In the end, they would never really understand why it happened. Everything they pieced together was supposition.

What they knew in the immediate aftermath was that 30 people were dead, 50 were injured, 24 miraculously walked away unharmed and 16 people were missing under a pile of burning rubble.

And when it was over at least one new life would rise from the ashes.

***

The American public has a love affair with vigils that I don’t pretend to understand. There must be 300 people here. It’s just past midnight on Easter morning, yet they gather to give each other strength. Many of them are from the surrounding neighborhood. Most are older women: grandmothers and great-grandmothers. The rest are my people.

Josh’s people.

They sit and stand, huddled in small clusters, illuminated by the harsh television lights and surrounded by the buzz of reporters doing live reports for the rest of the country.

‘Rescue workers have now pulled 13 bodies from the scene. They are still looking for three individuals. A 6-month-old infant named Braydon Ross, his 6-year-old sister, Taja, and 38-year-old Joshua Lyman. Lyman is the White House Deputy Chief of Staff. Viewers may remember his name from the shooting in Rosslyn, Virginia three years ago where he was the most seriously injured of the victims. Officials will not comment on camera, but after three days, finding anyone alive would be a miracle…’

A miracle indeed.

It doesn’t take a miracle to locate the person I’m searching for amid the assembled mass. This is a predominately African-American section of D.C. and her Nordic skin and blonde hair shine like a beacon. My deputy’s assistant, the woman he loves, has sought support from kindred spirits - those facing the same loss as she.

The excavation has reached the basement level of what was a brand-new, four-story house. The Fire Marshal told me it would be slow going from here on in. Most of the debris filtered down to the basement. The destruction is denser, requiring more care.

Walking slowly, I approach Donna and her protectors. She’s been here since Thursday, when we discovered Josh was amongst the missing. She’s sat with these women since they brought the first body out and comforted each of them as the worst was confirmed.

It is a disturbing ballet. I have witnessed it several times during the nights when I come down to sit with her, and with Josh by proxy. It is no different this time.

A call comes up from the workers.

“HOLD!”

All of the machines stop and the recovery teams dig by hand until they unearth the body.

“Doc Goodin!”

The city medical examiner is who they’re calling for. He will take his pictures and then release the body, allowing it to be removed.

A body bag and litter go into the destruction and four men carry it out. Slowly, reverently, they give the deceased what dignity they can.

The only thing you can discern is whether the body is that of a child or an adult and only by the strain on the bearers. This one is a child. Most likely the baby.

Dr. Francis Goodin approaches the reporters.

“We have recovered the body of an infant male,” he states, grimly repeating his liturgy for the fourteenth time. “Identification will be done at the city morgue. At the same time we will determine the exact cause of death and release that information once any relatives have been notified.”

***

I spent the night in my office. Not because I was drunk, but because if I had left I would have gotten shit-faced.

Donna had a date last night with some local gomer named Mitch. Despite my best intentions, she skated out of here at 6 o’clock wearing a pale green dress that is illegal in many countries.

She claims her self-imposed three-month moratorium on dating is over. Mitch was taking her for dinner and a romantic walk under the cherry blossoms.

The cherry blossoms aren’t in bloom for another two weeks. Don’t think I didn’t check.

From the scowl on her face this morning, I gather Donna’s evening did not go as planned. I know better than to broach the subject, however. I have no desire to be castrated.

What I do have is a desire to tell her how I feel. See, I came to a decision last night.

I am no longer going to stand by and watch the woman I am head over heels in love with date other men. The next gomer who takes Donnatella Moss out for dinner and a romantic walk under the cherry blossoms will be me.

Unless Leo says he’ll string me up by my toenails. Then I will continue to wait and interfere with her love life until we’re out of the White House.

“Hey, Leo?” I stick my head in his office.

It’s 12:15 on Thursday afternoon. I bring that up because I picked this time for a specific purpose: Margaret and Donna have a standing weekly lunch date and I don’t want either of them anywhere near the building while Leo and I have this conversation.

“What’s up?” Leo asks without raising his eyes from the crossword puzzle he’s hiding inside a blue folder. Leo sneaks the crossword puzzle while Margaret’s at lunch. It’s an accepted fact of life in the West Wing.

Like Donna and my totally platonic relationship.

“Do you have a few minutes?”

“Does this have anything to do with organic cows?” my boss drops his pen and looks up wearily.

“Organic cows?” Confusion propels me all the way into his office. “No… Organic… What the hell is an organic cow?”

“It’s a cow… Never mind. What’s going on?”

I close the door behind me and take a seat.

“I need to…” Oh shit. I’d composed an eloquent oratory in my head last night while I was staring out at the South Lawn. Damned if I can remember any of it now.

I try again. “The thing is…”

“For the love of God, Josh, spit it out.”

“I’m in love with Donna.” I blurt it out. Not at all what I was planning on saying. “What I mean is I’ve had these feelings about her for a long time and I’ve tried to keep them under control, because she’s my assistant and everything, but I just can’t do it anymore…”

I sound like a blithering idiot and Leo… Leo is laughing at me?

“You just now figured this out?” He wipes at the corners of his eyes when he can finally speak again.

“No!” I insist, leaping out of my chair and starting to pace. “It’s just that…”

“If you say your biological clock is ticking, Josh, I swear to God, I’ll throw you out of this office.”

“Leo!”

The President hollering from the Oval Office overrides my indignant exclamation.

“Wait for it,” Leo murmurs. He looks at the door connecting his office to the Oval expectantly. Just as it starts to swing open, he jumps to his feet.

“Where in the hell is… Josh.” President Bartlet’s gaze settles on me and he utters my name with exacting finality.

“Sir?” I gulp because he’s looking at me the same way a cat looks at a cornered mouse.

“Josh, did you actually tell my wife you didn’t see anything wrong with a man sleeping with his secretary?” he demands.

Oh shit.

“Under certain circumstances, Mr. President.” I clarify hastily. “I said I could understand and even condone it under certain circumstances. And I didn’t say it to Mrs. Bartlet, sir.”

“Well, Abbey’s in a snit,” the President continues, glancing between Leo and I. “She wants an apology. And you’re going to give it to her. Now.”

“Sir, I…” There’s no point in arguing. Dr. B in a snit trumps my well-reasoned arguments every time. That’s how Amy got hired. “Yes, sir.”

“You’ve also earned an all expenses paid trip to the dedication of the Dolly Madison Center, which my wife is quietly handling this afternoon,” he announces smugly.

“Sir?” Now I’m really confused.

“Abbey thinks it would do your chauvinistic heart some good to go with her and see some disadvantaged women and children,” the President explains. “She’s waiting for you in her office. You’ll have plenty of time to apologize and be back by 1:30.”

I know for a fact I’m staring at Leo in open-mouthed disbelief.

“Well?” President Bartlet prompts.

“Thank you, Mr. President,” I reply automatically and head out the door.

“Josh?” Leo calls after me. “We’ll finish our talk when you get back.”

***

You can see our people in the live pictures CNN continues to broadcast. Donna is always there, rather condescendingly referred to as the ‘Administration’s representative.’

As if she is there for no other reason than to show the flag or keep Jed apprised of information he can get by simply flipping on the television.

They’ve pulled another body out. 14 of the 16 missing have been recovered. I can’t help but stare at the images in relieved horror. Horror at what happened, but relief that I survived. I walked away. My Chief of Staff needed 15 stitches to close a gash in her forehead, but I was thrust into a car and whisked away so fast I didn’t have time to remind the Secret Service we brought along a person who was not on the guest list.

They never accounted for Josh and it is my fault.

Donna is on CNN consoling another woman. A woman I’ve seen her with frequently over the past three days. I should be there. I should be there to comfort Donna when they find Josh’s body.

It’s my fault he’s dead.

My fault for failing to consider why Josh thinks about things the way he does.

Thought.

Did.

Of course he could understand a man having a relationship with his secretary. How long did he subvert his feelings for Donna to not offend anyone’s sense of propriety? Years? To not be thrown to the wolves like Neil Underwood?

How long did she mask her own love for him? Love you can no longer deny exist.

***

“Joshua Lyman.” Dr. Bartlet fixes me with a particularly nasty glare. Amy is lurking just behind her smirking. “You can apologize in the car. We’re late.”

Amy and her assistant, Tad, lead the way to the limo. It’s just the four of us and a light Secret Service contingent. This is an unscheduled, unannounced appearance at an extremely low-key event.

“This center is one of the few of its kind here in D.C., Josh. Any idea what kind of shelter it is?” The First Lady is definitely in a mood. None of this will be pleasant.

“The President said something about it being for disadvantaged women and children, ma’am, but I didn’t have time to do any research on it.” I choose my words carefully.

“You mean you didn’t have time to make your secretary do some research for you,” Amy says condescendingly.

I turn to my ex-girlfriend. “First of all, Amy, Donna is my assistant, not my secretary. Second of all, that’s her job. To assist me with, among other things, research.”

The First Lady fires the next salvo. “Josh, you do understand what a continuing problem sexual harassment is, don’t you? Women continue to endure sexually oriented comments and jokes in silence for fear of reprisals if they speak up. In some cases they’re even forced to have sex with their supervisors or lose their jobs. Women are continually confronted with glass ceilings in every industry. They are frequently made to feel subordinate to men regardless of their relative positions of power within an industry.”

“Ma’am, you’re preaching to the…” I try to get a word in edgewise.

“Shut up, Josh,” Mrs. B cuts me off. “You are the worst offender in the Administration. When was the last time you took a women’s position seriously? When was the last time you solicited advice or an opinion from a female staff member?”

I’m too shocked at what I’m being accused of to say anything.

“And you apparently don’t think it would be any big deal if you all of a sudden decided to start screwing Donna either.” Amy insinuates snidely.

I’ll put up with a lecture from Dr. Bartlet because I have to. I will not put up with this shit from Amy Gardner, Wicked Witch of the East Wing.

“I can think of many circumstances under which Donna and I could begin a relationship that would not constitute sexual harassment. And, with all due respect, all I ever said was I could understand situations where a relationship between a supervisor and his OR her subordinate would not be a bad thing. I’ve lobbied hard to get money spent on programs that mandate sexual harassment education in the workplace and I have never, ever withheld an available promotion from a deserving individual of either sex.

Gender is something I don’t consider at all in my hiring practices. I consider qualifications, aptitude and above all the desire to serve in hiring for the West Wing staff. If I were all you accused me of would I have ever hired Donna?”

Amy opens her mouth to launch a counterattack when Dr. Bartlet interrupts, finally answering her own first question. “The Dolly Madison Center is for women and children who have been abused. Not a crisis shelter where they first come after leaving an abuser, but a second stop. Where women can get counseling and start looking for housing of their own. They’re already servicing 14 women and 34 children. All of them are minorities. A good portion of them just completed some sort of drug or alcohol rehabilitation.”

“Sounds like a worthwhile project, ma’am.”

I’m not just blowing smoke up her ass, either. I’m a Democrat.

I believe in places like this.

The car stops, ending the conversation.

“Make yourself scarce,” the First Lady instructs me coldly, as she climbs out of the limo.

***

Braydon Ross’s mother, Joanna, was one of the first victims recovered, along with his sister Shanta. His grandmother is a formidable woman of 56. She is wailing at the heartache of losing her daughter, her granddaughter and her grandson. In all likelihood her third grandchild, a girl named Taja, will be pulled out before long. There is nothing I can do except comfort her in her grief and pray she’ll do the same for me when the body hauled from the pit is Josh’s.

***

“So?” Margaret is badgering me for the scoop on my date last night. “Tell me all about Mitch McDonnell.”

We’re spending our lunch strolling through Lafayette Park eating hot dogs from a street vendor. I can’t contain my disappointment. Last night was the worst date I’d had in years.

“Mitch McDonnell is allergic to peanuts.”

“Oh no,” Margaret shakes her head in sympathy. She’s been there, done that and doesn’t need the extraneous details. Bryce Carrington, a high profile civil rights lawyer, swelled up like a balloon during their one and only date. “I’ll bet Josh is just unbearable today.”

“Do you want to sit?” I ask, pointing at an unoccupied bench.

“That bad?”

Josh’s behavior before, during and after my dates is a West Wing legend. I’ve recently decided jealousy is what fuels his attempts to derail my social life, but I’m undecided on what to do about it. Especially after the Inauguration Incident. I need to figure something out soon; today has been unnerving in its abnormality.

