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In a swirl of heavy perfume, Diane came charging into the room. “Sugar, would you zip me up, please?” Noticing he was lying
down in his dress pants, she frowned. “You’re getting all wrinkled. You’ll have to change. After the count tonight, there’s
the celebration party at Congressman Rawlins’s suite, you remember.” Only the highest mucky-mucks were invited to the special
event, and Diane could hardly wait.

Frowning, Adam sat, then stood up, pulling her zipper together.
She’d gained more weight, and it wasn’t sliding easily. He’d never been crazy about red, but Diane loved the color. When he
finally finished, she turned, stepped back, expecting him to comment on the way she looked. “Nice,” he said, which was the
best he could come up with. Her taste had improved through the years, but despite more expensive clothes, she never quite
carried off her attempt to look like a lady.

“‘Nice’? This dress cost seven hundred dollars and all I get is a ‘nice’!” Her full red lips moved into a pout.

Adam rubbed a hand along his jaw and decided he’d better shave again. “I said you look nice. What more do you want from me,
Diane?”

She trailed after him to the bathroom. “A little affection, a little conversation now and then, a little attention might be
nice.”

Adam removed his shirt and tossed it aside. “Look, you knew what it would be like with this election. There’re only so many
hours in the day.” He picked up his razor and turned it on.

Diane’s eyes wandered over his bare chest, the curly blond hair covering the hard muscles. It’d been a long time since they’d
had sex, and suddenly she found herself heating up as she studied his mirrored image. Slowly she moved closer and ran her
hand along his smooth back. “We could be a little late for dinner, sugar.”

“I’m not going to be at the dinner. Palmer’s called a meeting.”

“What! You’re leaving me alone again at one of the most important, most prestigious affairs of this convention? Damn it to
hell, Adam, if you’re not hanging around that crummy beach house in California with Fitz, then you’re holed up in some meeting
with a bunch of cigar-smoking cronies. Why is it we never go anywhere together or spend any time alone?”

Feeling drained and not up to this, he clicked off the razor
and turned to her. “Did you or did you not want me to run for vice president?” he asked, knowing the answer as well as she.

Her eyes blazed at him, but she didn’t answer.

“Well, it doesn’t come without a price, and the price is one we
both
pay. I attend meeting after meeting. You have to go to dinners or whatever alone sometimes. That’s the way it is. Get used
to it.”

“I’ve
been
used to it, and I’m damn tired of it.” The pain of rejection, which was how she viewed his constant absences, flooded her
being.

Adam was fresh out of patience. “You want to leave, there’s the door.” He turned the razor back on and continued shaving.
Right now, tired as he was, he didn’t much care which way she decided.

Diane swallowed, then turned away, getting herself quickly under control. Lord knew she’d had enough practice hiding her feelings.
It would be stupid, at this most important time of her life so far, to walk out and let some other woman enjoy the fruits
of her labor. So she put on a smile that cost her dearly. “I’m sorry, sugar. It’s just that I miss seeing you.” She found
she meant it, and that hurt most of all, because she knew he didn’t miss her.

Her words were as false as her smile, Adam thought. Finished, he ran a basin of water watching her in the mirror. He felt
a twinge of guilt, knowing that it wasn’t Diane’s fault he didn’t love her. “We all have to do things in life we don’t especially
want to do. Try to bear up.”

“I will.” She pressed her lips to his bare shoulder and felt him stiffen. He couldn’t even pretend anymore, she thought sadly.
She’d always known theirs wasn’t the love match of the century, but at least in the beginning there’d been affection, occasional
sex, which had been often enough to suit her, and mutual respect. Now there seemed so little left.

She walked out before she was totally humiliated. In the living room of the suite, she poured herself a generous bourbon
and dribbled in a little branch water, then lit a cigarette with trembling hands. Sitting down, she examined her feelings.

Being totally honest with herself, she was stunned at what she finally acknowledged. She hadn’t meant to let this happen,
had felt extremely confident that it never would; but when hurt feelings replaced anger, there was only one conclusion. She
loved him.

