“Ms. Moss?”
“Yes?” Donna looked up to see the very tired face of her assistant, Lacey.
“Mr. Bailey brought this back from the White House today. The assistant to the new DCOS passed it along. Said they found it in the bottom of Mr. Lyman’s old desk.”
“Oh, um, thanks Lacey,” Donna smiled awkwardly at the young volunteer.
Donna took the leather planner and turned it over in amazement. It was her old
personal day planner. She’d replaced it last spring when she bought her very
own Blackberry. She remembered justifying the expense because she wanted to go
on the CODEL well prepared and appearing professional.
Looking up from the planner, she looked around the bus. One or two other lights were still on but most everyone else was sleeping. It looked like three tiny stars shone down on a darkened world. The hum of the wheels on the road lulled her toward sleep, but Lacey’s delivery piqued her interest.
What was this doing in Josh’s desk? She thought she’d boxed it up one night to go home. Huh. Weird. She wiped the dust from the cover and edges and unsnapped the latch. The leather creaked a tiny bit when she opened it.
Very little was left inside. The calendar was still there. She flipped through the pages and wondered at the oddness of it all. So much of her time was spent managing Josh’s life. To see it now, the reminders to grab the cleaning, to mail his bills, even noting his mother’s birthday with the birthdays of her own family, it all seemed surreal. Had she really been this closely woven into the fabric of his life all along? Had, by some sick twist of fate, they morphed into an old couple without ever having been in love?
No, that didn’t come out right. There was no question. She loved Josh and most days she admitted to herself that she was still in love with him. But the woman who ran this man’s life was, well, not the same woman perusing the dusty pages now.
If Donna was ever going to pick up Josh’s dry cleaning, send the bills, and mail his mother’s birthday card it would be because he was back at their home making dinner and keeping an eye on their precocious children.
She rolled her eyes and sighed. That was the impossible dream, wasn’t it? Somehow she felt as if all of this, this last year, was some sort of sign. Maybe they were never meant to be. A cold lump of fear settled in her stomach when she thought about it. Maybe the role of Joshua Lyman in her life was not what she envisioned. Maybe he was her Leo to her Margaret.
Check that.
No.
She and Josh had been more than that. Problem was, what were they now? She’d seen so little of him in the last few months. In the fleeting moments they found themselves together, some were tense, some were uncomfortable, and some, like the other day in the bar, were covered with banter because that was the only safe territory in which to wade conversationally. Her relationship with Josh was complicated. So why did something so complicated feel like the only answer to the only important question?
Afraid to venture much further down that train of thought in the darkness of night, she returned to flipping through the remains of her planner. She found receipts for take-out and old business cards, some for Josh and some for her. She bit back a laugh when she found the phone number to some man named Jerry Corbin. She couldn’t remember him exactly, but apparently she had considered calling him.
Thoughts of forgotten gomers disappeared when her eyes caught the pale pink of paper sticking out from underneath the back flap. Pulling gently, Donna held her breath. It couldn’t be.
It was.
“Oh my God,” she murmured. How had she not thrown this out?
**
Donnatella Moss’ List of Ten Good Things for Someday…
April 2004.
Number One: I will drink a pina colada from the deck of a small sleek sailboat. Particular sailboat must be anchored in the middle of a turquoise Caribbean bay.
Number Two: I will count snowflakes as they fall sleepily to the ground. This counting must be done in some sort of ski-lodge, preferably one tucked cozily in a foreign mountain range.
Number Three: I will curl up in one of those oversized fluffy white bathrobes after a luxurious whirlpool bubble bath. Said bathrobe will, under no circumstances, be from a chain hotel, no matter how well apportioned. Ski lodge and Caribbean Island bathrobes are acceptable. Bed and breakfast bathrobes are preferred.
Number Four: I will tour the English countryside in search of Lyme Park, Sudbury Hall, Luckington Court, and Belton House. Will do absolute best to not ask for Mr. Darcy at every turn.