“Honestly, Margaret? He hasn’t said a word. He didn’t say anything yesterday either when I told him I was leaving at 6 o’clock to go on a date.” I pause and look down at the napkin I’ve twisted into shreds. “I’m starting to worry about him.”

“When are you just going to grab him and do him in the middle of the bullpen?” my friend sighs.

“Margaret!” I screech, blushing down to my toes.

“Donna, the man is clearly infatuated with you. You know how you feel about him…”

“I don’t know how I feel about Josh,” I interrupt. “Besides, Leo would fire us both.”

Margaret exhibits her disdain with an inelegant snort. “Leo? Leo McGarry? Donna, Leo thinks Josh is actually his son and while he couldn’t remember his own anniversary, he does know true love when he sees it. He’d find a way to make it okay.”

Who knew Margaret was a closet romantic?

***

I try to sleep, but the images of Thursday afternoon keep flooding back. The crack of the sniper rifle. The sudden rush of Secret Service agents piling me into the car.

They run in slow motion now. The minivan hurtling past. The driver slumped over the steering wheel, dead. The screaming. The explosion. The squealing tires of the limo as it sped away.

What was Josh seeing, hearing? Did he know what was coming?

***

“Mr. President?” Those words, in the high-pitched voice of a small girl, accompany the tug on my trousers.

She can’t be much more than five I decide when I look down into a pair of huge, curious brown eyes.

A huge smile lights up her face when I squat down to her level and remove my sunglasses.

“No, sweetie, I’m not the President.” I’m not sure why this little girl would think I was President Bartlet.

Her smile fades at my response. “But you came with the Mrs. President.”

“The First Lady,” I correct her gently. “She needed to talk to me and this was the only time she had, so I got to come along.”

“Oh.” She continues to look disappointed that I’m not Jed Bartlet.

“I work for the President, though.”

“Really?” That tidbit perks her up.

“Yep.”

“What’s your name?” she asks, sounding suspicious.

“Josh.” I offer my hand to her.

She shakes it formally. “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Josh. I’m Taja Ross.”

Someone has taught her impeccable manners. “How old are you, Taja?”

“I’m six!” She puffs her chest out proudly.

“Do you live here?”

“Uh huh!” She starts bouncing up and down with excitement. “We moved here yesterday. Do you wanna see my room?”

I glance over my shoulder to where Mrs. Bartlet is talking to a group of well-dressed donors. Amy is with her and was abundantly clear they don’t need my presence. It wouldn’t kill me to let this little girl show off her room. I doubt she’s had much to be proud of in her six short years.

“Sure,” I take her hand and allow her lead me into the shelter.

The hallways are painted in a utilitarian beige color that doesn’t show dirt as readily as white. Taja guides me past several doors until we stop in front of one with a brass number seven tacked to it.

“This is the best place we’ve ever lived,” she announces before opening the door. “My brother, Braydon is asleep, so we have to be quiet.”

There is one double bed in the room, along with a rolling cot and a heavy wooden crib occupied by the sleeping baby. It’s obvious from the clutter everything her family owns is in this room.

“My sister, Shanta, and I sleep on the cot,” Taja whispers, tiptoeing to the crib to check on her brother. “And sometimes Mouser sleeps with us.”

“Mouser?” Talking with kids can be more confusing than talking to Donna.

“The kitty.” Taja explains, rolling her eyes at me.

“You have a cat?” I didn’t know shelters like this allowed pets.

“Mrs. Wilson does. Do you like kitties?”

“Yeah, I like cats.”

Okay, I hate Donna’s roommate’s cats, but they attack me in the middle of the night when I’m drunk. I don’t hate all cats, just those two.

Taja tugs on my hand again before I can say anything. “Come on. She’s down in the basement, probably. She sleeps down there during the day because it’s cooler.”

Before I take two steps, I hear it.

The distinct crack of gunfire.

The sound sends an incapacitating chill down my spine and my whole body tenses involuntarily.

Holy sh…

***

I’ve been wandering the West Wing in search of solace.

The Operations bullpen is barren, deserted at this late hour. Their fearless leader having fallen, the minions have retreated in an attempt to gather themselves for the rest of the fight.

The only people in the office on Saturday were the ones who had to be. Most of them are at the pit,forming an outer circle around the immediate families of the victims, waiting. I am reminded of the engine and ladder companies that would gather at the site of the World Trade Center to remove the bodies of their fallen comrades as they were recovered.

I’ve never seen such a look of devastation on Larry’s face as colors it these days.

They’ve accepted the unyielding fact that Josh is dead. It is etched on their faces.

I put it there.

I had to put the boy in his place.

Teach him a lesson.

Teach him what lesson?

That a man can’t fall in love with a woman if she works for him?

I was trying to close the barn door after the horses were already gone.

Will and Toby have joined CJ in her office. Lack of any other news on this Holy weekend has pushed the cable news stations into continuous coverage of the recovery efforts going on in south D.C. I can hear the coverage blaring as I approach.

My three senior staffers look away from the flickering televisions and acknowledge my arrival, but none of them stand.

“They found the baby,” CJ volunteers, offering me a vacant section of sofa.

“That leaves two?” I ask rhetorically.

Toby grunts an affirmative.

“It won’t be long.”

Will’s words only give us hope the nightmare will soon end.

***

I’ve watched the Secret Service secure the White House countless times, but there’s something different today.

“Mr. McGarry?” Ron Butterfield summons me to the Oval Office.

Jed is still seated at his desk, a sure sign there is no imminent threat.

Ron relays his information with surprising empathy. “There was an incident, sir. A few moments ago. At the shelter Mrs. Bartlet was dedicating.”

“What happened? Is Abbey all right?” Jed’s face whitens and he starts to stand up.

“All of our people are accounted for, sir. Mrs. Bartlet is on her way back to the Residence. A couple of her people were hit with some debris and are being taken to the hospital. A man in a minivan ran the two roadblocks the D.C. police had up. Our sniper got him, but the van ran into the building anyway and exploded. It was a suicide bomber. We’re not sure if it was targeted at you, sir, or Mrs. Bartlet. It is highly possible it was a coincidence.”

“A coincidence?” I ask in disbelief. “A nutcase drives a car bomb into a building the First Lady is in and it could be a coincidence?”

“With all due respect, sir, this was a shelter for battered and abused women. There is precedence for an abuser to come after his partner to try and kill her.” Ron points out.

Jed sits back down and exhales heavily. “But all of our people are accounted for? Do we know who was injured?”

“Yes, sir. Mrs. Bartlet’s Chief of Staff, Amy Gardner, and her assistant, Tad, both have superficial injuries.”

“Keep me posted?”

“Yes, sir.”

***

I’m not sure if Leo’s presence helps, but I appreciate it. He comes down every night for a couple hours and sits with me. We don’t talk. There’s nothing to say. We just sit under the television lights and stare into the wreckage of the shelter, praying for closure.

There are others here, but they don’t understand. They don’t understand what this senseless act ripped away from me, from Josh. What ifs and if onlys assault my every waking minute, but I can’t sleep. I’m afraid the minute I leave, they’ll find his body and I won’t be here to…

To what? To make the fateful phone call to the Oval Office? To beat my breast and grieve in front of the television cameras?

I don’t know why I’m here, but I can’t leave. It is as if my very existence is on hold.

***

Leo isn’t in his office when we get back from lunch, but I can see him in the Oval Office talking to President Bartlet and Ron Butterfield. They’re probably discussing whatever it is that’s going on.

The building isn’t actually locked down. We didn’t crash or anything, but there is an increased security presence. Margaret and I had to show our IDs at the main gate and again to get into the West Wing itself.

“Donna!” Leo greets me with a smile when he comes back into his office. “What can I do for you?”

“I wondered if I could talk to you about Josh,” I ask hesitantly.

“What did he do now?” he growls affectionately, gesturing for me to sit.

“Nothing, exactly.” I bite my lower lip and try to find the words to express the mixed emotions I’m experiencing.

“You know, he came to see me about thirty minutes ago.” Leo leans back in his chair and laces his hands behind his head. “About as tongue-tied as you are right now.”

“Josh came to talk to you? Today?” I shift forward, hoping I don’t look too eager.

Leo relaxes silently for a few minutes. It makes me nervous when he looks at me like this, like he’s peering directly into my soul. “Is it me or is Josh wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday?”

I have to think about it, to search my memory for an interaction I’ve had with Josh since last night when I went into his office to tell him I was leaving. He looked like he was wrapping up for the day, so I didn’t bother feeling guilty about going. He was wearing the new, dark blue suit he got last fall for the campaign season, a white shirt and the red power tie. I remember because I teased him about being dressed up for no apparent reason.

“I…” I stop and it clicks that I didn’t pay any attention to Josh this morning. I was trying to avoid him so he couldn’t mock me about my date. Except he hadn’t said anything last night except an admonishment to be careful. “I don’t know.”

“Josh and I are going to sit down and talk some more later today. I’m sure he’ll come find you after that.” Leo gives me a knowing, paternal smile. “In fact, when he gets back from being yelled at by the First Lady, send him to see me.”

“Why is the First Lady yelling at Josh?” I ask, pausing at the door.

Leo has already gone back to his paperwork, but I can make out a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “For something Josh said about how he could think of circumstances under which it would be acceptable for a man to date his secretary.”

***

Donna and I sit in silence, uncaring about the time that passes. The recovery teams have returned to work after the discovery of little Braydon Ross. They sift through the black, sooty sludge with backhoes, then load it into the dump trucks that stand as rumbling sentinels to the work.

There are so many things I want to say to her, but they all sound like false platitudes to my own ears. I settle, instead, for wrapping my arm around her shoulder and letting her rest her head on mine. She’s shivering from the cold and, most likely, the pain of loss.

It’s mid-April and even though the days have been warm and bright, the nights continue to be unseasonably cool and rainy. It is as if Mother Nature herself mourns with us at night.

***

I can’t breathe.

I absolutely can’t breathe.

Oh God.

A stabbing pain engulfing my arm is the only indication I have that this isn’t a decades old nightmare.

Oh God.

Taja… Taja was with me… Where’s…

“TAJA!” I scream the little girl’s name peering into the thick, black smoke.

I can barely see the outline of her body sprawled just beyond my reach.

The floor must have given way under us. I dare a glance up through the smoke and can see the bright orange flames licking at the ceiling of the basement.

Oh God.

“Taja?” I call again, stamping down on my rising panic while I scramble over the burning, splintered wood beams toward the sound of a child crying hysterically.

“Mr. Josh?” she whimpers when I reach her.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” I choke out. The acrid smoke aggravates my throat and lungs. I reach out with my left hand to feel for any broken bones or holes in her body.

My right arm doesn’t want to cooperate.

Taja manages a muffled “uh huh” between hiccupping sobs. She’s clutching her baby brother’s body. I’m not a doctor, but given his lack of well… anything, I don’t think the boy survived the fifteen-foot drop.

Bits of burning debris are floating through the air and the little girl flinches every time some land on her. She’s wearing a thin tank top and shorts. Only one cheap, plastic flip-flop remains on her foot.

“Here.” I struggle out of my suit jacket and drape it over her head to protect her.

We’re in a corner of the basement, twelve feet or so under a pair of small, square windows. Taja might be able to fit through one of them. If I could figure out a way to get her up there.

Before I can give the problem much more thought, something else catches my attention.

The faint smell of gas.

***

Never tempt the wrath of the thing from high atop the whatever.

Josh did and look what happened. He finally talked to Leo about pursuing Donna and he gets killed before he can talk to her. It is as if Vulcan himself is extracting some sort of sick revenge on Josh for escaping his grasp thirty-odd years ago.

President Bartlet sat with us for almost twenty minutes before excusing himself to go check on the First Lady. I know both of them are suffering over this. Each blaming themselves for what has happened: the President for ‘punishing’ Josh for being honest; Mrs. Bartlet for not understanding what Josh really meant.

I, myself, am simply saddened at the loss of a good friend. A good friend who had so much life left to live.

***

“There was a second explosion.” Ron is giving us an update from his people on the scene. CJ is sitting in on this one in preparation for the official White House statement on the tragedy. The First Lady just got back and is here as well, proving to Jed she’s perfectly fine, outside of a minor bump to the head that left a small bruise.

