IN THE WOODS
No such luck. The footsteps grow closer and I jump up, grabbing the backpack. I throw the parachute over Donna and the kids and shuffle some leaves to hide the parachute’s edge. Fortunately, it’s a military issue, so it’s khaki in color.
“Quiet,” I order and turn around, moving away from them in quick strides. I’m about five feet away when I spot a shadow first, and then a man appears.
“Good morning, Mr. Lyman,” Tim Gordon greets me, his hand on his Sig Sauer. “President Santos sent me to collect you and his children. Where are they?”
“I sent them away with Ms. Moss,” I tell him, praying for the poker face I know I’m lacking.
“Yeah, that’s very likely,” he tells me. “Okay, no need for a charade then, I guess. I have a gun and you don’t, Mr. Lyman. And no need to tell you what happened last time you found yourself on the other side of a gun.”
“Playing dirty, aren’t we?” I remark sarcastically, keeping my cool. I can fall apart later; I need to do this for Donna and Matt’s kids. “Who said I don’t have a gun, Tim?” I ask him and produce the gun I got from one of the dead agents.
“Would you be able to fire it off?” he teases me in a mocking undertone.
“I’m sure I will, considering that it would be in defense.”
“What constitutes as defense, Mr. Lyman? Me firing my gun? I’m a Secret Service agent, I have training, you don’t. I could kill you right now without you even being able to raise that gun.”
“Well, but then you’ll never be able to find the kids and Donna. And you’d be short of one hostage,” I retort, my voice cold, but trembling slightly. I don’t want to die, not now when I’m becoming a father.
“I’m sure I’d be able to track them down. And I don’t need you as a hostage; in fact, I don’t need Ms. Moss as a hostage.”
That’s true, and I guess this is a real threat, so I consider my next move as defense. I fire off my gun and then throw myself on the ground. I see him grabbing his right shoulder with his left hand; his gun falling out of his hand. I quickly scoot over and grab his gun before he realizes it’s gone. And then I spot Donna standing behind him. I make some pretty loud noises, but his curses and his pain make sure that he doesn’t notice Donna. My fiancée kneels into his knees from the back, making him buckle, and I quickly grab his feet, pulling at them, making him topple, face first into the dirt. Unfortunately, he hits his head on a nearby tree and in mere seconds he is unconscious.
“Is he dead?” I hear Miranda asking.
“No,” I say, when I feel the man’s steady and strong pulse. “He is just unconscious. We should get going before he wakes up,” I tell them.
“We can’t leave him here like that, it would be murder,” Donna tells me.
“Donna, I’m aware of that, but if he wakes up and finds us here I can’t defend you otherwise but shooting him. And that’d be murder too,” I tell her impatiently.
“Josh, we should at least tend to his wound,” she tries to convince me, and I give in.
“Fine, but I’m trussing him up before,” I tell her, making my way back to our parachute, taking Peter’s scissors with me.
When I return, I see that Donna made a pressure bandage out of her shawl, and I hand her a piece of parachute to bandage the man’s shoulder. I take his other hand and tie it to the tree. I also tie his legs to each other. I know that this isn’t a safe tie; I know that he could free himself later, but I also think that he will be out for an hour or so and with his injury he will have a hard time to free himself.
“Okay, let’s get going,” I order them after Donna finishes the bandage. I folded our parachute with Miranda’s help, so we are ready to go.
We run for the first ten minutes, and then I double back to make sure that we didn’t leave any traces. I plant some clues that might lead him to the wrong direction, using Miranda’s barrette and a piece of Peter’s coat. Then I rejoin them and we continue our way in a brisk step for another twenty minutes.
“I want my Mommy,” Miranda whines, finally giving in the stress. I can’t blame her, all I really want is to curl up next to Donna and let her make me feel better.
“Miranda, I know that you miss your Mommy,” I lean down, looking her into the eyes. “But we can’t go back to her.”
“What happened to Mommy?” she asks pretty much the only question I don’t know the answer for.
“I don’t know, I can only hope that she was found and brought to a hospital.” Should I have maybe lied to her? But then again, I don’t really have a poker face and I’m really convinced that when you want someone to trust you, you should never lie to him. Or her.
“When is Daddy coming for us?” she asks, and there we have it. Another question I don’t have the answer for. It can be pretty frustrating.
