Campaigning in dozens of congressional races, my frenetic schedule kept me occupied all day. But the nights were difficult, especially after Chelsea returned to Stanford. Bill and I had only ourselves, and it was still awkward. I didn't avoid him as I had before, but there was still tension between us and not as many shared laughs as I was used to on a daily basis with my husband.

I spent a lot of time alone, praying and reading. It was a welcome distraction when my good friends Diane Blair and Betsy Ebeling came to stay with me for a few days in mid-September.

On September 17, during Diane and Betsy's visit, Stevie Wonder called and asked if he could come over to see me at the White House. He had attended the state dinner for another of his fans, Czech President Vaclav Havel, and his new wife, Dagmar, the night before, and he wanted to return privately to play a song he had written for me. Capricia escorted Stevie, his assistant and one of his sons into the second-floor corridor of the residence, where a grand piano stood under a large painting by Willem de Kooning. Diane and Betsy sat on a settee, and I sat in a small chair near the piano as Stevie began to sing a haunting, lilting melody. He hadn't finished all the words, but the song was about the power of forgiveness, with the refrain, "You don't have to walk on water . . ." As he played, I kept moving my chair closer to the piano until I was sitting right next to him. When Stevie finished, tears filled my eyes and, when I looked around, tears were running down Betsy's face and Diane's. This was one of the kindest gestures anyone made during this incredibly difficult period.