29

AT ELEVEN O’CLOCK THAT night Carol turned on the radio next to her side of the bed. She listened to a report of Spence Hardiman’s news conference, followed by speculation that John Sacco would most likely seek to fill the Senate opening. “If that happens,” the announcer went on, “there’s sure to be a wide open race for governor, but former lieutenant governor Bruce Singer is already being rumored to be the man who would get the endorsement on the Democratic ticket.”

She moved the dial to the station that carried “oldies” music and left it on for half an hour. When she set the alarm for 6:30 in the morning and closed her eyes, Bruce still wasn’t home.

“Rotten fucking politics,” she hissed into her pillow.