The Hardest Wager 14/18
See disclaimers in part one
The Hardest Wager 14/18
By two o’clock that afternoon, Donna sat amid an estimated four dozen boxes haphazardly stacked in the Santos’ attic. The late June humidity of Houston left the attic sweltering despite the cranked up air conditioning that cooled the rest of the house. Donna was dressed in a damp tank top and pair of shorts that would, from this day forward, live in the very bottom drawer of her dresser, where she consigned the clothes that were no longer good for anything but home improvement projects.
For the last three hours Donna had been silently castigating herself for volunteering to take this assignment. On Tuesday when Mrs. Santos had inquired about what it would take to transfer all their baby paraphernalia from Houston to the White House Donna had thought fondly of getting away from D.C. for a couple of days.
So, after the Independence Day preparations were finalized she had jumped at the chance to get the hell out of Dodge. Even when Mrs. Santos sheepishly confessed that her attic’s state of organization was, for lack of a better word, nonexistent. But when Donna and the intern arrived at the house and scrambled up the steep, pull-down ladder, they were shocked to discover that the First Lady’s description of the Santos’ attic had been…kind. The fastidious side of her nature had recoiled at first, and then she had plotted a full-frontal assault.
A creak of wood grating against groaning metal preceded the voice of the industrious and ambitious intern she’d wrangled into assisting her with this grunt level task. “Did you find it yet?”
“I have not found a single box of anything that resembles baby clothes. I think I found Mrs. Santos’ prom dress though.”
“I brought water,” the young woman called. “Where are you, anyway?”
Donna waved her arms in the air hoping they could be seen over the tops of the boxes she was sitting behind. Denise spotted her and picked her way across the cluttered attic floor holding up a bottle of water, already dripping with condensation.
“Thought I lost you there for a minute,” the woman teased, handing over the bottle.
“Bless you, Denise.” Donna tore the lid off and took a long swig of the cooling drink.
Denise surveyed the room, the disheartened expression on her face easily readable. “My mother was right, you know. It’s easier in the long run to organize as you go.”
“Amen,”
“How do people let things get this bad?”
“I’ve found that it takes a trifecta of characteristics: the pack rat mentality, the lack of any desire to organize, and a complete lack of time. You know, Denise, not everyone is like you and me.”
“That’s what’s wrong with this world, Ms. Moss.”
“Donna,” she corrected. “And you’ll get no argument from me.” She opened another box only to find its contents a mish-mash of items. “That’s it!” Donna proclaimed, rising to her feet. “This isn’t going to work. There’s only one thing we can do.”
“Completely organize this attic?” Denise anticipated.
“Completely organize this attic,” Donna echoed. “Make a list, Denise. We’re going shopping.”
Four hours later, Denise was at the wheel of their rented vehicle while Donna sat in the passenger seat. Their purchased supplies stowed in the back seat and the trunk.
“Do you know why I chose to bring you along, Denise?”
“Because I’m energetic and detail oriented?”
“No,” Donna spoke succinctly, “because you’re from Houston. It says so right there on your resume; Houston, Texas born and bred.”
“It’s good to be home.”
“You got us lost, Denise.”
“We found the Wal-Mart eventually; which, by the way, is the great thing about Texas.”
“We drove around for an hour and a half,” Donna declared. “We lost valuable organization time. I let you drive because you’re supposed to know your way around.”
“I’m from Alief, Donna,” Denise snorted, “I couldn’t find my way around The Heights with a map and a compass.”
“Now you tell me.”
“Okay, could you just let me know if you’re really pissed right now, or is this your way of bonding?”
“Bonding,” Donna answered.
“Good to know.”
Denise pulled the car onto the Santos’ street and rolled down her window as she stopped at the guard booth. Both women proffered their ID badges to the guard who nodded them in. Two more checks got them into the driveway where they quickly unloaded their goods and took them into the house. Another twenty minutes and a water break later they were ensconced once again in the attic with some forty large plastic buckets, labeling tape, and black markers.
“Can I ask you something?” Denise voice sounded unsure, as if she was contemplating stepping over the line.
“Sure,” Donna shrugged. She dragged out a few buckets and began labeling according to the items she’d already seen. Christmas Decorations, Halloween costumes, and sports trophies topped the list.
“I know it’s not a secret that you never finished college.”
“No, it’s not,” she muttered.
