“Is my mother feeling any better?” I asked as I followed Nadine to the study. The house wasn’t large by any means. The glass doors of my father’s study could be seen from any point in the great room and kitchen and it was a straight shot from the front door. There was no need for her to show me where it was. But then I realized that Nadine was just trying to be mindful of my memory loss.
“Thank you,” I said. Nadine nodded and with a tight smile, before going back to her work in the kitchen.
And then it happened again. For the second time in less than twelve hours. This time the sputtering was only for an instant. The images coming in faster, clearer.
Another memory.
Ray
15 years old
My father’s office is his temple, a virtual shrine to himself and all of his political idols. American flags hung on the walls in frames, photos of himself shaking hands with men with fake bright white teeth, and even faker smiles. Men who he saw as more than mere mortals.
Men who he aspired to be like.
The gods of the Republican Party.
In his quest to become them, my father had long ago chosen politics over family. Except, of course, when the bill or law he was pushing involved family values of some sort. Then, we were at the forefront, paraded around and used as examples everything a good conservative Christian family should be.
A cross hung behind his desk, next to the American flag.
It’s complete bullshit.
HE is complete bullshit.
He’s never stepped foot inside of a church for reasons other than having to do with politics, but he tells people he’s a Protestant.
What he is, is a fucking liar.
Everything about him, everything about his office, screamed formality and bullshit.
Which was why I chose this very room as the place I was going to tell him the news, and during his regular business hours, in hopes that he would curb his temper while on his sacred holy ground.
I dress for the occasion like I am going for an interview. Matching yellow jacket and pencil skirt, straight out of the Jackie Kennedy handbook. I’ve been hiding the bump for months now under baggy clothes, but the suit accentuates my rounded belly. I am six months along and there is no more hiding.
I spy my father through the glass French doors, with his back to me, leaning against one of the green chairs in front of his desk. I take a deep breath and push on the handle. “Dad, can we talk?” The word ‘dad’ feels funny to say. I haven’t called him it in years. The use of the word is strategic on my part, starting the conversation with a reminder of who he is to me.
Something I think he often forgot.
He hasn’t been any sort of father to me in years.
He isn’t a dad at all.
He spins around when he hears me come in, revealing that he isn’t alone. Tanner is sitting in one of the big green chairs in front of my father’s desk, smiling a little too brightly for my liking. Something is up. “What’s going on?” I ask, taking tentative steps further into the room.
The senator speaks first, “Tanner told me your news,” he says, straightening his jacket, yanking at the bottom hem. He looks down to where my hands rest against my rounded belly. He looks disturbed, as if someone has just told him his numbers are down in the polls, not that his fifteen-year-old daughter is pregnant.
“He did?” I am going to kill him.
“Yes,” he says, rounding his desk and taking a seat in his high-backed burgundy chair, which is more of a throne than office chair. His lips set in a straight line. “And as much as I don’t want to, I’m going to have to bring someone else in on this.”
Who could he be bringing in? Oh. Shit.
My mother.
I hadn’t even really thought about telling her. To me, my mother is a non-issue. I rarely see her and when I do, it is at a function where she pretends to be the PTA-type mom, then when the lights go out in the ballroom, the switch on being ‘mom’ is turned off and she goes back to ignoring me like always.
I don’t even hear my parents speak to one another anymore unless they are bickering about something. And it’s always something to do with my father’s campaign. They stopped arguing about their relationship years ago.
It’s hard to argue over something you don’t care about.
“Okay,” I say meekly, preparing myself for the shit storm I am about to receive. And although I am shrinking into the seat next to Tanner, I’m oddly looking forward to what is about to take place. I wring my hands. Tanner doesn’t seem affected. He sits casually with his ankle crossed over his knee.
My father stands up, looking impatient. “I will be back in a moment,” he announces and leaves the room.
I snap my head to Tanner. “What exactly did you tell him?” I whisper.
He whispers back, “The truth.”
I punch him in the shoulder. “Why the hell did you do that? I was going to tell him. That’s what we’d agreed!”
“Yeah, but I thought about it and I decided it was better if it came from me because he can’t get pissed at me.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make, Tanner. You can’t just decide all the rules all the time on your own, you know.” I cross my arms over my chest. “And why can’t he get mad at you?”
“He can get mad, he just can’t kick my ass or anything. Because if he does, he knows that all it would take would be me telling my dad how mean the good senator was to me. And just like that, his number one campaign supporter would bring the money train to a screeching halt,” Tanner says proudly. He winks at me.
He’s got a point.
I’m still pissed though. “I’m glad you’re sitting over there all smug and cocky while I’m literally shaking in my boots,” I say.
My father comes back into the room, his cell phone in his hand. He takes his seat and sets down his phone on the desk.
Maybe his plan was to call my mother? I knew she wasn’t home, but had no idea where she disappeared to this time. I can just imagine what she’ll have to say about this.
Her questions to me are always about what I’ve gotten myself into or contain some other snide remark suggesting I am anything other than the perfect obedient daughter that I am.
