Disclaimers in Part 1
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I know that I love her, but I'm not sure if she's ready to hear
that. Hearing and saying the words won't make everything right.
This very thought is extremely profound to me. As if I have suddenly
uncovered the secret to making a relationship work. I know now, for
the first time in my life, that I have to make things right before I can say the
words.
The drive back to her place is silent, except that I can practically
hear Donna's mind whirling with the new information she received
tonight. It's amazing how one single sentence can send your world
into a tailspin, or save your life. I am holding her hand, our
fingers intertwined, but I'm not sure if she is truly aware of that.
I park the car outside of her apartment building, letting her know
that I intend to follow her inside. Tomorrow, we go back to work,
and it would be so easy to let things slip back into our normal
routine, but I know that I can't let that happen. My life has
changed tonight and I need for her to understand that. No matter
what the risk.
I look over at her. She is exhausted, and I wonder when the last
time was that she got a full nights' rest. Probably about seventh
months ago, I quickly tabulate. "We're here," I say. I look up at
the windows to her apartment and notice that all the lights are
out. "Is your roommate coming home later?" I just want to know if I
can expect some privacy while we talk.
"She's out of the country," she says. "Business. Milan...I think."
"Do you have any coffee?"
"Sure."
Great, I think, because this might take a while.
Once we're in her apartment I am, once again, at a loss for words.
How do I get her to open up to me? We've kept each other at a polite
distance for so long I'm not sure she'll trust herself to let me get
close to her. Within minutes there's fresh coffee percolating in the
coffeemaker. I watch her as she moves about the kitchen. She busies
herself with inane tasks, no doubt hoping to postpone the talk I am
about to spring on her.
The clock on the kitchen wall tells me it's only nine o'clock. Donna
has forgotten to reapply her makeup since we left the White House and
the dark circles under her eyes are now apparent. Stark against her
alabaster cheeks.
"When was the last time you slept?"
"Last night," she dismisses.
"I mean, when was the last time you had a full night's sleep?
Uninterrupted."
She pauses as she pulls a coffee mug down from the cabinet. "I don't
know...a while."
"Define 'a while'. Six...maybe seven months?"
Her spine stiffens and I see that she going to close herself off from
me.
"You know," I say, trying another tactic, "when I was in the
hospital, it was so hard to get you to go home to get some sleep.
You would tell me that you went home, but I knew that you usually
went straight to the office instead. And you were never away from me
long enough to get any real rest."
"Those chairs were pretty comfortable," she argues.
"Those chairs were designed to make you leave," I counter. "You were
so steadfast, Donna...so strong."
"What's your point, Joshua?"
"My point is that you never left the hospital, Donna."
"You needed someone to make you recover."
"I'm not talking about seventh months ago anymore. I'm talking about
now. You never left the hospital. You're still there, Donna. Still
afraid that every move I make is going to tear my stitches. Still
afraid that every phone call will overtax me. Still afraid that
every cough is going to be the end of me. Still afraid, Donna.
That's all...just...still afraid."
"I'm fine."
"Now who's lying?"
"I don't know where you're getting this from."
"See, you think I don't notice. But I do...I did. You think I don't
see you. And you were right. For a while, all I could see was
myself. All I could see was the mess that had been made of my life.
But I'm better now, Donna, and I can see. I can see you now."
She is trying hard not to cry, so I do nothing to hold back my own
emotions.
"Do you know what I'm talking about, Donna? Every little thing sends
you into an emotional tailspin. I know, I said a lot of things a few
months ago that hurt you. But I thought everything was getting
better. I thought we were getting better. But you're still there.
You startle at loud noises. Did you know that? For God's sake, you
weren't even in Rosslyn that day!"
"I know that!" She finally lets her emotions out on a leash. "Don't
you think I know that? I see you bleeding to death on the pavement
and I can't do anything!"
"In your dreams?"
"In my nightmares." She spits out the word. At last, she lets me
see the tears she has tried so hard to keep hidden.