“So, how did you become the First Lady’s Chief of Staff? If it’s not too rude of me to ask,” Denise allowed, cringing a bit with obvious worry.
“No, it’s okay. I worked for the Bartlet Administration for seven years and for the first campaign for almost a year before that.”
“How did that happen?”
“Luck, providence, pure grit…take your pick.” While continuing to sort through cardboard boxes, she launched into the story of Dr. Freeride and the journey she took to Manchester after watching then Governor Bartlet give a speech on CNN. “So, I answered the phone in the first office I found. Turned out the office belonged to Josh Lyman. I’d like to say he took one look at me and thought I was competent and capable.”
“He didn’t?” Denise seemed a bit shocked by the prospect that anyone would think Donna less than competent. Donna couldn’t help but smile.
“He most certainly did not. In fact, he took one look at me and saw that I had left my loser boyfriend, was faking the confidence, and that I needed a new start. He took a leap of faith and gave me one.”
“He did that?” Denise squinted in confusion. “Wait…this is the same guy who’s the President’s Chief of Staff, right?”
“One and same.”
“You were his assistant?”
“For almost eight years,” Donna confirmed with a nod.
“How did you put up with that guy for eight years?” Denise asked, horrified.
“Do you know Josh?” Donna stood up straight and observed the intern.
“I’ve seen him a couple of times, but I’ve heard things.”
“What things?”
“He fired his last assistant for spilling coffee on a report…stuff like that. Someone else said that he’s heartless and will do anything to win.”
Donna immediately stopped working and turned to the young woman. “You haven’t repeated any of this within earshot of the press room, have you?”
Some of the things Josh had been accused of in the last few years had reached the status of urban legend and it never quite seemed to die off. It occurred to Donna that this would probably always be true on some level.
“Of course, not. Why?”
“Because none of it’s true. He fired his last assistant for being indiscreet about some of the confidential information that crossed his desk, some of which was a matter of national security. What would you have done? Secondly, I happen to know that Josh isn’t heartless and he won’t do anything to win. But he will do anything to protect the people he cares about.”
Donna kept her voice low and even during her defense, not wishing to send Denise scrambling for cover. However, the passion of her speech must have been clear even in its subdued tone, because Denise’s posture appeared to indicate that she was receiving a first class dressing down.
“I’m sorry,” Donna declared sincerely. “When it comes to Josh I can get irrationally defensive.”
“You’re very loyal to him.” Denise wiped her palms on her pants and went back to sorting through what appeared to be old college research papers belonging to Helen Santos.
Something about the offhand way Denise said those words clued Donna into the possibility that the intern didn’t know exactly to whom she was speaking. Was it possible that there were people in the White House that didn’t know about her and Josh? She’d always just assumed that it was common knowledge the respective Chiefs of Staff were a couple. She wondered if it was arrogant to just presume that one’s personal life was always grist for the office rumor mill.
“He’s my boyfriend,” she stated baldly.
In the space of two seconds Donna’s words sunk into Denise’s brain and the intern bit down on her lower lip looking appropriately shameful. Undoubtedly, the young woman was replaying the last few minutes of their conversation in her head. “I am so, so sorry,” she said, when she mustered the nerve to speak. “I never should have said those things.”
“You’re not the first person to repeat lies about Josh and you won’t be the last.”
“Well, I won’t repeat them.”
“I’d appreciate that. Of course, he thinks it builds his legend, but I hate the lies and the half-truths that people like to spread.”
“You guys have been together for a long time?”
“Since the election,” Donna confirmed.
“Ten years is a long time.” Denise voice was tinged with awe. Donna knew, though, that it was the touch of insecurity that made her feel as if Denise was judging her - wondering why they weren’t married yet. Wondering why they didn’t the 2.5 kids and the three car garage.
“Since the Santos election,” Donna corrected, hoping that would dissipate the sense of personal malfunction she felt inside. “We weren’t together during the Bartlet Administration,” she explained. “He was my boss.”
“But you…I’m sorry…I shouldn’t.”
“What? It’s just you and me here. You have yet to ask a question that most people who know us don’t already know the answer to. Ask me the question.”
“But you loved him while he was your boss?”
“I did,” she confessed. “Maybe since that first day. It might have started out as a schoolgirl crush; the kind of thing you feel for a mentor. But it wasn’t long after we got into the White House that I knew I loved him…knew there would never be anyone else. It’s hard to explain.
