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Adam had leaned in to catch it but hadn’t been fast enough.

“I sorry, Daddy,” Keith said, his voice trembling.

“It’s okay, sport,” Adam said.

From the doorway, Diane took in the scene. “Now what?” Then she saw the mess. “Oh, no! Damn it, Keith, that vase was given
to us by Senator Davidson.”

“Knock it off, Di. It’s not even broken.” Adam scooped up the soggy spring flowers and thrust them back into the vase.

“But it could have been. Why must you wrestle on the floor with him like… like some roughneck teenager?”

Adam slowly rose to his full height and looked down at her, his eyes cold and hard. “Because he’s my son, because I love him,
and because he’s far more important than any damn vase.” He thrust the wet vase at her, turned, and picked up Keith. Brushing
a stray tear from his cheek, he smiled at the boy. “What do you say we go to the park, sport?”

Keith managed a small smile, but he eyed his mother warily.

Adam picked up Keith’s baseball hat and set it on his head. “Don’t wait lunch for us. We’ll grab a hotdog.” Carrying the boy,
he walked outside and around to the driveway, where he’d left his car.

In the sunroom, Diane stood fuming. They were supposed to go out to dinner tonight with the Millers. Rex and Lola Miller,
both attorneys, were not only fun to be with but important people in the Sacramento area. Now, with the way things were between
Adam and herself, she supposed he wouldn’t want to go.

If it weren’t for Keith, their life would run so much more smoothly, Diane couldn’t help thinking.

“It’s a foregone conclusion,” Richard said, stretching his legs out on his BarcaLounger. “Our man’s in.”

Coming into the den with a tray of coffee and chocolate-chip cookies, Liz glanced at the television, where election statistics
were flashing across the screen. “Which man are you talking about?”

“Adam McKenzie. He’s handily won a second term. His
opponent’s just conceded, and they’re waiting for him to arrive to make his acceptance speech.”

“Well, that’s hardly a surprise.” Liz set down the tray and poured coffee into two cups.

Richard reached over for a fragrant cookie. “Mmm, these are still warm.”

“I made ‘em all by myself, Daddy,” Sara said, joining them with a big glass of milk. She bent down to kiss his cheek. “Your
favorites.”

“They sure are,” Richard said, savoring the warm chocolate. He sat up straighter, studying the television. “Oh, look, hon,
there he is.”

Liz leaned back on the leather couch and sipped her coffee. Adam was making his way to the podium as the crowd parted for
him, shaking hands and smiling along the way. “It’s awfully early in the evening to have declared him the winner, isn’t it?”

“It’s a landslide, I tell you.” Richard reached for another cookie, his eyes on the set. “California voters are smart. They
recognize an honest politician when they see one. They’re right to call him the maverick senator. Adam’s that rare man who’s
a spokesperson for the underdog while juggling the interests of big business. Not an easy feat.”

She had to agree. It had been nearly five years since his accident, and Adam seemed to have his enthusiasm back. He looked
tan and healthy, that stubborn lock of blond hair falling onto his forehead making him look younger than his forty-one years.
Wearing a dark suit and a broad smile, he seemed only minimally changed from the man she’d met back in 1975, thirteen years
ago.

Sara finished her milk and settled next to her mother, curling up against her. Liz looked down into her daughter’s face and
saw the small dimple in the left corner of her mouth. For perhaps the hundredth time, she wondered why Richard hadn’t noticed
that Adam had an identical one. Of course,
she was grateful he hadn’t. Or perhaps he had and was simply gentleman enough not to mention it.

“Susie wants me to sleep over at her house tomorrow night,” Sara said. “Can I, Mom?”

“Not on a school night, Sara. You know the rules.”

“But I’m twelve years old and not a baby. We’ll go to bed early, I promise. Mrs. Evans will make us.”

Liz drew her daughter closer and kissed the top of her blond head. “Ask Susie if she can reschedule for Friday night and you’ve
got a deal. I’ll even rent you a couple of movies, if you like.”

“All right, but I don’t know if she can.” The young voice was heavy with disappointment.

“Do you want me to talk with Mrs. Evans?”

“No. I don’t want my mother making my plans for me.”

Liz concealed a smile. Sara was so headstrong, just like her father. Both she and Richard were far more easygoing. There must
be more to heredity than environment.