"What are you doing, Donna? Why are you holding all of this inside?
You've been so strong for me for so long. You carried me, do you
understand that? And all I want to know is when, Donna?"
"When what?"
"When are you going to let me carry you?"
"I...I...I don't...." Her tears flow freely now, and I can see that
her hands are still shaking, so I take them in mine.
"Please, let me help you, Donna. Your eyes don't smile anymore. You
can't see that, but I can. You're killing yourself inside and that
is killing me. That's why we went to the doctor tonight. I wasn't
having chest pains because my heart was hurting. I was having chest
pains because my heart was aching. Can you understand the
difference? Listen to what I'm telling you here and listen to what
my heart told you tonight."
"How can I?" She takes this moment of indecision to escape the
confines of the kitchen. I follow her into the living room where she
stands, every muscle in her body broadcasting her insecurity
"I know you carry a heavy burden. It's time to let it go. We've
walked a rocky path together for last seven months. You followed me
into the woods, but when I came out you stayed behind. Why? Let me
shoulder some of the burden now. I'm strong now, Donna, I can take
it. Let me help you."
"How can you help me?"
"You tell me."
"What?"
"You tell me, Donna. What do you need from me? What can I give
you? A willing ear? I'll listen to anything you want say, or
scream -- if that's what you need. Do you need to hit something? I
offer myself as a target. I know you, Donna, you have a lot locked
up in there that needs to come out."
"You could have died," she says, tentatively. Though her demeanor
since the shooting has said this, this is the first time she has
actually spoken the words aloud.
"Yes," I say, "but I didn't."
"I watched from the observation room."
"Watched what?"
"Your surgery," she says, wiping the tears from her face. "I made
every deal with God that I could think of. I promised I'd be
better. I promised I'd be stronger."
"Better than what, Donna? Stronger than what?"
"Than me."
"God doesn't make them any better and he certainly doesn't make them
any stronger." My throat tightens painfully and, as a result, my
voice cracks.
"I could see your heart -- not beating."
"I was on bypass. The machine was doing all work."
"I waited and waited. That's what Hell is, Josh. It's all about
waiting for the axe to fall. Hell is about waiting to hear that your
life is over. I was so scared. It was like...freefalling, you
know? I had nothing to hang on to and no parachute to stop the
descent."
"You're still afraid. What are you afraid of?"
"Losing you," she whispers. "And losing myself in you. I can't hide
from it, Joshua."
"But that hasn't stopped you from running." She shakes her head at
my observation. "Or from building walls. You won't lose me, Donna."
"You can't promise that. Don't make that kind of promise."
"I can promise that as long as there is breath in this body, you will
never lose me." She seems astonished by this confession. I take her
face in my hands and touch my forehead to hers. "And it's okay to
lose a little of yourself in me, as long as I can lose a little of
myself in you."
"Josh...."
"What can I do to quiet your fears, Donnatella? What can I do to
make your hands stop shaking? What do you need?"
"I need...." her voice trails off and hers drop away from mine. She
turns her head away to avoid my scrutiny.
I force her to face me again -- to look me in the eye. "What do you
need?"
She takes a deep breath and I know she knows what she needs, but is
weighing the risks.
"Can you...will you...hold me?"
I wrap my arms around her before she has a chance to be embarrassed
by her request. He body is trembling so I tighten my embrace until
she feels secure in my arms. After a moment, the tension in her body
begins to release and her tremors quiet. Her knees buckle and in
that instant I sweep her into my arms, her head resting on my
shoulder.
I carry my burden -- my anchor -- into the bedroom and lay her on the
bed. Climbing in beside her, I take her in my arms again, and pull
her tightly to my chest. The tears she cries now are cleansing ones.
I stroke her hair and kiss her forehead as she cries her silent
tears. I don't know how long it takes for her to cry herself to
sleep, but I know that in my arms, there will be no nightmares
tonight.
For either of us.
The End