the Lincoln memorial and she listened as her mother told her again why he was the greatest president ever. And as they sat on the steps of monument, tucked into their coats and scarves, her mom snuggled in closer to her and asked again if she was sure this was where she wanted to attend law school.
"I'm gonna make a difference for children, Mom," she said quietly, pointing straight ahead at the Capitol in the background. "I'm going to make them make a difference for children."
The next morning, she let her mom sleep in and left for her interview with the dean of the GW law school. Georgetown was her first choice, but she was keeping her options open. The most important thing was getting into a school in or near DC so she could start getting into the political world. The interview went smoothly, her 3.75 GPA and 171 LSAT score pretty much guaranteeing her acceptance anywhere except for maybe Yale and Harvard, but she'd need at least a partial scholarship or she'd have to look seriously at the University of Maryland, which was fifteen thousand dollars cheaper a year. Michael had agreed to continue paying her tuition but it wasn't her goal to bankrupt him.
She took the metro back to the hotel after her interview and filled her mom in on everything she'd discussed with the interview panel, glad she'd saved Georgetown for last so she'd have three other schools to practice on first. After a quick lunch, they took a cab downtown and her mom waited in the lobby while Donna took the elevator to the ninth floor where the Children's Rights Council was located.
An hour and a half later, she finally made it back down to the lobby with a huge smile on her face, fighting the urge to spin like a five year-old with her arms stretched out. Her mom saw the look on her face and jumped up, walking quickly to her. "Well?"
They walked towards the entrance, finally stepping outside where Donna pumped her fists in the air and shouted, "Yes!" before containing herself quickly and heading down the sidewalk.
"I gather it went well."
"Very well. They offered me a job," she said in a near squeal.
"On the spot?"
"Well, they've had my resume for a month. But yeah, on the spot," she said grinning.
They stopped at a corner and waited with several other people for the crosswalk. "Do they know about law school?"
She nodded. "Yes, and they're willing to pay for one class a semester if I agree to move to the legislation department once I finish, which is where I want to be anyway. For now I'll be in programs and research and as long as I work twenty hours a week, I can pretty much set my own schedule."
Her mom's smile grew to match hers and she leaned over and nudged Donna, telling her quietly how proud of her she was.
They crossed the street and turned another corner, looking for the redline metro to take them to the Smithsonian for the rest of the day when Donna sucked in a quick breath and stopped suddenly. "Is that…"
Her mom followed her gaze down a small side street between two buildings and off in the distance, saw the White House. "It appears so." She was quiet for several seconds before hesitantly asking, "Do you want to go over there?"
She stared at it sitting there in the midst of the city, surprised she'd given absolutely no thought to it or the people in it this entire trip. And she smiled, sure for the first time that moving there, going to law school there, was all about her.
She looked over at her mom and nodded. "Yeah, let's go look at it."
Her mom looked at her for a few seconds and then nodded and they walked down the small street, across a larger one, through a park, and then across Pennsylvania Avenue until they were standing in front of the White House. Neither spoke for a few minutes, then her mom turned to her. "What are you thinking?"
"It was a great job," she said quietly. "He taught me so much."
"I know," her mom said smiling. "You used to call so excited about it, you'd have your father andme cracking up. And when you came home, even when you were hurting so badly, you were so determined."
She shrugged a little, closing her eyes tightly and whispering, "The two of you showed me what I wanted to be."
Her mom took a step closer to her, leaning in and speaking quietly. "You're almost there, you know. You just got offered a job by the most respected child advocacy group in the country."
She smiled widely and looked back at the building. 'They need to be our top priority. Pre-school through college. Our top priority.' As much as she grew, as strong as she got, she never stopped hearing him say those words.
"What's that smile for?"
She glanced over at her mom then looked back towards the White House. "I think he'd be proud of me. If he… knew me now."
"I'm sure he would be," her mom said with a small nod. "But I'm more concerned with you being proud of yourself."
She was still for several seconds before turning around so her back was to the White House. "I am," she said smiling. "I'm also starving. Let's find one of those hotdog vendors."
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The acceptance letters started arriving within a few weeks and a scholarship offer from Georgetown came on the first warm day they had that March. She'd come home from her first and last date with Steven, the son of a client of her father's, and found the letter sitting on the table in the foyer with a post-it note on it that read, 'If this is what I think it is, call me on my cell immediately. Mom.'
After that, life was a whirlwind. She was taking sixteen credit hours, working at her father's office, apartment hunting, and slowly but surely starting to pack, her job at the Children's Rights Council starting only one week after graduation. By the second week of May, everything she owned was packed except her clothes and she was frantically trying to finish up two huge papers while studying for her four finals, which is why she didn't answer when her dad called her name from the living room.
It was after ten that Monday nightand she was hoping to finish proofing her fifteen page paper for Race and Gender in Education before calling it a night and going to sleep. She only had two pages left, and figured she'd just see what her dad wanted in ten minutes when she was finished. But he called her name again, his voice closer that time, and then Donna's door opened. "Donna," he said, crossing the room to her television.
"Yeah," she said distractedly. Her dad turned on the television and Donna sighed and hung her head. "Dad, I just have two pages left."
"I thought you'd want to see this. There was an assassination attempt on the President."
She turned her head quickly, standing up and walking to the small television in her room. "What? When?" she asked, focusing on CNN.
"I don't know, about an hour or so ago I think. I turned off my movie and it was on all the channels." A picture of Josh flashed on the screen then, pulling Donna's attention from her father.
"Why are they…" her voice trailed off as she stared at his picture and dropped quietly to her bed, her stomach suddenly lurching. She heard words like 'emergency room,' 'surgery' and 'pulmonary artery,' but couldn't quite focus on what was being said over the sound of her breathing.
