Balance of Power

    This was another blind curve on the road to marriage. Though she was developing a degree of fatalism, the resignation of a would-be First Lady to the limitations of her new life, Lara had always been independent, beholden to no one for support or a sense of who she was. That Kerry understood this did not change what she would lose by marrying him—her own identity. Already she had been forced to take leave from NBC: the potential for conflicts of interest, or at least their appearance— that a powerful network might profit by employing the President's fiancée—also applied to any other segment of the media. A brief flirtation with the presidency of the Red Cross—based on her high profile as a television journalist and experience in war zones—had floundered on the fear that major donors might want something from President Kilcannon. Other jobs had similar problems, and the best ones, Lara acknowledged, would take away from her public duties and her private time with Kerry. "I'm sorry," she said at last. "I was being a brat. It may not seem so, but you're actually more important to me than running the Red Cross."

    Though he knew this, or at least should, to Lara his expression betrayed a certain relief. "Then your fate is sealed, I'm afraid."

    "I guess it is," she answered dryly. "I'm a fool for love."

    Once more he drew her close. "The thing is," he continued, "I'm forty-three. Even if we started tomorrow, by the time our first son or daughter graduates from college I'll be on Social Security. If there's any left."

    "Tell that to the Pope."

    "Oh, I have. I even mentioned that Meg couldn't stand the thought of children." There was a different tone in his voice, Lara thought; hand gently touching her chin, he raised her face to his. "And, at last, he's heard me."

    She felt a tingle of surprise. "The annulment?"

    Kerry grinned. "Yes. That."

    Astonished, Lara pulled back to look at him. "When?"

    "Yesterday."

    "Why didn't you tell me?"

    "I was in Pittsburgh." There was new light in his eyes, and he spoke more softly. "This just seemed like a better time and place."

    Knowing how much he wanted this, Lara felt the depth of her love for him. This moment was the last threshold, she knew, before she entered the hall of mirrors which was the Presidency, the omnipresent, often merciless scrutiny which could change lives and warp marriages until even the most private act assumed a public significance. Briefly, she thought of her abortion, felt the familiar stab of fear. Then she thought of Kerry, and imagined their children.

    "Is Labor Day too soon?" she asked, and kissed him.

* * *

    Later, they turned to the practical. It began with her wistful comment, "Let's run away. Or at least have a private wedding—maybe at the Inn at Little Washington."

    "Besieged by the media?" Kerry asked. "With helicopters circling? We'd look like Madonna—except that the public would hate us for it."

    "Of course," she answered dryly. "How could I forget our stockholders?" She emitted a brief sigh. "I was thinking about us, of all people. And my family. You and I may be public people, but they're not used to this."

    Quietly, Kerry pondered that. Her family, as he had learned, was as complex as most, their relations more fraught than many. But these realities lived beneath a surface which, for image-makers, was the stuff of dreams. For Kerry, there was no one left; two months before, quite suddenly, he had lost his beloved mother. But Lara had two sisters, a niece, and a handsome mother who, collectively, would be catnip for any Democratic media consultant worth his fees—the Hispanic cleaning woman who had raised three bright and attractive daughters, seen them through college, and who with the two youngest girls would now watch the oldest become the new First Lady. And though Kerry did not say this, Lara knew that his advisors would envision uses for her family beyond attending their wedding.

    "I won't have them exploited," she said. "How many Presidential relatives begin by thinking it's all so wonderful, then find out too late their lives will never be the same."

    She saw resistance in his face, the wish to believe—despite all he knew—that this time would be different. "That sounds a little dire," he answered. "For my part, I'll never let my people turn the Costello family into reality TV."

    Faintly, Lara smiled. "Then you might begin with Clayton."

    At this mention of Kerry's Chief of Staff, his closest friend and protector, Kerry smiled back. "Clayton? If he wants to be Best Man, he'll remember which one of us is President." Pausing, he assured her, "Seriously, I worry about them, too."

    "I know you do."

    The telephone rang.

    Distractedly, Kerry picked it up. "It's midnight on the Fourth of July," he wryly told the operator. "Are we at war?"

    Pausing, Kerry listened. His eyes grew hooded, his face sober. "Put her through," he ordered.

    "Who is it?" Lara murmured.

    Covering the telephone, Kerry met her gaze. "Your sister Joan. For me."

THREE