"Dinner," CJ says.  "I know a place--"

"We can't talk there," Toby argues, frowning.

"Yes, we can," Sam counters.  "Just not about the thing."

"Exactly," Toby growls.  "We need to have a detailed discussion of strategy, we need to figure out how far we're willing to take what I'm sure will turn out to be an argument with the President, and--"

"I'm buying," CJ interjects.

I nod quickly.  "I'll get my coat."

Toby rolls his eyes.  "We're really just going to--"

"Enjoy dinner like normal people?" CJ says.  "Yes.  We really are."

"We're not normal people," Toby grumbles.

"You don't have to tell us that," I point out.  Perhaps it's not up to my usual level of wit, but at least I'm making an effort here.  Toby's still walking around like Pigpen, a cloud of dismay and destruction trailing behind him.

"I'm saying," Toby starts.

Sam waves him off.  "Toby, we've done nothing but discuss this thing all day.  All day.  I think we've earned an hour to eat in peace."

Toby shakes his head, but starts for the door.  "Fine."

CJ purses her lips and takes off after him.  "Toby, you're really just a ray of sunshine, you know that?"

Sam and I exchange dubious looks, and I sigh, "Yeah, this is going to be a peaceful meal."

***

"The Red Sox suck," Toby repeats.

I glare at him.  "Toby, if this is your attempt at torturing me for agreeing to go to dinner, you're going to have to try harder.  The Yankees suck."

"Red Sox."

"Yankees."

"Red Sox."

"Boys," CJ interrupts, "if either of you so much as mentions another basketball team--"

"Baseball," Sam corrects, earning him the look of death.  "Sorry."

"We're going to sit here," CJ decrees, "and we're going to eat, and we're not going to argue, dammit."

"Waste of an hour," Toby mutters.

CJ glares at him, but otherwise ignores his statement.  Instead, she flags the waitress and orders a round of beer for the table.  Then she turns to me.  "Big Tobacco?"

"You're going to make a statement tomorrow.  Before -- you know, the thing.  Turn up the heat on a couple Congressmen who're being difficult."

CJ nods.  "Okay.  Is it going to work?"

I sigh.  "Only if they flip before Wednesday."

Oops.  Didn't mean to bring that up, however obliquely.  CJ fixes me with that scary-ass glare of hers, but doesn't comment.

Sam clears his throat.  "You know, I hear the Caesar salad here is just to die for."

CJ, Toby and I turn matching baffled looks his way, but my cellphone rings before any of us can formulate a response.

I hate answering my cellphone in restaurants.  It feels so pretentious.  Also, as Donna has pointed out often and at great length, rude.

Nevertheless, this is not the night to ignore a ringing cellphone, especially when I glance at the number.  "It's Leo," I tell the rest of the table, then I hit talk.  "Josh Lyman."

There's a momentarily lag, then, "Josh, there's..."

Leo sounds really strange.  Kind of distracted.  "Leo?"

"Yeah.  Listen, there's been an accident."

Oh God.  Adrenaline rush.  What if the President had an attack?  He's certainly under a lot of stress right now.  And why is Leo calling me?  An accident?  Please, God, let it not be Donna.  "Leo?" I repeat, my voice panicky even to my ears.  I think I'm trembling.

CJ, Sam, and Toby cease their low conversation, turning to watch me with fearful eyes.

"A car accident," Leo elaborates, his voice drawn tight.  "Mrs. Landingham was in a car accident."

"Mrs. Landingham?" I echo stupidly.  "Is she okay?  What happened?"

Toby and CJ exchange troubled looks, then turn back to me.  I shrug, because I don't know yet.

"I talked to the officers at the scene.  Couple of kids ran a red light," Leo explains slowly.

I freeze.  He talked to the officers?  Why didn't he talk to Mrs. Landingham?

Leo's still talking.  "They were in an SUV, and you know how damaging those things can be to cars.  They hit Mrs. Landingham's car -- they hit the driver's side, Josh."

CJ's hands are clenched together on the tabletop, shaking.  Toby is frozen, and Sam's wild eyes are darting between all of us.

I don't think I'm breathing anymore.  "Leo, what are you trying to say?"

"She's dead, Josh," Leo answers woodenly.  "Mrs. Landingham is dead."

I'm staring at the salt shaker in the middle of the table as if it holds all the answers to all the questions ever asked.  Because if I stare at it long enough, this will stop being true.  We'll realize that time travel is possible, we'll learn that time isn't linear, and we'll figure out how to stop all the horrible things that happen every day from ever happening again.

"Josh?"

"Yeah," I manage.

"Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, Leo.  I heard." I blink.  "How's the president?"

"He's in the Residence with Abbey," Leo says, and his voice cracks a little.

It occurs to me that he didn't answer my question.  "Leo?"

"I'm -- I'm going up there in a few minutes.  I have to make a few more calls."