“What caused it?” Abbey inquires. She seems slightly shell-shocked, but pretty with it, all things considered.

“A ruptured gas line in the basement is what the Fire Marshal thinks right now.”

“How about casualties?” CJ looks up from scribbling notes.

“Preliminary estimate is 70 injured, 10 known fatalities, 15 known missing from the attendees list we have on file and 24 uninjured. They’re certain the death toll is going to rise. Our agents on the scene have been using the word inferno.”

The President dismisses CJ to go do her press briefing once Ron is finished. Abbey, Jed and I wander into my office to watch on the closed circuit television.

“How’s Amy Gardner?” I ask, in an effort to fill the silence.

“She’ll be fine,” Abbey waves it off. “Just needs a few stitches. I told her to go home for the rest of the day, but she’s the type to come back to work after something like this.”

Speaking of returning to work. “Josh got back okay?”

“Hmm?”

“Josh?” I repeat. “He got back alright?”

“Oh… Yeah, I think so.” She stops to think for about it before continuing. “He wasn’t in the car with us, but the Bryce said he accounted for all our people,”

***

I briefed at 2 o’clock on Thursday and again two hours later, updating the death toll. I called a full lid after the seven o’clock, not knowing I’d be back at eight to announce that this time, Josh Lyman hadn’t escaped the hands of Fate.

The driver of the minivan was a man named Goldy Thompson. His long-time girlfriend, and the mother of his three children, finally got tired of him coming home drunk every night and beating the crap out of her and the kids. She saved up a little bit of money and left him six weeks ago. Turns out a guy in the neighborhood recognized his friend’s oldest daughter, Taja, playing in the yard yesterday and told Goldy about it.

Goldy Thompson worked for a construction company and stole a significant amount of explosives Thursday morning from the jobsite. He loaded them up in the family minivan along with some portable gasoline containers. Three hours later, he drove the van into the newly christened Dolly Madison Center.

And Josh… Josh was just along for the ride. He made the fateful mistake of taking five minutes to befriend a little girl. A little girl who probably reminded him of his sister.

***

“How’s Josh?” Danny and Katie both follow me out of the Press Room despite my having just called a full lid.

“I haven’t had a chance to talk to him all day, guys. But I’ll pass along your concern.” I’m tired and cranky and not in the mood to play games with reporters.

Danny steps around me, effectively stopping my advance. His words are hurried and whispered. “See, CJ, the reason we’re asking you like this is because Katie saw him in some of the video W*USA is airing.”

“What?” I demand. Loudly.

Katie glares at me. “Keep your voice down. We’re trying to help you out here. I saw him going into the building before the car bombing. He was with a little girl. I swear to God, CJ, it was Josh.”

Oh, Jesus.

“I’ve got to go see…” I mumble, almost tripping over myself to get to the Leo’s office.

“Leo!” Toby and I arrive at the same time. Both of us pull up short when we see the Chief of Staff is on the phone.

Toby manages to contain himself long enough for Leo to hang up, but not an instant longer.

“Where the hell is Josh!?” he demands. “I’ve taken fifteen phone calls since two o’clock about meetings he missed. Important meetings, Leo. One of them was with the Supreme Court liaison to talk about the wording in the welfare bill. The revised welfare bill we’ve been trying to get out of committee for the last six months?”

My heart plummets to my stomach at Toby’s words.

Leo shakes his head and motions for us to follow him into the Oval Office.

“I just got off the phone with the front gate,” he addresses the President and Ron Butterfield, but is including Toby and I in his explanation. “They confirm Josh hasn’t signed in or out since he came back from the Hill yesterday afternoon. Abbey says he rode with her and Amy to the shelter, but they both lost track of him there. D.C. Fire Rescue says they have no unidentified victims at this point. But parts of the site are still burning, so they haven’t been able to get in and look for any bodies. The Fire Marshal wasn’t very optimistic about anyone inside surviving the secondary gas-line explosion. Right now they’re looking for 15 people who are unaccounted for. Two of them are children.”

“Leo? Katie says one of the local affiliates has a piece of video showing Josh going into the shelter before the car bomb,” I whisper, not bothering to wonder why Josh would have been at the dedication this afternoon.

Leo says nothing; he blinks a few times and staggers to his office. The crack of his door slamming shut is the only release of his emotions.

President Bartlet goes white, opening and closing his mouth wordlessly several times. “I shouldn’t have… He shouldn’t have…”

***

“Hold!”

That call from the recovery worker in the pit sends chills down my spine.

It will either be the little girl and I’ll have to comfort Vivian again or it will be Josh and my world will end. Until they actually find his body I have hope, as slim a chance as it may be.

Leo squeezes my hand, causing me to glance over at him. His eyes are fixed straight ahead, jaw set, waiting.

Waiting for this to end.

***

This isn’t good.

No part of this is good.

Again, excruciating pain is the only indication I have that I’m actually alive and awake. Well, that and the terrified whimpers coming from the small child who is clinging to me. Her tears dampen my undershirt, causing me to wonder what happened to my dress shirt and tie.

A heartbeat later, I remember. I woke up once before and I couldn’t breathe. I ripped up my dress shirt for Taja and I to use as makeshift respirators.

We’re trapped in a tiny air pocket, encased by chunks of concrete and brick and smoldering lumber. There’s no room to move: my body is curled protectively around Taja’s and neither of us is going anywhere without help.

Help would be good about now.

I hurt as bad as I’ve ever hurt in my life. This might actually be worse than getting shot. My mouth is filled with the metallic taste of blood and my back literally feels like it’s on fire.

Maybe if I just go to sleep again, I’ll wake up and it will be a dream.

***

It’s been 15 minutes since they started digging by hand again and they still haven’t called for the medical examiner.

“I’m going to look,” I squeeze Donna’s hand again and get to my feet.

Standing on the very edge of the pit, I can see the workers digging through the sludge and debris. They scoop it into wheelbarrows, which are hoisted out as they’re filled. This is the opposite end of the basement from where the gas line ruptured and is evidently where the extra construction materials were stored.

The area they’re excavating is around a section of the concrete foundation that collapsed.

“We’re going to need a jackhammer!”

***

Our agents on the scene have been using the word inferno.

Mr. McGarry, anybody in that building when the gas line blew is part of the rubble. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but I don’t see how anybody could survive. It would take a miracle.

Sweet Jesus.

Josh…

I’ll have to call Ruth.

I have to tell Donna.

I wasn’t in the waiting room when Toby told Donna about the shooting, but I heard about her reaction and I am not looking forward to seeing it firsthand. And Ruth… Ruth won’t take it well at all, but at least I don’t have to face her right away.

I let myself have two minutes before I head into the West Wing, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other.

“Donna?”

I startle her.

“Oh! Hi, Leo.” She jumps to her feet. “Josh hasn’t come back yet.”

“I know. Let’s go into his office, okay?”

She should have some privacy when I tell her we’ve figured out why Josh hasn’t come back.

“Leo?” Donna asks fearfully when I close the door.

“Josh wasn’t on the Secret Service’s list of attendees, so they didn’t account for him when they brought the First Lady back,” I begin.

The young woman in front of me begins to shake in denial. “No… no… Leo, please, no…” she whispers, shirking away from me like I’m Jack the Ripper.

“Donna,” I step toward her, reaching out a hand to comfort her.

“No!” The young woman wails as the sobs overwhelm her. “NO!”

Margaret appears from nowhere, pulling Donna into her arms. Carol, Bonnie, Ginger, they flood Josh’s office to offer their friend what support they can. Feeling more than a trifle out of place, I ease out of the room. CJ, Toby and Will are hovering around the perimeter of the bullpen. They must have gathered the senior assistants.

“They’ll take care of her,” Toby mutters, almost to himself. “Better than any of us can.”

“Josh came to see me this afternoon,” I tell the three remaining senior staffers. “He told me he was in love with her and couldn’t hide it anymore.”

“What did you tell him?” CJ asks, curiously. We’ve had a couple of different contingence plans in place for several years waiting for one or the other of them to act on their rather blatant feelings.

I shake my head, suddenly feeling my age for the first time in a long time. “We didn’t get to finish. He’d barely told me how he felt before President Bartlet came in and yelled at him for pissing off Abbey.”

***

Abbey is curled up on a sofa in the Residence staring at the TV coverage of the recovery efforts. I sit next to her, wrapping my arm around her shoulders.

All three of our girls and their families are here for Easter. Our grandchildren are asleep in the next room. Children and grandchildren are a special gift from God. A gift Josh will never know.

Fox News has a camera focused on Donna, forcing me into the role of voyeur to her personal tragedy while the talking head is speculating about who they’re likely to bring out next.

They ramble on about Josh. About his life’s accomplishments, his work, how many people he’s pissed off and harassed over the years. Words like ‘cocky’ and ‘arrogant’ are tossed about as if you can sum up the complexity of Josh Lyman in such a way. From the commentary you wonder if anyone will really miss him, now that he’s gone.

Donna’s face, all the while, conveys the true message. This man, so professional, so tough and unforgiving on the outside, inspired people’s lives in a way that can’t be described with mere words.

***

“What were you talking to Josh about?”

It’s nearly two o’clock on Friday morning. I’m keeping Jed company while he slowly drinks his way through a bottle of scotch. Mostly my attention is riveted on the television where we’re watching the D.C. Fire Department shifting through the carnage. Every so often I can see Donna’s blonde figure in the gathering crowd of bystanders. She went down there as soon as the fire department got the flames out.

I doubt she’ll leave until they find Josh.

“Hmm?” I tear my eyes from the screen and focus them on the man across from me.

“Earlier. When I interrupted you. What were you talking to Josh about?”

“Oh, he finally…” I stop, remembering what precipitated Josh’s ill-fated field trip. The discussions I’ve had with senior staffers regarding the eventuality that unfolded in my office this afternoon have never included the President. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“No, Leo. Josh finally what?” Jed presses forward with his question.

I sigh deeply. What I’m going to say will increase Jed’s guilt ten-fold and though I’d rather not, he is asking.

“He came to talk to me about Donna.”

“Donna? What about Donna?” My old friend seems genuinely confused.

“About how he feels about her.”

I watch as the realization of It hits him. Everyone sees It. The thing Josh and Donna have. Had. The supernatural bond between them defies explanation. It just is. It is Josh and Donna.

“Donna?” he asks tentatively, having seen the young woman in my office before we found out about Josh.

“Came to see me today as well.” I tell him. “For the same reason.”

***

The first truth I learned as a quasi-official member of the Bartlet Administration was that Josh Lyman, the White House Deputy Chief of Staff, was infatuated with his assistant.

And he knew it was starting to become obvious.

I mean, seriously, we stood in the middle of a public street and threw snowballs at Donna’s window so he could essentially apologize for being a shortsighted ninny in his own sick and twisted way.

Except it’s become more Greek tragedy than Disney fairy tale at this point.

Toby brought up Josh’s sister a couple of hours ago, muttering something about Vulcan and tempting the wrath… I didn’t follow him entirely but I did gather this is not the first time Josh has had a run-in with fire and Fate.

I keep catching glimpses of Donna on television and she looks like I imagine my mother would have if a notification team had knocked on her door to tell her my father had been killed or captured. She looks like her world has ended.

Except hers ended before it had a chance to begin.

***

“Mr. Josh?” Taja whimpers into my neck. Her warm breath draws me from the comfort of the darkness.

“What is it, sweetie?” I mumble.

With wakefulness comes a return of the pain. Pain in my arm. Pain in my back. Pain when I breathe. I shift a little, trying to get my left arm out from under my body.

“I’m scared,” she tells me in a small voice. Her hands tightly clench my undershirt and I can feel the scratchy wool of my suit jacket against my skin. It must still be wrapped around her. It’s very hard to see in our tomb.

“Everything’s going to be okay, I promise. They’re going to find us and get us out of here.” I’m not sure I even believe me, but tenuous hope is all I can offer.

The temperature has dropped considerably, even though the fire still smolders around us. We were lucky to be sheltered by the leftover stacks of bricks and concrete blocks.

“Tell me a story?” Taja begs.

“What kind of story?” I ask, wracking my brain to remember a fairy tale.

“About princesses and princes.” The little girl is almost indignant at my request for clarification.

“Hmm…” Think, Lyman. You have to know a fairy tale… Donna would know a fairy tale…

Donna.