“As soon as he can,” I tell her. A politician’s answer, but at least it’s the truth.
“When will that be?” she continues the interrogation.
“Miranda, stop bothering Josh!” Peter snaps at his sister, and I know he feels the tension, too. I look up, arching an eyebrow at Donna. What should we do right now? We can’t really stop going, but we clearly have to address the issue. When I look at Miranda again, she is all tears, and I guess Peter noticed it too, since he runs to hug her. Donna finally gathers them in a hug, and I feel somehow left out. Until she beckons me over and I can hug them all.
“Listen up, I hope that today we could reach some village or find a cabin for shelter. We should go on. Again, if you can’t go on, please tell me, I promise…” I want to finish but Miranda and Peter interrupt me.
“You won’t get angry,” they say simultaneously, and I send them a grin. They grin back. This natural ability of kids to bounce back no matter how bad it gets, that’s something I’m really envious of.
“Right. Let’s head out,” I tell them, but Peter interrupts me by shaking his head.
“What’s up?” I lean down a bit to be at eye level with him, and he leans closer to whisper something in my ear.
“I have to pee,” he says, and I can’t help it, I have to smile. We already had this conversation yesterday along the way, but he wasn’t embarrassed by it then.
“Of course. What do you say, we leave the girls to their girly routine and we seek out a place for us, men?” I ask him, wiggling an eyebrow at Donna and Miranda. They both giggle. Okay, make them laugh; maybe we can save the conversation I’m not prepared for.
“Okay,” Peter says with a grin, and we trot away to find a spot.
“Wait!” Donna calls after us, and we turn at the same time. She licks the tip of her forefinger and lifts it up, turns a few times and then nods. “Yep, wind blows from northeast.” She says and then adds, “You know what that means, right?” She looks at us pointedly, and I think I actually blush. But now I know that Donna understands my tactic.
“Donna is really droll today, don’t you think, Peter?” I ask Peter in a mock whisper because I want both Donna and Miranda to hear me.
“What does droll mean?” Peter asks, making Donna and Miranda double over in laughter. Here I am, trying to be witty, and my companion in misery, my fellow man doesn’t get it.
“Ask Donna, she can tell you droll stories pretty good,” I tell him then.
“So droll is funny?” Peter asks back.
I can only nod because I have to think this over for a second. That means that Donna tells them stories. What kind of stories, I can only guess.
“So Donna tells you funny stories?” I ask him.
“Every time,” Peter admits.
“What kind of stories?” I ask him, already dreading the answer.
“Old stories about you and Sam,” Miranda answers, still laughing a bit. Donna is regularly beaming at me, like she is proud or something.
“Okay, but if I were you I wouldn’t believe half the things she says, she likes to embellish those stories,” I say, making Donna’s grin even wider.
“She said you’d say that,” Miranda tells me, her expression matches Donna’s.
“Yeah, I bet she did,” I whisper, not knowing how to get back at Donna at the moment. “Okay, buddy, let’s get going,” I tell Peter, and we maneuver our way through the forest to find a spot away from the girls, but still close to hear them if something comes up.
“Is it true that you and Sam set the White House on fire?” Peter asks me, after he is done.
“Yep,” I admit, not wanting to broach the subject anymore.
“What do you think my father would have done if you’d done that during his presidency?” he asks then.
“I think he would have been in stitches although I can imagine why President Bartlet was less than amused while standing on the Truman balcony around 4 a.m. in January,” I say for full disclosure.
“He had to stand there in the middle of the night? In January?” Peter asks his eyes wide. I guess Donna didn’t mention that fact when she told the story.
“In his PJ’s,” I add.
“Wow, I bet he was mad,” Peter says, and I nod.
“Ready?” I finally ask him, and we make our way back to the girls.
“I’m hungry,” Miranda says then, and I look at Peter. He must be hungry too. And to tell the truth, I’m starving too. We didn’t eat anything but some kind of bonbons Peter had in his backpack.
“Okay, time to break out the heavy stuff, Peter,” I tell him, and he nods. He has a special double block of Hershey’s chocolate bar in that backpack.
“Oh, Peter!” Donna swoons, and Peter gets a kiss. And while Peter and Miranda break the block into four pieces, I complain to Donna that I didn’t get a kiss. She looks at the kids and then gives me a peck on the lips.
“Donna!” I whine, and she smiles at me mysteriously. I hope she thinks about the same things I do.
