Balance of Power

    Among those were the histories of each upstairs bedroom in which the Costellos were staying. Entering the Queen's suite, he told Inez, "This is where Queen Elizabeth stayed, along with Queens Juliana and Wilhelmina of the Netherlands, Queen Frederika of Greece, a gaggle of princesses, and even Winston Churchill. But not at the same time."

    Inez eyed the room with the mock-critical gaze of a woman concerned that it met her standards of domestic order, her gaze resting last on the canopied bed. Then she turned to Kerry, touching his arm. "It's wonderful, truly."

    "I'm still getting used to it myself," Kerry answered with a smile, and led them to the Lincoln Bedroom—Inez, Joan and Marie, with Lara and Mary chatting behind. "This was actually Lincoln's office," he explained. "But after he was assassinated, it was felt no one should work here." Turning to Marie, he said, "A long time ago, in this country, white men were allowed to own blacks as slaves. This is where President Lincoln signed what they called the Emancipation Proclamation, making slavery against the law."

    And it was in this room, Kerry thought, where history became palpable for him. But it was not easy to explain to a six-year-old girl the ineradicable stain which slavery had left on our nation, the ongoing legacy of which remained one of Kerry's deepest concerns. Scooping her up in one arm, Kerry walked over to an oil depicting a cluster of slaves, hiding in a cellar as they gazed at a watch by candlelight, waiting for the hour of emancipation to strike. "These were slaves," he told her, and pointed to the worn face of an old man. "This man has been waiting all his life to be free."

    For a long time, Marie gazed at the painting, doll held tight to her. Perhaps, Kerry thought, this reflected less a conscious understanding of slavery than of the fear and hope she read in the faces, the sense of hiding in the darkness. It was that sense, Kerry suspected, which Marie could feel as intensely as Kerry had at her age, listening to the sounds of his father's anger, his mother's cries.

    "Come on," he told her. "I've got another room to show you."

* * *

This solarium was light and sunny—there was a television, and Lara had stocked it with children's books and the same games Marie had at home. To Marie, her mother exclaimed, "Oh, sweetheart, this is really nice." More softly, she said to Lara, "Thank you."

    Quiet, Lara touched Joan's arm.

    Perhaps now, Kerry hoped, things would change between them. If so, that would be a wedding present to Lara beyond anything else she could receive. Together, the adults watched Marie place her doll at a small wooden table.

    The telephone rang. Glancing at the caller ID number, Kerry saw that it was Clayton Slade.

    "Yes?" he answered.

    "I'm sorry to bother you," Clayton apologized. "But we've got a problem, with the San Francisco Chronicle."

    At once, Kerry felt hope turn to apprehension. "What?" he asked. "Did I lose the recount?"

    "They're working on a story about Joan. And you."

SE VENTEEN

"Carole Tisone called me ," Marcia Harding told the President. "From the Chronicle. She knew all about the stay-away order; Bowden's threats to Joan; his visit to Marie; his conviction. Even that he's in a program for abusive men."

    Sitting in his upstairs office, Kerry glanced at the others—Clayton, Kit Pace, and Lara—as Harding's voice resonated from the speakerphone. "How?" he asked.

    "Not from me." Harding's voice was flat. "Maybe from court files, or the cops. Maybe someone in the PD's office told somebody else—the only thing that isn't run-of-the-mill domestic violence is that Joan is Lara Costello's sister. Now that she's left for your wedding, her life has become a 'human interest story' . . ."

    "What's the public interest in humiliating Joan?"

    "I asked much the same thing. She started with some pieties about domestic violence being 'our most closely guarded family secret,' and how Joan's case was like Nicole Simpson's—a wake-up call that exposes the issue." Harding paused, then added with palpable reluctance. "Then she asked about your call."

    At the corner of his eye, Kerry saw Lara's look of alarm. "There were only three of us on that call," Kerry said tersely. "You, me, and Halloran."

    "I can only speak for me, Mr. President. I didn't tell a soul—no one in the office, not even the police."

    "What did you tell the reporter?"

    "Only that it was an internal matter, and that I didn't feel free to comment. I've got a call in to Jack Halloran—I haven't been able to reach him. So I decided to warn you myself. Whatever happens, Mr. President, I clearly can't deny you called."

    Across the room, Kerry watched a series of expressions register on Kit Pace's snub features—disquiet, concern, calculation. More evenly, Kerry inquired, "What did this reporter want to know?"