“Then there’s my wife, Ellen, and our six beautiful, little miracles: Cara, Susan, Rachel, Todd, Sarah, and Emily. My parents who are smiling at us tonight from the eternal kingdom. The tens of thousands of you who gave me your time and faith. And, of course, my running mate and partner, Congressman—oh excuse this country boy’s mistake—that is, Vice President-elect Wynn Gravitt.”

The audience shouted, “Wynn! Wynn! Wynn!”

“This is a great night,” Pratt yelled over the crowd. “A great night. I look forward to working closely with Wynn Gravitt, a statesman and a visionary. No one will play a more important role in my administration.”

Gravitt raised his index finger in the air. The crowd cheered him.

I do hope someone’s up there.

“We have control of both houses of Congress,” Pratt said. Another roar erupted. “From the Capitol to the White House—we will put into action our campaign of decency. And to those who have not supported us, let me say: You might disagree with our views. But I promise you—as God is my witness—we will implement those views honestly and fairly. Our administration will be clean and open. Free of dishonest entanglements and backroom dealings. No one need ever be ashamed of our government.”

Gravitt shot a thumbs-up at someone he recognized in the crowd. He was not listening to Pratt.

“Not one brother or sister up there,” Timmons said. “These oh-sodecent white folks gonna give it to us.”

Maybe it won’t be so bad. How far can they go? There’ll be congressional elections in two years. Or … Damn, it’s hard to stop spinning.

“So to all of you, I say, thank you,” Pratt continued. “And good night. Get some rest. We got work to do.”

Pratt, his family, Gravitt, and his wife grabbed hands and formed a line.

“Pratt didn’t thank you,” Dunne said to Addis.

“An oversight, I’m sure,” Addis replied.

And he didn’t thank Julia.

“Guess you kinda feel responsible,” Timmons said.

Starrell nudged her in the side.

“Well, don’t he?” she said. She was facing her husband, but her eyes looked toward Addis.

The more perfect someone is, the more he sees the good and the bad.

After returning from Rudd’s wedding, Addis had checked the Dante quotation that Lancette once had recited for him. He discovered that she had mangled the passage. So much so that he had difficulty finding it. But he did locate the lines she had memorized when she was in college: “The more a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure and likewise pain.” Over time, the quote had changed for her. Her version had a different meaning than the original. And he preferred hers. Unintentionally she had improved on the truth as seen by a fourteenth-century poet. Perhaps, he thought, memories become what we want them to be.

“Don’t he?” Timmons asked again.