Saving Graces - Elizabeth Edwards [144]
There was a certain insanity to the schedule, but who could say so with so much at stake? Lancaster, Des Moines, Reno, Carson City—No, I don’t know John Kerry’s position on grazing rights, and I had long ago learned never to try to wing it. Fess up and take the hit; never bluff. Elko, Denver, Grand Junction—of FATSO fame. And then south to Florida before joining Cate, for just the evening, in Kenosha, Wisconsin. It is now twelve days before the election.
Now, unless you’re the sort of reader who skips the first chapter, you know that I discovered the lump in my breast in Kenosha. Hargrave was scheduled to leave for the weekend in a couple of days; her son John’s college was having Parents’ Weekend. She fretted about what to do, but she told Karen and Ryan and perhaps Kathleen McGlynn, who came to take her place for the weekend, about the lump, and she made them promise to make certain I didn’t get too tired. In fact, the next days were wonderful. I know my memory is clouded by the Wallingford’s Orchard in Maine. There I answered questions as I stood in a wagon that had been piled with hay and parked in front of the open doors of a barn. It was next to impossible, standing outside as I was, to hear the questions from inside, but there were some helpful boys sitting at my feet, their legs dangling from the side of the wagon, who would repeat them for me. It was a very crisp and entirely luscious day, a perfect setting. And to top it off, the Wallingfords gave me a box of the most delicious apples I had ever eaten. And Ryan gave them all Elizabeth! buttons in thanks. I definitely had the better end of that trade.
As hard as it is to believe, except when I was showering or talking to John—and we talked several times a day, always have when we’re apart—I didn’t think about the lump. From Auburn, Maine, it was a Michigan rally, then Cincinnati, and finally a town hall in Harrisburg. I had been talking for the past three months, honing what I said and how I said it, stealing good lines from John and from Cate when I would hear them. For example, Cate—speaking on college campuses—would remind students that the 2000 election had been decided by fewer votes than the number of people who resided in the average dorm. But the crowds to whom I had been speaking were not large—several hundred. A thousand would be an excellent crowd. And now I was doing a town hall that would be carried live on C-SPAN. Now, I don’t know how many voters who are still undecided a week out watch C-SPAN. My guess would be in the single digits, but I treated all town halls as if they were my chance to convince the entire country. I didn’t have a lump on my mind, I had a town hall on my mind.
When it was over and I had done all I could, the lump started to creep into my thoughts, but by then it was only a few days until I would see my doctor in Raleigh, and this would—I assumed—be cleared up. Before going home, though, I would go to Florida. It was there that I met Ann Marie Mattison. She is beautiful and regal, like a young Adele Graham, the wife of Senator Bob Graham of Florida who once, when John complimented her on a handmade wooden “Graham” button she was wearing during the primaries, said, without the least rancor, “I believe it was made for me before you were born.” Anne Marie was lovely in every way. Her assignment in the program was to speak for a few moments and lead us in the Pledge of Allegiance. She used her minutes well. She spoke of her son, tall, handsome, intelligent, tenacious. She talked about how Jeffrey always