"Okay," I say.  I know there are things I should be saying, but I can't quite figure out what.  "CJ, Sam, and Toby are here."

"Good.  You'll tell them."

God, I have to tell them?  I tear my gaze from the salt and glance around.  They're all looking at me with apprehensive expressions in place.  They all know -- I can tell from the utter lack of hope in their eyes.  They know, they just don't want to believe.  They just need confirmation.

"Yeah," I say finally, nodding slowly to my compatriots.

There's a pause, then.  "Josh, the meeting tonight, re-election--"

"Yeah, Leo."  I scrub a hand over my face.  "Don't worry about it."

"I do worry about it," he answers tiredly.  "Just... He can't do this now."

"Okay."  I close my eyes, but all I can see is a feisty older woman arguing with me about women's ability to purchase cars without male assistance.  "Okay," I say again.  "I'll be back there in--"

"No, Josh.  Go home.  Go..." he trails off.

"Leo--"

"No, Josh.  There's nothing you can do here."

There's a lot of that going around lately.  "Yeah, okay."

Leo disconnects, and I follow suit, dropping the phone to the scarred wooden tabletop.

"Josh?" Toby says so softly I can only really hear the sibilants.

"There was an accident," I answer, looking at each of them in turn.  "Mrs. Landingham is dead."

CJ's eyes snap shut and she turns her head away, blocking out the confirmation.  Toby dips his chin, hiding his expression in the shadows.  Sam just keeps staring at me, shaking his head the slightest bit.

"An SUV," I say, "ran a red light and broad-sided Mrs. Landingham."

***

It takes another few moments for us to figure out what to do next.  None of us are the slightest bit hungry, and none of us are quite sure how to separate the job from the personal at this point.

Toby glances over at me.  "We're postponing the thing?"

"The meeting?" CJ asks, sniffling a little, "or the other?"  Her voice is a bit unsteady, and her eyes are sparkling.  But she doesn't crack.

Toby just looks... bereft.  "Either.  Both."

"Yeah," I answer.  "The meeting.  Probably the other.  I don't..."  I shrug.  "I don't know."

Sam is still frozen in his seat.  "Should we go back to the White House?"  He sounds like a little boy.  He sounds like somebody just tore the head off of his favorite stuffed animal.

"The President's in the Residence," I say by way of answering.  "Leo told me to go home."

"Okay."

CJ nibbles on her lip for a moment.  Then she runs a hand through her hair and straightens up in her seat.  "Who else knows?"

Sam gives her a sharp look.

"I meant the staff," she says defensively.  "I'm saying, we should call our people, make sure they know."

Donna.

I have to tell Donna this.

God.  I should have been the one to tell her about the President.  Toby's right about that part.  I should've told her days ago.  But this situation is just so insane that...

It's not that I don't trust her; never that.  But now we're doing this thing, this extracurricular relationship (or to call it by its proper name, secret engagement), and I absolutely can't have any doubt cast upon my ability to do my job.  Or her ability to do hers.

Especially not when this comes out.

There can't be anything unusual about Donna's and my professional relationship; it can't be like I told my girlfriend a state secret.  So in that sense, it's best that Toby told her.  But this is the woman I'm going to marry, I'm a terrible liar, and it should've been me who told her.

And even though this is going to be excruciating, even though I'm going to be responsible for dropping the second bombshell on Donna today, I have to be the one to tell her about this.

I have to tell her Mrs. Landingham's dead.

"Josh?" CJ asks with a concerned look.

I shake my head a bit, but it doesn't do a damn thing to clear my thoughts.  "Yeah?"

"You're going home?"

"I'm going to tell Donna."

CJ and Toby exchange looks.  "Okay," she answers.  "Do you want--"

"I'm fine," I say with an unconvincing smile.  "I'm just -- I need to tell her in person.  Her day's already been pretty bad."

Toby glances away.  "That one was for me."

"Not really," I answer tiredly.

"I'm going to the office," Sam decides, glancing over at Toby.  "We're going to need, you know..."  He shrugs.

"Yeah," Toby agrees.  "We need a statement."

CJ looks back and forth between them.  "Should I call the troops back?"

With a tired sigh, Toby nods.  "Yeah.  Double-check with Leo, but -- Yeah."

CJ, Toby, and Sam turn to me.  I answer the wordless question.  "I'll be in later.  Just -- I need some time for this, okay?"

CJ squeezes my hand and rises from the table.  "Take your time, Josh."

Sam, still shellshocked, nods at me and follows CJ, docile.  Toby pushes himself upright, moving more slowly than I've ever seen, and turns tired eyes on me.  "Two hours, Josh."

"Yeah," I answer absently.  Then I watch him leave, grab my cellphone off the tabletop, and head for the door.

When Donna answers, I say, "Don't turn on the TV."

THE END

05.11.01