The way my gut twists when I think about what she’s going through is almost worse than the physical pain. Maybe if I keep thinking about Donna, it’ll help pass the time.

“There once was a beautiful young woman named Donnatella. She lived on a farm with her father and mother and younger sister. They owned many, many… cows.” I begin, making my story up as I go, drawing strength from the memory of Donna’s witty smile to suppress the blinding agony I’m in.

The ending won’t be difficult to determine. The smart, engaging farm girl will prove herself valuable to the arrogant prince and they will live happily ever after, bantering all the while, stopping only long enough to make blonde, happy babies.

***

These have been the three longest days of my life. Far worse than the 14 hours of surgery because at the end of that I knew Josh was going to live. At the end of this will be his funeral.

Leo is still standing at the edge of the shelter’s foundation, watching. It’s just after 6 o’clock in the morning; the sun will be rising soon. Six hours since they found the last body. Three hours since they started digging by hand for the next one.

“MEDIC!”

Leo turns suddenly and frantically gestures for me to join him.

***

We’ve settled into something of a routine. During the day, when the temperature’s more comfortable, we both sleep. At night, we huddle together for warmth and I make up stories until I can’t talk anymore. I have no idea what I’ve told her, I can’t seem to remember one minute to the next. The one thought I cling to is Donna. Life with Donna when I’m freed from this prison.

Taja has stopped complaining about being hungry and thirsty. She only says how cold and scared she is. I try my best to reassure her, but coherent thought is a stretch at this point.

“Mr. Josh? Are you in love with her?” Taja asks out of nowhere.

“Am I in love with who?”

“Princess Donnatella.”

“Very much so, sweetie,” I reply. The pounding in my head makes lying too much trouble. “I love her very much.”

“My daddy doesn’t love my mommy. He beat her up all the time. That’s how come we left,” Taja says solemnly.

“Your mommy was very brave to protect you like that.” I rub her back with my left hand to console her. I finally wiggled my arm out from under my body and Taja’s head now rests on it, getting what comfort she can.

I can just barely see my watch now. It’s Saturday morning and the sun should be up soon. I can hear the hum and crunch of machinery. I’d yell, but don’t have the strength for it. I can’t begin to draw that deep a breath.

***

I hold my breath, letting Donna clutch my hand, as the workers clear away the remains of the concrete they had to break up. A bright orange stretcher lays vacant nearby and an EMT is kneeling in the rubble. Despite the thousands of watts of work lights shining into the basement, I can’t see who she’s working on.

***

Taja’s voice seems so far away. I have no desire to open my eyes, but she’s shaking me, jostling my bad arm and I startle to wakefulness with a scream of agony.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Josh… I’m sorry.” She’s crying uncontrollably and I finally realize why.

Our cramped, protective burrow is shaking, stirring up dust and crap. Whatever machines they’re using to clear out the debris must be close.

“Okay, sweetie. Tuck your head under here,” I instruct, trying to shield her tiny body with my own.

The dull roar grinds to a stop and a sharper, closer noise cascades around us. Chips of concrete start pinging off my body, adding fresh insult to injury.

***

The medics gingerly place a small, squirming body on the orange stretcher and begin making their way to the ground level. It has to be Vivian’s granddaughter! I dash from Leo’s side to tell her the good news.

“Vivian!” I scream, grabbing her hand and dragging the poor woman toward the ambulance. “Taja’s alive!”

“Taja?” She calls pushing her way through the throng of cameras to reach the little girl’s side.

“Grandma!” Taja is sitting up on the bumper of the ambulance while the EMTs examine her. Tears are tracking down her grime-covered face.

“She’s dehydrated and has a few nicks and cuts, but otherwise she seems okay,” a woman whose nametag reads ‘Kathy’ says with a smile. “We’re going to take her to Children’s to get checked out.”

As they load her up, I can faintly hear her asking where her ‘Mr. Somebody’ is. I didn’t catch the name in the slamming of the doors, but I pray it was Josh, since I’m certain she has his suit jacket wrapped around her shoulders.

***

“Josh? Josh, stay with me!”

Some overly exuberant kid is shining a light into my eyes. I’m not sure where he thinks I’m going to go. I’m sure as hell not going to fit through that hole they just took Taja out of.

I think I’ll just go back to sleep until they figure it out. I let my eyes fall shut and think about Donna. She’s done a damn fine job of keep Joanie in her box the past few days, let me tell you. Not that I don’t adore my sister, but she always brings nightmares and makes it hard to breathe.

Donna brings peace and calm.

“AAAHHH!!” I squint against the lights, trying to discern which bastard touched my arm so I can kill him when I get out of here.

“Stay with me, Josh!” The same annoying voice.

***

I’m dumbfounded at what CNN’s Bill Hemmer appears to be saying.

“Toby?” I squeak. “Did Bill just say the little girl is alive?”

Toby is speechless. His hand unconsciously strokes his beard as he takes in the view from CNN’s camera.

“Do you think…” Will begins.

“Don’t!” Toby and I both yell.

“Don’t say it,” Toby repeats, slightly calmer. “Don’t tempt it.”

The three of us continue to watch and listen. We watch them carry the young girl to the ambulance and listen to her grandmother’s cries of joy.

***

The sun is starting to rise as they carefully pull me out of the enlarged gap in the concrete. I finally realize how badly my arm is broken when one of the workers looks at it and then promptly pukes.

I’m not much help. My legs won’t support my weight, cramped as they’ve been for the past three days. The bright orange rescue litter sits waiting while medics try to figure out how to leverage me on to it without aggravating my arm injury.

“What’s your name, sir?” According to his shirt, this guy is Chip.

“Josh,” I reply, my voice crackly from lack of water. “Josh Lyman.”

“Where do you work, Josh?” Chip asks, shining his penlight in my eyes.

Where the hell do I work? Oh wait…

The White House.

“Who’s the President?”

“My boss.” I’m tired and it’s fewer syllables than ‘Jed Bartlet.’

“Are you always this big a smart ass, Josh?” Chip has his hand on my left shoulder, essentially holding me upright.

“Bigger.”

“We’ve got problem,” a woman says from behind me. I think her name was Meg.

“Josh?” Meg O’Reilly, M.D., takes Chip’s place, peering into my eyes. “We’re going to give you something to put you out while we transport you, okay?”

Like I have an actual choice here and like they need to give me anything. Leave me the hell alone and I’ll be out in like two seconds.

I nod and look up toward the sunrise. In that instant, I see her, the rising sun casting a halo around her.

“Donna,” I croak, pointing a shaky finger at her before Meg has a chance to dope me up. “I need to talk to Donna, first.”

***

Abbey and I fell asleep on the sofa in front of the television. She’s still asleep; her head nestled against my shoulder, our hands entwined.

In four hours several thousand children and their parents will descend on the White House for the Annual Easter Egg Roll. Abbey and I and most of the staff have to be there.

I am not at all looking forward to ‘celebrating’ Easter this year. Not in the face of this tragedy. I reach for the remote, turning the TV on to get the latest update.

After watching for a few moments, I shake Abbey’s shoulder.

“What?” she growls, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

“A survivor.” It’s all I can bring myself to say as we watch the tape of rescue workers carrying the small child toward a waiting ambulance.

No sooner do they switch back to a live picture, than Charlie knocks and enters the room. “Sir? Leo’s on the phone.”

He hands me the phone and turns his attention to the TV.

***

“Is one of you named Donna?” A construction worker is asking the assembled group. He looks as if he’s been up for a week.

“I am,” I step forward shakily, fearing what he will probably tell me.

“We’re sorry, Miss Moss. We were able to get Taja Ross out alive, but Josh Lyman is dead.”

“Somebody wants to talk to you.” He hands me a hard hat and gestures for me to follow him.

I glance back at Leo, who has pulled his phone out and is nodding at me to go.

“Watch your step,” the man warns, guiding me down some wooden planks they’ve set up as a ramp.

I can smell burned flesh once I get into the basement and make my way to the knot of people.

One of the medics approaches, stopping me before I can get any closer than fifteen feet.

“Donna?” he asks, extending his hand. “I’m Chip Wilson.”

“Donna Moss. What’s going on?” My voice is trembling of its own accord.

“You know Josh Lyman, correct?”

“Yes. He’s… he’s my boss… my best friend, too… but…”

“He says he has to talk to you before we put him under to move him.” Chip smiles at me.

“Talk to me? He’s alive?” My hands fly to cover my mouth and the tears start before I can even blink.

“He’s pretty banged up. Don’t touch his right arm, okay?” The young man takes my arm and leads me further into the destruction.

Josh is propped up on the edge of a hole in a slab of concrete. Catching a glimpse of inside, I see the space might be four feet by three feet at the most. Setting eyes on Josh, I can see why I shouldn’t touch his right arm. Bone pokes through the skin.

Two or three people move from his good side to make room for me and I kneel in the black, chalky soot, unmindful of my clothes.

He’s covered in blood and grime and he’s never looked better to me.

“Josh?” I reach out to touch the side of his face. “Oh, Josh…”

“Donna,” he turns his head toward me. His voice fills with wonderment. “You are here.”

“I’m here, Josh.” I catch Chip’s eye, he’s gesturing to his companion: a woman holding a syringe. “They’re going to put you to sleep for a while, okay? But I’ll be there when you wake up.”

“Okay,” he mouths.

Only after his eyes roll back in his head and he’s out, do they move him.

From the front and side, even, it appears as if he’s still wearing his t-shirt. It’s when they lay him out, face down on the stretcher that I learn why they wanted to sedate him.

“Oh my God!” I gasp.

“It’s probably a good thing the burns look that bad. The blistering is actually a good sign. With any kind of luck, it’s no worse than second degree burns. Probably from the initial flash over during the natural gas explosion. The two of them were pretty sheltered,” Meg explains, guiding me out of the rubble.

***

“Daddy?” I call from the doorway to their bedroom. I’m not allowed to go in without permission, even when the door is open.

“What?”

“Are you going to work?” I don’t understand why he’s wearing work clothes on a Saturday night. Daddy doesn’t work on Saturday.

“No, Josh. Your mom and I are going out for dinner tonight.”

“Can I go?”

“No. You and Joanie are staying home. Joanie’s old enough to look after you.”

“I don’t want you to go.” Something bad is going to happen while they’re gone. I know it.

Daddy picks me up and sets me on the bed, then sits down next to me. His words are stern. “Joshua, you’re going to be five in a couple of days and next month you’ll start school. It’s time for you to stop acting like a baby.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I say, trying not to burst into tears. Only babies cry. Only babies are afraid something bad will happen when their parents go away.

He sighs and shakes his head. “Joanie is going to be here. Everything will be fine.”

***

“Are you watching this?” Leo demands, excitedly.

“What’s going on?” My brain hasn’t quite caught up with the events of the moment. “Did I hear correctly that they found the little girl? Alive?”

“Yes, sir, they did.”

Leo must be walking; I can hear the background noise changing.

“Hold on a second, Mr. President,” he says.

I can hear Donna screaming over Leo’s cell phone, but I can’t understand what she’s saying.

When Leo returns to the phone, he sounds reborn. “Mr. President? They’re taking Josh to GW. Donna’s going in the ambulance, sir, and she’ll keep us updated.”

***

We were dozing in shifts: one of us watching television at all times. We must have all fallen asleep, because everyone jumps when the phone next to my head rings.

“CJ Cregg,” I answer by rote.

“They’re own their way to GW. Get somebody to call Josh’s insurance company and get his treatment pre-approved this time.”

“Are you telling me he’s alive? Because, Leo, it’s Easter and that would be a damn cruel joke to play!” I screech into the phone.

“The prodigal son has risen from the dead, CJ,” Leo’s actually laughing from relief.

“GW?” I confirm.

“GW.”

***

“Excuse me, ma’am?” A nurse blocks my way, keeping me from following Josh. “Are you family?”

Oh shit! The new privacy regulations. There is no way they’ll let me stay with him unless I’m family… Think fast…

“He’s my fiancé,” I lie, hoping it was smooth enough.

The large black woman looks at me intently. “Mm hmm,” she shakes her head, but steps out of my way and gives me directions to the burn unit. “They’ll take him there first.”

By the time I arrive, they’ve cut the rest of Josh’s clothes off and no less than three doctors are poking at the burnt skin on his back. Another is examining the cuts on his head and two technicians are using a portable x-ray machine to take pictures of his arm.

