The Edwardses told the world about the recurrence of her cancer at a packed press conference conducted in Chapel Hill at the Carolina Inn, a graceful old place made of soft red brick where they had held their wedding reception in 1977. Mrs. Edwards explained how she had broken her rib-the senator joked, “Actually, I was beating her”-and then recounted how her doctor had said there was no reason for her to give up the campaign. She also said that her treatment would consist of a less debilitating type of chemotherapy that could put the cancer into remission and be used again and again “for the rest of my life.”

After watching this performance, most people believed that Elizabeth Edwards was riddled with cancer and not long for this world. (Cheri and I thought she might live weeks or a few months at best.) At headquarters, where many people owed their jobs to her, talk of her courage and strength dominated conversations, and I heard more than one person say, “We should try to win it for Elizabeth.”

Outside of the campaign, the response to their decision to keep on with the quest was mostly positive. A few criticized the Edwardses for their ambition, but in the main they were honored for their courage and forthrightness. Frank Rich of The New York Times would even publish a column titled “Elizabeth Edwards for President.” Others cheered the open way they were dealing with the illness and said they were grateful that the news reports put breast cancer awareness on the public agenda, which might motivate more women to perform self-​exams and go to the doctors themselves.

On the Saturday after they announced Mrs. Edwards’s cancer had returned, health care was the focus of a seven-​candidate forum sponsored by the Service Employees International Union in Las Vegas. Senator Edwards mentioned his wife’s illness in the course of presenting the most complete prescription for fixing the health care system anyone offered. Compared with Barack Obama, who hemmed and hawed and never offered specifics when asked to cite his priorities, Edwards made a brilliant case that included honest talk about how his plan would require raising taxes. As he made this point, he added, “I think it’s really important, particularly given what’s happened in the last six or seven years in this country, that the president of the United States be honest with the American people.”

In fact, he was being honest about the things he considered to be the public’s business, like taxes and health care, even as he maintained an elaborate fiction when it ca {ionme to his personal life and the image he projected. Many politicians have taken this approach and said that the ends justified the means. In other words, the illusions they projected were merely the kind of advertising that is required in the age of mass media. Few mortals, and even fewer with the kind of narcissistic drive required to run for president, could really be as upright and decent as the public expects. Similarly, the unrealistic expectations of the press and the public discourage many qualified people from running for office.

A small but telling example of the art of political deception could be seen in the suit Senator Edwards wore for the Las Vegas union event. As he prepared to depart for the debate, he had realized that the label inside the coat read “Made in Italy,” because, in fact, he loved expensive Italian suits and wore them routinely. Trouble is, a union crowd is likely to harbor a wiseacre who will ask a politician if he’s wearing an American, union-​stitched suit. When he thought of this possibility, the senator asked me about the label on my jacket-“Made in USA ”-and had me take his to a tailor, where the tag from my coat was switched for the one in his. After the debate he said with some anger that he was disatisfied with the tailor’s work. He played a video of the debate and pointed out a wrinkle where the label was installed.

If other candidates haven’t switched labels in a suit, they have done comparable things to avoid embarrassment or promote themselves. Everyone who works at a high level in a campaign knows it goes on and goes along for the good of the candidate or, if you really believe in him or her, for the good of the country. On the day after the health care forum, John Edwards told the audience of 60 Minutes that he was continuing with his run for the White House because he had “a responsibility to this country.” In other words, he was so sure that America needed his leadership that he simply had to stay in the race. Mrs. Edwards agreed and explained that in the time she had lived with cancer, she had learned to accept and even live with the prospect of her death. When Katie Couric pressed her for a more complete explanation, Mrs. Edwards said:

You know, you really have two choices here. I mean, either you push forward with the things that you were doing yesterday or you start dying. That seems to be your only two choices. If I had given up everything that my life was about-first of all, I’d let cancer win before it needed to. You know, maybe eventually it will win. But I’d let it win before I needed to.

It was a good answer, and for the next few weeks the Edwardses offered a version of it in a series of interviews and at campaign stops. The attention they received was so broad, and lasted so long, that media commentators recognized it as a national phenomenon. Howard Kurtz of The Washington Post noted that John Edwards couldn’t get on 60 Minutes with his proposal for health care, but the cancer story “mesmerized people who don’t give a fig about politics.” Polls taken after the publicity about Mrs. Edwards’s cancer showed that her husband was finally gaining ground on Hillary Clinton and Barack {on Obama. On the road, Mrs. Edwards drew big crowds and loud cheers. In Des Moines, she went to a TV station to do a live interview via satellite with Larry King as a solo act. In that performance, she was a far cry from the nervous lady who sat next to Teresa Heinz Kerry to speak to Lesley Stahl in 2004. She was confident and relaxed, and after it was over I heard people say she should be running for the United States Senate.

Rielle watched with envy as Mrs. Edwards became a star. With her growing popularity, she was able to stand in for her husband and double the amount of ground the campaign could cover in a day. But as she expanded the reach of the organization, she also put more stress on the staff, most of whom were young and inexperienced. Although I continued to work as a fund-​raiser, Mrs. Edwards had told the people in charge of the day-​to-​day campaign to take away all my responsibilities and to keep me away from her husband and her house.

I knew she was angry because she believed I had helped the senator communicate with Rielle. (I still didn’t know the senator had told her I was carrying on an affair with Rielle and thereby endangering her husband’s career.) Her fear that something was going on was well-​founded, of course, because I had kept the senator’s secrets in the past and I was continuing to help him stay in touch with his onetime camera girl. For months I had been in charge of the Batphone. He kept it with him on the road and then gave it to me when he returned. It then became my job to sneak it back onto the campaign plane and into the pocket of the seat in front of his before he departed again. Security at the airport made this a difficult job, and one time I actually raced off the plane and out of sight as Elizabeth was bringing him by car to the waiting aircraft.

Because she identified me with her husband’s infidelity, but also knew I remained one of his trusted assistants, Mrs. Edwards obsessed over what I knew and what I may have done. She called me over and over again, demanding information I wouldn’t give her. If I didn’t answer, she left angry messages. At various times she accused me of lying, cheating, and even stealing from her household. In furious fights, she insisted her husband fire me, which he couldn’t do because he needed me to take care of Rielle. Of course I hadn’t taken anything from her family, and by pushing me out of campaign operations and putting untested people in charge, she set the stage for mistakes and mishaps.