She'd managed to make it out the front door and into the sunlight, past
the curious glances of Josh's new staff and the anonymous man behind the
reception desk before the tears began to fall.
She swiped at her face roughly as she double-timed it to her car. After
she'd humbled herself, asked to help, asked to serve, he'd been
such an ass. "Yeah, but I won." He wouldn't even let her get through the
damned sales pitch. He knew her qualifications better than anyone, they
were both aware of that. But it was part of her showing that she knew
things had been bad between them, and she wasn't without blame. It was
part of her penance. And he wouldn't even let her do it. Son of a bitch.
He had been so full of himself, she thought angrily as she pulled away
from the curb. He'd whipped his little folder of quotes out at the first
opportunity and damned her with her own words. Things she'd said and
hadn't meant. Things she'd said with a hollow heart, trying to save face
for a candidate she no longer believed in, for one she wasn't sure she'd
ever believed in.
She stopped abruptly at the red light she'd almost run, eliciting an angry
honk from the car behind her. She sat frozen, staring at the intersection
in front of her. Her clips. He'd saved her clips. That wasn't a digest of
anti-Santos remarks from the Russell campaign. There'd been no shuffling
through the sheets, looking for her quotes. All this time, even though she
was on the opposing campaign, even though he'd been ridiculously busy with
his own work, even though the things she'd said were…he'd been keeping her
clips. He'd been following her work. Not just Russell's campaign. Her
work.
It felt like what was left of her broke in two at that moment, and the
floodgates opened. Not just a few angry, embarrassed tears here and there,
but loud, heartbroken sobs. She covered her face with one hand and leaned
her forehead against the wheel, shoulders shaking, powerless to stop the
outpouring of emotion.
She jerked her head up — she wasn't sure how much later — when a chorus of
honking horns jolted her back to the moment. She pulled the car through
the intersection, barely able to make out the road through
her tears, eventually giving up and pulling into a parking lot at a
restaurant.
She sat there for what seemed like an eternity, staring at the traffic,
mind wandering, tears slowly subsiding. Then the strangest part of her
decided that she was hungry. She hadn't had anything to eat yet that day;
she'd been a nervous wreck about the interview. She wiped her cheeks
thoroughly one last time and wandered, somewhat listlessly, into the
restaurant.
It was all but empty, the lunch crowd having long since cleared out, and
she pulled herself onto a bar stool close to the wall. She'd thought she
was hungry, but she heard herself ordering a whiskey sour and suddenly
didn't have the stomach to add anything else to it, even if she did feel a
little like an alcoholic, ordering hard liquor in the middle of the
afternoon on a weekday.
The restaurant was mostly quiet, and the air conditioning cool, a welcome
relief from the sweltering summer outside. Donna nursed her drink, running
her fingernail studiously through the many names and messages carved into
the mahogany wood of the bar. Her thoughts began to drift, eventually, to
a moment when her life was filled with something more than hopelessness.
***********************************************
"You're a moron."
"Am not."
"Josh, would you just get down from there? You're gonna get arrested, and
we're gonna have a pretty hard time explaining what you were doing at 2:30
in the morning in Lafayette Park."
"I'm marking my territory, that's what I'm doing," he teetered on the edge
of the bench a little.
Donna reached up and grabbed him by the waist. "You're gonna fall on your
head."
"You'd save me though, wouldn't you, Donna? I think the tree is frozen."
He shook a cramp out of his hand before switching to another key. "Dammit.
I used to have a pocketknife on my keychain. What ever happened to that?
It would make this much easier."
"The Secret Service is what happened to it." Donna peered around him to
watch him work. "You can't carry a weapon and work in the West Wing. Also
I think they'd prefer you not molest trees on the way home from work."
"Nobody's getting molested."
Donna glanced behind her. "Depends on how much longer we stay here."
"Got it!" He jumped off the bench and pulled her back a few paces with him
to admire his handiwork. "A thing of beauty."
"You shorthanded it." But she was smiling broadly.
"Well, people have the old one for reference." He picked at an imaginary
blister he'd been claiming had formed on his knuckle in carving process.
"Yeah, but you spelled it out the last time."
"I had the pocketknife last time."
