Lara smiled. "And here we all are," she said. "With me about to get married."
"Oh," Inez told her, "I prayed for that, too."
Amidst laughter, Kerry raised his glass to her. When dessert was done, and the others about to leave, Kerry asked Joan to visit with him awhile.
* * *
Even in candlelight, she seemed to pale. Her eyes filled with tears, as if at a sudden blow. Her voice choked with fear and humiliation. "He'll be furious. John couldn't stand the thought of people knowing. It was like he was more ashamed of being exposed than he was of beating me up."
Without much hope, Kerry ventured, "There's a chance that they won't print it."
Joan shook her head. More quietly, she said, "I can never talk about this. Not in public."
Nor, Kerry thought, had his mother. "If it comes to that, I can. Or Lara. But not before you tell us what you'd be comfortable with."
"Nothing." Disbelief lingered in her voice. "I have to trust you about what's best to do. But it all seems terrible to me."
"It is terrible," Kerry answered. "For Lara, too."
Joan's smile was faint. "That's hard for me to imagine. I can't remember her ever seeming scared, or overwhelmed, or even vulnerable."
Kerry nodded his understanding. "People as accomplished as Lara, and as driven, don't excite a lot of sympathy. They sure don't ask for any." He paused, gazing at Joan intently. "But she'll never feel right about her life if your life isn't good, or if your relationship isn't good. I can't tell you what hopes she had for this time with you, and how shattered she feels now."
Joan seemed to absorb this. When she smiled again, her gratitude was tinged with melancholy, perhaps the thought that, just as she had failed to fully see her sister, she had imagined seeing love in the eyes of the wrong man. Softly, she asked, "Does Lara know how lucky she is?"
"Every day I remind her," Kerry answered with a smile, and then his expression became serious. "I'm lucky to have all of you in my life. The Costellos are all the family I have, at least until Lara and I have children. I'm hoping for a daughter like Marie." Pausing, he added, "And, like Lara, I never want anything to happen to either one of you."
Shyly, Joan kissed him on the cheek. "We'll be fine," she promised.
* * *
Mary waited until Inez was tucking in Marie to take her oldest sister aside, speaking quietly. "You've always been the one to decide things," she told Lara. "But this isn't good."
They lingered in the hallway outside the Lincoln Bedroom. "What isn't good?"
"Anyone talking about John in public. He'll blame Joanie."
"We don't control this anymore. Especially the media."
Mary's brow knit. "But you control who talks to them. If you do it, he'll think that Joan betrayed him."
"I'm worried, too." Unsettled by Mary's new assertiveness, Lara touched her arm.
Mary stared at her, unmollified. "Don't put me off, Lara, or treat me like a child. You're not my mother."
"I know," Lara answered with renewed sadness. "Sometimes it must have seemed like I thought I was." Glancing at Marie's bedroom, she finished softly. "I can't tell you what will happen. But whatever we have to do, we'll protect them both."
Silent, Mary seemed suspended between resignation and frustration. Then, without saying good night, she turned and went to her room.
EIGHTEEN
The next morning, under the cover of showing Lara's family Camp David, Kerry again met George Callister in secrecy.
As Lara led the others on a tour, the President and Callister took a separate trail. Even in the Catoctins, the air was hot, dense, mosquitoridden, causing Kerry to fear for the weather on his wedding day.
"Your immediate problem," Kerry began, "is lawsuits. Including thirteen already brought by cities against the industry, seeking to recover the cost to the public health system of treating gunshot deaths and injuries."
Hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, Callister scowled. "Those deaths and injuries are caused by shooters we've never heard of. These suits are bullshit—political grandstanding combined with blackmail, meant to extort a settlement by imposing millions in legal fees."
As they entered a bright patch of light, Kerry put on the sunglasses hanging from the neck of his polo shirt. "So," he ventured, "if the federal government sued the industry for the costs of security in public housing, that would also be bullshit?"
Callister stood still, turning to the President with a look of controlled anger. "You'd do that?"
"In a heartbeat," Kerry said evenly. "And if some demented ex-felon slaughters a roomful of schoolchildren with one of your semiautomatic handguns, and the grieving parents bring a wrongful death action, would that be bullshit, too?"
"Yes," Callister snapped. "And for the same reason. Personal responsibility."
"But it's still costly, you'll agree. Plus you can't be sure that a jury won't choose the mother of a murdered six-year-old over a company which markets weapons whose only legitimate purpose is to slaughter human beings. And if anyone thinks the Republicans can pass a bill to immunize you from lawsuits, forget it. If I can't get thirty-four senators to uphold my veto, I shouldn't have this job." Facing Callister, Kerry placed his hands on his hips. "It seems that you're caught between the SSA and a pack of cynical pols and greedy trial lawyers. Settle, and the SSA will bankrupt you with a boycott; litigate, and you'll be bled to death by legal fees, or whacked with a jury verdict bigger than your whole net worth."
Callister emitted a harsh laugh. "If you're trying to scare me, Mr. President, tell me something new. Other than that you'll sue me, too."
"It's this. I'm also your only way out."
Callister folded his arms. "You may be the President, but you don't control thirteen city governments. Let alone megalomaniacs like Bob Lenihan."
"Every one of those cities," Kerry countered, "has a Democratic mayor. They need me. So do the trial lawyers. They're both already on board."
Callister's expression betrayed complete surprise. "You're putting together a package deal?"
"Yes. For the company brave enough to take it. The one thing they don't know is the company I'm meeting with."
Turning, Callister began walking again, gazing at the trail of light and shadow cast by overhanging trees. "I don't know what you're proposing. But the SSA would put us on the cover of The Defender magazine, with me as Neville Chamberlain." Pausing, he glanced sideways at Kerry. "They'd make Lexington an object lesson. Dealers would stop selling our guns, customers would stop buying them. They'd destroy my company and end my career."
"You're headed there already," Kerry retorted. "Lexington's owned by a British corporation. They can't be happy owning a wasting asset. When they decide to sell you, who'll want to pump more money into a company which promises endless legal fees, the worst PR this side of nicotine, and an excellent shot at insolvency?"