“What was it about him?”
“Many, many things,” Donna chuckled, a softness falling over her face. “But we just clicked from the very beginning.” Recalling some of the first confidences she’d shared with him lightened the weight in her chest slightly. She thought of the years before they were together, good and bad, and swore that she wouldn’t trade what they had now for anything in the world. Even with its difficulties and sacrifices it was better than the alternative.
“It sounds like you have something special.”
“I think we do.”
The pair continued their tedious work as they conversed. Donna found herself spilling things to Denise she hadn’t told anyone else. The work and the conversation were both therapeutic in a way, something she often found true of manual labor and conversation.
They worked into the wee hours of the morning carving a large dent into the bulk of their task. Exhausted, hungry and filthy they paused for a late dinner around 2 a.m. before they took turns in the shower and shuffled off to bed for a few hours of much deserved rest.
****
Matt Santos paced the Oval flipping a baseball into the air and then catching it deftly over and over - all without taking his eyes off the connecting door to his office. He was dressed in his ‘Saturday casual’ wear: tan chinos and a cotton button up shirt with the sleeves pushed haphazardly up to the elbows. The only sound in the office was the repetitive smacking sound the baseball made when it landed in his palm. This had always been his preferred method of considering the difficult problems.
Hell, without baseball tossing, he never would have made it through the first one hundred days.
But the particular predicament he considered now wasn’t political. It didn’t have implications that would have effects on a global level. There were no high powered lobbyists to take up the banner for this cause. In fact, only a handful of people could even be bothered to care about this problem.
“If you’re tossing a baseball then it must be bad.” His wife’s voice interrupted his meanderings. “Problems with North Korea?”
“At the moment my problems are a little closer to home?” He jerked his head pointedly to the connecting door.
“Josh? What’s he done now?”
“He’s been pissed off about something for weeks now and I can’t even hazard a guess on what it’s all about.”
“Weeks?”
“Yeah.”
“I was just thinking the same thing about Donna. I’ve said as much to her. I asked her if she wanted to talk about it, but she said it’s nothing.”
“Consider for a moment,” he began, still tossing his baseball, “that our respective Chiefs of Staff are, for lack of a better term, involved with one another and that they’ve been living together by all reports for around two years. Now, both Josh and Donna seem to be in persistent bad moods. What are the odds that it’s just a coincidence?”
“I’d say they’re slim,” answered Helen.
“I agree,” Matt said, one brow arching as he glanced at his wife.
Helen’s eyes narrowed at Matt and she drawled suspiciously, “What are you planning to do?”
“Nothing, yet. I’m still trying to formulate.”
“Matt, I sent Donna to Houston. She left yesterday morning.”
“I thought we were going to send Oscar.”
“I mentioned it to her and she…volunteered.”
“You did tell her about the state of the attic, didn’t you?”
“Not in any great detail,” Helen winced.
“Did you at least send her in there with a flashlight…and a bullwhip?”
“She took an intern.”
“We may never see either of them again. Years from now their dusty bones will be recovered in our attic.”
“The point is I think she volunteered to go for reason, and it wasn’t because she feels the need to impress me. I think she wanted to get away.”
“Get away from Josh?”
“That sounds bad. I think she wanted a little break. I have no idea what’s going on there, but I have the distinct feeling they don’t know either.”
“Do you think it has anything to do with Donna turning down Josh’s marriage proposal?”
“WHAT? Josh proposed?”
“Last month.”
“And Donna said no?”
“I wheedled the story out of him during one of our morning workouts. Apparently he asked and she said he wasn’t ready, but they weren’t ruling it out for the future.” A thought occurred to him at just that instant and when his hand reached out to rescue the ball it missed by a fraction of an inch. The baseball thudded to the carpet, landing in the center of the Presidential Seal. “Helen,” he cringed, “I think this is my fault.”
“What do you mean?” Helen, staring down at the fallen baseball, readjusted her gazed to Matt.
“Well, let’s just say that over the last year or so, the subject has come up on those occasions when the talk turns to the personal.”
“Marriage?”
“That’s the one. Ever since I found out we were having another baby, I might have been a little overzealous about sharing the joy.”
“You’ve been pressuring him to propose?!” Helen translated.
