by Roxie Noir
“Well,” I say softly. “That’s not up to me to decide, is it?”
I almost tell him that I’ve got a few, but I bite my tongue. Just because he’s nice to look at and he’s making one overture of kindness right now doesn’t mean he won’t be in my father’s pocket this time next week.
“It should be,” he says.
“You should tell my father that.”
“I need to keep this job.”
“Then I guess I won’t be reading these letters.”
We lock eyes, and my smile fades. His gaze is a deep blue, the color of the ocean miles away from the shore where all you can see is water and horizon. I can tell he’s got a thousand million questions about what’s going on here, what he’s gotten himself into, but I can’t answer any of them right now.
“Gabriel,” I start, glancing at my hands on the table.
“Yes?”
I look him dead in the eyes again. I don’t smile.
“You should forget everything you’ve just said to me,” I say, my voice low and quiet. “As far as you know, I’m the most fragile, delicate flower in the world. I’ll fall apart if my stalker so much as looks as me the wrong way. Just trust me.”
Gabriel opens his mouth, but the dining room door opens again and we both sit up straight instantly.
My youngest brother Paul, Joy’s twin, pokes his head through. He’s going through a surly stage right now.
“Kyle’s here,” he says. “Mother says walk him through the garden, it’s important.”
He disappears.
I glance at Gabriel again. Half a second later, I remember to smile, which is the opposite of how Kyle makes me feel.
“Please excuse me,” I say. “But thank you for the overview. It was very thoughtful of you.”
“Of course,” Gabriel says, rising as well.
I leave the dining room without looking back at him, no matter how much I want to.
Kyle’s waiting right outside the back door, a bouquet of daisies at his side. When he sees me, he smiles nervously, his wet lips stretching just a little too far over his teeth, and holds them out.
“These reminded me of you,” he says.
I take them, the smile plastered on my face.
“Thank you,” I say. “They’re lovely.”
Last Valentine’s Day, I know Kyle and I both sat through the same sermon, given by the Reverend Russell Dawson of the Word of God Apostolic Covenant Church, on whether flowers were too sinful to be given as a token of affection between unmarried couples.
The answer: yes, mostly, because they represent the female parts. Only a few flowers — daisies, for one — are innocent enough to be given as a token of unwed affection.
“I was nearby and thought you might appreciate the company on a quiet Friday afternoon,” Kyle starts, folding his hands behind himself and rocking forward on his toes.
“I always appreciate your company,” I lie, keeping my voice soft.
Kyle just nods and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“I had a very eventful week,” he says. “Since Raising Up Godly Sons was released last week, the Reverend has been continually dogged in the press. It’s enough to wear down a lesser man, but God has given him the strength to battle on…”
This is a one-way conversation, so I don’t really bother listening. All that’s required of me right now is to nod and say mhm every so often, and as long as I keep smiling, Kyle will never know the difference.
There’s a good reason that the Reverend’s book, Raising Up Godly Sons, has been released to serious criticism and scorn, at least from anyone who isn’t somewhere to the right of the Westboro Baptist Church, politically speaking.
The Reverend’s own son, Lucas, is my ex-husband.
And he’s anything but godly, at least according to the Church’s definition.
Chapter Six
Gabriel
I stand at the huge window in the Senator’s office, hands in my pockets, looking down at the flower garden as Ruby and Kyle slowly walk along the brick paths. They keep at least a foot apart, her hands clasped in front of her, his hands behind him.
Even from here I can tell the conversation is one-sided. Ruby’s just been smiling and nodding along for as long as I’ve been watching, and while I haven’t been waiting for the Senator all that long yet, if they were having a real conversation she’d have said something by now.
I want to go down there and give Kyle a piece of my mind, let him know that maybe, every once in awhile, you ask the other person in a conversation a question. That it’s a back and forth, not a lecture, and maybe he’d get more than that empty, fake smile from her if he gave even a half-assed try.
But just the thought tightens my stomach, the shadow of something ugly and black snaking through me, because I’m lying to myself.
I don’t want to go give that dumb asshole advice on talking to girls. I want to go down there, send him packing, and walk Ruby through the garden myself. I want her real smile. I want to see the way her pretty eyes flash when I say something she likes.
I want —
The door opens, and I turn. The Senator walks through, trailing Mason behind him, the poor boy hurriedly taking notes.
“Write Mrs. Witherson on letterhead and express deep sorrow over the loss of her nephew,” he instructs Mason. “For good measure, have some flowers sent to the funeral. After Murphy’s gaffe last week, we can really consolidate our hold on the rural vote out in hill country, so go in with both barrels blazing. Next week is all stump speeches and kissing babies. Hi, Gabriel, thanks for waiting.”
“Not a problem, sir,” I answer.
Mason heads back next door, and the Senator walks over to me, jacket unbuttoned, hands in his pockets. For a fifty-five year old man, he’s still physically imposing, tall and broad, still in good shape. I could take him in a fight, but I could take most people in a fight, so that doesn’t count.