Good God Almighty! She rubbed her forehead, took a long swallow of her drink, then drew smoke deeply into her lungs. Wouldn’t
Adam be shocked to hell and back if he knew. He must never find out. Her mind struggled to salvage her pride. Maybe he cared
a little, in his own way.

Both Barry and Harlan had called recently to tell her that Adam was always exactly where he said he was, surrounded by aides,
politicians, public figures, but no women who weren’t on Diane’s approved list. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he was just
tired, overworked, but still hers.

However, there was the problem of sex. Adam was a virile man in the prime of life. Just what was he doing for sex these days
since he wasn’t playing around? He certainly wasn’t getting it from her often enough to matter. Perhaps, appearances to the
contrary, he had as little interest in sex as she did. Or maybe he channeled all his energy into his work, since he was at
the job twelve and fifteen hours a day and was too tired to mess around. She hadn’t thought a man would run out of steam by
forty-five, but she could be wrong.

Diane took another sip of her drink, willing her mind to focus on the positive. She couldn’t throw in the towel, not after
years of hoping, working, planning. She forced herself to think of more pleasant things, like the convention floor bedecked
with red, white, and blue streamers, the netted balloons caught at the ceiling, just waiting to be released tonight after
the votes were counted. In her mind’s eye she pictured the scene.

Palmer and Adam would step up to the raised podium. Then they’d signal for their wives to join them. Diane and Shirley Ames
would stand arm in arm with their mates and acknowledge the clamor of acceptance from the hundreds of delegates while millions
watched on television. They would be the golden four, the leaders of the free world.

Shirley Ames was a grandmotherly type, sixty years old, white-haired and a bit frumpy, so the nation’s attention would naturally
turn to Diane McKenzie. Her hairdo and clothes style would be copied by thousands, and she’d appear on the cover of every
magazine of importance in the country. She’d be sought after, invited everywhere, respected and admired. At last.

Closing her eyes, Diane prayed that reality would follow the game plan.

Adam’s facial muscles hurt from smiling as he walked briskly down the hotel hallway, the key to his brother’s room in his
hand. He’d asked Fitz to give it to him not only because he needed a half hour of alone time before Palmer’s meeting, but
because he wanted to make a phone call in private.

Shortly after his nomination for the vice presidency had been confirmed, one of the reporters covering the convention for
the
San Diego Union
had told him that Joseph Townsend had died three days ago. It was only right that he call the family and offer his sympathies.

All right, he told himself as he entered Fitz’s room, he was seizing an opportunity to talk with Liz. A man who lied to himself
was a fool, Adam thought, loosening his tie and slouching down on the sofa. Surely she’d talk with him now, since he was calling
about her father’s death. Surely she’d get past her no-involvement resolution under these circumstances.

He picked up the phone and dialed California.

She answered on the third ring, and he breathed a sigh of
relief that he didn’t have to deal with her mother. “Liz, it’s Adam. I just heard about your father. I’m so sorry.”

In the Townsend house in the family room, curled up in a corner of the deep leather couch, Liz felt her heart rate pick up.
“Thank you, but it was for the best. He was alive, but he wasn’t really living these last months.”

“I can only imagine how difficult that’s been on all of you. How’s your mother handling things?”

Liz glanced over at Katherine, apparently dozing on the chair near the television, where they’d just finished watching the
Democratic convention. She kept her voice soft. “She’s doing fine, but then she’s had three months to do her grieving.”

He hadn’t had even three minutes to prepare for his father’s death. “It’s never easy, either way.”

“No. I just watched you on television.” Hand in hand with Diane, beaming in a too tight red dress. “Congratulations, Mr. Vice
President.” It was what he’d always wanted and certainly what Diane wanted. Liz felt a wave of loneliness wash over her, so
vulnerable was she in her need for this man who was now forever lost to her.

“Thanks but we have to get elected yet. The Republicans have the advantage of an incumbent.”

“One who’s slipped in the polls. You’ll beat him, I’m sure.”

He paused, stretching out his legs, wrestling with his conscience. “Would it be terrible if I told you I miss you, that I
wish we were together?”

