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[3rd person pov]

She finds the photograph album hidden away on the top shelf of her closet one rainy Saturday afternoon when she’s tidying her apartment.

The album is old, barely held together by the crumbling binding, the writing on the front faded with the years. She doesn’t know why it’s in her apartment, or to whom it belongs, but she loves old photographs. It’s a nice distraction – she is easily bored with cleaning.

She makes herself a cup of cocoa and sits down on the couch. She slowly opens the album, trying not to damage it. She doesn’t recognize the people in the first photograph. It’s of a man and a woman - him dark, her blonde - smiling into the camera. They look happy, she thinks. She looks closer at the picture and wonders about the couple. It must have been taken over fifty years ago, judging by the quality of the print, and she wonders if they’re still alive.

The second photograph is of the same couple, but several other people are with them. They’re celebrating something; they hold champagne glasses to toast, balloons adorn the background, and everyone is grinning widely. She tries to imagine what they were celebrating; a birthday, or perhaps New Years. Maybe it was taken in DC, an election victory of some kind.

The next few photos are more of the same party but with different people. An older man with whom she assumes to be his wife; a group of younger women; the same dark haired man with various other people; a tall, thin, woman with a shorter, grumpy-looking man; the woman from the original photograph hugging an attractive man.

There’s also a huge group shot, and she’s almost sure that the man in the middle is a former President, but she dismisses the idea on the grounds that it’s not clear enough to see.

The next few photographs are of a ball. Everyone looks elegant in their old-fashioned dresses, all the men more attractive in their tuxedos. The woman with the blonde hair dances with the dark-haired guy, and they seem oblivious to everything that is around them. They’re obviously in love, and she wonders if they’re married.

After that, the photographs are more individual shots. The dark-haired guy looks intently at the blonde as she grins back at him.

She wonders about their story; who they were, how they met, what happened to them.

The next photo is of the same woman with the attractive male from earlier photos. It’s in a bar, and she’s pointing out something or someone to him. It’s unclear what, but the people at the edge of the picture obviously find it amusing.

The next few pages contain more of the same. The couple are featured numerous times; sometimes alone, sometimes with others, but often aware only of each other. They stand closer than they do with the others; sometimes his arm is round her waist, sometimes not.

Later photos show another woman, a dark-haired, attractive woman. In one she wears a short red dress. She holds tightly onto the dark-haired guy, and he looks uncomfortable with the attention. Others in the photo look amused at the couple, grinning at his facial expression.

She wonders who this other woman was. Obviously, she was attracted to the guy, but surely she knew he was with the blonde woman? She knows that she would never throw herself at someone who was so obviously already attached.

The next photo shows the blonde woman and the dark-haired guy kissing. The next is possibly moments later; both look embarrassed, although laughing.

More photos of the couple follow, in various settings. Sometimes just one is in the picture, other times both.

There’s a couple of wedding photos after this. The woman’s dress is simple but gorgeous and she looks very nervous. The next few are after the ceremony; the couple stands side by side, grinning happily into the camera.

A photo of the wedding guests without the couple follows; she’s almost sure that she recognizes a couple of the people, including the man who looks like a former president.

The next photo is of somewhere tropical, perhaps Hawaii, but she’s not sure since she’s never been there. She imagines that’s where they had the honeymoon.

The final photo is of a little girl, perhaps a year and a half old. She’s cute, with blonde curly hair that she wears in pigtails.

On the opposite side of the page is a message.

Joshua,

I thought for ages what I could get you for our anniversary. Our *actual* anniversary, that is. You gave me a book; I give you us. Our lives together so far.

I didn’t know it at the time, but I joined the Bartlet for America campaign and became your assistant for a reason. The reason being that you obviously desperately needed an assistant… and that I needed you. Of course, I didn’t realize it until later, and that moment you finally asked me out I understood what it was that I’d been waiting for.

Thank you for everything: for allowing me to be your assistant, for convincing me to date and then marry you, and of course, for Isabella.

I know I don’t say it often, but I love you; I always have and I always will.

Thank you for being you.

Love,

Donnatella Moss-Lyman xx

The message is beautiful and she can’t help but envy their relationship, despite the fact that it was so long ago.

She wonders over the next few days about the couple; about Joshua and Donnatella, and decides that she’s going to try and find out.

She knows that they were part of President Bartlet’s campaign and were friends of the former President, which narrows down the search considerably.

She does a quick internet search for information on the President. There are numerous references to Joshua Lyman, mostly about a situation in Rosslyn. She soon finds out that Joshua was nearly fatally wounded in an assassination attempt on the President’s daughter and her boyfriend, an aide to the President.

There are a couple of books written by Joshua himself: his memoirs about the Bartlet administration, a biography, and even a couple of books on political theory.

She checks out the biography and spends almost her entire free time reading it. It is enthralling. It details events from the beginning of his life including his sister’s tragically early death. There is more about his later life; his meeting Donnatella Moss for the first time and their life together, the Bartlet campaign and following eight years in office, and their two children, Isabella and Joseph - named for their grandparents.

Their lives almost take over her own and she is distraught to discover that they both died several years previously. She doesn’t know why their lives affected her, or why she came to own their beloved photograph album. Perhaps she’ll never know. What she does know, though, is that she has to try and return it, to Isabella or Joseph, if possible.

There is an I. Lyman-Knight in her phone directory and she wonders if it’s the same person. The address is in a small town a short distance from DC and one evening she drives over there with the photograph album.

She knocks on the door and waits. A woman in her late fifties answers and replies that yes, she is Isabella Lyman-Knight.

“My name is Rebecca,” she says. “I think this belongs to you.” She hands over the album, and Isabella’s eyes widen in surprise.

“My God!” she exclaims. “I thought I’d never see this again! My brother and I looked all over for it when mom died and never found it. Thank you!”

“I found it in my apartment,” Rebecca tells her. “I read through your father’s biography and all sorts of things trying to find out about your parents. They led remarkable lives.”

Isabella smiles wistfully. “That they did,” she replies. “Would you like to come in for a drink?” she offers.

“I’m fine, thank you. I just wanted to return the album,” Rebecca replies.

“Thank you,” Isabella repeats. “I’m so grateful. Thank you.” She pauses briefly. “I feel as though I should do something for you, to properly say thank you.”

“You don’t need to do anything, I’m just glad that I could return it. It obviously means a lot to you.”

“Then you can understand why I want to thank you in some way,” Isabella smiles. “Next time I’m in DC, why don’t we meet for coffee? I can tell you some of the more personal stories about my parents. Ones that didn’t make it into the history books.”

“I’d like that,” Rebecca replies sincerely. They exchange phone numbers and Isabella offers to bring some more photographs along as well.

That evening Rebecca looks at the photographs of her own family. There have been no books written about them and there are few stories she can remember. She thinks about how easily memories can be forgotten and she’s glad she’s got the photos to remind her.

She takes out a picture of herself and her parents making a snowman, and she places it in a spare frame. Smiling with the recollection of the event, she puts it on top of the TV, and then phones her mother.

[the end]

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