Or was.
“Ramie Elizabeth…” the senator starts. That’s what he always calls me when I haven’t lived up to his impossible standards. Then he adds an accusatory third-person statement to the end of it.
Ramie Elizabeth decided to quit piano without telling me.
Ramie Elizabeth seems to think her little drawings are more important than a real education at a real school.
Ramie Elizabeth has been hanging around with that horrible Nicole Arnold girl again.
In an odd way I am really happy to be able to give him something worthy of his disappointment. Everything else has been a mild annoyance. A fire drill leading to this very moment. He will be able to put his making-me-feel-like-a-failure skills to good use today.
Because today the fire is real.
“…you’re pregnant,” my father says, like he was the one telling me the news.
I flinch because hearing the words out loud somehow makes it even more real. Like now that he knows, I am even more pregnant than I was when I came through the door.
“They don’t teach you kids about condoms in that private school of yours?” the senator asks me. I see the regret cross his face the second the question leaves his lips, because he already knows the answer.
Tanner sees the same thing I do and he answers for me. “No sir. They don’t,” he says with a huge smile. And I know why he is smiling. My father has campaigned against teaching contraception in our local school district. His plan for teaching sex-ed had been an abstinence only course called, well, Abstinence Only.
“Wipe that ridiculous smile off your face,” my father says to Tanner, leaning across the desk. “I’ll have Nadine call a private doctor. Of course I can’t stand behind a termination, but as of right now the law
is on your side, and it’s still your decision to make, until the Republicans change things, that is.” It isn’t a statement about my options, it is a suggestion. An order.
“No!” I say, standing up. I press my suit against my very rounded belly so he can be face to face with what it was he was suggesting I do. “It’s too late for that,” I say, “and even if it weren’t, I wouldn’t just call a doctor and get rid of it.” I stare him down.
“What do you mean it’s too late?” my father asks cautiously.
“She’s already six months along,” Tanner says, trying to deflect some of his bitterness away from me.
Thankfully it works because the senator moves on to a new plan. I’m still waiting for him to call my mother.
“We need to sort this out, figure out how we are going to approach this mess,” my father says. “There is a lot to consider in matters like these.” And he’s right. We have to talk about what I am going to do about school. Who would be taking me to my doctor’s appointments, and lots of other details. I intertwine my fingers and take a deep breath.
“Look,” I start, but my father holds up a hand to silence me and reaches for his desk phone, dragging it from the corner to the center. He grabs his cell phone and scrolls through. Finding what he’s looking for he pushes the speakerphone button on the desk phone and references his cell as he dials.
“This is Mags,” a woman’s voice announces.
“It’s Price,” my father starts. “We have a situation here. We’re going to need to work out a strategy, backlash, and then we need to talk approval rating. Maybe take a poll.”
Mags. I know that name.
The man in front of me, my father, the one bent over the desk phone, doesn’t care one bit that his teenaged daughter is pregnant. He doesn’t care that I will miss school. He doesn’t care that I don’t know the first thing about taking care of a baby, or that my entire world is about to change in the most drastic way imaginable. No.
This phone call is like tossing a bucket of ice over my head and dragging me back to the reality that is the senator.
Because his phone call was to the one and only Mags Allbright.
Public relations extraordinaire.
I am not his daughter.
I am a situation.
That was officially the last day I called him Dad. From that day on I called him by one name and one name only.
The senator.
My father sat behind his desk looking very much like he did the day I told him I was pregnant, except maybe a little worse for wear. There were circles around his eyes, his hair was noticeably grayer, his complexion now slightly yellowed. I sat down in the same green chair I’d sat in three years before.
“You’re not going to say hello?” a voice asked from the corner. I turned my head to see my mother sitting with perfect posture, her legs crossed at the ankles, in a high-backed chair.
“Hello,” I said. My mother sat forward, bracing herself on the armrest. She picked up a glass tumbler that was filled with some sort of dark liquor and stood. She set the glass down on the senator’s desk, the liquid splashing over the side. “Are you feeling better now that you’re back from…the spa?” I asked.
“I’m fine, dear. So glad to have you home,” she said robotically. “I’m assuming you don’t remember me either.”
I shook my head and then remembered the picture frame I was still clutching in my hands. “I remember her, though.” I turned over the frame in my hand and pointed to Nikki.
“You remember Nicole?” my father asked, sounding very surprised.
I nodded. “Just one memory. She’d come to my window, asked me for help. Money.” My eyes welled up with tears, but I fought them back. “I told her no.”
The senator sighed. “I’d forbidden you from seeing her after she went to rehab the first time, but you didn’t listen. You never did when it came to that girl.”
“Apparently one time I did because I remember sending her away from my window.”
“And you should be glad you did,” my mother chimed in, “because she’s—”
“Margot,” the senator warned.
“She’s what?” I asked. I already knew the answer, but a part of me needed to hear it out loud.
