Saving Graces Read Free Page B

she could say, the hairbrush frozen in midair as she looked at me, stricken.
    I tried to respond but couldn’t speak through the tears. She put the brush down and struggled to speak herself. “Mrs. Edwards,” she said, tears filling her own eyes, “I’m so sorry. You don’t like it?”
    I just shook my head and got out of the chair. I walked into the hall, where I knew Hargrave was waiting. When she saw the state I was in, she came over and hugged me.
    “Is this not the worst hair you’ve ever seen in your life?” I asked her, pulling away.
    “Oh, Elizabeth,” she said, “it’s just a little flat. We just need to pouf it up a bit.”
    I started to cry harder and sank into Hargrave’s arms. “This is not about your hair,” she said, stating what I already knew. “But listen to me. You are going to be fine.”
    The young woman came out into the hall and saw us both crying. Then her own tears started, as hard as ours. “I am so sorry,” she said again, her words breaking apart between the sobs. “I can’t tell you what today meant for me, Mrs. Edwards. It was such an honor to be asked to do your hair, and you’re probably about to become the wife of the vice president of the United States, and all week I couldn’t wait to meet you, and I can’t believe how much you hate your hair.”
    That just made me feel worse. “I’m not upset,” I tried to say, too upset to say it. She cried harder, and I noticed others looking with embarrassment at the scene we had created in the hall. I grabbed the young woman’s hand, led her to the bathroom, and locked the door behind us.
    “I’m going to tell you something,” I said to her, her hands in mine, “but it’s a secret.” I could have made up something, kept my secret from this stranger, and I thought about it, but I knew I couldn’t be convincing. And so I told this young woman the news that most people in my family still did not know. “I have breast cancer. And I am afraid, because for all I know right now, it could be even worse.” I could see both her grief and her relief that she hadn’t caused this breakdown. We cried some more and hugged each other. When our eyes finally dried, my face streaked with fresh mascara, we went back to the chair, and—with Hargrave’s instructions—she fixed my hair. Ryan came in and asked me if I needed anything. Typically I would ask for a Diet Coke and some sliced green peppers—it was nearly impossible not to gain weight on a campaign, and I was doing what I could to watch what I ate—but that worry had lost its importance. I described the mint meringue cookies they sell in large plastic tubs at Target. “See if you can find those,” I asked him. Within an hour, the entire staff and all the makeup people were full on green cookies.
                      

                      
    When we left Iowa in the late afternoon, we thought we had won the election. Throughout the afternoon, the campaign staff was jubilant. Exit polls were showing heavily in our favor, and many pollsters were declaring Kerry-Edwards the winners. Ryan and Karen were glued to their BlackBerrys, checking their e-mail and communicating with campaign workers across the country and at the headquarters in Washington, D.C. John was spending most of the day in Florida, and we had planned to meet Cate, Emma Claire, and Jack in Boston around 8 P.M . that night. As we flew to Boston, thinking the election was won, we were celebrating the end of the campaign, mourning the impending breakup of our traveling family, which included Brett Karpy, a young pilot who had stayed on past his scheduled vacation to see this to the end, and anticipating the ventures and challenges the electoral victory would bring. Someone opened a bottle of champagne, and we all talked of foolish things and laughed and enjoyed each other in those last naive hours. Ryan was explaining that thousands of Kerry-Edwards supporters were waiting in