“Perfect. Anything else?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Do you know if Diane and Ayanna have arrived?” I ask, hoping my firecracker of a hair stylist and the ethereal makeup artist I poached from Ursula Upshaw’s morning show are already on site and prepared for the challenge of making me look something other than stressed.
She nods. “Agent Morgan has just escorted them to the salon.”
“Okay, please let them know I’ll be with them shortly.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
With the conversation done, Agent Shaw resumes her post to the right of my door, and I return to the solitude of my room, moving through my shower and the rest of my morning routine slowly because I know it’ll be the last time I’m alone for the next twelve to fourteen hours.
Just the thought of being ‘on’for so long has me stressed. The buzz of preemptive overstimulation starts in the shower and lasts long after the forum at Beaumont High is over. Waves ofanxious energy twist their way through me, emanating from the spot on my back where Aubrey’s hand has been for the last minute or so. He’s holding me in place, forcing me to pose for photos on the stage they erected in the gym for us while the students look on with distant interest.
The thrill of having the President and First Lady at their school wore off around the time we started talking about the link between bullying and school shootings, and now they’re all ready to return to their regular schedules. I don’t blame them. I’m ready to go too. Desperate to get away from Aubrey, and the blown up photos of AJ’s face I didn’t know were going to be displayed around the gym, and the stage he would have walked across at graduation if he had finished high school instead of dying in it. Most of all, I’m ready to get away from the copper and brass stare that’s caressing my face from afar.
Cal hasn’t stopped looking at me. Well, technically, his eyes have left me several times over the last few hours, but they always,always, come back. Even when they shouldn’t. Even when I don’t want them to because Mama was right about me being triggered and now all I want is to run into his arms and cry for my baby, but I can’t.
One second,I think to myself.You can have one second of eye contact.
My heart pounds as I slide my gaze in his direction without moving my head an inch. Aubrey is too busy making love to the camera and chatting up the pretty, blonde principal to notice the shift in my attention, and thank God for that because the moment our eyes lock, I’m swept up in Cal’s love, lost in the sorrow and understanding emanating from every line of his still expression.
A sudden sob swells in my chest as I look away, and I grab my throat to stop it from making its way up. Aubrey turns a gaze made of quiet fury on me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, features melting into a mask of concern for the cameras pointing at us.
I step out of his hold, shaking my head. “I need to?—”
The stalled wail tries to escape again, but I slam my lips shut. Several people start to move toward me, but I’m only cognizant of Cal breaking formation and Beck using a single hand to pull him back, even though he looks ready to step out of line too. Agent Shaw is the one who makes the approach. She swoops in, placing a hand on my elbow.
“I’ve got her, sir,” she says to Aubrey. Determined to play up the role of loving husband, he reaches out, brushing a few strands of hair behind my ear as he ducks down to meet my eyes.
“I’ll come and check on you in a few minutes, darling.”
His act requires no response from me, so I don’t give him one, opting instead to allow Agent Shaw to guide me out of the gym and into the hallway where everything is quiet except my brain.
“Take a seat right here, ma’am. I’ll get you some water.”
I sink onto the bench she’s directed me to and rest my head against the white brick of the wall, relishing the cool feel of it against my skin. Agent Shaw’s footsteps grow quieter the further away she gets on her quest for water, and I relax into the silence that only lasts a minute before it’s interrupted by the appearance of two teenage girls who share the same face.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Taylor?” The one on the left asks, lines of genuine worry between her brows. They’re set deep into her mahogany skin like she spends most of her time fretting over one thing or another. She tucks her hands into the back pockets of her worn jeans, stopping just a few feet away from the bench while her sister lingers behind her. “I can call you that right? Or do you prefer First Lady?”
Adjusting myself so I don’t look like I’m on the verge of falling apart, I offer her a smile. “Mrs. Taylor is fine. Selene is better.”
“Our foster mom doesn’t let us call adults by their first name,” the other girl says. She’s inching closer now, hugging the wall.
“Then Mrs. Taylor is fine,” I assure her. “What are your names?”
“Isis,” the twin closest to me says, pointing to herself. “And that’s Imani.”
“I’m the oldest,” Imani tells me crossing her arms over her chest. I stare at them both, running a mental compare and contrast. Imani is taller and more solid than her sister. Her features are hard where Isis’ are soft, which makes for a stunning juxtaposition since they have the same round eyes, button nose and thick dark brows that remind me of someone I can’t place at the moment.
“The oldesttwin,” Isis reminds her with a glare. Her gaze softens when she turns it back to me. “We had an older brother, but he….died during the shooting.”
My heart drops as grief echoes between the three of us. All these years, I’ve thought of the parents who lost their children and the children who lost their parents, but I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve never thought past that. Never considered what it would be like for the Isis and Imanis of the world to attend the same school where their siblings are memorialized forever.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper fiercely, knowing the two words from a stranger won’t mean a thing to them. “Is that why you two weren’t at the assembly?”