“There’s that wife of his,” Richard commented. “I don’t know why, but I’m not impressed with Diane McKenzie.”

Nor I, Liz thought. She watched the screen as Diane, wearing a bright red suit, made her way to Adam’s side as he finished
his brief speech. The camera lowered, and viewers could see she was pulling along a small boy wearing corduroy slacks and
a ski sweater. His dark blond hair was slicked back off his round little face.

As the applause picked up again for Adam, he turned and saw his family approaching. His face split into a smile as he scooped
his son up into his arms. Diane kept her smile in place and moved to his side, sliding her arms about his waist. The crowd
cheered wildly.

“I hear he’s crazy about that boy,” Richard commented. “What’s his name again?”

“I believe it’s Keith,” Liz said, knowing full well it was. Hardly a month went by that a picture didn’t appear in the paper
showing Adam and his son with Diane hovering
nearby. Liz hadn’t heard from Fitz in months, but the last time they’d talked, he’d said that Adam was much happier and spending
as little time in Washington as possible.

Adam had bought a bigger house, with a putting green and swimming pool, outside Sacramento in Carmichael, and he spent hours
there with his son. Being stuck in the suburbs instead of making the party rounds in Washington didn’t sit well with Diane,
Fitz had confided, but there was precious little she could do about it. Adam had further infuriated her by dismissing Keith’s
nanny last year, saying the woman was no longer necessary, that he didn’t want his son raised by strangers.

Liz watched the smiling threesome leave the podium and head back to their room at San Francisco’s Fairmont Hotel. Everyone
looked happy enough, but she had her doubts. Diane had never struck her as the motherly type, and she couldn’t help wondering
how little Keith fared alone with Diane when his father wasn’t around.

“I believe I’ll send a telegram and congratulate Adam,” Richard said, reaching for the phone. “I want him to know how pleased
I am at his reelection.” He dialed Western Union. “I’m sure you’ll want to add a word or two, too, dear,” he said to Liz.

Rising, Liz shook her head. “You congratulate him for both of us, would you?” Turning to her daughter, she smiled. “I think
we’d better clean up the kitchen after the cookie baking, sweetie.”

“Okay.” Sara picked up the tray and followed her mother.

Casa des Artistas was closed for the day. Molly locked the front door and pulled shut the miniblinds on the window. Outside,
Christmas shoppers rushed from store to store as the street lights popped on. Inside, only spotlights illuminating paintings
were left on, throwing the large main room into an eerie display of light and shadows.

Yawning, Molly walked toward the back, where Liz
waited for her. She stretched dramatically, raising her arms and arching her back, getting out the kinks. Her royal blue oversize
sweater lifted, revealing well-formed muscles beneath her slim black slacks. Molly was tired and glad the day was over.

She turned to Liz and caught her studying the bust of a young Adam McKenzie by an artist known only as Megan O’Malley. “Not
a day goes by that I don’t have someone asking about that piece. I’m so glad you finally let me display it.” Molly knew she
could sell it and another dozen similar for a great deal. She also knew Liz would never allow that.

In a weak moment, Liz had allowed Molly to show the bust. This was the first time she’d seen it displayed under Molly’s skillful
lighting. Liz hadn’t minded parting with her other pieces, and several had sold well. But it unnerved her to see this, her
favorite, on public exhibit. “Has anyone guessed the model’s identity?”

“No one seems to try. They just admire the workmanship, the sensual beauty of the piece. I have overheard several women say
they wouldn’t mind having a man who looked like that park his shoes under their bed.”

Liz tilted her head. “He’s an odd combination of sexy and boyish, isn’t he? Even now when he’s years older.”

“Have you seen him lately?”

“No, of course not. Just on the news.”

“Some men age well and others don’t. Women, too. You’re looking particularly good these days. Any particular reason? New makeup?
New outlook?”

Liz smiled. “I wasn’t aware I looked better, but thanks. I think it has to do with a certain resigned contentment. When we’re
young, we’re always straining, it seems, for more, for better. I just turned thirty-three, and I think I’ve come to grips
with my life. Learned to accept things, you know.”