Liz closed her eyes. “Please don’t make this any harder.”

He sighed, knowing defeat once more. “I understand. Do you think it’ll always be like this, the two of us on opposite coasts,
wanting to be together, yet unable to connect?”

“Probably.” She was feeling lonely. It was time to end the call. “Good-bye, Adam. Thanks for the condolences and good luck.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he said, determined to find a way.

No, you won’t, Liz thought, hanging up. If she saw him again, especially alone and up close, she’d never be able to keep from
reaching out.

The house was so quiet. Liz wandered the rooms of her home in Pacific Beach, opening windows to let in the ocean breezes and
the warm summer sunshine. Even the chirping of the birds outside didn’t do much to disturb the unusual silence.

Sara had left just hours ago with Justine and Wayne Parker to Ireland.

In the end, Liz hadn’t been able to deny her daughter the exciting trip, despite hating to let her leave. Sara had lost her
father and her grandfather over the last eight months, watching over both through long, suffering illnesses. She needed diversion,
laughter, fun. She needed to feel alive after being around so much death.

It was the first week of August, and they’d returned from the Townsend house only six days ago, days filled with shopping
and packing and excitement. After the dreary death watch, getting Sara ready for her trip had been like a breath of fresh
air. Now, the long, lonely days stretched before Liz, and she wondered how she’d fill them.

Climbing the stairs, she decided she’d go to her studio and try to lose herself in her work. She’d sculpted very little over
the past few weeks. As she walked past Sara’s room, she tried not to think about the hundreds of miles that would soon separate
her from her baby. She must learn to let go, Liz chided herself. It was just that the timing of this trip was rotten.

She needed Sara right now, needed the comfort of just looking at her lovely daughter, recently turned a confident sixteen.
Already she missed hearing that sunny laugh, the warm conversations they shared. She even missed the music Sara played at
ear-bursting volume. In her studio Liz turned on the radio, and immediately Billy Rae Cyrus, one of Sara’s favorites, blared
forth. She smiled, feeling better.

The last piece she’d been working on was a bust of Sara. Liz unwrapped the head and studied it critically. Not bad, but the
mouth needed work. She hadn’t precisely captured that dimple in the left corner. Sighing, she covered it back up. Not today.
She wasn’t in the mood.

Wandering over to the storage cabinet, she pulled out a couple of old sketch pads and sat down in the window seat to look
through them. Often, before beginning a new piece, she made half a dozen or so sketches from various angles as a sort of guide.
Perhaps she’d spot something that would inspire her to start a different project. Turning the pages of the first pad, she
realized this book went way back.

A much younger Adam McKenzie smiled back at her from several, while in others he was serious, with that determined, dedicated
look the voters saw. Even then there’d been that strength of purpose in his eyes, his manner.

Would it be terrible if I told you I miss you, that I wish we were together?
he’d asked in their last phone conversation. She’d longed to say that it was no more terrible than her feeling the same way.

Caught. They were caught in an impossible situation. Adam wasn’t able to walk away from his political ambitions. Diane wasn’t
willing to let go of him. And Liz wouldn’t
have an affair with a married man, even though she ached for him.

Enough. She slammed shut the book and rose. She needed to get busy and stay busy. This nostalgic daydreaming was counterproductive.
All kinds of people needed help, and right now she needed to give. Quickly she put away the books and walked to the phone.

Liz had approached her mother about organizing a fund raising luncheon for Helping Hands, the shelter where she and Molly
had been volunteering their time. It would not only help the battered women, but it would get Katherine’s mind off her loss.
She’d even coaxed Nancy to work a few hours at the center, a move that had helped strengthen her sister’s resolve to get her
own life on track.

Dialing the Townsend house, Liz reflected that this would be a perfect day for all three of them to visit Helping Hands. The
simple fact was that assisting others in greater need usually made your own troubles seem less worrisome.

“We need you to make this trip to California, son,” Palmer Ames told Adam. “The support of West Coast big business is crucial
to our campaign.”