“She’s dead,” my mother finished, with a shrug of her shoulder. “That poison she was shooting into herself finally killed her. They found her in a dirty motel on the side of the highway.” There was no reverence in my mother’s voice; her nose was turned up as if she smelled something foul in the air. “She had a purse full of condoms and drugs. She’d turned to selling herself to support her habit.”
I stood from my chair, almost knocking it backward. “So, just because you buy shit with a fancy label and pour it into crystal, you think it makes you somehow different?” I pointed to the drink in her hand. “Nikki shot her shit into a vein, you’re mainlining yours down your throat.” I shook my head in disbelief. “You ignorant bitch! She was an addict, just like you’re obviously an addict. The only difference between the two of you is that she didn’t try and make it look pretty.”
“Get. Out,” my mother said, her hand visibly shaking. She threw the glass against the wall and it shattered against a picture of George W. Bush.
“Both of you. Stop. Margot, the car is waiting. Go. I’ll join you shortly.” My mother leered at me as she did what she was told, leaving the room in a huff. The front door slamming shut a few seconds later.
My father didn’t address my mother’s behavior. “We have to leave for an event in Myrtle Beach. In the meantime, there is a specialist coming to see you. He’s an expert on brain trauma and memory loss. He works mostly with veterans at the VA, but has agreed to come work with you. Try and behave while we’re gone and…your mother…she’s…fragile these days. Go easy on her.” He stood up and buttoned his jacket. He opened his desk drawer and retrieved a gaudy bright gold watch with a red diamond encrusted bezel. “We’ll be back Thursday,” he clipped, and left the room.
Suddenly my fear of being alone made no sense at all. Because I’d much rather be alone than spend another minute with my parents.
I vowed right then and there to be the mother to Sammy, that according to my memories, my mother never was to me.
I wanted Sammy to grow up feeling loved and knowing that I’d always be there for him, no matter what. The last thing in the world I ever wanted was for him to grow up and hate his own mother.
Like I hated mine.
Chapter 9
King
When the debris settled in the room, I crawled on my stomach, stealing a glance out from behind the coffee table where I’d ducked for cover. The couch where Bear had been sitting could no longer be seen in the rubble.
And neither could Bear.
There was a commotion of voices. Commands were barked. It sounded as if the orders were being spoken into a canyon, and all I could make out were the echoes of their voices.
Pain, dull and pulsing, radiated from my head. Blood dripped into my eyes. My vision blurred, I squinted. Two men carrying AKs clamored over the remains of the wall and entered the apartment. They were fixated on something hanging from the pile of debris on the couch and that’s when I finally caught a glimpse of Bear.
Or at least, part of Bear.
His leg hung at an awkward angle, dangling over a large piece of concrete. His jeans ripped. His calf dripping blood.
Something moved outside and my attention snapped back to the hole in the wall. There was a large truck just beyond the wreckage; it was still running, the headlights on and shining directly into the apartment. Attached to the grill was some sort of ramming device.
Leaning up against the truck, was Eli.
He spotted me and smiled, tipping his hat to me like he was greeting an old friend.
A crunching noise sounded from behind me. I turned my head to find one of Eli’s men standing over me, pointing his AK in my face. “You’re gonna die today,” the man said. Scars covered one side of his jaw
, a shitty thin lined prison tat covered his neck. A toothpick hung from his lip, moving up and down when he spoke.
“After you, motherfucker,” I growled, rolling over to my side, taking out his leg. I threw him off balance and he fell sideways. I grabbed the gun I kept hidden behind my belt buckle, and before he could lift his gun again, I’d already aimed and fired, sending him to the place in hell reserved for pieces of shit like him.
And me.
I ran over to where Bear was pinned beneath the rubble. Shots rang out, the table exploded, shards of the glass top rose off the table like someone had just cannon-balled into a pool of water, then crashed back down, sending bits and pieces of shrapnel soaring through the air, stabbing into the skin on my neck and chest like a million tiny knives, not much bigger than a grain of sand.
A bullet whizzed by my head and lodged into the wall behind me, narrowly missing my forehead by less than an inch.
I stood straight and aimed my gun toward the snarling man who wore a look of disappointment on his face, pissed that he’d missed his intended target.
Me.
I took more time to aim than was safe, standing out in the open with no cover, but my little back up gun only had one bullet left and I needed to make it count. I squeezed the trigger and the man’s eyes went wide as the bullet pierced his throat. He choked and gurgled on his own blood as he crumpled to the floor.
I tossed the gun and started clearing the rubble off of the couch. After what seemed like forever, but was probably only a few seconds, I cleared a block that revealed Bear’s face and neck. I leaned down and put my ear to his chest.
Still breathing.
I had to move quickly. Eli was standing just outside and God only knew what that crazy motherfucker might be armed with.
I reached behind Bear and tried to wrestle a gun from one of his holsters under his cut. I had no doubt it was fully loaded. Bear was always prepared. I hadn’t successfully freed the gun when seven more men came bursting through the hole in the wall. All armed. All guns aimed at me.
Tyrant (KING Book 2) Page 8