She smiled again as she took in the old carving from their last election
night. Bartlet for America `98 was carved deep into the bark, but
had faded over time, a stark contrast to the B4A II `02 that he had
just finished. "God, so much has happened in four years. I still remember
you dragging me down here that night on the way home."
Josh smiled as he looked past the tree, across the street to the White
House. "You were already decorating our nonexistent offices."
She laughed. "I'd been drinking from the keg of glory. It couldn't be
helped."
He smiled. "And now, it's tradition."
She turned around. "So, what are you doing in 2006?"
"You and I are making John Hoynes President, that's what."
She cocked her head to one side. "You think he's ready now?"
Josh nodded. "I think he will be."
Donna raised her eyebrows. "Oh? And will there be carving involved?"
"Absolutely," he patted the tree trunk. "Four years from now, you and I
have a date to re-molest Old Bessie here."
***************************************************
Donna traced a large "Hoyas" outline with her thumbnail and ordered
another drink.
What killed her the most was his face. He'd had his walls up full force,
that was nothing new, but when he'd laid eyes on her that morning in
headquarters, there'd been this…kicked puppy look beneath the impassive
mask he'd worked so hard to keep in place.
She'd thought, naively, that if she'd thrown herself on his mercy, if
she'd tried to put things back like they'd been before, they'd be able to
repair the rift that had grown between them. Well, not exactly like
before. She liked what she'd learned. She liked what she was capable of.
She thought she could contribute again, even more than she did before. She
thought that relating to her when she'd been a bigger player had been his
problem, but…but he'd cut her down to size and then he'd just…spoken the
truth.
That was a rarity between them. When the misdirection was gone and the
rest of it didn't matter. The moments when there was nothing between them
but truth. They were brief; they were deceptively silent; but they were
milestones in their relationship.
I've got an airplane hangar out there filled with 500 strangers looking
at me for direction. I've got a candidate who doesn't trust any of them
and frankly, neither do I, and if you think I don't miss you every day…
And then it had passed as quickly as it had begun, and the walls were
thrown back up. I can make a couple of calls…
She closed her eyes and downed the last of her drink in a gulp, his words
echoing in her head. If you think I don't miss you every day…
Then why not? Why, when she was on the verge of getting on her knees and
begging, if he missed her, apparently as much as she missed him, had he…he
could make a couple of calls. There couldn't be a more definitive `no'
than that. But if what he'd just said was true, she didn't get it.
She opened her eyes and lined her empty glass up beside the first.
You have to get Josh.
**********************************************
She could still see Amy squinting at her in the dim light as she tore her
open. "His sister died in a fire while she was babysitting him. She tried
to put it out, he ran outside. He went off campaigning, his father died.
He wakes up in the hospital and discovers the President's been shot. He
goes through every day worried that somebody he likes is going to die, and
it's going to be his fault. What do you think makes him walk so fast?"
She'd felt so self-righteous as she'd knocked Amy off her high horse.
"Josh doesn't leave people."
**********************************************
Her breath caught in her throat. That was the problem. That was why he
looked at her like that every time he saw her. She'd committed the only
sin Josh could never forgive.
She'd left him.
She'd left him. She'd turned her back and walked away. And nothing was
ever gonna undo that for him. Nothing. Never.
She felt a deep grief welling up from her soul, so powerful she thought it
would overwhelm her. She numbly slid off the stool and blindly dropped
some money on the bar. She drove home, her mind completely blank. She
trudged up the stairs, unlocked the door, closed it behind her, and began
sobbing again. Cried the tears of someone who knew they'd never see a
loved one again. She slid down the door and cried as if he'd died. She
cried for the little things. The beers they'd never share again, the
radios they'd never wrestle for control of again, the hand she'd never
again feel at the small of her back as they worked their way down a hall,
the dimples she'd never see flash for her again.
Then it became the things she'd only dreamt of, but had hoped with all her
heart would come to pass eventually. The kiss she'd never have with him,
the love she'd never make with him, the proposal she'd never get to
pretend to be surprised by, the children of his that she'd never get to
carry, the growing old bantering with him she'd never get to do.
