Anna greeted each and every version with the same reaction:  "No," she would scream at the end.  "That's wrong!  That's not what's supposed to happen!"

Anna, it turns out, was frustrated by what happens to Wendy.  Despite all that excitement, all the adventure and all the flying, poor Wendy is relegated to playing the role of mother to Peter Pan and the Lost Boys.  To make matters worse, Wendy exiles herself from Neverland, going back to the ordinary world.  The next time she sees Peter Pan, she is someone's boring Victorian mother and Peter doesn't even recognize her.  Anna kept compulsively reading and watching, hoping things would turn out right -- that Peter Pan would realize he loved Wendy and they would live happily ever after.  Eventually, my sister Frances snapped.  "It ends the way it ends," she told her daughter.  "Accept that and move on."

When Frances gets in that mood, everyone around her knows it's time to stop pressing the issue.  Anna dropped her Peter Pan obsession and moved on to something safer -- Bambi, I think.  I've always felt bad about that; I've always felt as though I should have stood up for Anna's right to give Wendy a happy ending.  But that was back during my college days, and I had trouble standing up to my family.

I don't know why I thought about Anna's Peter Pan obsession tonight.  I haven't remembered that in years.  Maybe it's because I'm stuck in the cab ride from hell, playing den mother to my personal version of the Lost Boys.  Maybe it's because I've realized that I'm not getting a happy ending of my own.  Probably it's because I had one whiskey sour too many, but the parallels seem way too obvious.

Think about it:  The charming, if somewhat immature, hero whisks the girl away to the land where he's loved and feared and respected.  He gets the adventure and the glory while she gets to remind him to take his medicine and read his briefing memos.  She falls in love; why else would she take such good care of him?  He doesn't love her back.  But he wants to keep her around because, after all, it's convenient to have someone who takes care of you when you're fighting off pirates and Republicans.

Wendy, at least, was too young to know any better.  What's my excuse?

I've given this some thought, and I've come to the conclusion that this is my excuse:  I've never been in love before.  I mean, I've had my share of crushes, and I did my best to convince myself that what I felt for Alan was love.  Now, however, I understand the difference.  After all, here I am, sitting in the back of a cab which, believe me, has seen better days, with a gin-soaked Sam and an adorably drunken Josh.  Not an hour ago, Josh was babbling semi-coherently about his newfound passion for Joey Lucas.  Now his attention -- well, as much attention as he's capable of after four beers -- is focused on Sam.  Sam, I think, is carrying on some sort of monologue about families.  To tell the truth, I stopped listening long ago.

No offense to Sam, who is a dear man, but I can concentrate on only one thing at a time.  And my one thing is this:

I love Joshua Lyman.

Not exactly a bombshell, even though I've been denying it for quite some time.  But it's the, well, the depth of the emotion that surprises me.

Josh -- who I freely acknowledge is the most infuriating, demanding, stubborn person I have ever met -- is also the man I love.  Josh, who doesn't have a clue how I feel about him.  Josh, who doesn't love me back.  Josh, who I'll be leaving forever soon.

And how do I know that this is real love?  How do I know that this is different from the many crushes and infatuations of my past?  I know because a part of me is happy that Josh has found someone he loves, even if it isn't me.

Don't get me wrong here:  The part of me that is happy for Josh is a relatively small part.  Miniscule, even.  Mostly, I want to scream and cry and throw things.  Mostly, I want to turn to the drunken, blissed-out idiot sitting next to me and yell, "Three years!  I've been right here for three years, damn you, and you've never even noticed!"

Okay, that's unfair for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that it took me more than two years to get a clue myself.  But I'm in this hopeless situation, and I feel the need to indulge in a little righteous indignation.  And a whole lot of self-pity.

Because Josh is sitting there, squeezed in next to me so tightly that I'm practically on his lap, and he doesn't even know I'm here.  He's listening to Sam nattering on about something I've long since lost the thread of, and he has this look of complete joy on his face.  It actually makes me happy to look at Josh like this.

This year has been so bloody awful -- so bloody and so awful.  We almost lost him twice -- once to a bullet and once to his own despair.  So thank you, God, for letting him live and for letting him find love.  Even if it isn't with me.

But why the hell can't it be with me?

Let's face it:  I am not the type who makes an effective martyr.  If this were Neverland, I'd probably tell Peter Pan to sew on his own damn shadow and leave me the hell alone.

Finally, the cab comes to a halt in front of Josh's condo.  Sam and Josh sit there in advanced stages of drunkenness, trying to figure out why we're not moving.

"It's not on CJ's map," Sam says sagely.  "We can't go anywhere that's not on CJ's map."

"I thought you could get us there with Celsius irrigation," Josh says.

"Celestial navigation," Sam corrects.  "And I could, but the North Star isn't on CJ's map."

Idiots.  I work for idiots.  Domestic policy is in the hands of idiots.

I am in love with an idiot.

Which makes me the biggest idiot of all.

"Josh," I say with a sigh, "do you recognize that building?"

"No."

"You live there."

"Do I like it?"

"You're never there long enough to have much of an opinion," I answer.

"I shouldn't be here," Josh says.  "I'm drunk."

"That's a very good reason to go home," I point out.

"Isn't," Josh replies.  He shakes his head to emphasize his point, and you can tell he immediately regrets the action.  "I have to go to Donna's," he tells Sam.  "I always go to Donna's when I'm drunk."

