“He was at the Capitol when the news broke,” Vanessa said. “I was at work. When we got home, Arch and I made a drink and turned on the TV, and it started to sink in. We cried—oh, how we cried. But the next day, the NRA lobbyists were lining up outside his office doors. Arch went in that day ready to break ranks. But his name was already on the short list for vice president. He didn’t need much persuading to accept that taking on the NRA would put a swift end to that possibility.”

“Maybe it would have been brilliant,” I said. “Maybe he would have looked like the most principled Republican in the Senate.”

“This is Tennessee, Charlie,” she said. “Half the people who voted for Arch are stockpiling ammunition and watching the sky for black helicopters.”

Vanessa set her coffee down at the table and gazed off at the yard.

“Did the other thing have any influence on his decision?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know, or you don’t want to know?”

“We never talked about it. After the scare he’d had before, I assumed Arch was discreet. Still, it’s possible. Nick swore to us that he’d taken care of it for good, but it’s hard to make anything disappear anymore. Arch would hardly be the first member of Congress who cast a vote to protect a secret. The big lobbying firms have a file on every one of them.”

She crossed her legs and smoothed the hem of her dress. “The bill never had a chance anyway,” she said.

I stamped out my cigarette and watched the glint of the sunlight on the morning dew.

“About a week after the gun bill died, Arch got a letter from one of the Sandy Hook moms,” Vanessa said. “He let me read it. I think I have it somewhere. I don’t ever want to look at it again. I guess that was the killing blow. Did you see the news about the walking tour?”

It had been a big story. During a Senate recess, Arch had grown a beard and gone undercover, hiking and backpacking around East Tennessee, visiting little towns and farms while pretending to be a vagabond traveler so that he could get to know the good people of his state up close.

“That was nothing but a big charade,” she said. “Andy Goldberg and Nick Averett orchestrated the whole thing. The beard was real. Arch grew it because the treatment center wouldn’t let him have a shaving razor, for fear he might split it open and use it to slit his wrists.”

“What about all of those farmers and store clerks he became so friendly with?”

“All very well compensated, carefully coached, and required to sign agreements that would all but doom them to a chain gang if they ever told anyone the truth.”