Well. None of it was going to happen now. Why? Because she'd done the one
thing he wouldn't be able to forgive. A betrayal, he could get over
eventually. Public humiliation, a slap in the face, an unkind word —all of
these were things he could eventually work past. But abandonment…his
deepest fear, his biggest issue, the driving force behind his most
powerful neuroses. Some people thought Josh was so loyal because he was
trying to further his career by ingratiating himself to whoever was in
power. Others thought he was too eager to please. They were idiots. Josh
was loyal because it was one of the traits he most prized, and because
loyalty begets loyalty.
Only in his case, it never quite seems to work. Everyone kept dying on
him, or running out on him, or otherwise leaving him. And now she could
add her name to that list.
Then again, what right did he have? Anger began to creep up through
the sadness as she shrugged out of her blazer. Why didn't she get to have
her own life? Her own career? She slid her shoes off and threw each one
across the room in frustration.
She sat crumpled in front of the door, breath coming in pants. He'd never
own up to his part in this. To trying to keep her in the job she'd
outgrown, to willfully dodging her every time she'd tried to talk about
it. To the unspoken truths between them that had risen so close to the
surface, the air between them had grown too thick to breathe by the time
she'd quit.
No, when they closed the book on Josh and Donna, Josh would simply claim
that it ended because she'd left him. And Donna wouldn't be allowed close
enough to him to claim anything at all. That would be how it stood in his
mind for all eternity.
Oh, God. They were actually closing the book on Josh and Donna. No more
chapters. No more looking forward. No future. The end.
The steady heat that had been building inside of her for the last several
minutes began to boil over. She sprang to her stocking feet and padded to
her bedroom, stopping on the way to pull a large, empty box out of the
bottom of the coat closet.
She set the box on the bed and pulled open a drawer in her bureau. Bastard
wasn't the only one who could close the door. She pulled a shoebox full of
notes and other mementos out and dropped it into the larger box on her
bed. She systematically circled her apartment, pulling things off of
shelves and out of drawers. CDs she'd permanently borrowed from him.
Pictures. The necklace he'd given her the Christmas before Gaza. The
hand-poured pillar candle and stained- glass holder he'd ordered from a
little shop in Manchester after he'd kept her working through their rather
limited store hours every day of the trip. She'd bitched all the way home
about not being given a half-hour to herself to go in and look around. It
had been sitting on her desk when she came in a few days later with a
note: These things happen when you're so good people can't do without
you. I'm sorry. J.
In went the keys to his townhouse, which she'd never given back, The
Art & Artistry of Alpine Skiing, the scarf his mother had made her
several years ago. She looked into the box, biting her thumbnail, then
pulled the scarf back out. After all, it wasn't Mrs. Lyman's fault her son
was such an unmitigated ass.
She pulled her own folder of his clips from the Santos campaign out of her
briefcase and dropped it in as well. She jerked open the closet door and
pulled several shirts of his she'd stolen over the years off their
hangers, which swung wildly on the rod. She flipped the top flaps closed
and jerked the box up, carrying it downstairs and to the trash cans at the
curb. She dropped it on top of one of the cans roughly and turned to walk
away, but stopped halfway up her front steps. She breathed out slowly,
closing her eyes. Finally, she returned to the curb and took the box in
her arms carefully as she went back upstairs.
Half an hour later, she was sprawled on her bed, wearing one of his t-
shirts, one of his CDs spinning in her stereo. She was slowly,
painstakingly going through everything that had been in the box — turning
it over in her hands, re-reading words he'd written, before placing each
item carefully on the duvet.
How could she have ever thought of getting rid of everything? Regardless
of whose fault it was, the trinkets were all that was left of them now.
Sure, they'd go on. They'd learn to be Donna and to be Josh, on their own.
She smiled grimly. In a way, they already had. But this, whatever it had
been, had been very special to her. The most special thing in her life.
She wanted to be able to remember the good parts one day, when it didn't
hurt so badly to think about it.
She re-read the inscription inside her Beckengruber book for the third
time, dragging her fingers over the ink. She missed his sloppy
handwriting. She used to feel like she was drowning in it at the office,
but now she only had a few samples of it — notes or birthday cards that
were special to her, which she'd tucked into her shoebox over the years.