No, it’s the way he carries himself, coupled with his reputation, that makes him a presence in any room he’s in. Whenever you talk to him, there’s an unspoken expectation that you, too, want nothing more than to please the Senator and remain in his good graces.
And that’s the problem: most people do. He’s been in the Senate for nearly twenty years, and despite being on the fringe politically, he’s accrued plenty of power. He comes from money. He belongs to a church that believes a man is the absolute head of his household, that his authority over his wife and children should be total.
From everything I’ve seen, it is. Or at least it’s very, very close.
We stand at the window, looking down at Ruby and Kyle in the garden.
“You don’t have children, correct?” he asks.
“No, sir.”
He nods once, brusquely.
“I didn’t truly know worry until the day Ruby was born,” he says. “It’s a cliché, son, but it’s a cliché because it’s true. They really do change everything.”
“I have no doubt, sir.”
I feel a little like he’s giving me a stump speech.
“Gabriel, I would do anything to protect my daughter. I would walk through a burning building. I would swim across the ocean. I would run through a war zone.”
“Of course.”
“That’s why I hired you, obviously. I can’t be by her side twenty-four/seven, and even if I could, I’m getting old. Even if I’d give up my life in an instant, I’m not trained in protection. Sometimes the best thing a man can do is step aside and let a professional do his job.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I don’t think it matters what I say.
“So far I’ve entrusted Ruby’s physical wellbeing to you,” he says. “But now that you’ve been here for another day, I need to alert you to a danger I believe is far greater than any stalker could possibly be.”
He turns to me, his face dark and serious.
“I have grave concerns about Ruby’s spiritual well being. Are you a religious man, Gab
riel?”
I clear my throat. The answer is no, but that’s definitely the wrong answer right now.
“I’m not as devout as I should be,” I say.
He walks, hands in pockets, to a huge gold cross that’s hanging on one wall, lit from behind. It’s not a crucifix — there’s no Jesus on it — just a cross.
“This household is at war,” he says solemnly. “We are all fighting against Satan for Ruby’s soul, and every day, I fear we’re losing.”
I have absolutely no answer for this. I went to church growing up, but we were never at war with Satan for anything. We had potlucks, held clothing drives for the homeless, sang hymns, that kind of thing.
“She has abandoned her husband,” he goes on. “Women are like children, Gabriel. They need to be kept in hand, led gently. A woman without a husband, particularly at her age, is a dangerous thing indeed. I’m sure that Satan sees her as a tear in the fabric of this family, and he plans on slipping into our midst, using Ruby as a vessel.”
I clench my hands behind my back, my fingernails digging into my palms.
Children? Kept in hand?
The Senator’s a fucking lunatic, but I need this job. Dear God do I need this job.
“That’s why I’m asking you to guard her spiritually as well as physically,” he says, finally turning to me, the cross on the wall now behind him. It’s very dramatic. He’s a very good politician, that’s for damn sure. “I’m afraid that my daughter is lost, confused, open to sin. She needs my strong, steady hand to guide her back to the light, and I cannot guide her away from the darkness if I don’t know what darkness she’s facing.”
“I see,” I say.
I do not see.
“Part of your duties here are to join in our spiritual warfare,” he goes on, spreading his hands in front of himself. “If you see Ruby stumble along the path to righteousness, tell me, so I may guide her back. If she is led astray by sin, tell me, and I will help her sin no more.”
Finally, it clicks.
If I were, for example, to catch Ruby buying vodka at eight o’clock in the morning, that’s stumbling on the path to righteousness.
He’s not just asking me to keep her safe. He’s asking me to report back to him on everything she does.
“Understood, sir,” I say.
“And you think you can do that for me, son?”
I swallow.
“Of course, sir.”
It’s right there, on the tip of my tongue: she was in the liquor store yesterday.
I don’t even have to tell him I was hung over. I could tell him about Ruby, do my job, curry some favor with one of the most powerful men in Washington, D.C. When this gig is over, he pulls some strings and I get reinstated with the Secret Service.
But I don’t. Something stops me. I barely know Ruby, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
The Senator reaches out and claps me on the shoulder.
“God bless, son,” he says. “We’ll have you back at your position in no time.”
I try to smile.
“Thank you, sir. I’m honored to be working for you.”
The Senator smiles at me, a huge, fake, politician smile.
“Glad to have you on board, and thanks for your help. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”
I know when I’m being dismissed, so I shake his hand and leave. As I close the door behind myself, I realize the hairs on my neck are standing up.
Spiritual warfare against Satan, I think, heading down the stairs. All I really remember from church is ‘love thy neighbor.’
As I walk to my carriage house, I catch a glimpse of Ruby and Kyle, still walking. He’s still lecturing, but Ruby catches my eye for just a moment and I swear there’s a flash of something there before she looks away.
Then I head into my apartment, pull off my sweaty shirt, and think for a while about loving that particular neighbor.
Chapter Seven
Ruby
I pound on the door for the third time, the heavy wood shaking on its hinges.
“We are leaving in forty-five minutes,” I call.