Molly reached up to fractionally straighten a painting on the wall. “Sooner or later, we all have to, I guess. That
daughter of yours sure helps keep you young. What a precocious kid.” Molly, who satisfied her maternal yearnings by spending
time with Sara, had had the young girl to her condo last weekend. By the time she’d taken her home, Molly had been exhausted.
“She has more energy than you and I combined at her age.”

Liz smiled, always pleased to talk about Sara. “That she does. Did she tell you her latest? She’d going to become a foreign
correspondent, cover world events and write wonderful news stories.”

“She just might, at that,” Molly said, grabbing her coat and leading the way to the door. “She did tell me that the principal
wanted her to skip a grade and you wouldn’t let her. She was miffed.”

Liz zipped up her suede jacket. “Yes, I know. She’s already skipped one grade. Another jump would put her with kids two years
older. While I think Sara could keep up her studies, her emotional development would suffer. They’d be dating, so she’d want
to. There’d be makeup and driving concerns. I’m simply not ready for all that.”

“Can’t say I blame you.” Outside, Molly secured the lock. “Is Richard feeling any better?”

A worried frown wrinkled Liz’s forehead. “Not really. I’ve been after him to get a checkup, but he says he’s just been working
too many hours. He’s promised me he’ll slow down.”

“He should. Life’s too short.” Molly thrust her hand through the crook of her friend’s arm. “I am glad he doesn’t like Christmas
shopping, so we can go together. Shall we get a bite to eat first, maybe a glass of wine?”

“Absolutely.” Together, they crossed the street.

“Stay at this end of the pool, Keith,” Diane warned her son as she climbed out the steps.

“I
am
at this end,” he answered sassily, then grinned at her
to show he didn’t mean it. Squinting, he concentrated on lining up his bobbing sailboats.

Using a beach towel, Diane dabbed at her wet hair, knowing she looked a mess. Her nails were just as bad, the polish chipped,
the cuticles in need of repair from constantly being in this damn chlorinated water. Why in hell Adam insisted that Keith
learn to swim in one summer was beyond her. Three times a week the instructor came, and Adam had made her promise that in
between lessons she’d oversee Keith’s practice sessions for at least an hour a day.

“Mommy, watch me,” Keith yelled. “I’m going to go under and hold my breath.” He did, then popped up, spraying water every
which way, wearing a proud look. “Mommy, did you see that?”

“That was good, sugar.” Keeping an eye on the little towhead, she sat down at the poolside table, stuck an Eve into her holder,
lit up, and inhaled deeply. Under the shade of the umbrella, she shook her head as she watched her adopted son playing contentedly.
She was certain he was the only contented one for miles around.

Blowing smoke, Diane kept watch, the familiar resentment building with each passing minute. This hadn’t been exactly how she’d
foreseen her life. She spent all her waking and many of her night hours with Keith. Adam was in Washington quite a bit, which
was where she longed to be. When he did come home, he spent nearly all his time with Keith—in the pool, taking him bicycling,
to the zoo, the park, everywhere. If she so much as asked to go out to dinner, he would frown and say he hated leaving Keith
with a sitter. Ridiculous!

It was good for children to be watched by other people so they wouldn’t get too attached to their parents, she often told
Adam. He didn’t buy it.
His
mother had stayed home with her two boys.
His
mother had made homemade cookies and fingerpainted in the kitchen with them.
His
mother had apparently been a frigging saint, which Diane decidedly was not.

Too bad she’d died two years ago, or they possibly could have persuaded her to move nearby. Maybe Adam would have trusted
her
to baby-sit. “Keith, get back on the steps,” she called out. Without looking up, the boy obeyed. Basically he was a good
kid. Surprising herself, she’d grown to care for him, not the nutsy way Adam admired him; but she had to admit he was cute
and bright. Still, he was always
there,
always needing something, always chattering, always hungry or tired or not feeling good.

Four years, nearly five, and Diane had about had it.

She’d hung in there, thinking soon Keith would go to school and she’d be free again. But a recent discussion about that had
turned into a shouting match. Adam wanted her to drive Keith to school and pick him up daily from kindergarten. The son of
a man in the public eye could easily become a kidnapping victim. That would leave her about three and a half precious hours
alone, if you didn’t count driving time. What exactly could she do between eight and eleven-thirty
A.M.
, stay home and bake cookies?