This year has been…I lack words. Heart-breaking would be one, I suppose. I saw my best friend - the man I loved and lost - lying broken on the cold ground, surrounded by blood. He was raving when they took him to the OR, talking about New Hampshire as if the last three years had all been a dream. I hope not. I hope I won’t wake up and find myself as some partner at Gage Whitney, a wife by my side and Josh Lyman just about to elect Hoynes as President of the United States. What a terrible thought!
No, I didn’t dream it. Not even my worst nightmares have Josh dying after a shooting. Well, they didn’t before Rosslyn. The name leaves me cold, as if there are ice crystals all around my heart. My heart, the same heart that almost died that night, almost shrivelled to a cold black lump inside me.
I kept thinking about the conversation we had, just before the speech ended. We were standing together, his hand brushing against mine, and he said, ‘I think we need to talk.’ Just like that. He didn’t look away from the President, he just said it, and touched my hand again. I felt the familiar warmth inside me; I wanted to jump him right there and then. Instead, my hand grazed his and I said ‘Right now?’ And he looked at me as if I was the only person in the world, the only one that mattered. I’ll never forget those words: ‘No, when we get out of this graveyard.’
I’m sure he was just referring to the lack of audience reaction, the small-scale of the appearance - he couldn’t possibly have known what would happen next. We split up then, almost unconsciously, and the next thing…I don’t really remember.
I pulled CJ to the ground; bullets were flying everywhere, the motorcade driving away, sirens wailing, so many sirens…
The next hour was a blur, I only know fragments. It was the waiting. The empty time in which I could only think of those few, prophetic words: ‘No, when we get out of this graveyard.’ Fourteen hours, with only those words to spin around my head as I tried to work. It was no use, no use at all. I should’ve kept him with me, I should’ve been there - maybe, just maybe, I could’ve stopped it all.
Then, he woke up. We were only allowed in for a few minutes each, but I managed to steal moments alone with him. Gently, I touched at his cheek, and a faint smile spread across his lips. ‘We got out,’ he said faintly, and I burst into tears. Uncontrollable rivers of salted water poured from my eyes, as the pain became too much and the reality of the last fourteen hours it me all at once. And Josh, despite being weaker than a kitten, held up a hand to brush away my tears. I took hold of his hand, and brought it to my lips.
I’m pretty sure it was then. That was the moment. The moment that signified the beginning of everything. After that, I made any excuse to be with Josh, and gradually, we rebuilt. A simple clasp of his hand or a kiss to the forehead told more than endless passion or flowery words. We both knew what this meant. We both knew that, this time, we were ready. Because we both knew just how much we had to lose, and just how easy it was to lose.
So, now, as I watch Josh sleeping, head resting on my chest, I know we can do this. I run my fingers through his beautiful curls, and he wakens. He doesn’t move, knowing how stiff he gets in the mornings. I carefully place my hands on his back, knowing exactly where he’s hurting, knowing how to make it better. He moves then, drawing me into his embrace.
“I love you, Sam.”
Sam, not Sammy. As if to signify that it’s serious this time, that we’re no longer children playing at politics. I bury my head in his shoulder, just savouring his scent and these moments of absolute certainty.
“Don’t leave me, Josh.”
I don’t know what made me say that, but Josh pulls away slightly, and looks directly into my eyes.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He kisses me, and I know that this is happiness. I don’t know how we got here - but I don’t really care.