She set her candle to rights on her nightstand, relieved the delicate
holder hadn't broken in her rampage. She missed the things he used to do
to make it up to her when he knew he'd screwed up.
It wasn't until an hour later, as she flipped through years' worth of
photos, that she realized she just missed him. His face, his voice,
his smell, the presence that set something in the base of her brain
tingling whenever he was near. No matter how much she wished it, none of
those things were in her box. The very best parts of him, the parts she
missed the most, were the things she wouldn't get to experience anymore
now that the final nail had been driven into the coffin containing the
remains of their friendship.
She traced the outline of his face in her favorite picture of the two of
them — the only one of just them that she'd framed. It was taken in a
jam-packed bullpen after the President's fourth State of the Union, after
Joey had delivered the results that showed they were a hit, and it looked
like they'd be able to pull through the MS scandal. It was a good night in
their lives, a good place in the timeline. After the shooting, after he'd
gotten a handle on the PTSD, after the hearings, after he'd forgiven her
for Cliff and the diary, and things had gotten back to normal, but before
the Amy situation had gotten ugly, before Gaza, before Colin, before Josh
had ceased to be her sun and moon.
She swiped at her misty eyes as the picture swam out of focus. She was a
liar. You didn't react to losing someone like this if they weren't still
your sun and moon. So much for all the growing she'd done these past few
months.
She leaned back into her pillows and played absentmindedly with the charm
on the necklace he'd given her as she continued to stare at the photo.
God, she missed him. It felt like ages since she'd seen the man behind the
glass. The one who teased her. The one who was close to her. The one who
didn't feel the need to put up walls to protect himself from her.
She'd give almost anything to have a moment more with Josh. Just Josh, not
Josh in his fortress. The man she could reason with. The man who could be
made to understand her reasons. The man who still wouldn't forgive
her.
She sighed, and it came from deep in her soul, laden with sadness and
guilt and wistfulness. Five minutes would be enough. It wouldn't change
how he felt, but it would at least allow her to apologize. To say she
hadn't done any of it out of spite. To go on record, whether he chose to
accept it or not, as having said her piece.
She smiled ever so slightly. She was even thinking like a press
spokesperson now. She picked up the keys she'd jerked off her own ring
earlier and turned them over in her palm. She'd had them since she became
his assistant, just like Carol had a set of CJ's, Ginger and Bonnie a set
of Toby's and Sam's, then Will's, Margaret a set of Leo's. One to the
building, one to his unit, one to his mailbox. The mailbox…
It was already dark outside before she sat down to write, but it would be
hours before he'd be home with the campaign schedule he was keeping. She'd
have enough time.
The words came surprisingly easily, and she shocked herself with how
succinct she was able to be, especially when her brain and heart were both
so full. She was surprised that after everything it fit on one page, but
there it was: her official last word on their friendship, and no longer
than the average press release.
Donna signed her name at the bottom of the page, wiped her eyes for
the umpteenth time, and folded the letter. She tucked it into an envelope
and sealed it, writing Josh's name on the front. She slipped her feet into
a pair of sandals, grabbed her car keys, along with Josh's set, and headed
out the door.
She parked around the corner from Josh's townhouse and walked. The night
was muggy, but she felt cold as she made her way to his building. Outside,
she saw that his windows were dark, and she climbed his front steps, her
heart fluttering. She used the key to let herself into the foyer, then
walked over to the bank of mailboxes on the wall. She turned the letter
over in her hands, feeling a certain sense of finality. She ran a hand
across the front of the envelope, then took a deep breath and dropped it
quickly through the slot. The tears had begun flowing again as she left,
and she took one last look up at the building from the bottom of the steps
before she walked away.
She was halfway back to her car before she realized she still had Josh's
keys in her hand. She swiped at her nose as the tears continued to fall.
She'd meant to drop them in his mail slot with the letter. She considered
getting them back to him some other way, then turned back, deciding it
would be best to rip the Band-Aid off quickly.
She'd given up and had begun to just let the tears fall freely after a
while, a slow but steady stream. It actually felt a little therapeutic.
Maybe she'd sleep tonight after the cry she'd had today. She climbed the
steps and stuck his key in the door one last time. She turned the lock and
pulled open the door.
