Balance of Power

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 my family, not yours. This time I won't sit back and watch you."

* * *

    They lay beside each other, sleepless in the dark. For an hour or more, neither had spoken.

    "When I was little," Lara finally said, "my father owned a gun. Even then it scared me—like he did. Just passing a gun shop gave me the creeps.

    "Then you were shot, and I nearly lost you." Her voice softened. "I made a pact with God—that if you lived I'd never leave you, no matter what sacrifices I'd have to make. And when you survived I believed that He had given you back to me, and now would never take you."

    In the pause that followed, Kerry touched her hand. "He gave me you," she finished. "And then He took them in exchange . . ."

Heartsick, Kerry listened to the sound of muffled crying.

* * *

    They walked the beach on a cool midmorning, hands in the pockets of their windbreakers. Out to sea, a Coast Guard cutter sliced along the perimeter mapped out by Peter Lake, beyond which two cabin cruisers carried photographers with telephoto lenses.

    "Next week," Lara said, "there'll be a magazine cover of this moment, to remind me I'm First Lady. That's what I am now—a symbol. The only job I have."

    "True. But there's much a First Lady can do."

    Abruptly stopping, Lara turned to him. "Please, if I decide to do something about guns, support me."

    In his worry and ambivalence, Kerry found no words. "Before this happened," she told him, "it might have been race and poverty—somewhere I could use my skills to make people see lives they choose to ignore, and actually give a damn. But I don't have a choice now. Now it's guns."

* * *

    They ate more chowder by candlelight. "It's better the second day," Lara said.

    Smiling faintly, Kerry watched her glass of wine kick in. At length he ventured, "There are some realities we should talk about."

    "Such as?"

    Aimlessly, Kerry stirred his chowder. "When it comes to First Ladies, Americans have problems with gender and lines of authority. They don't want the President's wife formulating policy, or running a task force. Marriage isn't enough—to push an agenda or propose new laws, you have to get elected to something."

    "What about dead relatives," Lara answered coldly. "Is that too feeble a credential?"

    "No. Not if your goal is to make people feel the tragedy of gun violence, the pain of lives lost for no good reason . . ."

    "Because I'm a victim," Lara interrupted in anger and derision. "Do you know how much I hate being a victim? That's how too many people are most comfortable with women—as victims. 'Protect the mommies, save the children' . . ."

    "There's more to worry about," Kerry warned. "If you get out front on this, people will say it's all about you—that if you'd become a paraplegic we'd be going full bore for stem cell research . . ."