EPILOGUE

The two phone calls came on Monday morning, the first of them while Eric and Art were sitting in Snow’s downtown office, discussing the events of the weekend.

“Reese McKelvie is dead; the Bugatti brothers have been arrested, implicated by their own words,” Snow said. He gestured toward the Examiner on his desk. “The story is pretty cryptic in the press. Could you fill in a few details on what happened?”

“Can’t do it,” Art replied. “I spilled too much to you already. What I was told in confidence will stay that way. I gave my word as a pastor. I’ll let others tell their own stories.”

“I figured as much. According to the papers, McKelvie went to the feds and told them everything. He gave them a boatload of evidence against the Bugattis and volunteered to wear a court–approved wire to their meeting. I don’t think he could face the public disgrace that he saw coming for himself.”

“Or maybe he felt the need for redemption.”

Snow’s mind flashed to the phone call that he and Debra Wyatt made to McKelvie from this very office. “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess we’ll learn more as the case against the Bugattis winds its way through the courts.”

Bullock got up and strolled toward the exit, pausing and turning toward Snow before he got to the door. “I’ve got to get back to the church. You sure you don’t want to come with me? Amazing things are happening over there.”

Snow was pensive. “You know, Art — sometimes I think that you and I should start over. Rent a little storefront somewhere, just you and me. No lights, no stage, no high–tech video screens — just some card–table chairs and a Bible. And we could invite God to be — well … God.”

A smile broke out on Art’s face. “Just say the word.”

“I’d have a lot of personal housecleaning to do before I could ever lead a church again. The truth is that my heart has gotten dry and dusty.”

“God’s hasn’t,” Art replied. “He’s still in the forgiveness business. In fact, I’m counting on that. I’m still trying to figure out how to make something right.”

Eric started to say something, but he was drawn back to his desk by the first of the two phone calls. Art excused himself with a wave as Snow settled back into his chair.

“I got your text message,” Garry Strider said to him. “I really appreciate you checking with me about Gina, especially after what I said to you at the hospital. Actually, the news is good: Gina is conscious and the surgeon says she’s starting to show signs of recovery.”

“That’s fantastic, Garry.”

“Yeah, it really is. They don’t think there will be any permanent brain damage. The doctor told me, ‘She’s got a long and difficult road ahead, but there’s no reason to think she won’t recover.’ She’ll need some skin grafts on her legs, but overall the burns aren’t nearly as bad as they had thought. As one doc said, ‘There’s nothing that won’t heal.’ “

“Thank God! I’ve been praying for her.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just thankful for modern medicine — great surgeons, great doctors, great nurses, great hospital, great technology, great meds. And Gina has always been strong.”

“You think that’s all there is to it?”

For a moment, Strider didn’t answer. Then he said: “Yeah, of course I do.”

That’s when Snow’s cell phone vibrated on his desk. He glanced at the caller ID — it was the governor.

“Let me call you back,” Snow told Strider. “In fact, let me buy you lunch sometime soon. I’d like to talk to you some more.”

“You mean the interview I’ve been waiting for?”

“No, we can do that later. Let’s just talk.”

Strider agreed, then Eric hung up and grabbed the cell.

“Unbelievable about McKelvie,” were the first words from Edward Avanes.

Snow sat up straight, planting both feet firmly on the carpet. “Yeah, absolutely incredible.”

“I knew him for more than twenty years. He’s the last person I would have expected to be in collusion with the likes of the Bugattis. And then to kill himself — well, it’s tragic. It’s a tangled story, I guess.”

“Very sad.”

“Look, Eric, there’s no need to postpone this. The decision on the Senate appointment has been made for me. I want you to take the job. Fill out Senator Barker’s remaining term and then run for election yourself. As I’ve always said — you’re the future, Eric.”

Emotions roiled inside Snow. For a full ten seconds, he didn’t respond. Then Snow said the words he never thought he’d hear himself say.

“I don’t know, Governor. I’m just not sure. You’ll have to give me a few more days to think about it … and talk to Liz … and pray.”