“You can get lucky after I showered,” she whispers into my ear, and I check whether the kids heard her promise. They are still occupied with the chocolate, so it’s safe for me to relish the prospect for a few moments. And I also got the message; I have to bring them to safety.
“Let’s go, you can eat it on the way,” I usher the three of them forward, and we are on our way again. Donna and Peter are walking in front of me, Miranda falls into step with me at the back.
“Will Tim be okay?” she asks me right away.
“I think so. But you understand why I had to do it, right?” I ask him, praying that she understands. I don’t know why it’s so important to me, but it is. I’m waiting for her answer, holding my breath back.
“He wanted to kill Donna and take us so he can blackmail Daddy to do something bad,” she sums up that situation, and I know she understands. We continue our way in silence for the next five minutes and then she addresses me again.
“Josh, what do you think he is doing right now?” she asks me, and I don’t need to clarify who she means.
“I think right now he is on the phone with one of his former comrades.”
“Maybe Uncle Gregory,” she says, and I vaguely remember this former Marine named Gregory Lymburg. “He was there for the Fourth of July thing,” Miranda says, and I nod. Yes, I definitely remember him. He was your typical veteran, telling old tales, making everyone laugh.
“Yep, I think he is calling him to ask him whether he found us,” I tell Miranda.
“Do you think he will?” she asks back.
“I guess so. What would you like to do when we get back to the White House?” I ask her to take off her mind of our predicament.
“Take a bath, wash my hair and change into something that’s not itching,” she tells me, and I can’t help it, I have to laugh. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, I just would like to do the same. I would also like to wear some slippers for a month or so, I guess. These shoes are killing me,” I tell her, scrunching my face, looking down at my shoes.
“Yeah, my shoes are not much better,” she admits, looking down at her patent leather strappy shoes. “Did you and Donna have a fight yesterday?”
“Yeah, we had, but we are okay now,” I tell her.
“That’s good. Mom says you and Donna are so in love with each other that it’s sometimes hard to bear,” she imparts.
“Your mom said that?” I ask back, my voice going high at the end.
“Yeah, she told Dad, and I kinda overheard,” Miranda says.
“You mean you were eavesdropping,” I correct her with a grin.
“They were talking very loud,” Miranda says defensively. I think she would make a pretty good politician. “Will you two marry?”
“Yes, and very soon, I guess,” I admit, no need to keep it secret, Donna already agreed.
“But she doesn’t have a ring,” Miranda protests.
“You mean an engagement ring?” I ask her to clarify.
“Yes, she should have one if you are going to get married,” Miranda admonishes me, looking at me quite outraged.
“I’ll buy her a ring as soon as we get back,” I promise her.
“I’m worried about Mommy,” she whispers then, watching Peter, hoping that he didn’t hear her admission.
“I know, kiddo,” I tell her and take her hand into mine. We continue our way in silence, and I hope that I’ll never know the anxiety and helplessness Matt must feel right now. Miranda’s hand in mine keeps me thinking of my own baby. And about baby names for all that is important at this moment. I agree, all I want is a healthy baby, but I hope it’s a little girl. I don’t know if Donna inherited her family’s craziness about name giving. Although I know that Donatella is quite common in Italy, and after all her mom is Italian. Anyway, maybe I could head off the disaster, not that I’m not fond of her name. I know, I’m not making any sense. Bear with me, I’m hungry, I’m thirsty and my back and feet are hurting on top of it.
Hannah is a good name, my mother’s name, to tell the truth, but that’s not why I like it. Hannah Moss-Lyman. I think that sounds good. Heather Moss-Lyman. It’s okay, but not that good as Hannah. Abigail Moss-Lyman. I don’t know where that came from, but I know–thanks to a particularly boring bus ride during our first Bartlet campaign–that Abigail is a Hebrew name meaning ‘father’s joy’. Well, this little one will be her father’s joy, that’s for sure. I can picture us in the Rose Garden; she is looking up at me with love and trust. I’d really like that. Three weeks ago, I caught Matt and Miranda fooling around in the Rose Garden, they looked completely lost in their own game; they didn’t even notice I was standing there, watching them. I wanted that memory to be mine. And now it can come true, although we have to win the election for that. One more incentive to work harder towards that goal. And of course, we have to get home first.
“Would you like to have kids?” Miranda asks then out of the blue, brining me back from my dreams.