I have to watch from the hallway, the room he’s in is sterilized to help prevent infection.

***

“We’re looking for Josh Lyman. He was just brought in from…” We probably resemble nothing more than the Three Stooges, piling to a stop in front of the information desk.

“I’m sorry,” the older woman working the desk points to a sign detailing the new HIPAA regulations. “I can’t release information without the patient’s consent.”

Toby steps forward before I can try to reason with her. “I don’t think you understand. We were sent here by the President of the United States, the man who signed that damn legislation…”

“Toby!” I hiss, grabbing his shoulder and pointing over the old woman to Donna, who is exiting the elevator.

“Excuse us,” I hear Will apologize behind us.

“They’re prepping him for surgery,” Donna begins when the three of us skid to a halt in front of her.

“Donna!” Leo, with Charlie hot on his heels, bursts into the hospital lobby.

Thank God it’s a holiday and the place is nearly deserted.

“They’re doing something called hydrotherapy,” Donna starts over. “Then he’s going to surgery. It’s mainly because of his arm and shoulder, but they’re going to work on the burns, too.”

Arm? Burns? Toby, Will and I trade glances. “Start at the very beginning,” I order, wanting to get my facts straight before talking to the press.

“Let’s find a waiting room, shall we?” Leo suggests pointedly.

“Mommy? I don’t want you to go.” The oldest kid trick in the book: play one parent against the other. I waited for Daddy to go talk to Joanie and then snuck into my parents’ bathroom.

“Your father and I are only going to be gone for a couple of hours. Joanie’s here. You won’t be alone.”

“I don’t want you to go!” I’m not above pouting in front of Mommy as long as Daddy isn’t in the room.

“Joshua, Daddy and I haven’t had a nice dinner out with friends since before you were born. You need to stop acting like a baby and behave for your sister.”

“Joshua Malachi Lyman!” My father’s voice booms from behind me.

Whoops. I turn around, staring at the blaze orange shag carpet.

“I just had this conversation with you,” he thunders. “Your mother and I are going out tonight while you stay home with your sister. I have had it with your whining tonight. I want you to go to your room and get ready for bed.”

Bed? I hesitate, looking out the window in confusion. It’s still light outside. I have to go to bed?

He picks me up and throws me over his shoulder when I don’t move right away. When he puts me down in my room, I’m frightened by how angry he is. I am in some serious trouble.

“Put your pajamas on and go to bed. You are not to leave this room until tomorrow morning,” he scolds harshly. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” I mumble, again struggling to control my tears. I have never seen my father this angry.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

He stands with his arms folded across his chest while I put on my yellow and brown plaid pajamas and climb into bed.

“If Joanie hears a peep out of you tonight, I’m going to put you over my knee. Are we clear on what behavior I expect from you?”

I nod solemnly from under the covers. “Yes, sir.”

Daddy slams the door shut without another word. I throw myself face first into my pillow after he goes, crying pitifully because he doesn’t love me.

***

Everything they do to me hurts, I’ve gasping from the pain, struggling to not let it get the better of me. Donna promised she’d be here when I woke up, but she wasn’t and for some reason that hurts as much whatever it is they’re doing to my back.

A nurse crouches down in my limited line of sight. “On a scale of one to ten, where are you at pain-wise?”

I always figured the experience of getting shot in the chest would be my permanent pain barometer, but this is taking it to new heights.

“Eleven,” I choke out, flinching as something or someone comes into contact with my back.

“I’d tell you that’s a good sign, but I doubt you’d believe me,” the woman flashes me a sympathetic smile. “We’re going to give you some pain meds, but we don’t want to put you out.”

Why the hell not? I want to be unconscious and I want to be unconscious now, damn it.

She must see the question in my eyes because she reaches out to pat my left hand. “You’ve got a concussion, Josh. We’re just trying to be safe.”

Okay, see, my head got pummeled by falling concrete three days ago. If I were going to die of a brain hemorrhage, I’d have done it already. Don’t ya think? Just put me out of my misery…

***

“You’re in trouble!” Joanie sings from outside the doorway to my room.

“Go away!” I scream. I hate my sister. She’s always doing stuff and blaming it on me. Like when she was pretending to conduct the New York Symphony last week and knocked our family picture off the wall and broke the frame. She told Daddy I did it playing baseball in the house.

“I’m going to tell Dad you got out of bed!” she calls through the door.

I bite back my sarcastic reply because she will and then I’ll really be in trouble. Daddy only spanks us when we’ve been very, very, very bad. I think I’ve only gotten spanked once in my whole life and it was last month for something I didn’t even do.

“You’re in trouble! You’re in trouble!” Joanie continues to taunt me. “I’m going to go make popcorn and you can’t have any!”

“Don’t care,” I whisper into my pillow, knowing if she hears me, I’m dead.

***

I’ve held press conferences in many places, but this is a first: standing on the South Lawn in the midst of the annual White House Easter Egg Roll, talking about nothing short of a miracle.

Once the gathered reporters indicate their readiness, I begin reciting the information Donna gave me. “Josh suffered 2nd degree burns to 40% of his body. Right now, the doctor didn’t think skin grafting will be necessary, but that could change. He also has a compound fracture in his right arm, the radius bone, along with a dislocated shoulder, a pretty significant concussion and a raging infection or six.”

I pause long enough for the reporters to have their chuckle.

“He’s in surgery, as we speak, to put the arm back together using an intricate series of pins and plates that will have Josh setting metal detectors off throughout government buildings across D.C.” I decide to leave out the rather disgusting details about scraping the dead skin off his back.

“I’m not taking any questions right now. I’ll brief you again when he’s out of surgery and we have an update from the hospital.”

***

I wake up because I’m coughing. My room is filled with smoke.

Oh no… What… Why is there smoke? I can’t breathe and it’s making my eyes water.

My first instinct is to find Joanie and get her to make it stop.

But I’m not supposed to leave my room! Daddy said if I left my room and he found out, I’d be in trouble.

The window is open so I climb into my window seat and breath the air from outside. I hope Joanie remembers me soon, ‘cause I’m scared.

***

Sunday and Monday are complete blurs. Today isn’t shaping up to be much better. Josh remains in the burn care unit because he’s running a temperature of over 101. The fever is a result of the infections and the possibility he’s allergic to the pins they put in his arm. He’s in tremendous pain when he’s awake, which isn’t very often. And when he is, he’s delirious.

Carrie and Bob knock once on the window before they enter to change his bandages. It’s a ritual that’s performed every four hours like clockwork. Keeping the heavy dressings wet and fresh facilitates the healing process.

“Josh?” I call softly, shaking his good shoulder to rouse him.

“Hmm?” He opens his eyes in confusion and actually whimpers at the sight of the therapists.

“C’mon, Josh,” I cajole, taking his hand.

Bob and I ease him onto his stomach, allowing Carrie to carefully peel off the bandages. Josh’s back is still red and blistered. The pain really is a positive indicator – it means the nerve endings are still alive.

It’s about to get worse, unfortunately.

The skin has to be stretched to promote elasticity during healing and ensure there are no mobility problems in the future. In the present, however, Josh is on the verge of a breakdown from the simple exercises we’re putting him through.

“I’m sorry, Josh,” I whisper when we’ve finished, brushing his hair back before wiping his forehead with a cool, damp cloth.

He just closes his pain-filled eyes and fumbles for my hand again, squeezing it.

I put the rag down and it isn’t long before he fades out again. Even in his sleep, you can see the anguish etched in his face. The painkillers take the edge off, but not enough.

***

It’s really hot and smoky in my room now. I can’t even breathe through the window anymore. I can hear crackling outside my door, like when Mommy lights a fire in the fireplace during Hanukkah.

I know Daddy said I wasn’t supposed to leave my room, but I think Joanie forgot about me.

I’m so scared.

Tears are still pouring down my face, but now it isn’t because they don’t love me. It’s ‘cause I’m scared.

Taking one last look around the room, I grab my blanket and open the door. The knob burns my hand.

I scream at what I see: the whole hallway is on fire!

I run through the flames blindly and dash down the stairs as fast as my short legs will carry me. The stairs lead to the back door, which is shut and it won’t open. I burn my other hand on this knob.

What am I going to do? The house is on fire and I can’t get out!

Inspiration strikes when I crumple to the floor, bawling. Right in front of my nose is the dog door for the dog we don’t have. I’ve snuck out into the yard through it before.

Dragging my blanket with me, I crawl through and get to my feet.

One thought propels me into my secret hiding place in the bushes next to our neighbor’s yard: Joanie’s going to find a way to blame this on me and I’m going to be in big trouble.

***

I feel like I’ve stepped out of the fog and can suddenly see again. For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not in mind-numbing agony when I open my eyes. What I am is unbelievably thirsty.

“Donna?” I mumble through cracked lips, hoping she’s there.

“Josh?” Her voice is laced with worry and fatigue.

“Can I have some water?” I rasp.

“Not very much, okay?” Donna instructs, inserting the straw between my lips.

When I’ve sipped enough to slate my desire, I let my head fall back against the pillow. “How long?”

Donna’s hand is cool on my brow. “How long have you been out?”

I shake my head, exhausted by the minimal effort I’ve put forth. “All of it?”

“It’s Wednesday morning, so it’s been almost a full week. Three days since they pulled you out,” she fills in the largest blanks. “How are you feeling?”

I genuinely think about it before answering. “Sore. I ache all over.”

She nods. “I’d imagine so. Do you think you’re up to visitors? There are some people want to talk to you as soon as they can about what happened. And there’s a serious waiting list of people from work who want to see you, as well.”

***

Both the fire and police investigators have been calling twice a day to see if Josh is in any condition to remember what transpired. I put my foot down and said only one of them could question him when he finally woke up.

I also got a phone call from Vivian Ross this morning. Taja has been out of the hospital for a couple of days and is adamant about seeing ‘Mr. Josh’ and making sure he’s okay. She was sorry for bothering me, but the little girl has been crying herself to sleep every night convinced he’s dead like her momma and siblings. Top that off with the President, First Lady and most of the White House staff and you’ve got an impressive waiting list.

The Rules are back in force, though, and a visitation schedule will be adhered to.

“Will you be here?” Josh asks, beginning to fade again.

“If you want me to be,” I reply leaning forward to kiss his cheek. I’ve been kissing him a lot lately. It seems to calm him.

“I don’t want you to ever go,” he mumbles, slipping back into oblivion.

***

I huddle under the bushes with my blanket, sobbing. I can see blue and red lights flashing in front of the house and hear people yelling and screaming.

I want Mommy and Daddy to come home and make everything better.

***

“I was inside the house. In room seven,” I’m explaining to the fire guy what I saw. It’s still Wednesday. I’ve lost all track of time, but Donna assures me I only slept for about three hours before they woke me to change the bandages on my back. Donna is sitting on the bed by my head, her fingers idly toying with my hair.

“Did you hear anything?”

“I heard the gun shot.” I’m surprised by how much I actually remember when I try. I take my explanation slow, trying not to drain my minimal reserves. Donna says I have another couple of visitors to go today. “And the crash. The floor collapsed in the explosion. We landed in the middle of a bunch of construction materials and I could smell gas. I grabbed Taja and pulled her down right before the second explosion. It came from the other side of the basement and the foundation wall buckled. That’s how my arm got broken, I think. I was shielding my head from the concrete. Taja helped me rip up my shirt so we could breathe through it and everything kind of runs together from there.”

The Fire Marshal nods and stands to go. “Okay. Thank you very much, Mr. Lyman. I appreciate it.”

Donna seems slightly surprised at the brevity of the visit. “That’s all you needed?”

He smiles at her. “I had to have his statement to close the file and hand it over to the insurance companies.”

I’m a formality. Ain’t that grand?

***

“Joanie!” Daddy’s voice. I can barely hear him yelling over the noise of the fire. “Josh!”

I’m too scared to leave my hiding place. He told me not to leave my room and I did; he told me not to cry anymore and I am. He’s going to be really mad at me.

“My babies!” Mommy’s screaming, too. “They’re in the house!”

I don’t know how long I watch the house burn. The air is full of fire, making it hard to breathe. Fear is the only thing I know. Fear of the fire, fear of my father, fear of being alone.

