For another ten minutes by my watch we all sit there, maybe in silent prayer, maybe stunned, I don’t know, when one of the women finally speaks once the plane is no longer visible.
“What…happened?” She has a soft Southern drawl that I think puts her from South Carolina.
I glance around and realize either no one else knows, or is going to speak.
Maybe they’re not able to speak.
“Something ripped a hole in the starboard side of the fuselage,” I say. “I think something came off or out of the starboard wing or engine. It happened after one of the hard bounces. Explosive decompression took over.”
“Was it a terrorist?” she asks, wide-eyed and obviously in shock.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I think it was stupid, bad luck and a mechanical failure.”
“We need to send up flares,” one of the men says, reaching for the bag.
Another stops him before I can. “Not yet,” that man insists. “That’s a waste right now. We need to wait until the weather clears. No one will be out looking for us yet, anyway. We’re safe, for now.”
But that’s…debatable, and I know it. Apparently, that guy knows it, too, because I’m staring him in the eyes when his gaze meets mine. He’s from Tennessee, I think. Lieutenant governor, if I remember correctly.
He was with his wife, and the governor and his wife.
None of those three people do I see in the life raft with us.
Not making a moral judgment, but I know damn well Owen and Carter wouldn’t be in a life raft without me unless I was already dead.
That’s when I remember seeing them sitting a row ahead of us…
Oh.
I take a deep breath. His wife probably died when Mike died.
With the rain and waves, it’s impossible to see much around us. All we can do for now is hang on to the handhold lines inside the raft.
And pray.
Chapter Seventeen
Owen
I’m struggling against building resentment as the re-election efforts kick into high gear. I know it’s a necessary evil, but…
Yeah.
I resent the additional public scrutiny on me and my every waking move.
I resent the fact that it means I can’t risk any late-night rendezvous with Susa for a while.
I resent it taking both of us away from Tallahassee to other parts of the state, meaning far fewer afternoon drop-ins at work, with her or Carter locking the door so the other can quickly give me what I need and crave from either of them, because we always have staff on us when we’re in the office, trying to eke out as much work from us as they can.
I resent knowing we’ll have another four years of this if I win, followed by another eight when Susa wins.
I resent that Susa is driving herself nearly to the point of mental breakdown, and Carter didn’t call me in earlier to comfort her. That he didn’t schedule time for us months ago to sit down with her, together, to gently confront her about this. She hides shit well—too damn well. Both of them do.
I know they want to protect me, but dammit, they’re my husband and wife, and helpless nights like a couple of weeks ago leave me feeling like I’m not pulling my emotional weight with them.
Yet I’ll still do this, all of this, because I want Susa to have my job. Because it’s her dream. Iwanther to be the next governor of our state, and the easiest way to guarantee that happens is winning re-election. Our poll numbers are amazing, both for voters liking our policies and liking us personally as people. They see me and Susa as trustworthy and dependable. We have allies in lawmakers on both sides of the aisle, as well as a growing number who are switching their registration to Independent, who are responding to the poll numbers that prove the public likes and wants this centrist approach, and those lawmakers are helping us achieve it.
We make them look good, they make us look good.
