Saving Graces - Elizabeth Edwards [122]
As I said, I was not agnostic. Monday night wore on as I restlessly padded around the Raleigh house. The Kerry campaign said that the selection would be announced by e-mail to supporters on Tuesday morning. The next eight hours could change the course of my life; I figured I could sleep tomorrow. So I walked into the family room to watch cable news, then back to the computer to press Search on Google News. Would the choice be leaked anywhere? Well, it was leaked, but in an unlikely place, an airplane mechanic’s blog. Didn’t know there were such things? The Internet is the most democratic medium we’ve ever known. A mechanic posted he had been in the secret hangar where the plane with the new Kerry-Edwards logo was hidden. But I didn’t see the blog.
What I did see was a New York Post online article that came up about 2:30 A.M. It said Kerry had chosen Gephardt. I might have just gone to sleep then, assuming that once again John had been the nearly chosen, except…the New York Post article was oddly worded. There was no reference to a source for the information, and the byline said that it was from Post wire reports. The New York Post has a wire service? I didn’t think so. So I stayed online for an hour or two longer, still re-pressing Search. No other news media picked up the article. Nothing on the Internet. Nothing on CNN. Nothing on MSNBC. Finally, I went to bed as the sky was beginning to get light, figuring that whichever way this played out, a little rest would be good.
After learning from Jack that he could cross the pool with his head above water and from Emma Claire that Kerry had picked Daddy, I begged off breakfast, and Ellan took me to the airport instead. I was back in my D.C. house before lunch. Or at least it might have been my house. It was now filled with people I knew—our family and John’s staff from the Senate office and from the primary campaign, all family, too—as well as with people I did not know, the people the Kerry campaign sent as John’s first skeletal staff. Peter Scher, the new chief of staff, had gathered Mark Kornblau, who would be John’s press secretary, and—happily—Sam Myers, who would be John’s trip director again. They’d arrived at the house on P Street within a half hour of the Kerry phone call. There were six hundred cameras on the street, Peter said, though certainly there were fewer. Peter rang the buzzer. Nothing. He rang again. Nothing. John was upstairs showering; the children had left for summer camp for the morning. So with six hundred—or fewer—cameras clicking away, they’d finally had to step into the house shouting Anyone here?
There were Secret Service agents already gathering outside, neighbors slowing their walk to wish John well. A woman from whom I had bought some suits during the primaries was on the doorstep with garment bags of clothes in case I needed anything else…and in case I wanted to buy them from her. Kevin, who cut our hair—and colored mine—came in case any of us needed him before heading out on the road for—well, we didn’t know how long. Cate, who had spent the previous day unpacking her suitcase in New York, packed it again and headed back to Washington. Televisions were on in every room, with constant replays of Kerry’s announcement of his choice at a rally. Dahling, who took care of the house, was laying out every snack food we had, and Matthew went out to get more. Lexi Bar and Miles were glued to John’s side. Jonathan Prince and Ed Turlington, who weren’t in Washington,