“Yes, kiddo,” I admit, not telling her that Donna is pregnant. It’s her privilege to break the news; besides, I don’t know how far she is but I know that mothers don’t like to tell anyone in the first twelve weeks.
“A boy or a girl?” Miranda asks.
“A girl.”
“That’d be good. I could baby-sit her if you want,” she offers.
“Thanks, Miranda,” I answer and send her a grin. She grins back. She knows something. Maybe she was not so asleep yesterday.
“We were loud, right?” I refer to her term of eavesdropping and see that she is blushing a bit. But then she smiles at me, and I know she didn’t want to pry; she was just kept awake by us.
“Yep. And I was thinking about names,” she admits then.
“Really? Me too. What did you come up with?”
“I really like the name Joanna.”
“No, that’s not an option, sorry,” I tell her. It’s to similar to my sister’s name, and I wouldn’t want that.
“Okay.” She nods and offers me the next one. “What about Sophia? I know that Donna’s half-Italian. Sophia Lyman,” she tries, and I have to admit it does sound good.
“Moss-Lyman,” I correct her.
“Sophia Moss-Lyman. Nah, that’s not so good anymore. Yours?”
“Hannah Moss-Lyman. Or Abigail Moss-Lyman,” I tell her and almost see the little wheels turning in her head.
“I have an Abigail in my class,” she says. “We call her Abbey.”
“Yeah, I know an Abigail too,” I tell her.
“The former First Lady, I know,” Miranda tells me, and gives me a smile.
“What about Hannah?” I ask her.
“That’s your mother’s name,” she tells me. I’m completely flabbergasted.
“How do you know that?” I manage to squeak out.
“Donna told me once. She was talking to your mom on the phone,” she explains, and I nod. “But if you give her the name Hannah, you should give her Mrs. Moss’ name too.”
“I guess then I have to give up on Hannah,” I tell her. No way will I name my child Giacinta. Not even as a middle name!
“You should talk Donna about it,” Miranda tells me, giving me an unfathomable look.
“You didn’t happen to overhear a conversation about baby names?” I ask her tentatively.
“Mom, Donna and Annabeth were talking about baby names just the other day. Annabeth and Craig want to have babies,” she tells me. “They are thinking about adoption.”
“I see.” Well, this information is new, and I feel only a bit uncomfortable about the way I got it. But she offered me this piece freely, so my conscience can rest for a while. Until I blurt out something in front of Annabeth, I guess.
“Annabeth said they were in various orphanages, and they saw a little girl named Isabella. Mommy said it’s a beautiful name, and Donna said that’s her sister’s name, and if it weren’t her sister’s name she would give it to her baby, if she had one.”
“I see. And you think she wants an Italian name?” I ask Miranda.
“I don’t know. Is it that bad?” Miranda asks back.
“Nah, I don’t think so. Although it can be a mouthful, to tell the truth,” I admit. “With Moss-Lyman at the end I think we need something shorter. That’s why I prefer Hannah to Abigail.”
“I see. Well, Donna will be Donatella Moss-Lyman. That’s long but I think it sounds good,” Miranda tells me, and I’m suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling. Donatella Moss-Lyman. Donna will be my wife. She will be mine forever. We will have a family together. Oh, get it together, Lyman!
“When you are done with the naming procedure, could you catch up with us?” I hear Donna asking. “There is a house over there,” she informs us.
Miranda lets go of my hand and runs forward. I walk to Donna and encircle her waist with my arms.
“She overheard us yesterday,” I whisper to her.
“I know. I don’t mind,” Donna says, giving me a brief kiss again. “And we will have a list and once we saw the kid we will decide what fits.”
“Okay, I can live with that.”
“And we will compile a list of boy names, too,” Donna adds then. “What do you think? Should we try?” She motions towards the house.
“I’m thirsty, Donna,” I tell her, and she nods. “If for nothing else but for water and maybe a phone call we should try it. I’ll go first, see what I find. If everything okay, you can come after me with the kids. Okay?”
“Okay,” she agrees and she takes both Peter and Miranda by the hand. I reach the house and look back; they are staying in the shadows of the trees.
I knock on the door and look down at my watch. It’s almost 9 o’clock. I hope they are already up.
“Coming!” I hear a female voice, and I’m somehow relieved.
GO TO PART FOUR