"'Kay," Sam says.  Sam is an agreeable drunk, I'll give him that.  "Driver, take us to Donna's."

"No," I say.  "Definitely not.  Josh, give me your keys.  Also your wallet."

After fumbling through his coat pockets for several minutes, Josh hands over the items I asked for.  I hold up the key.  "Who knows what this is?" I ask.

Sam raises his hand, like an obedient schoolchild.  "It's a key," he answers.  "To a door."

"Teacher's pet," Josh mutters.

"To whose door?" I ask.

"Donna's," Josh suggests.  He's smiling as though he expects to be rewarded for this answer.

I notice around this time that the cab driver is bent over with laughter.

"No," I answer.  Josh puts on his disappointed face.  "Sam, do you know?"

"What was the question?" Sam asks.

I sigh.  "Whose door does this key open?"

Sam scrunches his face up, trying very hard to concentrate.  "Josh's door," he says after a minute.

"Very good, Sam," I reply.  Josh glares at Sam.  "Now where is Josh's door?"

This one baffles them both, so I point.  "Right there," I tell them.  "Now which one of you remembers how to use a key?"

"I do," Josh says.

"No lying," I tell him.

"Oh.  Then, okay, I don't.  Can you teach me?"

"Sam?" I ask.

"I can teach him," Sam answers.

"Want Donna to teach me," Josh mumbles.

"But I know this," Sam insists.

"Donna's prettier than you," Josh says, as though that were somehow relevant.

"Sam, if I give you the key, can you unlock the door?" I ask.

Sam contemplates this solemnly for a moment.  "Possibly," he finally answers.

"Close enough," I say, handing him the key.

The cab driver, meanwhile, is still laughing at us.  I wonder how hard she'd laugh if she realized that her taxes pay these two idiots' salaries.

"I don't get anything?" Josh asks.

I still have his wallet.  I remove enough money to pay for the taxi and start to hand the wallet back to Josh.  His attention, however, has been momentarily diverted because Sam is trying to explain the intricacies of using a key.  So I slip the wallet back into Josh's coat pocket.  My hand brushes against his hip for a second, purely by accident.

"Donnatella!" Josh's head whips back around toward me.  He gives me a shocked look for a moment.  "Not in front of Sam," he whispers.

I have suddenly had quite enough of playing Wendy to Josh and Sam's Lost Boys.  "Go home, Josh," I say.

"Good idea," Josh replies.  He leans forward and tells the driver to take us to Connecticut.

"No, Josh," I say, pointing at the condo.  "This home."

"But I need to tell my mother, you know--"  He lowers his voice to a whisper again.  "That thing we talked about before."

Wonderful.  This thing with Joey Lucas has gotten so serious he wants to tell his mother about it.  Fine.  That's perfectly fine.  I have absolutely no desire to break down into tears over this.

"You can call your mother," I suggest.  "Tomorrow.  Now will you just go?"

He stares at me for a second.  If I didn't know better, I'd swear--

But of course I know better.

"If Sam weren't here," Josh says.  What that's supposed to mean in his drunken state I don't know.

Sam finally gets out of the cab and goes off in almost a straight line toward Josh's place.

And Josh smiles.  One of those amazing smiles that shows off his dimples.  I'm going to miss those smiles.

I'm thinking just how much I'm going to miss those smiles when Josh leans over and kisses me.  If you can even call it a kiss.  All he does is sort of brush his lips against mine.

God, but it feels good.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says.

"Tomorrow is my day off."

"I know."

"I'm spending the day with Stephanie, remember?"  I'm also filling out those college applications, but there's no point in telling Josh that.

"Tomorrow night then," he suggests.

Sew on your own damn shadow, Joshua.

"I'm not working on Saturday night."

"Okay," he says, still smiling.  "No work."

Finally, he gets out of the cab and walks up the steps to his door.  The cab takes off again, and this time I have the whole back seat to myself.  It's surprisingly lonely.  This must be how Wendy felt leaving Neverland.

I turn around and get one last look out the cab's rear window.  Josh is standing by the door while Sam carries on some animated conversation, presumably instructions on how to use a key.  Even from this distance, I can see how happy Josh is.  He wears his happiness as casually as he does his coat or that stupid scarf Mandy gave him.  After all those months of watching him while he was weak and tense and depressed, I'm comforted just seeing him this way -- seeing the old, self-assured Josh again.  I'm too far away to see his smile, but I know it's there -- the smile he always gets when he has a secret.

So Josh and Tinkerbell -- I mean, Joey Lucas -- have a secret.

Lucky me, getting to share it.

But it's okay, really, since I've got my own secrets.  After all, I'm going to quit working for Josh and go back to school, and he doesn't even know it yet.  Though I suppose he'll have to find out soon.  We have to play out that last scene, after all.  The one where Peter Pan discovers that Wendy's not at his beck and call anymore.  The one where poor Wendy discovers exactly how replaceable she is.

I know now what made Anna so unhappy with the ending of Peter Pan.  He was, when you think about it, pretty amazing, immaturity and delicate system notwithstanding.  And the last scene -- Wendy looking out the window as he flies away -- it was obvious that she still loved him and everything he represented.  It was also obvious that he didn't have a clue about that.  Which was probably just as well.

Because I'm going to stay in love with Josh for a very long time.

Thank God he'll never figure that out.

THE END

03.03.01