“I like them together,” he defended. “They make a great team, and when they’re not worried about all the crap involved in relationships, they seem happy together.”
“All the crap?!” Helen’s voice, sounding distinctly edgy, bounced around the oval shaped room.
“You know what I mean; all the worry and insecurity that causes you to wonder if it’s all worth it.” Matt watched as Helen’s lips tightened and her eyes bored into him like blue laser beams. “I mean…in the beginning, before you discover the truth about how wonderful marriage and family are.” The tightness in Helen’s face eased and Matt breathed a sigh of relief. “Can we get back to the problem at hand, rather than the train wreck that happens whenever my mouth gets away from me?”
“So you pressured and he, being a good little employee, answered the call?”
“He mentioned once that I wasn’t the only one turning up the heat.” Matt melted into the sofa, gripping the baseball tightly with both hands.
“Donna?”
“I think she might have been the only one who wasn’t pressuring him. Is it possible that my meddling has screwed up a good thing?”
“It not entirely your fault,” Helen confessed. “I might have played a tiny role in this little drama.” Off the expression on his face, she qualified, “A tiny role. A bit part -- unlike your starring role as lead antagonist.” Helen lowered herself carefully onto the sofa beside him and placed a hand on his knee.
“I have to fix this, Helen.”
Silence descended between them, the only sound in the room emanating from the ticking clock on the mantle. “With Donna gone,” Helen broke the stalemate, “I hate to think of Josh going home all alone.”
“Shall we invite to stay in the Lincoln Bedroom?” Matt joked.
“I was thinking we invite him to have dinner with the family.”
“You’ve already disposed of your own Chief of Staff, is there a reason you wish to get rid of mine as well?”
“It won’t be that bad,” she assured him, in a tone that was less than assuring. She moved to stand and with his hand placing pressure on her lower back she was able to make it to her feet. “I’ll just go tell Robert to set another place for dinner. You’ll make sure he’s there?”
“I’ll make it an order,” Matt smiled deviously. “Josh can’t say no to an order from his Commander-in-Chief.”
“Dinner will be ready at seven.”
“We’ll be there.” Matt watched her exit until she was out of his sight line, then stood and crossed to the door connecting his office with that of his Chief of Staff.
TBC
The Hardest Wager 14/18
By two o’clock that afternoon, Donna sat amid an estimated four dozen boxes haphazardly stacked in the Santos’ attic. The late June humidity of Houston left the attic sweltering despite the cranked up air conditioning that cooled the rest of the house. Donna was dressed in a damp tank top and pair of shorts that would, from this day forward, live in the very bottom drawer of her dresser, where she consigned the clothes that were no longer good for anything but home improvement projects.
For the last three hours Donna had been silently castigating herself for volunteering to take this assignment. On Tuesday when Mrs. Santos had inquired about what it would take to transfer all their baby paraphernalia from Houston to the White House Donna had thought fondly of getting away from D.C. for a couple of days.
So, after the Independence Day preparations were finalized she had jumped at the chance to get the hell out of Dodge. Even when Mrs. Santos sheepishly confessed that her attic’s state of organization was, for lack of a better word, nonexistent. But when Donna and the intern arrived at the house and scrambled up the steep, pull-down ladder, they were shocked to discover that the First Lady’s description of the Santos’ attic had been…kind. The fastidious side of her nature had recoiled at first, and then she had plotted a full-frontal assault.
A creak of wood grating against groaning metal preceded the voice of the industrious and ambitious intern she’d wrangled into assisting her with this grunt level task. “Did you find it yet?”
“I have not found a single box of anything that resembles baby clothes. I think I found Mrs. Santos’ prom dress though.”
“I brought water,” the young woman called. “Where are you, anyway?”
Donna waved her arms in the air hoping they could be seen over the tops of the boxes she was sitting behind. Denise spotted her and picked her way across the cluttered attic floor holding up a bottle of water, already dripping with condensation.
“Thought I lost you there for a minute,” the woman teased, handing over the bottle.
“Bless you, Denise.” Donna tore the lid off and took a long swig of the cooling drink.
Denise surveyed the room, the disheartened expression on her face easily readable. “My mother was right, you know. It’s easier in the long run to organize as you go.”
“Amen,”
“How do people let things get this bad?”
“I’ve found that it takes a trifecta of characteristics: the pack rat mentality, the lack of any desire to organize, and a complete lack of time. You know, Denise, not everyone is like you and me.”
