Balance of Power

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    Perhaps, Clayton reflected, Kerry—despite his guilt and sadness—had thought this through. 'I didn't ask for this,' Kerry finished more quietly. 'I'd give up this office in a heartbeat if I could give Lara back her mother, or her sister, or Marie. But that's not the hand fate dealt me. So now the only question besides healing Lara is how I use their deaths.'

    Once more, Clayton fell silent, debating whether to speak. 'Depending on what you do,' he finally said, 'trying to heal Lara could make this worse than you've imagined. If you put her out there with you, she'll become a target. Nothing will be off-limits.' Clayton watched Kerry absorb his tacit reference to Lara's secret abortion. 'Please,' Clayton implored his friend, 'don't let John Bowden overwhelm your Presidency. Or, if you can help it, your marriage.'

    Kerry did not respond. Walking to the window, he gazed into the darkened courtyard. 'Let's talk about Al Anwar,' Clayton said at length.

    'Let's.' Kerry did not turn. 'How did you keep it quiet?'

    'With difficulty. I put the fear of God into the Pentagon, and had them ship the body in secrecy to the air force base at Stuttgart. My excuse was that we needed a positive forensic identification, and that we'd all look incompetent, and worse, if we announced the death of a terrorist who then popped up on the Al Jazeera network. But there was never any real doubt it was Al Anwar, and now there's none at all. How CNN missed this I'll never know.' Clayton's tone became imperative. 'We can say you were only being responsible, Mr. President. But this lends itself to less charitable interpretations. You've sat on it as long as you dare.'

    For a moment, Kerry was silent. 'Go find Ellen,' he requested. 'As soon as Lara and I are in the air, she can announce Al Anwar's death.'

* * *

    Kerry and his Vice President sat beside each other in wing chairs. When they had finished speaking of Al Anwar, Ellen Penn turned to guns, her dark brown eyes bespeaking her concern. 'I know how hard this is for both of you,' she began. 'But either we change the gun laws in this country, or Lara's family becomes just another statistic. To paraphrase your inaugural address, 'If not now, when; if not us, who?' '

    'Perhaps not me. People say I polarize. And I do.'

    Ellen considered this. 'There's also Lara,' she replied. 'I watched her at the funeral, Mr. President. I saw what she can do.'

    Turning, Kerry looked at her, questioning. 'The Costellos are victims,' Ellen continued, 'and Lara gives them voice. Like her, you're a survivor of gun violence; better than anyone, you know that the decision to turn a nightmare into a cause can be profound. But Lara can speak for women and children as no one else.'

    Ellen's tough and feisty surface, Kerry reflected, concealed a deep compassion. 'The funeral,' he told her, 'was even harder on Lara than it looked. I don't know if she'll want to relive it, over and over.'

    'But what if she decides to?' Ellen countered. 'Would you try to stop her? And if you could, where would that leave her? Let alone the two of you.'

    At this, Kerry felt an infinite weariness. 'I have no idea,' he answered.

SEVEN

Their first night on Martha's Vineyard, Kerry awoke from a restless sleep.

    Lara was gone. He pulled on blue jeans and a sweater and walked onto the deck. In the moonlight, Lara waded ankle deep into a chill ocean.

    Watching, Kerry debated whether to go to her. Then Peter Lake said quietly, 'She's all right, Mr. President.'

    Kerry turned. Standing beside the deck, Peter gazed at Lara.

    She's not all right, Kerry wanted to say. She barely sleeps. She drops things she's forgotten she's holding. At times she's angry and demanding, and then silence descends. She cries when she shouldn't, can't cry when she should. I don't know what to do.

    'Thank you,' the President said simply.

* * *

    At daybreak, Kerry found her sitting cross-legged on a windswept dune.

    'Care to talk about it?' he asked.

    Distractedly, Lara brushed the hair back from her face, still studying the water. She answered him with dispassion. 'About hating myself? What is there to say? I abdicated my responsibilities in every possible way— assigning Joanie to you, helping the media to take her life over. Now they're all dead. So I sit here, hating the life we're supposed to lead.'

    Do you hate me? Kerry wanted to ask. But it was not the time to express his own anguish, or to ask for reassurance. Or even, right now, fairness. He could not define what fairness was.

    'You didn't fail them,' he told her. 'I did. Our system of politics did, and our laws. That's how Bowden got his gun.'

* * *

Later they drank coffee on the deck. 'Politics,' Lara said. This had become her recent pattern—talking in single words or phrases, at times connected to something said an hour before. When Kerry turned to her, she asked, 'What will you do?'

    'Break the power of the SSA, if I can. Pass a law that works. Try to keep this from happening to some other family—at least in the way it did.'

    Lara sipped her coffee. 'Can you?'

    'Perhaps. At a cost.' Reflecting, Kerry studied the ocean, deep grey in a lingering mist. 'People like Hampton will remind me about health care, or education—all the issues which affect more people than guns do—and worry that I'll cost us the next election.

    'For my Presidency, this is a defining moment. I'm custodian of a lot of lives, a bunch of conflicting hopes, and the careers of a pack of senators and congressmen just trying to survive. Whatever I do will impact them.'

    Lara resumed her survey of the shoreline. 'When I covered Congress,' she said after a time, 'I used to observe the pettiness and backstabbing, the sheer cowardice of politics, and pride myself on my worldliness. Now the whole thing makes me sick.'

* * *

    She tried to nap. When she emerged from the bedroom, holloweyed, Kerry placed two cups of clam chowder on the table.

    Staring at the steaming cup, Lara picked up her soup spoon, put it down again. Tears welled in her eyes. 'Do you know who I miss the most? My mother. She was the one who always cared for me.

    'I know—she'd already lived her life. Joanie was breaking free, and Marie was so young. Mama would have gladly died to save them . . .' Voice catching, Lara bowed her head. 'I feel so violated, Kerry. She was the first person I ever loved.'

    Kerry watched as tears ran down her face.

* * *

    The night was deep and still—the faint whirring of crickets, sea grass rustling in the wind. Kerry and Lara sat on the deck, long moments passing in silence.

    'A law.' Her face and voice were affectless. 'Can you promise me you'll pass it?'

    This required no answer. Kerry offered none.

    'If you're trying to protect me, don't.' Her voice held a first trace of steel. 'They were