She felt something touch her hand and she jerked, still looking at the screen. "Donna..."
And then the words flashed across the screen in white letters. 'President Bartlet and Deputy Chief of Staff, Josh Lyman, shot in Rosslyn, VA.'
"Sweetheart, are you ok?"
"…expected to be fine; he was awake and alert before going into surgery. Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman, however, is in critical condition and is undergoing extensive surgery at George Washington Hospital to repair a collapsed lung and remove a bullet that's lodged in his thoracic region."
She continued staring at the television, her breathing harsh and shallow and a ringing in her ears. Standing up, her knees immediately buckled and her father caught her and sat her back down on her bed. "Donna?"
"Josh…" came out as nothing more than a breath.
"…shot in the chest."
"Josh, he's the one you worked with, right?"
"…intoa surgery expected to take between twelve and fourteen hours."
She was nodding slightly, although if asked she couldn't have said how. Things were happening too fast, too chaotic; there were too many voices and she was finding it hard to concentrate. "I gotta…" She closed her eyes, willing her heart to slow down. She tried to stand again but she was dizzy, almost hyperventilating, and fell right back down.
"Honey, let me get you some water, ok?" She felt the bed move as he stood up and walked into the bathroom.
"…are sketchy at this time, but doctors will be briefing the press within the hour."
She told herself to take deep breaths so she could focus. She didn't have much time, she had to calm down. Her father came back and put a cup in front of her face and instinctively she took it and swallowed a small amount. She looked up at him then, his face a mixture of confusion and worry.
She took another sip and handed him the cup, taking a few more deep breaths and standing up to look around her room. Slipping into autopilot, she grabbed her smallest suitcase from the corner, tossing it on her bed and unzipping it.
"Donna?"
"…the President's top domestic policy advisor."
She pushed the sound of the television out, rushing to her dresser and grabbing what underwear and socks fit into her fist, not bothering to close the drawer before dropping them into her suitcase and walking quickly into the bathroom.
"Donna, what are you doing?"
She grabbed her contact case and solution, along with whatever else fit into her arms, walking back into the bedroom and dropping it all into the suitcase. Turning to go to her closet, her father said her name again. "Can you call the airport for me?" she asked as she stepped around him and harshly pulled a few shirts and some jeans off the white plastic hangers in the closet.
"Call the… Donna, sit down."
"No time," she said more to herself than to him, dropping the things in her arms into the small carry-on suitcase before zipping it up. "Just… see when the next flight to DC leaves and… I'll be on my…"
"…aren't releasing anything on the suspects at this time, including how many they believe there to be."
She pulled the suitcase off her bed and looked at herself in the mirror; pale face, checkered pajama bottoms, a white tank top with no bra, and her hair in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She quickly grabbed a pink sweatshirt out of the closet and pulled it on over the tank top. "Just… call me when you find out the time."
"The time? Donna…" her father gently placed his hands on her shoulders. "Where are you going?" he asked quietly.
She looked up at him, confused at his question and frustrated that he stopped her. Hadn't he seen the news? There wasn't time for this. "To Josh," she said as though it made the most sense in the world, pulling from his grasp and walking out the bedroom door.
The suitcase made a loud thumping noise on each step as she ran down them quickly. Her purse wasn't on the table in the foyer where she usually kept it, and she considered leaving without it before reminding herself that she'd need her license.
She walked into the kitchen and found it sitting on the counter, her hands shaking as she picked it up and pulled her keys out of it. She walked back towards the front door, pausing slightly when she saw her mom standing next to her dad in the foyer, wearing pajamas and a robe and looking at her with a soft, understanding expression.
She breathed a sigh of relief. "Mom, good." Her voice was shaking by then too, but she didn't have time to deal with it. "I asked dad to call the airport, but your better at that."
"Where are you going, Donna?" she asked softly as Donna opened the closet and took out her gym shoes, putting them on but not bothering to tie them.
"DC. Josh was…" she couldn't say the word, so she paused. "Ask Dad, he'll explain."
"He did, Donna," her mom said softly. "He woke me up. They've probably shut down the airports in DC. There aren't going to be any flights tonight."
"Then I'll drive," she said testily, walking back to her suitcase. "Just… call me and let me know what you find out."
"Donna," her father said quietly. "Come sit down for a minute."
"I don't have time to sit down!" she screamed, the first tears falling down her face as she turned to face him. "Why in the hell do you keep telling me to sit down? I have to go. I have to get to the hospital. Why don't you understand that?"
Her mother stepped up to her and pulled her into a hug, but she wriggled out of it and away. "I have to go."
"Donna," she said sternly. "You aren't going."
"Yes I am," she said, wiping harshly at her face as she walked towards the door.
She put her hand over Donna's on the suitcase handle. "How are you going to get into the hospital? It'll be guarded, Donna. What are you going to say? That you used to work for him two years ago for six weeks and now you need let in to see him?"
"Yes."
"And you think that'll work?"
"I'll make it work."
"No you won't, Donna. The President's in that hospital. There was just an assassination attempt. The secret service will be there, you aren't getting in."
"I have to get in," she said, tears streaming down her face. "I have to."
"Why?"
"Because."
"Because why?"
"I just do!" she yelled.
"Why?" her mother asked sternly.
"You know why!" she screamed, ripping the suitcase out of her mother's grasp and walking out the door without closing it behind her. Her father started to follow but her mom reached out for him and shook her head, both of them watching as she pulled out of the driveway.
An hour later, she called sobbing, her tears clouding the road to the point that she couldn't drive. Her mom picked her up and took her to a Catholic church that was open. They spent the rest of the night praying with others who'd gathered.