From inside the room there’s the sound of a blanket hitting the floor, then a long, dramatic groan. Feet shuffle to the door, and it’s pulled open to reveal the surly face of my little sister Pearl.
“It’s early,” is all she says.
I can read the rest of it on her face, too, even though vocalizing her complaints was trained out of her years ago: it’s early, she hates going to our father’s rallies, she hates campaign events, she’d rather stay home.
Pearl’s sixteen, and I love her but she’s been going through a bitchy phase for months now, grouching and sniping at anyone who crosses her path.
But she’s a rule-follower, through and through, and she’ll probably grow up like Grace: marry the man my parents choose for her and have two kids by the time she’s twenty-four.
Even I started down that path, though I made sure early on that kids weren’t in the equation.
“Yes, and we’re still leaving in forty-five minutes,” I say.
Pearl makes a face. I lean into the doorway and peek at the other bed, which still has my youngest sister’s motionless form sprawled in the middle.
“Get ready,” I say, and walk away from the door. “And make sure Joy does, too.”
We’ve had this conversation before, about a thousand times. Pearl and Joy are ten and twelve years younger than me, so I half-raised them both.
I head back to my room to finish getting myself ready. Having a bedroom all to myself, even though it’s about the size of a closet, is one of the few concessions my parents made to my adulthood — they nearly made me share a room with Pearl and Joy when I moved back home.
It was the only thing I fought them on. After all, they didn’t have to take me back. I’m still half-convinced that they only did because my father is campaigning for re-election, and putting your own daughter on the street doesn’t play well with voters.
In my room, I put on my shoes — black ballet flats, because heels are designed to accentuate a woman’s bosom and buttocks, therefore tempting men — and then I kneel on the floor by my dresser, open the bottom drawer, and reach in.
All the way in the back, jammed into a corner, is the bottle of vodka from the day before yesterday next to a flask shaped like a makeup compact, as long as no one looks too closely. Sitting on my floor, I very very carefully fill the flask, then put the vodka back.
It might be dumb to bring this, but on the other hand, I’ve discovered how much easier is it to smile nicely, nod your head, and keep sweet when you’ve braced yourself with a swig of vodka.
So really, it’s a toss-up: do I get in trouble for having an attitude, or do I get in trouble for drinking?
I put the flask in the bottom of my purse, hide it as well as I can, and head downstairs.
Gabriel’s waiting next to the campaign bus, wearing a suit, as the whole Burgess family comes outside. Besides the eight Burgess children — me, Grace, James Jr., Daniel, Zeke, Pearl, Joy, and Paul — there’s Grace’s husband and her two children, James Jr.’s pregnant wife, the girl Daniel’s courting, my father’s aide Mason and his girlfriend Lilah, not to mention the rest of my father’s campaign staff.
Bless his heart, Gabriel doesn’t even raise his eyebrows. On the bus, he sits in the row behind me, next to another security guy. I sit with Grace and her kids, while her husband sits in the front of the bus with the rest of the men.
“Kyle came to the house again yesterday?” Grace asks, bouncing Emma, her four-month old. Emma just looks at me, her tiny face completely unamused.
“He did,” I say evenly, although I don’t want to talk about Kyle.
“He brought flowers?”
“Yes,” I confirm, because when you have seven siblings there are no secrets.
“He’s a very appropriate young man,” she says.
I give my younger sister a sharp look.
“Is he?”
She frowns at me, still bouncing Emma. In the row behind us, I hear Gabriel say something to the guy next to him, and it sends a slight prickle down the back of my neck.
Kyle gives me zero prickles. Well, that’s not true. Is revulsion a prickle?
“Ruby,” she says admonishingly. “You know he’s reformed.”
“Yeah, that’s worked out well for me in the past.”
“You didn’t give it a chance in the past.”
“I gave it years of chances.”
Grace glances over at me, and I can tell she’s getting mad. It’s nine in the morning, and I’ve already angered the closest thing I’ve got to an ally on this bus. It’s gonna be a hell of a day.
“Marriage vows aren’t until I get tired of you or unless you mess up big time,” she says, her voice tightly controlled. “They’re ’til death do us part.”
“Spare me the lecture,” I snap.
“If you weren’t prepared to commit to Lucas you shouldn’t have gotten married,” she says in her haughtiest voice.
I take a deep, deep breath and look away, all the muscles in my back knotting with tension. I didn’t really have a choice in the matter of marrying Lucas. Besides, I’d spent my entire life learning to obey my father’s every word. It didn’t occur to me to say no.
“I was nineteen when we got engaged,” I point out, keeping my voice steady and quiet.
“That’s more than old enough,” she goes on, still lecturing. “And now, you’re lucky anyone is interested. Really, Ruby, what are your options?”
I turn my head away as the bus rolls out of the driveway. I can’t believe we’ve barely left and I’m already fighting with my sister over Kyle of all people.
The only reason Kyle brings me flowers and then talks at me for an hour is that we’re both damaged goods, and everyone knows it. He’s the son of the President of Calvary Bible College, an extremely conservative Christian school near Huntsburg.