She froze in her tracks. Josh was pulling a sizeable stack of mail from
his mailbox, talking campaign strategy on his cell phone, trying to
balance his messenger bag and everything else he was carrying. She wanted
to step away before he saw her, but she couldn't move. There he was. Just
Josh. No fortress. No walls. He was just him, and she felt like she was
seeing him for the first time in years.
He turned away from the mailbox about the time she recovered her sense of
motor control and stepped away from the door. She moved down the steps as
quickly as her feet would carry her. He may not have seen her. He was on
his phone, and distracted. If she hurried down to the corner, then —
"Donna?"
Shit. She wiped her face as inconspicuously as she could. "Yeah?"
She heard his phone snap shut without so much as a goodbye to whomever he
was talking. She didn't move, kept her back to his building, but he
appeared before her an instant later. "Donna?"
She sniffed, keeping her eyes on his shoes. "Yeah."
He gaped at her for a second. "What happened?"
She didn't think she wanted to answer. Not that she could have if she'd
wanted to. She was at an absolute loss for words. She saw everything he
was holding fall to the sidewalk beside him, and a second later felt his
hands on her head, tilting her face toward his. "God," he whispered.
"Donna…what's happened?"
She was looking into his amazing face, and another tear slid, unbidden,
from her eye. Josh brushed it away with his thumb and started speaking to
her in that soft, comforting tone he could use when he really wanted to,
and the next thing she knew, she was sitting on the steps. He looked up at
her now. "Tell me what's happened," he said gently. "Donna…hey," he tilted
her chin back toward him. "Tell me what's happened."
She said the only thing she could think to offer. "I came to give you your
keys."
She watched as his brow furrowed in confusion. "My keys?"
She felt them in her hand again all of a sudden, and opened her fingers,
holding her palm up between them. "I just came to give you your keys." Her
voice sounded so far away. Uneven. She wished she could stop that in front
of him.
Josh looked down at her hand for a second, then shook his head before
taking her by the shoulders. "Donna, I need you to tell me what happened,
OK? Just tell me what's going on. Come on."
She looked at her knees. "I thought…I didn't expect things to go the way
they did during the interview."
Something changed, just a little, in his eyes. "This is about the
interview?"
Donna shrugged. "I guess."
Josh shifted in his crouched position. "I mean, all this," he gestured at
Donna, "is about the interview? Nothing else has happened?"
Donna scowled. "No…"
"God, Donna, I thought somebody was dead!" He sprung to his feet, running
both hands through his hair as he paced to the curb. "Look at you!" he
nodded toward her oversized t-shirt that used to be his, mismatched gym
shorts, and flip flops. "Look at your face! I've seen people come out of
funerals less swollen and puffy."
Donna glared. "Well, excuse me."
Josh leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees. "You're telling me
this is all about the job?"
She rolled her eyes and pulled her feet under her to stand. "It really has
nothing to do with the job, Josh. Here are your keys." She took his hand
by the wrist and deposited the keys in his palm, stepping over his things
to leave.
"You don't want my keys anymore?"
She stopped 10 feet from him, staring at the sidewalk as it stretched out
in front of her. "You don't want me anymore."
He sighed audibly. "I see. It's about this again." And there it was. His
walls were back up. He bent over and began picking up the mail that had
scattered all over the sidewalk when he'd dropped it.
"Again?" she repeated, feeling hollow.
"Again, yes. The same damn thing you've been doing since Iowa, where you
think that now because you're ready to speak to me again that I'm going to
fall all over myself to roll out the red carpet and welcome you back when
it's not…what the hell is this?"
She'd begun walking again, but the question stopped her, and she turned.
"What?"
"This." He turned her envelope toward her and tapped it with his index
finger. "It's your handwriting."
She shook her head. "Nothing," she said bitterly. "Nothing that's going to
matter to you."
"You came here to give me my keys…and what, a Dear John letter?" he
smirked, but there was a cruel edge to it. "I appreciate that Donna, but
you didn't bother to so much as write a formal resignation letter when you
left, I don't know why you'd bother now, when —"
"Oh, never mind, just give it back." She extended her hand for the
envelope, which he'd already begun to open.
"No, I'm looking forward to this," he taunted.