***

We’ve been lurking, waiting for the Fire Marshal to leave. Donna initially scheduled us for nine o’clock tomorrow morning. I had an unexpected schedule opening this afternoon, though, and didn’t want to delay checking in on Josh, so I collected Abbey and we headed for the hospital. I can’t help but wonder how he survived. Although, judging by the clamoring from the Press Corps, I’m sure I won’t have a long wait to find out. He’ll be a cover story by the end of the week.

“Let’s do it,” I sigh, opening the door.

Donna is helping Josh eat his dinner, stopping just short of actually feeding him. He’s having a lot of trouble managing the spoon with his left hand.

I wait until he takes a bite and swallows before breaking the silence. “If I had a beautiful woman doting over me, I’d just go ahead and let her feed me, too.”

They both jump: Donna to her feet, Josh jerks more upright than he was, stifling a cry of pain.

Blue eyes flash at us before they soften and return to Josh. Donna leans over him, whispering something in his ear. She brushes his hair back and kisses him on the forehead, then straightens and turns back to Abbey and me.

“I’ll go. They don’t want more than two people with him at a time.”

“We didn’t intend to run you off, Donna,” Abbey attempts to placate our intrusion.

“No, it’s okay. I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

“You can finish,” I tell Josh, nodding at the lunch on the tray table in front of him. It doesn’t look that appetizing, so I’m not surprised when he shakes his head.

“How are you feeling?” Abbey asks, sitting down on the foot of the bed.

Josh takes a deep breath before answering. “Better.”

His voice is weak and it matches his flushed features.

“Are you still running a fever?” Abbey continues her medical interrogation.

We get a slow nod and he shifts his right arm, drawing our attention to the heavy cast encasing it. “They might have to take the pins out.”

“Any idea how long they plan on keeping you?” I want him to feel needed, but not pushed into coming back to soon.

“At least until the weekend here,” he answers, meaning the burn unit. “Then it depends on the infection. The burns should heal over in another couple of weeks… I got pretty lucky.”

“You shouldn’t have been there, Josh. I… I’m sorry. Neither of us stopped to think about what you were really saying and we put you here…”

Josh floors me by interrupting my apology. “Sir, with all respect… What happened, happened. Nothing will change that. I… I’d like to think that because I was there, somebody lived who wouldn’t have otherwise. That I was there for a reason.”

“You talk to Stanley already?” I joke, hoping he has.

“No, actually I came up with that on my own,” Josh chuckles, grimacing a little from the movement. “Right about the time I had to think up my fifteenth fairy tale.”

***

“What are you doing under there?”

The voice startles me. I’ve been hiding under this bush since last night, mesmerized by the flames.

“Hiding,” I whisper. Unsure of who this man is, I shirk back some, clutching my blanket.

“What are you hiding from?”

I shrug, not wanting him to think I’m a baby.

“Are you Joshua?”

I nod, my lower lip quivering.

“Josh, I’m Troy. Everybody’s looking for you. You want to crawl out of there so they know you’re okay?”

“No!” I shake my head fiercely. Our neighbors chain link fence presses against my back; I can go no deeper into the bush.

“Why not?”

“I’m in trouble.”

“How come?” he asks, curiously.

“Daddy told me not to leave my room. But I was scared and Joanie didn’t come get me and I couldn’t breathe anymore.” The words tumble out of my mouth.

“Josh, it’s okay. Nobody’s upset with you. I promise. Your mommy and daddy are really worried about you, but they aren’t mad.”

***

I’m pissed. I mean seriously pissed. I set up a schedule for a reason. Josh isn’t ready for a flood of visitors to come in when it’s convenient for them. He can’t even feed himself, he nearly passes out when they change the dressings on his back, he’s groggy and running a fever of 100.9.

He was supposed to eat lunch, get a visit from Taja Ross and then spend the remainder of the day resting.

Now, President Bartlet is in there, undoubtedly getting him all wound up.

“Miss Moss!” Vivian Ross’ voice slices through my mental tirade.

Vivian has three small children in tow and one in her arms. I get the impression her children are not very reliable parents. She works 70 hours a week as a maid at a downtown hotel to support the five grandchildren she has living with her in a run-down, three bedroom apartment in one of D.C.’s roughest neighborhoods.

“Donna,” I correct her with a smile.

“Donna,” she repeats, smiling warmly and giving me a hug. “I’m sorry to have bothered you like this, but…” Her explanation trails off and she glances as the small girl clinging to her legs. “Taja is convinced Mr. Lyman is dead and she… She hasn’t been sleeping very well at all.”

“It’s not a problem, Vivian. I’m sure it will do Josh a ton of good to see her. I’m sorry I had to put you off for a couple of days, but this has been the first day he’s been at all with it.”

“I wanted to thank him, too,” the older, black woman bites her lip. “He… he saved my granddaughter.”

We walk toward the elevators slowly, trying to kill some time. As I expected, the President and First Lady are still in with Josh when we arrive, but Charlie is loitering around outside.

“Hey,” he greets us quietly.

“Hey, Charlie. This is Vivian Ross,” I do introductions quickly and we continue to wait.

“Whose that?” Taja is peering through the observation window. She can’t see Josh’s face because President Bartlet is blocking her view.

I lean over her and point to the President. “That’s Josh’s boss and his wife.”

“Oh…” Brown eyes look up at me. I never thought a person could have browner eyes than Josh, but this little girl does. “Mr. Josh said he works for the President.”

“He does,” I reply.

“Is that the President?” Taja’s tone is disbelief mixed with awe.

“Yes, it is.”

“Is that why I can’t go see Mr. Josh? ‘Cause the President is?”

“He’s worried about Josh, just like you are,” I try to explain. “And the hospital says Josh can only have two visitors at a time.”

The little girl frowns for a second, but smiles again after she looks me up and down. “Are you Princess Donnatella?”

“Am I who?”

“Princess Donnatella,” Taja reiterates her question. “Mr. Josh told me stories about Princess Donnatella and her prince and how he wooed her.”

Well, I know she’s not making it up – ‘woo’ is definitely a Josh-caliber word.

***

Charlie knocking at the door and interrupting President Bartlet’s rather detailed description of how badly I could have been burned is the best thing to happen all day.

“Sir? Josh has some other, scheduled, visitors, sir.”

Oh God, please tell me Donna didn’t reinstate the Rules.

“Well, bring them in. I think we can bend the rules this once,” the President winks at me. I must look mortified because he pats my hand. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”

Donna enters the room holding someone’s hand. Someone short.

“See?” Donna says when they reach my side. “Josh is okay.”

“Mr. Josh!” Taja cries, scaling the hospital bed and flinging herself onto me, wrapping her arms around my neck. My relief at seeing her again mitigates the hurt she unintentionally causes.

“See, sweetie,” I whisper into her hair while bringing my left hand up to rub her back. “I told you we’d be okay.”

“I thought you died.” She’s buried her face into my neck and I can feel her tears against my skin.

“I’m going to be fine,” I assure my little friend.

She lifts her face up. “Can I stay with you?”

“For a while,” I catch Donna’s eye and follow her glance over to the formidable looking woman at the window. I’m pretty sure Donna mentioned Taja was staying with her grandmother when I asked about her at one point. “If it’s okay with your grandma.”

“Who’s this?” President Bartlet asks while Donna goes out in the hall to discuss Taja staying for a bit.

“This is Taja, sir. Taja Ross, this is President Josiah Bartlet.” I smile at the way she sticks her hand out to him just like she did to me last week. “And this is Mrs. Bartlet.”

“And you’re a friend of Josh’s?” the President asks, treating her with great seriousness.

Taja just nods and snuggles under my left arm, seeking the safety she’s come to expect there. I cannot accurately describe my feelings for this little person who looks to me for comfort.

This must be what a parent feels for a child.

***

Troy coaxes me out of my hiding place with the promise of pancakes.

“With blueberry syrup?” I sniffle, sliding through the dirt on my butt.

“Sure,” Troy smiles. He winces at the sight of my hands. “Let’s get you to the hospital, okay?”

He picks me up and carries me to the front yard. Mommy and Daddy aren’t anywhere around.

“I want my mommy,” I plead.

“She’s waiting for you at the hospital,” Troy says in an attempt to calm me down.

“Is that him?” An older man with a shiny fire helmet intercepts us.

“Yeah, I found him under a bush in the backyard.”

“Is he okay?” the man asks, waving his arm at someone else.

“Scared,” Troy looks down at me. “His hands are burnt and he wants his mom.”

“Jared’s going to drive you to the hospital.” The older man says. He looks at me sadly. “Your parents are going to be very happy to see you, Josh.”

It doesn’t take long to get to the hospital. Jared goes off to find Mommy and Daddy and Troy stays with me.

The doctor is just finishing with the bandages when Mommy rips through the curtain. “Joshua! Oh God. Joshua! You’re alright!”

She grabs me up and hugs me tightly. I’ve never seen Mommy like this before.

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” I whimper, certain what I’ve done is why she’s so upset. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Didn’t mean what, sweetheart?” She pulls back to look at my face, her hand stroking my hair.

I look down at the bright white bandages on my hands. “I didn’t mean to leave my room.”

“Oh, Joshua, honey. It’s okay. Nobody’s mad at you.”

“Where’s Joanie?” I ask. “She didn’t come get me…”

I stop when Mommy clutches me tightly again.

***

I’ve never really paid attention to Josh with children. Seeing him now is mind-boggling. His entire world seems to revolve around protecting the young child in his arm, completely forgetting the leader of the free world is standing in front of him.

Josh is going to be a great dad someday.

“Is she going to stay with you, then?” I ask Vivian as we stand in the hallway.

“For another couple of days,” the older woman sighs. “Child and Family Services is going to try to place her in a permanent foster home. I just can’t take her, as much as I want to.”

I squeeze her shoulder in sympathy, trying to understand what it must be like to give up your grandchild to strangers because you can’t afford to take care of her.

Vivian wipes a tear from her eye. “I ought to go then. Are you sure it’s okay for you to drop her off?”

“She’ll be fine.” I cast an eye at the two survivors on the bed. “I don’t think Josh will let anything happen to her.”

***

“Is Joanie sick?” I ask, peeking through the small window in the door. I can see my sister lying in bed. Daddy’s sitting next to her, holding her hand.

“Yes, Josh. Joanie’s very sick.” Mommy shifts me on her hip so she can tap on the glass.

Daddy looks back and gets up when he sees us.

“Thank you, God.” I hear him murmur as he takes me from Mommy. “Thank you, God. My Joshua is alright.”

I just throwing my arms around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder to keep from crying. I’m not supposed to cry anymore.

Daddy doesn’t say anything. He just rocks me in his arms, rubbing my back.

***

Taja’s still asleep when I wake up from my post-Presidential-visit nap. The man exhausted me. Not that it takes much right now. Staying awake for two hours exhausts me.

Donna is sitting in a chair, reading Cosmo.

“Can I have some water?” I ask, unable to reach the plastic tumbler with Taja’s head on my shoulder.

She helps me get a drink and then presses her hand against my cheek. “You’re still running a fever.”

“Probably,” I agree miserably.

“So, tell me about Princess Donnatella,” Donna smirks, taking a seat on the bed.

I chuckle a couple of times, tightening my protective hold on Taja. “She wanted to hear a fairy tale and I don’t know any. I was thinking about you, though, so I turned you into a princess. Not that you aren’t one already.”

The drugs must be making me sappy.

Donna smiles at me. “That’s sweet.”

Countless scenarios for talking to Donna about my feelings for her presented themselves during the time I was trapped. This was not one of them. Candlelight and flowers, yes – hospital burn unit and heavy drugs, no. I feel like I’m trapped in a bad, clichéd soap opera plot, but I’m going with the drugs anyway.

I begin hesitantly. “Look, Donna, there was something I wanted to talk to you about last week, but things sort of happened.”

“Leo said you came to see him.”

“I… ah… Do you remember, before Christmas, how I said those stories I told Commander Wonderful were stories that would make me like you?”

She nods.

“I was sort of lying. They’re not the stories that make me like you; they’re the stories that make me love you. I am undeniably, passionately, in love with you. I can’t hide it anymore. More importantly, I don’t want to hide it anymore. I want to give us a try and see if maybe we’re the real thing. Like I think we are.”

***

We talk for another hour. Mostly about us and making ‘us’ work, but also some about Taja and what’s going to happen to her. The rest of the afternoon we spend watching TV and entertaining a six-year-old.

