Dirge (Devastation Trilogy 1) Page 6

  I suspect they’ll forgive her.

  She’s trying to get the story out and someone takes the phone away from her.

  “Hello?”

  It’s Chase.

  I manage a weary laugh. “You didn’t throw my clothes out yet, did you, jerkhead? You’re taking me shopping if you did.”

  Another pause. “George?” He screams. “George! You’re alive?”

  “Yeah. Barely, but I am. Put me on speaker.” I can hear the kids all talking over each other, and Casey still talking.

  “Hold on.”

  He must have handed it back to Casey, because I hear her next, sounding like she’s on speakerphone. “Okay, George. They’re all here.”

  “Hey, guys. It’s Dad. Let me say first that I love you, and don’t hold Mom’s memorial yet. Cancel it. Wait until I get home.”

  There’s a moment of stunned silence before the kids all start talking over each other, screaming, crying, and I let my tears flow once more.

  Ten minutes later, after telling them what happened, I’m waving the government guy back into the room and passing the phone off to him. Casey takes charge talking to the guy, because she’s got my power of attorney and knows all our info practically off the top of her head. I have my wallet, but my passport was in Ellen’s purse. He’s writing down phone numbers and information, and Chase will be flown out to join me, because, honestly?

  I don’t want the kids on an airplane right now.

  I really, really do not.

  Especially not over an ocean. Tyson can’t join him because he doesn’t have a passport.

  The man passes his phone back to me so I can talk to them again. I tell the kids I love them one more time, and Tyson and Chase, then ask to speak to Casey alone for a minute before I end the call.

  She takes it out of speaker mode and it sounds like she moves away from everyone. “Yeah, honey?”

  “Stay there with the kids,” I tell her. “I mean, in the States. Fly out with them and Tyson to meet me wherever I land there.” I really don’t want her on a plane right now, either. At least, not one flying over an ocean. Which is stupid, I know. At least Chase is single, no kids, and I want Casey and Tyson there for my kids.

  “You don’t want me to fly out with Chase?” She almost sounds…hurt.

  “I need you there with the kids. I need you to take point for me, wrangle the press, keep them off the kids. I trust you to take care of them. All you’re going to do if you’re here is sit by my hospital bed until they release me. If you’re there, you can kick ass and get the process started to get me named governor.”

  She laughs. “God I missed you, honey.”

  “Yeah, well…” I sigh. “Thank god I have you now,” I tell her, choking up again, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I need you, Case. Please.”

  Her tone sobers. “You’ve got me, George. Like hell am I letting you deal with this alone. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Thank you. Can you get me a new phone and stuff, please, and send it out with Chase? Use that card we gave you from our trust account, if it’s still active. Or I’ll pay you back. And make sure they didn’t cancel my cards yet. Call them and tell them I’m alive.”

  “Yeah. I’ll do all that in the morning, as soon as the phone store opens.”

  I choke up again. “I’m not dead yet,” I say in a British accent. She’s my Monty Python buddy, so I know she’ll get it.

  Her laugh chokes free and she replies in an accent threaded with tears. “Aw, come on. Do us a favor.” She sniffles. “Strange governors lying on spits of land for three weeks is no basis for a system of government.” Back to her regular voice. “You have no idea how happy I am to be so fucking wrong right now.”

  “Don’t get too used to being wrong, honey. And please don’t let the kids talk to the press, all right? Not until I’m home. No interviews, no quotes except what you officially release. No social media posts except them sharing whatever you officially release. And…” A breath shudders through me. “Write a release for me, please. Short one. A thank you for your thoughts and prayers bullshit. You know the drill. I don’t even want to see it—just release it for me. ASAP. Put my name on it. And I’m serious—cancel the memorial. We’ll reschedule it for after I’m back.”

  “Okay.”

  There’s so much I want to tell her, say to her.

  Need to cry about with her.

  But I’m empty and the wind is screaming in my skull.

  “I love you, Case. Thank you. For everything.”

  She sounds choked up again. “I love you, too, George.”

  I finally end the call and return the guy’s phone to him. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll copy these phone numbers and information for you, sir, and bring them to you. I will take your information to the ambassador. The US Consulate will expedite getting you an emergency replacement passport.”

  “Thank you.”

  Once I’m alone again, I lay my head back, close my eyes, and cry as the full weight of my loss truly starts to settle in and I can no longer ignore the screaming of the wind.

  * * * *

  I must have dozed off, because when I come to, there’s a man standing in the doorway. I finally recognize him as the guy who practically fought his way onto the ship.

  “Carter, I presume?”

  He wearily smiles. His eyes look red and puffy, but that lucky bastard’s tears are of joy, I’m sure.

  “Yeah.” He walks over and shakes my hand, then leans in for a long hug. “Thank you, Governor Forrester.”

  It’s finally sinking in that I have the job promotion I wanted.

  Not the way I wanted to earn it, though.

  It’s far too high a price.

  “I didn’t do anything. Susa kept us alive. She knew how to build a water catcher. And when she evacuated the plane, she grabbed extra bottles of water and those emergency blankets. She was on watch the night we found the island. She heard the waves and found it. She also saw the ship’s lights. We’re all alive because of your wife, so thank you.”