"Josh, nothing in it's gonna matter to you anyway. It was a waste of time,
I don't know why I bothered. Just give it —"
He held the letter out of reach, no matter which way she twisted. "Okay,
here we go," he said, eyes gleaming as he unfolded the note. "Dearest Josh
— nice touch."
Donna folded her arms around her stomach.
"Let's see, cliché beginning, a little mea culpa, thanks for everything,
hold on to the good times…where's the part about how many times you've
left and then come crawling back?"
Donna's eyes filled with tears again. "You fucking asshole."
He looked up from the letter. "God, Donna, I'd be hurt, but you've done it
so many times, I just don't think I have it left in me to get worked up
about a little name calling."
"You're a prick, Josh," she said, running her hands across her cheeks,
which were beginning to feel raw. "You're gonna look back on how you
handled this one day, and you're gonna realize that you were a prick. All
I've been asking from you is a little human understanding, and you won't
even so much as let me say my —"
He looked up from the letter again, suddenly seeming incensed. "The very
best you knew how?" he growled.
"What?"
He read her words back to her, so angry she could see his hand shaking a
little as he held the page. "'Always know that I loved you the very best I
knew how. It was imperfect, and painful at times, and ridiculously
dysfunctional. And it wasn't enough. I see that so clear—`"
"What's your problem?"
"Well, first of all, you lifted the line from Lincoln, Miss Campaign
Spokesperson."
"But that's not your issue," she said flatly.
"What's the very best you know how?" he said, approaching her slowly.
"Because from where I'm standing, you worked for me, left to go back to
your boyfriend who used you, came back to work for me again, during which
you slept with every jackass womanizer you could find, including the one
you rubbed in my face when I abandoned my post and flew halfway around the
world not knowing if you were gonna be in one piece when I got
there, only to leave me again, and spend the subsequent six months
flogging me and my candidate publicly every chance you got. Then you
followed that up today with your third attempt to get me to rehire you,
because you apparently think I'm just that much of a glutton for
punishment. So, if that's the very best you know how, it doesn't appear
that you know much of anything."
She didn't even feel it coming, but it was like a bomb going off. "When
your dad died six weeks after I started working for you, and I packed your
suitcase while you sat in your hotel room and cried, that was
loving you the very best I knew how. When we didn't know whether you'd
live or not, and I spent hours telling God I'd never ask for another
solitary thing if he'd just bring you through the night, that was
loving you the very best I knew how. When I held your hand during your
physical and respiratory therapy, and kept you entertained, and kept your
mind off the pain, and kept your office running, and then stayed up and
watched you sleep, that was loving you the very best I knew how.
When I turned you in to Leo that Christmas, even though I thought you
might get so angry I'd lose you for it, that was loving you the
very best I knew how. When I encouraged, instead of sabotaged, your
pursuit of Joey Lucas, and Amy Gardner, and whatever ever other walking
skirt you took a passing interest in instead of making you feel like a
whore for it, that was loving you the best I knew how." Her voice
was so loud it was hurting her own ears, but she couldn't stop screaming.
"When, for eight years, I provided you with every thing you asked for
every moment that you asked for it, oftentimes before you asked, so you
could do your work and know that I was gonna be there with the rest of it,
THAT was loving you the very best I knew how. I'm really very sorry
if that doesn't meet with your approval, but it was a hell of a lot more
than I ever got!"
Josh had gone from stone-faced to shocked to downright meek. "I'm sorry."
It was barely more than a whisper.
"I don't care what I did or what you think I did to you in
your selfish, self- absorbed mind, you don't get to rewrite history where
—"
"I apologize," he said, finding his voice again. "I don't…you should have
knocked me on my ass for that. I didn't…God, Donna, I didn't mean any of
that. I don't even know where it came from." He let out a shaky breath,
running his hand through his hair. "I really am sorry."
She nodded after a long moment. "Okay."
He snorted. "No, it's not. You always say that. But it's not. Sometimes
it's not. You're always letting me off the hook too easily." He reached
out and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Why is that?"
She shrugged. "I guess I just don't like being mad at you."
He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, me either."
"I didn't come to headquarters today to try to flummox you."
"I know."
"But I understand why you won't have me back."