Something Josh is far better at than I expected him to be.

CJ shows up at her appointed hour and agrees to stay until Toby comes by while I take Taja home and check in at the office. Leo wants daily updates on Josh’s physical and mental condition. He’s considering a preemptive call to Stanley in order to keep Josh on an even keel.

“He told you how he feels?” Leo has an indulgent smirk plastered on his face. The first joyful look he’s worn in a week.

“He did,” I confirm.

“And?”

“And, we talked about it some. We agreed to just take it slow and see what happens. He’s worked himself up over Taja going to foster care, but,” I shrug, “there’s not much he can do about it. I think he feels powerless more than anything else. I mean, he saved her life and now he can’t help her at all.”

“Newsweek hit the stands today,” Leo mentions, getting up and handing me his personal copy. The cover shot of Taja in her grandmother’s arms. There’s an inset picture of paramedics carrying Josh out in an orange stretcher. “CJ’s going to talk to Josh about doing the interview circuit.”

“It’ll be at least a week before he’s out of the burn unit,” I warn. They just revised the estimated duration of his stay.

“They’ll wait. I’m sure somebody out there is dying to do a interview with both Josh and Taja.” Leo’s disgust at the press seeps through. “White guy saves black girl from fiery death. It has good ratings written all over it.”

***

“When is Joanie going to wake up?” I ask Daddy. I’m sitting on his lap in the hospital room watching Joanie sleep.

We’ve been doing this for two days and I’m bored with it. Joanie needs to wake up, it’s my birthday today and nobody seems to remember. I decided I don’t really hate my sister. I like her when she plays with me and when she plays the piano. She was going to play the piano for my birthday today.

“I don’t know, son,” Daddy whispers.

“I want to play with Joanie,” I insist.

Daddy’s voice sounds very sad. “Josh, Joanie’s not going to be able to play with you anymore.”

“But that’s what I want for my birthday, Daddy. I want Joanie to wake up and play with me.”

“Sometimes we can’t have what we want, ” Daddy says as Mommy comes into the room.

“Noah?” She lifts me from Daddy’s lap. “Dr. Goldstein wants to talk to you.”

“Mommy?” I ask once Daddy leaves the room. “When is Joanie going to wake up? I want Joanie to wake up for my birthday.”

“Joanie’s not going to wake up, Josh. I’m sorry.” Tears drip from her face, smearing the black stuff on her eyes. “Joanie’s going to heaven.”

“Why?” I ask, reaching up to touch Mommy’s tears.

“She’s really sick and the doctors can’t make her better,” she explains.

“She’s not ever coming back? Like when Grandma went away?”

“That’s right. Joanie’s going to be with Grandma.”

“Oh.” I screw my face up, thinking this over. I’m pretty sure this is not what I wanted for my birthday. “Can I go with her?”

“No, Joshua, you have to stay here with Daddy and me.”

“Oh… Can I say goodbye before she goes?” I look over my shoulder at my sister. I think she’s just sleeping, but…

Daddy comes back in the room with another man before Mommy can answer me.

“Daddy? Can I say goodbye to Joanie before she goes away?”

He nods slowly. “Of course you can. Josh, this is Mr. McGarry. You’re going to stay with his family tonight while Mommy and I stay with Joanie.”

“But Joanie’s going away!” I’m confused. Why do Mommy and Daddy have to stay with Joanie if she’s going away?

“There are some grown-up things that Mommy and I need to take care of after Joanie goes away.”

“Oh.”

“You should say goodbye to Joanie now, Josh,” Daddy says gently.

I crawl off Mommy’s lap and onto the bed with Joanie. Kissing her on the cheek, I’m not sure what to say. “I don’t want you to go away, Joanie. But I think Grandma might be lonely, so I guess I can share you with her. I don’t really hate you, even though I said so. I think you played the piano really good and… well… Bye, Joanie.”

Daddy picks me up and hugs me.

“You be good for Mr. McGarry, okay?” he whispers.

“Yes, Daddy,” I promise solemnly.

***

“You want to do what?!” CJ screams. “Joshua Lyman, are you insane?”

I flinch under her verbal assault. “You think it’s a bad idea, then?”

“Let me paint you a picture. You are white, single, thirty-eight, male and you work almost 100 hours a week. And you are a single, white male. You are the last person to whom a judge would give custody of a six-year-old black girl,” she pauses to take a breath. “Yes! I think it’s a bad idea. Have you even talked this over with Donna?”

I close my eyes. “We talked about Taja going to foster care, not about me petitioning the courts to adopt her. ‘Cause honestly, CJ, the thought only just occurred to me.”

“Well, it’s a stupid thought. Stop thinking it.”

“Okay, okay.” I surrender, figuring I’ll talk about it with Will or Toby, maybe. Toby’s going through the whole pending fatherhood thing right now, he’ll understand what I’m talking about…

***

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?” I yell from my position near the room’s exterior window.

Josh squirms uncomfortably, but I ignore it and continue ranting.

“Honestly, you sustained a serious concussion, can you even think straight yet? You are in no position to care for a child. And I don’t just mean right now. I mean look at your life, Josh. You work how many hours a day? You can’t cook. You’re single. You’re white. Why would a court give you custody?”

He’s looking up at me like I just shot his dog. “How am I any different than you?”

“I’m not trying to adopt, for starters.”

“No, but you and Andi apparently have no qualms about bringing twins into the world so she can pick a political fight. All I want to do is keep a little girl out of the D.C. foster care system. You stand there and tell me which one of us has a better motive.”

“It’s different, Josh. It doesn’t matter how you spin it. We’re talking about two totally different things.”

“It’s not different,” he protests, attempting to sit up and argue his point further, but failing. His face goes white and he clenches his jaw from the impact of falling backward.

“Are you okay?” I ask, nervously after he doesn’t continue. If Josh hurts himself under my watch, Donna will have my ass.

“I think you should go,” Josh finally gasps. He opens his eyes to glance at the clock. “They’re coming to do the antibiotic thing in a few minutes anyway.”

“Josh…” I don’t really want to leave it like this.

“It’s… Just… I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” His conciliatory tone is typically unconvincing.

I stand at the door, attempting to think of a reason he shouldn’t pursue this that isn’t personal, unfeeling or outright cruel.

“Yeah,” I give in and go, unable to come up with anything.

***

“So today’s your birthday, huh?” I ask, trying to draw my friend’s son out of his shell on the drive home.

Jenny wasn’t real wild about having a five-year-old in the apartment for the day, but we couldn’t really say no. Noah doesn’t have any family to watch the boy while they make funeral arrangements. His father lives in the City and doesn’t own a car.

He just nods, wiping his rather runny nose on the gauze encasing his hands.

“What happened to your hands?”

Josh shrugs this time, staring down at them miserably. I was in college when my dad killed himself, I can’t imagine what it would have been like to lose my sister at such a young age.

The drive up to Boston from Westport takes about three hours, meaning we’ll have to leave pretty early tomorrow morning to make sure Josh gets back in time for the funeral.

“Is there anything you want to do for your birthday? A boy doesn’t turn five every day.”

“I wanted Joanie to wake up,” he mumbles, continuing to contemplate the gauze bandages.

The awkward silence stretches all the way to the Massachusetts border.

***

Josh is out cold when I return after swinging by his apartment to pick up few comfort items. I ran into CJ on my way out of the West Wing and she told me she thought Josh finally cracked. Apparently, he has some, to use CJ’s words, “two-bit, half-ass, hare-brained scheme to adopt that little girl.”

I assume she meant Taja.

In some ways, it doesn’t surprise me. I’m pretty sure he’s got some kind of transference issues with Taja and his sister. In other ways, it floors me, because Josh has always been a me-first, selfish sort of guy on the surface at least.

“Must have been some kind of rough day,” Keith, the evening nurse, comments when he comes in to change Josh’s IV.

“What makes you say that?” I ask.

“He looked like somebody sucker-punched him when they came to do the antibiotic wash. And Linda said he asked them to put him out for it. She told me he said he didn’t think he could deal with the pain. That just doesn't seem right, is all.”

I pull my magazine out of my bag after Keith leaves. If they sedated Josh for therapy, he’ll be out another three or four hours.

***

“Is something wrong with your pajamas?”

Noah’s little boy is glaring at the clothes his mother packed as if they personally offended him. He hasn’t said much all day, content to sit on the floor of our guestroom and play quietly with small assortment of brand new toys his parents sent along. He also refused to eat lunch or dinner, despite Jenny’s best cooking.

There haven’t been any tears since we left the hospital, either.

Josh opens his mouth once or twice like he might say something, but in the end he just shakes his head and puts the new pajamas on before climbing into bed with his tattered blanket.

“Good night, Josh.” I tuck him in, pausing long enough to brush the curly, brown hair off his forehead.

“Mr. McGarry?” he calls as I’m about to shut the door.

“Yes?”

“Can I have the door open, please?”

I nod. My response is instinctive. “Sure, Josh. Do you want me to leave the hallway light on, too?”

“Uh huh.”

***

Toby is standing in my doorway, shifting from foot to foot.

“What?” I demand. I’m bustling around getting ready to leave. I called a full lid after the seven o’clock briefing and had grand plans to spend the night at home in a bubble bath and now Toby looks like he wants to talk.

“I talked to Josh this afternoon.”

“I know, Toby. I saw you at the hospital remember?”

“Did he say anything to you about wanting to adopt that little girl?”

I stop short. I knew he gave in too damn quickly to have dropped it. “Yeah and I told him it was a dumb idea. He can’t take care of a child. He can barely take care of himself. If Donna didn’t insist he eat, he’d forget half the time.”

“I told him essentially the same thing.” Toby’s stroking his beard. Never a good sign.

“But?” I perch on the edge of my desk.

“But, I think he’s got this thing in his head. I think deep down inside, he feels like he didn’t save his sister thirty-odd years ago and this is a chance for him to make good. To alleviate some guilt.” Toby speaks softly, looking down and away as he does when he’s talking about people instead of issues.

“I mentioned it to Donna,” I admit. “I’d forgotten about his sister. How do we kill this before it becomes a thing?”

“He’s not going to believe it coming from us. I doubt he’d even listen to Donna. He has to hear no from a social worker or a… a judge.”

I sigh, getting to my feet. “I’ll talk to Charlie. He should know somebody who can help us. Deena had a case worker after their mother was killed.”

***

Jenny and I sit in the back of the Temple watching the unfamiliar ceremony. I can’t see Josh, seated between his father and grandfather. Jenny keeps looking down at the memorial folder and wiping her eyes.

Miriam Joan Lyman, March 12, 1958 – August 5, 1969.

“She was only 11?” Jenny repeats.

“Yeah,” I reply stiffly. “This was the first time Noah and Ruth had left the kids alone. They thought Joanie would be okay for a couple of hours while they went out to dinner.”

“They must feel terrible. And Josh…” she trails off. For all her earlier complaining, she has developed quite a soft spot for him. “…That poor little boy.”

“He’ll be alright. From the way Noah’s always described him, he’s a tough kid.”

“He’s five, Leo. His big sister just died on his birthday, of all days.”

“What’s your point, Jenny? You think he’s going to be scarred for life? He’ll get over it eventually. His parents love him, they’ll help.” I realize I sound callous, but sometimes my wife drives me nuts.

***

“What do the two of you want?” I know something is going on when Toby and CJ are waiting for me in the morning.

“We’ve got a little problem,” CJ begins. Toby is standing behind her with his hands about two feet apart, indicating that whatever it is, he considers it a big problem.

“What?” This is not what I need. What I need is to get my morning started and then to go see Josh.

“It’s Josh.”

This is going to ruin my day, I can tell.

“Donna didn’t say there was anything wrong when I talked to her yesterday. What do the two of you know that she doesn’t?”

CJ squirms a bit. “She knows, sort of. But I don’t think she realizes how big a problem it is.”

“You just said it was a little problem.”

“It could be, but it could be a big problem… The little girl he saved? Her grandmother can’t support her along with all the other children in her care, so she’s turning the girl over to Child and Family Services…”

Toby steps forward, unable to restrain himself. “Josh wants custody of her.”

I press my hands against the desk top, flabbergasted by what they’re telling me. “Josh? We’re talking about Josh Lyman? He wants custody of a six-year-old?”