  He steps over to the doorway and glances down the hall. I realize what he’s doing is probably making sure Susa’s still asleep.

  Not wanting her waking up to find him gone.

  He returns to my bedside, glances down, and when he looks up again I see the tears in his eyes. “She said you made her drink water. That she’d probably be dead already if you hadn’t done that.”

  I shrug. “I couldn’t let your girl go without a fight,” I softly say, watching his reaction, but even in this situation his poker face is perfect, a truly skilled political operative. “I lost my girl without even getting a chance to try to save her. I hoped if nothing else to at least bring yours safely back to you.”

  He slowly nods. “Thank you. We owe you everything. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

  I nod in return. “Full disclosure, she told me about you and about Owen. Told me everything. Obviously, we had a lot of time to talk. I told her about me and Ellen. The good thing is, I think even without knowing that about each other, it helped me get her to drink. I promise, your secrets are safe with me. I know mine are safe with her.”

  He nods again.

  I force a smile. “I threatened her that if she didn’t drink, I’d tell you guys not to spank her.”

  A hoarse laugh rumbles free as he rubs at the back of his neck. “How’d she take that?”

  “She called me a rat bastard. I gotta tell you, she was convinced she was dead, but she’s feisty.”

  “That she is.”

  “She made me promise if she didn’t make it that I would talk to you both and tell you how much she loves you.”

  He blinks back tears. “She’s our world.”

  “I assume Governor Taylor is on his way?”

  “He will be soon. She already got to talk to Owen, and her parents.”

  “Glad I get to meet him. I feel like I know you both already.”

  He walks back to the doorway an
d glances out again.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him. “If you want to come back and see me later, I’ll be happy to talk. She needs you right now. You should be with her.”

  “Thanks. I don’t want her to wake up and me not be there.” He starts to step out, and I think of one more thing.

  “Hey.”

  Carter looks back. “Yeah?”

  “You’re lucky men. You get a second chance to make a life with her. Don’t ever take a day with her for granted, or leave anything unsaid to her, or each other.”

  He slowly nods. “Thank you. I promise you that we won’t.”

  Once I’m alone I lie back, close my eyes, clasp my hands together tightly, and try not to hear the screaming or focus on the phantom feel of Ellen’s hand contracting around mine as she died.

  Chapter Seven

  Now

  After the break, I gird myself for the next round of prep. You’d think as a successful attorney, an experienced politician, and after the weeks of relentless press coverage I endured upon my rescue and return that I would be an expert in handling public relations.

  Unlike my last election, there is now a gaping void in my life.

  A void that used to be filled by my reason for living, my moral compass, my guiding light.

  My anchor and stable base upon which I’d not only built my entire adult life, but around which my soul had formed.

  Ellen.

  Can I really do this without her sweet, calming peace filling my life?

  I catch Case watching me throughout the morning as she guides the process. Declan and a paralegal who’s also working for the campaign are taking copious notes and adding their input throughout, providing research information as requested. Today we’re firming up my platform focus, highlighting my legislative accomplishments and distilling them into easy-to-digest sound bites, and deciding what angles we’re going to hit hardest in terms of presentation.

  It’s…a lot.

  And that’s just this morning’s chores. We still have a lot more to accomplish before we break for the day.

  Around noon, Case catches Declan’s eye and taps her bare left wrist once. He nods and immediately stands and leaves the room, pulling out his phone as he departs.

  Case sits back and smoothly continues with our confab as if she’d never moved.

  I envy her rapport with Dec. He’s a good guy, a smart kid. He second-chaired for me a few times early on in his career at Case’s recommendation, and I’ve watched him work solo. In the courtroom, or even when running a deposition, he seems to flourish and transform. Now, in his current role as deputy chief of staff, he’s definitely got an Alpha vibe with everyone except me and Casey. When not at work or in charge he’s quiet, almost borderline shy. Brown eyes, dark brown hair, and he usually sports a scruffy mustache and goatee, or beard, that never gets long or full but always looks good on him. Maybe it’s his own mask. He’s pleasant, a nice guy, but he spends more time working with Case than any other attorney in the firm.

  Well, spent. Past-tense. Because now his full-time job is working for me. And with Case as his direct-report, he spends a lot of time working with her.

  Our food arrives approximately thirty minutes later. Case corrals me into my office, where we eat alone at my desk. Apparently, she’s already warned our consulting team about me needing some breathers, or she made some sort of “state’s business” excuse to them, but I love her for it.

  She leaves nothing to chance. It’s something that’s made her a damn good attorney throughout the years.

  “What do you think about them?” I ask, nodding toward the closed door.

  Fortunately, Case is an expert at speaking me. “They’re good,” she tells me as we work on our shared salad and calzone. “I like them, and I like our chances even more with them on our side.”

  “Keep reminding me I can do this, okay?”

  “I will. You’ve got this.” She gives me a moment of quiet before dropping the next thing on me. “Aussie said she wants to stump for you.”

