PART II

New York - 2043

Margot knew perfectly well why her editor, Bruce, assigned her the task of writing the obituary for the President's father. She had never advertised the fact that she had the personal number of one of the president's speech writers but he of course knew that Margot and Molly had collaborated on a biography of Bela Abzug, that before that they had gone through Northwestern's journalism grad program together, and, like everyone else, he knew that Molly Ziegler-Wyatt was the twin sister of the President's brother-in-law; Molly was practically a member of the First Family and that gave Margot an in that Bruce was more than willing to exploit.

Margot was certain that Bruce had known how awkward it would be for her to write the article. Well, not the writing itself, that would be a relatively simple task, but the process everyone on the obituary staff went through of contacting those who had actually known the people they were writing about; that part was sure to be awkward. It was certainly true that she and Molly were close but she wasn't intimately acquainted with the Lyman family and she had no guarantee that she'd be able to make it past the person who was essentially their gatekeeper even if they'd gone to school together, worked together, and, unbeknownst to her boss, slept together as grad students.

She knew that Bruce had expected her to contact Molly directly, Molly was her "in" after all; but she didn't make the call right after her source told her, after hours of waiting, pulling drafts, going through archives, combing through photographs, and composing an obituary draft of her own, that she would in fact be publishing by that day's deadline. She had hesitated, waited far too long before even pulling out the phone that she'd shoved into her pocket after finding out about Josh Lyman's death. She didn't have to call Molly, she had reasoned, she could get in touch with someone at the White House, someone else from the Communications office. There were plenty of ways to skin a cat and not all of them involved getting her friend involved.

But perhaps Bruce was right to think that Molly would be a better go-between. There was the possibility that if Margot went through the West Wing they would have someone ready to speak on behalf of the family, some spin doctor who would push for the rosiest possible picture of Josh Lyman's life. Margot didn't want something rosy that extolled Josh Lyman's virtues as a Party Elder, she wanted something that felt real and intimate. There wasn't enough mud in Josh's life to drag his name through but that wasn't what she needed in order to paint a very human portrait of him, however, she would need far more than the White House was likely to give her. Maybe if Margot insisted they might let her talk to one or both of his two youngest children, maybe even his wife, but she was sure that no matter how hard she pushed they wouldn't give her any access to the President.

On the other hand, with Molly there might be the slightest chance of speaking briefly with the President. Molly would be honest with her, she'd tell Margot if she thought the President might want to talk to her instead of trying to prevent that conversation right off the bat, she'd tell her if it was an imposition to interview family members or if they'd welcome a conversation with her. Hell, Margot thought, she might even feel comfortable enough to yell at Margot for calling so soon after Josh Lyman's death, or hang up, or maybe not even answer her phone, and be sure that their friendship would survive that.

She was going to write about the shooting, the PTSD, the short-lived minor scandal after Josh had married his much younger former assistant, how his actions at the age of 27 caused his son's presidential campaign a great deal of grief nearly 50 years later, whether the family wanted her to or not, but just like all the other people she'd called for previous obituaries over the years they deserved an invitation to be a part of the process. The best way of extending that invitation would be through Molly.

Many hours before she'd had to make the nerve-wracking phone call to Molly, Margot had gone through the New York Times's archives, the "Times Morgue".

Margot had looked at the dates the drafts had been updated, or when new ones were created, while the angelic voices of Monteverdi and melancholy strings of Marais took turns playing through her earphones. There were drafts of Josh Lyman's obituary going back a little over four decades.

The first one had been created when he was shot at the Newseum in Rosslyn, Virginia. It was a decent length for someone who had only been 37. It was an obituary fit for a D.C. wunderkind, lamenting a short life and celebrating the power and influence he'd had at a relatively young age by listing the many legislative victories he'd helped orchestrate and the presidential campaign he'd helped turn around.

One draft had prompted Margot to look through the photo archives in hopes of finding an image of Lyman's grandfather who had been a judge on the Second Circuit Court of Appeals, simply because she was curious to see if there was any resemblance between the two men. She'd been pleasantly surprised when she had discovered that the Morgue had a photograph from a local Westport newspaper that included not only Judge David Lyman and his wife but also their son and his family. Margot was struck by how serious the judge looked, not angry or unpleasant, but almost as if he was standing for a Victorian family portrait and not for a snapshot taken in 1966. Despite the serious face Margot could see a pair of dimples that he shared with his son and both his grandchildren. Josh's resemblance to his grandfather didn't stop there, they had the same pleasant dark eyes and they would eventually have the same receding hairline; but in the photograph Josh still had all of his hair, a wild unruly mop of curls. It amused Margot that despite the differences in expression (five year old Josh was hamming it up for the camera) their shared physical traits were still very noticeable. Margot made a note to include the photograph she'd discovered if her draft was published.

The drafts got longer as the years passed, some accomplishments were replaced by others, depending on what each writer had found in the archives and what each one had thought readers might find interesting. The changes made to the final paragraph of each draft, though not unusual, caught her attention in particular, and she couldn't help but feel happy about the alterations it had undergone after seeing that bleak 10-word-long final sentence in the very first draft.

"He is survived by his mother, Adelaide Lyman née Strauss."

"-is survived by his mother, Adelaide Lyman née Strauss; wife, Donnatella Moss-Lyman; children Jacob, Noah, and Katherine."

"- is survived by his wife, Congresswoman Donnatella Moss-Lyman; children, Jacob, Noah, and Katherine; and grandchildren Zachary, Samuel, and Rebecca."

"- is survived by his wife, Congresswoman Donnatella Moss-Lyman; children, Governor Jacob A. Lyman, Noah, and Katherine; and grandchildren Zachary, Samuel, and Rebecca."

"- is survived by his wife, former Congresswoman Donnatella Moss-Lyman; children, President Jacob A. Lyman, Noah T. Lyman, and Dr. Katherine Ziegler; and nine grandchildren."

Margot made the final change to the last paragraph of her own draft, at that moment hoping that it would be filed away with the rest of the drafts she'd gone through; but minutes later, after she'd made her way out of the Morgue shortly before its 3am closing time, she'd received the call from her source and she began mentally preparing herself for the call she'd be making to Molly two hours later.