“We thought maybe you could try talking some sense into him,” CJ explains rather lamely.

“Have you both talked to him?”

The two of them nod in response, but it’s Toby who continues the discussion. “The only other alternative is to bring in a case worker to make him see reason, but we’d like to keep it in the family.”

“Well, the other thing you could do is let him file a petition with the court.” I throw out, unsure how to dissuade Josh from pursuing this.

Toby shifts from foot to foot, shaking his head. “The court will deny it. We talked to a family court judge last night. His work schedule, the stress, the fact that in the past three years he’s nearly died twice on the job… Add his age, race, gender and religion to the mix and it’ll never happen. And it’ll be public. Bad press for the court system because they’re denying a custody petition from the guy who saved this little girl’s life. Bad press for Josh and the kid because everything will get dissected in the press. Everything, Leo. I mean, the thing from a couple of years ago is semi-public, but can the Administration handle Josh’s PTSD being the highlight of cable news networks for two or three weeks? What does it do to his ability to work?”

“You want me to talk to him?” I clarify. “To make him understand why he shouldn’t pursue this?”

“Please, Leo? Before it’s a thing?” CJ nearly begs.

***

“Josh?” Daddy opens the door to my new bedroom softly.

I’m sitting on the floor in the corner, trying to stay out of the way. There’s a pretty dull party going on in the living room, but everybody keeps looking at me funny and fussing over me, so I decided to play by myself.

Daddy sits down next to me, picking up one of the blocks. “What are you building?”

“A house for Joanie and Grandma,” I whisper, concentrating on positioning the blocks just right. I don’t want to talk to anybody. I just want Joanie to come back and play with me. I don’t even care if she picks on me and blames me for things. I think if Joanie came back Mommy and Daddy wouldn’t be so sad.

“Look at me, son.”

I turn my face to him briefly, but turn away.

“It’s not your fault Joanie died, Josh. You didn’t do anything wrong. You aren’t in any trouble for leaving your room and running outside.” He ruffles my hair. “Mommy and I still love you. We’ll never stop loving you, okay? No matter what happens.”

***

Last night was rough. By the time the sedative wore off, it was time for dinner. Josh didn’t eat very much and had a lot of trouble coordinating the utensils with his left hand. What worries me most is how he slept. He was restless, like he was caught in a bad dream, and every time he shifted he aggravated the burns on his back.

This morning, he woke up groggy and, for lack of a better word, bitchy. He got even worse when the doctor came down and refused to completely sedate him during the morning round of hydrotherapy. Now he won’t eat breakfast. Despite the fact he’s been threatened with a feeding tube.

To top it all off, he won’t open up and tell me what’s bothering him. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with what CJ mentioned yesterday.

“Josh, just eat a little, please. You didn’t eat anything for breakfast and now…” I plead. “Dr. Martz was serious about the feeding tube. You have to eat or you’re never going to get out of here.”

“I’m not hungry,” he insists, pushing the lumpy oatmeal around the bowl.

“What’s bothering you?” I ask. The tips of his fingers poke out of the cast, which is resting on his abdomen, and I stroke them slowly, trying to draw him out.

“It’s nothing.”

“Josh, don’t do this. Don’t shut me out.” Exasperation is an understatement at this point. “If ‘us’ is going to work, we have to be willing to talk to each other about what’s wrong.”

“I just… I just want to do the right thing for once and…” He begins haltingly, hooking the tips of his fingers against mine. “Have you ever seen a course of action so clearly that it’s impossible to not take? A way to right a wrong and maybe fix the past?”

“You can’t fix the past, Josh. You just have to learn from it and move on.”

His answer is to just look away.

***

Donna’s frustration with me boils over.

“I’m going down to the cafeteria for some coffee,” she sighs, leaving the room without another word.

I continue to fiddle with the oatmeal. Who in the hell eats oatmeal for lunch, anyway?

“CJ and Toby seem to think the knock on your head has addled your brains.”

“God damn… Leo!” The spoon I drop clacks against the plastic bowl.

He laughs and pulls up a chair. “On the other hand, the doctors seem to think you’re going to live.”

“Yeah,” I sigh.

“How much longer are you stuck in here?”

“They’re still saying Wednesday. If the infections clear up they’ll discharge me then, but if I’m still running a fever they’re going to move me to a regular room.”

“What about the pins?” He nods at my arm.

“Staying. I’m not allergic to them.”

Leo leans back in his chair. “Talk to me about Taja Ross.”

I pause for a moment, trying to explain my thought process. “I feel obligated… you know? To take care of her. I feel like I should make sure she has a home and a future… Something that doesn’t include being bounced around the D.C. foster care system.”

“Her caseworker is a woman named Melanie Evans,” Leo tells me perfunctorily. “I met with her this morning on your behalf. They’ve got a prospective couple that wants to adopt Taja. She’s been working with these people for three years, trying to find a suitable child for them. It’s a done deal as soon as Ms. Ross signs the paperwork. I’m sorry, son, but it wasn’t a very workable idea to begin with. Convince me this wasn’t about Joanie.”

I can’t answer him truthfully, because I don’t know. I don’t know if I was doing this because the last thing I ever told Joanie was that I hated her.

His next words are mean the most to me. “Give it some time. You and Donna… The two of you will have a family, Josh. Concentrate on getting better. Get out of here Wednesday and then take the rest of the week off. Get away from D.C. for a few days. Figure out what you want out of life.”

***

“How’s Josh doing?” I ask tentatively.

Noah and I are sitting in a small bar not far from his firm, having a drink before he catches the train home. I’m in New York negotiating a settlement for a client. Ostensively, we’re discussing terms.

In reality, I’m worried about my friend.

We’ve known one another since our days on the Columbia debate squad. After graduation, Noah went to Yale Law while I headed off to Michigan for my graduate work and we gradually lost touch. Noah married his high school sweetheart, joined a prestigious New York firm and had two kids. I did my stint in the Air Force, met and married Jenny and we just recently moved home to Boston.

I was shocked to find Noah across the table last month. I always figured him as the street lawyer, public crusader type.

Of course, a family can change a man some, I guess.

“I’m worried about him,” Noah says sadly. “He’s quiet and withdrawn. He sits in his room all day and broods. He used to be this little fireball of energy, always into something.”

“Maybe school will help,” I suggest.

Noah shrugs. “Maybe.”

“And Ruth?”

“She’s better every day. She’s doing volunteer work at our temple. Bake sales and the like.”

I don’t ask how he himself is doing. It’s obvious what happened three weeks ago will haunt his soul for a long time.

We sit side by side at the bar, saying nothing as we sip our drinks.

“A man should be able to protect his family, Leo,” Noah breaks the silence. “If he doesn’t, who will?”

***

“Your fever’s down to within a degree of normal. The burns on your back are healing over nicely. How’s the shoulder feeling?” Dr. Martz looks up from Josh’s chart.

“Better,” Josh answers simply. This should be his last night in the hospital.

If Dr. Martz is satisfied with Josh’s progress, then he gets discharged tomorrow.

He’s been quiet and withdrawn since Leo’s first visit on Friday. I’m not sure what they talked about, but Josh dropped the idea of adopting Taja. I found out on Sunday it was because she was placed with an foster family who wants to adopt her. We haven’t had any contact with her since then because they requested the adoption proceedings be sealed. I’m sure it’s eating at Josh. At the very least, I think he wants to assure himself she’s all right.

Ruth was up this weekend to check on him. Josh didn’t seem to question why she hadn’t come earlier, so neither did I, despite my curiosity. I was just glad for the relief. She kept him company while I got some rest. She went back to Florida on yesterday afternoon confident that Josh would be fine.

The gang has been making regular visits, bringing him some work to do.

None of it has helped draw him out of his mood, however.

He won’t talk to me either and I’m struggling to not take it personally. It’s just the way Josh is when he’s trying to come to grips with a change in his life.

***

“Joshua!” Mommy is calling from the bathroom. “Do you hear me?”

I hear her, I just prefer to sit in my room and read the new picture book Grandpa brought me when he came to visit last week.

“Joshua, come here this instant!”

There is no arguing with that tone of voice.

I clamber to my feet and trudge to the bathroom so she can change the bandages on my hands.

It hurts when the gauze pulls off my skin, but I don’t cry or make a sound. I’m five now. I’m a big boy and big boys don’t cry.

Only babies and girls cry.

***

The anticipation of getting out of the hospital is getting to me. I want out of here. I want to go somewhere and sort out my feelings and disappointments.

I need to get out of D.C., out from under the crushing pressure of work, to some place calm, peaceful.

I click off the television and toss the remote onto the bed tray.

“What would you say if I suggested we go away for a long weekend?”

Donna’s head snaps up from the file she was making notes on. “I’d ask you if you’ve lost what’s left of your sanity.”

“I just need to get out of here for a couple of days,” I explain, suddenly knowing where I need to go and what I need to do.

Donna sighs. “Where do you want to go?”

I meet Donna’s eyes. “I want to go home.”

***

“Mommy? When are we going home?”

I’m at the table in the kitchen eating an after school snack of celery and peanut butter. Mommy is starting dinner.

“You don’t like it here?” she asks over her shoulder.

“I want to go home.” I miss my old room and my old toys and my old clothes and my sister. The house we live in now is filled with old lady stuff and the only toys I’ve got are the new blocks Mr. McGarry got me for my birthday and some books.

“We’re building a new house, Josh. We’ll move when it’s ready.”

“Where?”

“It’s on the beach. You can play in the sand and watch the boats. That’ll be fun, won’t it?”

“Will Joanie be at the new house?”

“No, Joshua. Joanie lives in heaven now. With Grandma, remember?”

***

We left D.C. this morning as soon as Josh was discharged from the hospital. We brought three bags: one for my stuff, one for Josh’s clothes and one for Josh’s paraphernalia. The care instructions Dr. Martz sent along are four pages long. Josh is on six different medications, there’s like a vat of vitamin E burn cream I have to apply three times a day, extra bandages… Essentially a pharmacy. I don’t remember there being this much stuff after he got shot.

Josh insists upon driving, over my objections. He drives like a maniac, he always has. But after traversing New York City, I’m never, ever complaining about it again.

He finds my discomfort highly amusing.

The house Josh finally pulls the car up to is an enormous three-story monstrosity with huge windows looking every direction.

“Is this some kind of bed and breakfast? How did you get a room here? Josh? You did call for reservations, right?” I pester him as we collect our luggage from the trunk.

I stop dead at the top of the stairs, awed by the incredible view of Long Island Sound. “We’re on the water? How did you do this with a day’s notice?”

“Donna?” Josh calls from the doorway. “Will you come inside? You can stare at the water the rest of the time we’re here.”

I follow him around the veranda and into the magnificent foyer. “Josh…”

He takes my hand and leads me further into the house.

“This isn’t a bed and breakfast…” I decide.

“No,” Josh chuckles without elaborating.

“What are we doing here, Josh?” I ask, following him up the mahogany staircase.

“Taking a long weekend,” he answers flippantly. “We’re going to need to get groceries, is there anything special you want?”

I ignore his rambling and cross the master bedroom to gape out the windows. “This is beautiful.”

Josh’s hand materializes on my hips and his lips graze my neck. “Almost as beautiful as you.”

***

“Have you completely gone around the bend? Noah, he’s five!”

Mommy and Daddy are fighting downstairs. They don’t fight in front of me, but I can still hear them from my hiding place at the top of the stairs.

“One of the partners at the firm suggested it.”

“It’s only been six months. Give him some time.”

“What about us? We’re moving on and she was our daughter!”

“He doesn’t understand what happened. He asked me today if Joanie will be at the new house. He’s never going to be the same little boy he was before, Noah. You know that. You need to accept it. We aren’t the same people we were before.”

“I know, I just wish…”

“If wishes were horses, Noah.”

“Can we try this in the fall and see if it helps?”

***

I didn’t bring Donna up here with the intention of getting her into bed. I brought Donna here to include her in my life.

Standing here in what used to be my parents’ bedroom, looking out over the Sound, I am struck again by how much I love her, how incomplete my life would be without her in it.

“How did you find this place?” Donna asks again.

Her innocent question brings a smile to my face. I plan on keeping my secret for a while longer.

“Why don’t you change?” Misdirection is a fabulous thing. “We’ll go for a walk on the beach.”

***

I’m leaving home tomorrow. Going away to college. T