Mark called again, first announcing that the press conference would be later in the afternoon.
"The State has some of our emails," he admitted. I understood that the "our" of that statement did not refer to me, but to his correspondence with his lover. If they were anything like the racy letter I'd discovered in Mark's desk that January, I needed to brace myself for another public humiliation.
"How many do they have? How long have they had them?"
"I don't know."
So, my best political, if not spousal, advice: "Well, be honest and get it over with. Whatever you do, don't talk about your heart."
Then Gier arrived with her boys and mimicked how she had waved as they drove past the reporters and photographers who slumped, bored, in the driveway. It was time for Mark's press conference, and we all crammed into my bedroom, some holding hands as we watched Mark enter the Capitol rotunda. He walked, distracted and guilty, to the podium, squirming, not knowing how to begin. Frannie is the type who likes to ask questions and she started up. I had to caution her that I wanted to hear every word. We were somber and a little frightened as Mark started to ramble. He spent considerable time—it seemed like an eternity—apologizing to everyone in his life, every citizen of the state, people of faith all over the world. Then he revealed the state of his heart. He described days spent crying in Argentina with his lover.