“That’s what’s wrong with this world, Ms. Moss.”
“Donna,” she corrected. “And you’ll get no argument from me.” She opened another box only to find its contents a mish-mash of items. “That’s it!” Donna proclaimed, rising to her feet. “This isn’t going to work. There’s only one thing we can do.”
“Completely organize this attic?” Denise anticipated.
“Completely organize this attic,” Donna echoed. “Make a list, Denise. We’re going shopping.”
Four hours later, Denise was at the wheel of their rented vehicle while Donna sat in the passenger seat. Their purchased supplies stowed in the back seat and the trunk.
“Do you know why I chose to bring you along, Denise?”
“Because I’m energetic and detail oriented?”
“No,” Donna spoke succinctly, “because you’re from Houston. It says so right there on your resume; Houston, Texas born and bred.”
“It’s good to be home.”
“You got us lost, Denise.”
“We found the Wal-Mart eventually; which, by the way, is the great thing about Texas.”
“We drove around for an hour and a half,” Donna declared. “We lost valuable organization time. I let you drive because you’re supposed to know your way around.”
“I’m from Alief, Donna,” Denise snorted, “I couldn’t find my way around The Heights with a map and a compass.”
“Now you tell me.”
“Okay, could you just let me know if you’re really pissed right now, or is this your way of bonding?”
“Bonding,” Donna answered.
“Good to know.”
Denise pulled the car onto the Santos’ street and rolled down her window as she stopped at the guard booth. Both women proffered their ID badges to the guard who nodded them in. Two more checks got them into the driveway where they quickly unloaded their goods and took them into the house. Another twenty minutes and a water break later they were ensconced once again in the attic with some forty large plastic buckets, labeling tape, and black markers.
“Can I ask you something?” Denise voice sounded unsure, as if she was contemplating stepping over the line.
“Sure,” Donna shrugged. She dragged out a few buckets and began labeling according to the items she’d already seen. Christmas Decorations, Halloween costumes, and sports trophies topped the list.
“I know it’s not a secret that you never finished college.”
“No, it’s not,” she muttered.
“So, how did you become the First Lady’s Chief of Staff? If it’s not too rude of me to ask,” Denise allowed, cringing a bit with obvious worry.
“No, it’s okay. I worked for the Bartlet Administration for seven years and for the first campaign for almost a year before that.”
“How did that happen?”
“Luck, providence, pure grit…take your pick.” While continuing to sort through cardboard boxes, she launched into the story of Dr. Freeride and the journey she took to Manchester after watching then Governor Bartlet give a speech on CNN. “So, I answered the phone in the first office I found. Turned out the office belonged to Josh Lyman. I’d like to say he took one look at me and thought I was competent and capable.”
“He didn’t?” Denise seemed a bit shocked by the prospect that anyone would think Donna less than competent. Donna couldn’t help but smile.
“He most certainly did not. In fact, he took one look at me and saw that I had left my loser boyfriend, was faking the confidence, and that I needed a new start. He took a leap of faith and gave me one.”
“He did that?” Denise squinted in confusion. “Wait…this is the same guy who’s the President’s Chief of Staff, right?”
“One and same.”
“You were his assistant?”
“For almost eight years,” Donna confirmed with a nod.
“How did you put up with that guy for eight years?” Denise asked, horrified.
“Do you know Josh?” Donna stood up straight and observed the intern.
“I’ve seen him a couple of times, but I’ve heard things.”
“What things?”
“He fired his last assistant for spilling coffee on a report…stuff like that. Someone else said that he’s heartless and will do anything to win.”
Donna immediately stopped working and turned to the young woman. “You haven’t repeated any of this within earshot of the press room, have you?”
Some of the things Josh had been accused of in the last few years had reached the status of urban legend and it never quite seemed to die off. It occurred to Donna that this would probably always be true on some level.
“Of course, not. Why?”
“Because none of it’s true. He fired his last assistant for being indiscreet about some of the confidential information that crossed his desk, some of which was a matter of national security. What would you have done? Secondly, I happen to know that Josh isn’t heartless and he won’t do anything to win. But he will do anything to protect the people he cares about.”
Donna kept her voice low and even during her defense, not wishing to send Denise scrambling for cover. However, the passion of her speech must have been clear even in its subdued tone, because Denise’s posture appeared to indicate that she was receiving a first class dressing down.
