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was hoping to have dinner with you and your mother,” Aaron said humbly.
    “I didn’t get a chance to tell her yet,” Audra said, tugging on her husband’s arm. “This might not be a good time.”
    “You’re damn right it isn’t,” Sage said, her chest heaving with anger and outrage as she plunged on. “I’m not having dinner with him.” She turned to her mother and said, “For that matter, I’m not having dinner with you.”
    “I want to talk to you,” Audra said. “We’ve got to try and…”
    “Try? You tricked me. You never once mentioned that Aaron was here with you!”
    “Sage, please don’t be upset,” Audra said, nervously blinking her eyes. “I wasn’t trying to trick you. When you were hurt in that explosion, I realized how much I miss you, how much…”
    “As you can see, Mama, I’m just fine.” Sage held her head erect.
    “I just thought this would be a good time to resolve things between us,” Audra said in a pleading tone. “I really…”
    “This separation has been hard on your mother,” Aaron said. “She talks about seeing you every day. I don’t…”
    “I don’t give a damn what you want, Aaron. You can go to hell,” Sage brutally said, staring menacingly at the man who had changed their lives. She paused and looked at her mother, concluding at once that very little had changed. “Mama, please don’t call me again.”
    Sage spun around and marched away.
    Ramion hesitated only a second before hurrying after her. Sage had always refused to talk about her mother and stepfather. Now he knew why.
    * * * * *
    Senator Nolan Baker looked like a man out of a sepia photograph—tall and commanding, with an imperious air that conveyed inherited Southern wealth. His hair was silver, his mustache a mixture of black and grey. He had the hard eyes of a riverboat gambler, and even when he smiled, his gaze remained impersonal and cold. His hands were fine-boned with long, smooth fingers, the nails meticulously manicured and buffed.
    Baker stood before a mixed audience—reporters, political analysts and voters—at the Atlanta Press Club for the final election face-off. He listened intently as his opponent, Cameron Hudson, responded to the moderator’s question about state taxes. He reached for the glass of water on the podium, mentally preparing his response.
    He forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly at the resounding applause that Hudson drew. He smiled for the cameras and the voters, hoping the audience didn’t detect his nervousness. He had never worked so hard to win an election. His family name had always been all that was needed to be elected as US senator three times. He always believed that Southern loyalties would inspire Southern voters to elect the grandson of a previous governor.
    Gauging the audience’s response to Cameron Hudson, Baker realized that this time his family name wasn’t going to be enough to win. When his campaign manager had joked that the bombing would keep “new nigger voters” away, Baker had confidently replied that he didn’t need the unwitting help of a white supremacist group to claim his birthright. He never would admit out loud how much he hoped his campaign manager was right.
    When the debate was over, both Hudson and Baker claimed victory. Live news reports from both candidates’ campaign headquarters showed a frenzy of excitement and nervous anticipation. Long after the camera crews were gone, the campaign headquarters—just blocks away from each other—still hummed with activity.
    Escorted to her car by security guards, Sage left Hudson’s new campaign headquarters at one o’clock in the morning. When she got home, she turned on the television to watch a repeat broadcast of the eleven o’clock news. She listened to the news as she removed her clothes and slipped into a nightgown. She turned up the volume on the television when she went into the bathroom, anxious to hear the final results of the news station’s viewer