He stood to leave. The two shook hands. But then Addis remembered. One other thing. He had promised his girlfriend, Holly Rudd, that they would go to the next New Orleans Jazz Festival. They had missed the past two—each time he had had to cancel due to work—and he had vowed that this time they would be there.

“It’s when the western primaries are—”

Hanover interrupted: “If I am right—and I am—one weekend won’t make a difference. Whenever you can, Nick, keep your promises.”

In his White House office, Addis looked at the computer screen:

1407 POTUS/Residence.

The screen told him and other senior staff where the President of the United States was at any given moment. When the abbreviation POTUS flashed, it meant Hanover was moving. Now Addis could see the President was in the family residence of the East Wing. He imagined Hanover trying on different ties, preparing for the afternoon press conference. Addis opened the small refrigerator in the corner of his office and took out a can of Coke.

One weekend won’t make a difference.

Hanover had been wrong about that.

Addis and Holly Rudd did make it to New Orleans for the music festival. They saw the shows at the fairgrounds; they dined at four-star restaurants. Wherever the couple went, well-wishers interrupted them. Local politicos and passersby urged Addis to send heartfelt messages to their campaigning governor. People asked to have their photograph taken with him. They all smelled a win. Hanover’s rivals for the nomination were fading; he was on track to the nomination.

Rudd did not mind any of this, even though she and Addis had not seen each other in six weeks. He was working out of the campaign office in Washington, when not traveling with Hanover. She was at a labor law firm in New York City and spending time in Austin assisting with the appeal of a convict on death row. Ever since she and Addis had interned at the Death Penalty Legal Defense Fund during law school, she had worked pro bono for the outfit.

Then the weekend went bad. McGreer called Addis on Sunday morning. Donny Lee Mondreau, a twenty-six-year-old retarded black man sentenced to death for murdering a convenience store owner in Point Coupee Parish was going to be executed by lethal injection in two days. A reporter had asked if Hanover intended to be in his office during the execution. It had not been on Hanover’s overflowing schedule. Instead, he was due to be in California for a series of fundraisers. A day of conference calls followed. While Addis was on the phone, Rudd went shopping. When she returned, he informed her of the decision: Hanover would interrupt his campaign to fly back to Louisiana.

Staring at the boxes next to his desk, Addis once again replayed the conversation they held while sitting on an unmade bed.