  I shake my head. “Absolutely not. She needs to focus on school. I don’t want her or the boys out there as grief porn for people to gawk at. They’ve had enough of that already.”

  “They’re adults now, hon.”

  “Technically, no, Aussie isn’t. She’s seventeen. I still get a little say in her life until she turns eighteen.”

  “In a couple of months, George,” Case says with a gentle tone I rarely hear her use and which was previously reserved for Ellen, or one of the kids when they were younger.

  We eat in silence for a few more minutes before she speaks again. “How about for tonight we get you home, and we can watch TV for a little while? I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

  I sigh, refusing to look her in the eyes because I’ve done pretty well so far not crying today despite my stress and overwhelming exhaustion. “It’s all right, Case. I don’t want to interfere with your date.”

  She reaches across my desk and gently grabs my wrist. “Let me rephrase that. I’ve already told you what’s going to happen, hon.” She squeezes. “It’s fine. I won’t stay all evening, but I’ll stop by and check on you later.”

  I drag a ragged breath into my lungs. “Thanks.”

  “It’s all right. I wouldn’t say yes if it’s a problem.”

  I don’t bother asking her who the guy is. If she wanted me to know, she’d tell me. I don’t take it personally, either. If it’s not a public date, he’s probably a politician, or maybe a lobbyist, or an industry professional, or someone else high-profile she prefers not to be seen with because of the potential appearance of impropriety or conflict of interest. In that case, she wouldn’t tell me who the guy is even if I ask, because then it’s plausible deniability on my part if there are ever any repercussions. I know he won’t be a married guy, because that’s totally not her. That much I do know.

  If it was a public date—one of a revolving door of guys she’s dated—she’d have no trouble telling me who it is.

  Except that’s the way she’s always been since college. Then, she cycled through a string of guys, never dating the same one for more than a few weeks. I thought once she graduated law school and started working with me that maybe she’d settle down, but no.

  I do hear things from others, though, whether I want them to tell me or not. Seems to get volunteered to me, almost like people think I should have a say in it. She’s still a serial dater. When people comment to me about her going out with someone, usually she was seen at an event that Nashville’s movers and shakers attended.

  When she wants to flaunt it, she does.

  Somehow, I have the feeling she’d never feel like that about me. Maybe it’s better if she doesn’t, because I’m not good at sharing. Considering her track record with men, I’d rather not be another hash mark on her scorecard. I was with Ellen for nearly twenty-five years, total.

  I doubt Case has ever been with the same guy for more than twenty-five days.

  “You will take a Xanax today, George,” she says, in that gentle tone. “You’re cycling too hard right now. If you won’t let me find you someone to talk to, you’re going to have to listen to me and let me manage this for you.”

  Some Dominant I am, huh?

  I’m also exhausted beyond a physical, emotional, and spiritual level.

  I am approaching a low point that makes my mind once again drift toward other options. Options I’ve only resisted before now because I knew it would break my children’s hearts, and they’ve suffered enough pain.

  One of these days, I’m afraid my own pain will grow too great, too heavy for me to bear any longer.

  That some night, when I close my eyes, the sound of the screaming and the wind will finally prove too much for me to tolerate.

  That being unable to sleep will drive me insane.

  Case has made me promise if I ever hit that point to please call her first.

  Unfortunately, it might be the first promise to her I
ever willfully break.

  * * * *

  By the time we’re finished for the evening, I’m done. I shake everyone’s hands and thank them for their work before retreating to my office as I pretend to take a phone call on my cell. I know if I was in a better frame of mind I’d be able to fully appreciate everything they’re doing for us.

  I remove my glasses and I’m sitting with my head down on my arms on my desk when Case softly double-taps on my door before opening it. I know it’s her just from the sound of her knock. She closes the door behind her.

  I hear her tsk and soft sigh, and the sound of her heels on the hardwood floor as she crosses my office.

  “Here, sweetie.” She nudges my hand with a cold bottle of water.

  Without looking, I turn my right hand palm-up and accept the tablet I hear her shake out of the bottle into it. It is my prescription, thanks to my GP, but Case holds on to them for me.

  That was by her declaration. I think she’s afraid I might one day be tempted to chase the entire bottle of pills down with a couple of bottles of vodka and go to sleep forever.

  She is not wrong.

  Which is why I don’t fight her holding them for me.

  The temptation is too damn great, the method too easy.

  I sit up and accept the bottle of water from her. Then I down the pill and chase it with a couple of swallows of water. It’s a stronger dose, because at six-two I’m sort of a big guy. I’ve regained the weight and muscle mass I lost during my ordeal. I am, ironically, in better shape than I was. Best shape of my adult life.

  Spending time working out in my home gym in my basement is one of my ways of exhausting myself so I can get what little sleep I do manage. The benefit being that I now have what Case calls a DILF body. I always kept in shape, because Ellen and I loved hiking, but I’m now physically in the best shape of my life.

  Mentally and emotionally, however…

  Falling asleep isn’t the problem—staying asleep is. Either I wake myself up when I hear the sound of the wind screaming, or I scream myself awake reliving the nightmare of Ellen dying while holding my hand.

  I’m really sick of that dream.