Number Five: I will procure own office space, including walls and a window. New office will include own assistant. Will not bellow at new assistant and will be home by 9pm at least five nights a week.
Number Six: I will relax under a great oak tree in Central Parkand spend the day reading a book. Experience must include a sunny day, a latte and a red plaid flannel blanket. Book will not be poetry or biography, but something completely trashy with no particular redeeming social value.
Number Seven: I will update my iPod.
Number Eight: I will wander the ever-changing sands between the ocean and the shore. This rambling will happen at night under a blanket of stars while barefoot. Warm fisherman’s sweater required for keeping cool Maine night air at bay.
Number Nine: I will hike under the ancient and majestic canopy of Redwood National Forest. Hike will, inevitably, lead to deep conversation on the meaning of life, love, time, choices, and destiny.
Number Ten: I will not, save number seven, do any of the above alone.
**
Donna’s touch lingered gently over the date at the top of the handwritten note. It’d been a year already. Nearly a year since Gaza and the explosion and Germany and the Leaving and she didn’t know how to feel anymore. This thin wrinkled wish list felt like a time capsule, sending her back to the woman she was before.
Now? Now her wish list seemed even more precious, because it felt so utterly impossible. How would they ever find their way to hiking in California or walking along the beach under the starlight in Maine? How would they find their way to a sleek sailboat in the Caribbean? The English Countryside? How could they? They never saw each other. Traipsing from bland hotel to bland hotel, fielding the squawking press, promising her body she’d sleep someday and ignoring the gnawing loneliness was how she spent her days.
Nothing was turning out like she expected.
“You know Donnatella,” she mumbled to herself, “the only one on this list you’ve got any chance of doing is the iPod.”
Sighing she let her fingers trace across the wrinkles in the paper. Her mind drifted to the darkness whirring outside her bus window. For all of its travel and drama, this was still a job, nothing more. It pained her to feel that way. She’d wanted this experience to be something she and Josh could experience together. Unlike their last two elections, she wanted this experience to be a new start for both of them, professionally and personally.
She waited in the darkness for enlightenment, guidance, even just a helpful thought, but none came.
Feeling sleep creep, Donna set to putting the planner away. She flipped the wish list over to carefully smooth out the last of the wrinkles. It wasn’t until she noticed the small writing on the back did she stop. It was Josh’s writing.
He’d read her wish list?
She squinted to read the fine print.
**
Josh Lyman’s List of Ten Good Things for Someday
May 20, 2004
1. Take Donna to the Caribbean.
2. Take Donna skiing.
3. Take Donna to a bed and breakfast.
4. Take Donna to England. Will find out who Mr. Darcy is and keep him far away.
5. Find a way to live w/out Donna as assistant.
6. Take Donna to NYC.
7. Buy own iPod so Donna can show me how it works. Will try to utilize iPod on own.
8. Take Donna to Maine.
9. Take Donna to California.
10. Show Donna how much I love her. (As soon as she comes back from the CODEL.)
**
Blinking through her tears she ached for him. Whether he was 20 miles ahead on his own bus or a million miles away, it didn’t matter. Her loneliness consumed her and reading his words only made it worse. He wanted to be with her. He dreamed about it, too. And just like everything else between them, these words, promises really, were hidden away in the back of an old leather planner, forgotten.
In Germany, he’d told her he’d be there as long as she needed. Why didn’t he see she needed him now? Why couldn’t he be here, next to her, on the bus? Memories of the nights on the Bartlet for America bus swirled through her mind. She could see them, together in the dark. Resting her head on his shoulder, she was lulled to sleep by the faint scent of soap and the warmth of his body. How many times had that happened? Fifty? A hundred?
Tonight she’d give anything to have him back again. Given one more chance, she knew she would not hide her words, her promises, away. She’d tell him she still dreamed of sailing the Caribbean with him, of reading under a giant oak in Central Park with him, of exploring the English countryside with him, everything.
So why was she alone in the dark on the wrong campaign bus?
Wiping the warm tears from her eyes she felt a stirring in her soul. Something needed to change, something needed to happen, something good.
END