“I’m sorry,” Donna declared sincerely. “When it comes to Josh I can get irrationally defensive.”
“You’re very loyal to him.” Denise wiped her palms on her pants and went back to sorting through what appeared to be old college research papers belonging to Helen Santos.
Something about the offhand way Denise said those words clued Donna into the possibility that the intern didn’t know exactly to whom she was speaking. Was it possible that there were people in the White House that didn’t know about her and Josh? She’d always just assumed that it was common knowledge the respective Chiefs of Staff were a couple. She wondered if it was arrogant to just presume that one’s personal life was always grist for the office rumor mill.
“He’s my boyfriend,” she stated baldly.
In the space of two seconds Donna’s words sunk into Denise’s brain and the intern bit down on her lower lip looking appropriately shameful. Undoubtedly, the young woman was replaying the last few minutes of their conversation in her head. “I am so, so sorry,” she said, when she mustered the nerve to speak. “I never should have said those things.”
“You’re not the first person to repeat lies about Josh and you won’t be the last.”
“Well, I won’t repeat them.”
“I’d appreciate that. Of course, he thinks it builds his legend, but I hate the lies and the half-truths that people like to spread.”
“You guys have been together for a long time?”
“Since the election,” Donna confirmed.
“Ten years is a long time.” Denise voice was tinged with awe. Donna knew, though, that it was the touch of insecurity that made her feel as if Denise was judging her - wondering why they weren’t married yet. Wondering why they didn’t the 2.5 kids and the three car garage.
“Since the Santos election,” Donna corrected, hoping that would dissipate the sense of personal malfunction she felt inside. “We weren’t together during the Bartlet Administration,” she explained. “He was my boss.”
“But you…I’m sorry…I shouldn’t.”
“What? It’s just you and me here. You have yet to ask a question that most people who know us don’t already know the answer to. Ask me the question.”
“But you loved him while he was your boss?”
“I did,” she confessed. “Maybe since that first day. It might have started out as a schoolgirl crush; the kind of thing you feel for a mentor. But it wasn’t long after we got into the White House that I knew I loved him…knew there would never be anyone else. It’s hard to explain.
“What was it about him?”
“Many, many things,” Donna chuckled, a softness falling over her face. “But we just clicked from the very beginning.” Recalling some of the first confidences she’d shared with him lightened the weight in her chest slightly. She thought of the years before they were together, good and bad, and swore that she wouldn’t trade what they had now for anything in the world. Even with its difficulties and sacrifices it was better than the alternative.
“It sounds like you have something special.”
“I think we do.”
The pair continued their tedious work as they conversed. Donna found herself spilling things to Denise she hadn’t told anyone else. The work and the conversation were both therapeutic in a way, something she often found true of manual labor and conversation.
They worked into the wee hours of the morning carving a large dent into the bulk of their task. Exhausted, hungry and filthy they paused for a late dinner around 2 a.m. before they took turns in the shower and shuffled off to bed for a few hours of much deserved rest.
****
Matt Santos paced the Oval flipping a baseball into the air and then catching it deftly over and over - all without taking his eyes off the connecting door to his office. He was dressed in his ‘Saturday casual’ wear: tan chinos and a cotton button up shirt with the sleeves pushed haphazardly up to the elbows. The only sound in the office was the repetitive smacking sound the baseball made when it landed in his palm. This had always been his preferred method of considering the difficult problems.
Hell, without baseball tossing, he never would have made it through the first one hundred days.
But the particular predicament he considered now wasn’t political. It didn’t have implications that would have effects on a global level. There were no high powered lobbyists to take up the banner for this cause. In fact, only a handful of people could even be bothered to care about this problem.
“If you’re tossing a baseball then it must be bad.” His wife’s voice interrupted his meanderings. “Problems with North Korea?”
“At the moment my problems are a little closer to home?” He jerked his head pointedly to the connecting door.
“Josh? What’s he done now?”
“He’s been pissed off about something for weeks now and I can’t even hazard a guess on what it’s all about.”
“Weeks?”
“Yeah.”
“I was just thinking the same thing about Donna. I’ve said as much to her. I asked her if she wanted to talk about it, but she said it’s nothing.”