Josh shook his head immediately. "Listen, about that—"
"No, I know, Josh. I left. I left you. Regardless of my reasons, I left,
and that destroyed any level of trust you had in me up until that point.
Fair or not, I'm owning that."
Josh shook his head. "You don't have to own a thing."
Donna blinked. "Huh?"
He leaned against the railing, seeming to carefully weigh his words. "I'm
not…completely blind to the situation. All evidence to the contrary. I
drove you away. I'm aware of that much."
"You drove me away," she repeated, disbelieving.
"In every possible way," he said. "You left because you had to. Just
because I was hurt over it didn't mean I had a right to be."
Donna shifted from foot to foot. "Well…well, that's true."
He quirked one corner of his mouth at her. "But I've never been great with
admitting massive mistakes."
She nodded. "Another truth."
"But by the time I got to that little gem of truth, I had no idea where to
start to fix things," he plopped down on the steps. "I was so unbelievably
pissed that you'd even think about leaving, and the longer you stayed
gone—"
"The madder you got," Donna finished.
"Yeah. But it's not the same without you. Nothing's the same without you,
Donna." His voice was heavy, and it had that little wobble in it, the same
one she'd heard in his office this morning. "It's like the world went from
color to black and white."
"You're doing all right," Donna said, sitting down beside him, but keeping
her eyes on the street in front of her. "You're doing amazing. You brought
the Congressman from out of nowhere to win the nomination, and in your
first Gallup poll against a wildly popular Republican candidate, you're
only 9 points down. The President would have killed to have those numbers
in his first poll."
"It's empty," Josh whispered. "It's all just so empty. No one takes the
same kind of joy in it that you would. No one takes the same kind of
pride. Every hour we have some breakthrough or some headache or some
office disaster, and I wish you'd walk through the door and work your
magic like you always do." He leaned his head back against the steps and
looked at the stars. "I've got to find a way to unite this staff."
"It's gonna take some time," she said. "They can't be what Leo's crew
became without time. You remember how things were when they started."
Josh nodded. "And now it feels like everything's ending. Leo and I took a
meeting with CJ and Toby today. It started fine, but five minutes later…it
was like dealing with strangers." He sighed deeply. "CJ, Toby, the
President, you…it's all just ending."
Donna nodded. "I know." She sniffled and leaned back against the steps.
"What I didn't say today…what I couldn't find a way to say, was that I
miss you every day, too."
Josh was rubbing his head, his mortification growing as the things he'd
said really sank in. "I don't deserve to have you miss me."
"On that we concur."
He sat up and began reading the letter again, this time in earnest. "Were
you going somewhere?"
Donna shook her head. "Just trying to tie up loose ends, I guess."
He finished the letter and was silent a moment, looking at his shoes. "I'm
sorry," he managed finally, his voice strained with emotion.
"I heard you the first time," Donna said.
"No, I mean because…I didn't love you the very best I knew how."
She blinked back a new wave of tears. "Oh. Well…Josh, I guess you can't
force it. I mean, you can't make yourself—"
"Instead, I loved you however I thought I could get away with it. I loved
you the half-assed, lazy man's way. I loved you when it was convenient,
and pushed you aside when it wasn't. I loved you in a way that treated you
like an all-night convenience store. I loved you whenever I damn well
wanted, and left you on your own when it got the least bit difficult."
Donna sat up, barely noticing that she was crying yet again. "You loved
me?"
Josh waved the letter at her. "You loved me?"
She nodded, laughing a little through her tears. "What irony. Right here
when I finally try to make my peace with it."
"Another ending." Josh's expression darkened. "Is that what you really
want? To make your peace with it? To go our separate ways, to call it a
good run, and move on?"
Donna shook her head. "No, that wasn't what I wanted. I thought it was all
that was left."
Josh looked down at his shoes. "And if there were other options
available?"
"I'd ask you the same question," Donna said.
He sat forward, drawing his knees closer. "If there were other options, I
don't know. I'd like to see what would happen if, instead of driving you
away, I didn't drive you away. If, instead of treating you badly, I
treated you half as good as you deserved. If, instead of doing things
half-assed, I did them the best I could. If I never again made you cry
like you've obviously been crying tonight."
"So, if you had options, you'd choose a new beginning then," Donna smiled.
Josh nodded. "It seems an appropriate course of action when you've reached
an ending, don't you think?"
Donna nodded. "It does."
"So…now?"
"No time like the present."
He extended his hand. "Josh Lyman. Nice to meet you again."
She laughed. "Donnatella Moss."
"Donnatella Moss, I've missed you," he grinned, but she caught the tears
balancing on his lower eyelids.
She sighed. "I've missed you, too, Josh."
He stood, offering her his hand. "We'll just have to agree to never, never
do that again. Ahkay? Never."
Donna nodded, fighting her own tears this time. "Never again, Josh."
He pulled her into his arms, crumpling the letter in the process. "Hey,"
he said into her hair. "Just so you know…you were always enough. It was
always enough. And you're the only one I trust, Donna."
She leaned back and looked at him. "You're gonna spoil me with this
behavior."
"Get used to it," he grinned, then leaned forward to capture her lips with
his. "From here on out, I plan on loving you the very best I know how."
*****************************************
"There's got to be an easier way to do this."
"I thought the pocketknife was gonna solve all your problems."
"I should have named the damn campaign something shorter."
"That shows a deplorable lack of foresight on your part. I can't
believe you even won."
"Hey, who got you that very nice diamond on your finger?"
Donna smiled down at her hand for the hundredth time in the last few
hours. "A short-sighted tree molester," she said through a yawn.
Josh grinned as he dug deeper into the tree. "And I don't know what that's
about, `cause you're not going to sleep anytime soon."
She leaned her chin against his hip as she watched him. "Neither are you."
He laughed. "Must carve faster."
"Mmm hmm."
"You get hold of your mom earlier?"
"She's already looking at flower arrangements and fabric swatches, and
it's the middle of the night," Donna said. "She'll have a date set by the
weekend."
Josh groaned. "This is gonna get needlessly complicated, isn't it?"
Donna shook her head. "I'm just gonna let her wear herself out for a few
days before I rain on her parade. You have to understand, Josh, every
mother dreams of her daughter's wedding. But I'm just gonna let her
discover on her own how much work it's going to be to try to do everything
from far away. This way, she'll actually be glad when I take it back."
"So you were surprised, despite your early predictions to the contrary?"
"Who said I thought I wasn't gonna be surprised?"
"CJ."
"I've got to have a conversation with her about sisterly solidarity."
"Answer the question, spokeswoman."
Donna let go of his hips and leaned against the tree, looking up at him.
"Did I think it was coming one of these days? Yes. Did I think it was
coming between when they called Ohio and Illinois? No, Josh, I can
honestly say I wasn't expecting that."
"Me either, to tell you the truth. So much for presentation."
She stepped up on the bench with him. "It was perfect." She interrupted
his carving momentarily with a tender kiss. "Actually, I thought you'd do
it at Christmas."
"I was gonna. But the ring had been burning a hole in my pocket for two
days. I was going stark raving mad."
"I thought that was just your typical Election Day nutty."
"On top of that. I feel a hundred pounds lighter tonight. Done!"
He jumped off the bench and she followed. He wrapped his arms around her
from behind as they took a good look at his latest artistic endeavor.
"Santos for Presidert '06," Donna read.
"PresiDENT."
"Well, I thought so, but that's not what it says."
"Yes, it is."
"Then you should take advantage of our education initiative."
"Donna…"
"So where does the Presidert live? The White Horse?"
"Do you think I intend to take this kind of lip from you `til death us do
part?"
She reached behind her and patted his cheek. "I think you'll take it
however you can get it."
He sighed. "That sounds about right."
"Hey, Tree Boy," Donna pulled on his arm. "Take me home and keep me
awake."
Josh smiled and pulled her close as they headed down the walk. "I'll do my
very best."
THE END
In the event you were wondering, the Lincoln
quote referred to in
the story is as follows:
"If I were to read, much less answer, all the attacks made on me, this
shop might as well be closed for any other business. I do the very best I
know how, the very best I can, and I mean to keep doing so until the end.
If the end brings me out all right, what's said against me won't amount to
anything. If the end brings me out wrong, then angels swearing I was right
would make no difference."