“Consider for a moment,” he began, still tossing his baseball, “that our respective Chiefs of Staff are, for lack of a better term, involved with one another and that they’ve been living together by all reports for around two years. Now, both Josh and Donna seem to be in persistent bad moods. What are the odds that it’s just a coincidence?”
“I’d say they’re slim,” answered Helen.
“I agree,” Matt said, one brow arching as he glanced at his wife.
Helen’s eyes narrowed at Matt and she drawled suspiciously, “What are you planning to do?”
“Nothing, yet. I’m still trying to formulate.”
“Matt, I sent Donna to Houston. She left yesterday morning.”
“I thought we were going to send Oscar.”
“I mentioned it to her and she…volunteered.”
“You did tell her about the state of the attic, didn’t you?”
“Not in any great detail,” Helen winced.
“Did you at least send her in there with a flashlight…and a bullwhip?”
“She took an intern.”
“We may never see either of them again. Years from now their dusty bones will be recovered in our attic.”
“The point is I think she volunteered to go for reason, and it wasn’t because she feels the need to impress me. I think she wanted to get away.”
“Get away from Josh?”
“That sounds bad. I think she wanted a little break. I have no idea what’s going on there, but I have the distinct feeling they don’t know either.”
“Do you think it has anything to do with Donna turning down Josh’s marriage proposal?”
“WHAT? Josh proposed?”
“Last month.”
“And Donna said no?”
“I wheedled the story out of him during one of our morning workouts. Apparently he asked and she said he wasn’t ready, but they weren’t ruling it out for the future.” A thought occurred to him at just that instant and when his hand reached out to rescue the ball it missed by a fraction of an inch. The baseball thudded to the carpet, landing in the center of the Presidential Seal. “Helen,” he cringed, “I think this is my fault.”
“What do you mean?” Helen, staring down at the fallen baseball, readjusted her gazed to Matt.
“Well, let’s just say that over the last year or so, the subject has come up on those occasions when the talk turns to the personal.”
“Marriage?”
“That’s the one. Ever since I found out we were having another baby, I might have been a little overzealous about sharing the joy.”
“You’ve been pressuring him to propose?!” Helen translated.
“I like them together,” he defended. “They make a great team, and when they’re not worried about all the crap involved in relationships, they seem happy together.”
“All the crap?!” Helen’s voice, sounding distinctly edgy, bounced around the oval shaped room.
“You know what I mean; all the worry and insecurity that causes you to wonder if it’s all worth it.” Matt watched as Helen’s lips tightened and her eyes bored into him like blue laser beams. “I mean…in the beginning, before you discover the truth about how wonderful marriage and family are.” The tightness in Helen’s face eased and Matt breathed a sigh of relief. “Can we get back to the problem at hand, rather than the train wreck that happens whenever my mouth gets away from me?”
“So you pressured and he, being a good little employee, answered the call?”
“He mentioned once that I wasn’t the only one turning up the heat.” Matt melted into the sofa, gripping the baseball tightly with both hands.
“Donna?”
“I think she might have been the only one who wasn’t pressuring him. Is it possible that my meddling has screwed up a good thing?”
“It not entirely your fault,” Helen confessed. “I might have played a tiny role in this little drama.” Off the expression on his face, she qualified, “A tiny role. A bit part -- unlike your starring role as lead antagonist.” Helen lowered herself carefully onto the sofa beside him and placed a hand on his knee.
“I have to fix this, Helen.”
Silence descended between them, the only sound in the room emanating from the ticking clock on the mantle. “With Donna gone,” Helen broke the stalemate, “I hate to think of Josh going home all alone.”
“Shall we invite to stay in the Lincoln Bedroom?” Matt joked.
“I was thinking we invite him to have dinner with the family.”
“You’ve already disposed of your own Chief of Staff, is there a reason you wish to get rid of mine as well?”
“It won’t be that bad,” she assured him, in a tone that was less than assuring. She moved to stand and with his hand placing pressure on her lower back she was able to make it to her feet. “I’ll just go tell Robert to set another place for dinner. You’ll make sure he’s there?”
“I’ll make it an order,” Matt smiled deviously. “Josh can’t say no to an order from his Commander-in-Chief.”
“Dinner will be ready at seven.”
“We’ll be there.” Matt watched her exit until she was out of his sight line, then stood and crossed to the door connecting his office with that of his Chief of Staff.
TBC