Fortunately for both of them I’m too physically and mentally wrung out to try to drag it from them. “Thank you for doing this,” I say. “Both of you.”
“Hey, that’s what we do.” Jordan walks over and takes my hands, waiting until I look him in the eyes. “Lean on us. I know this sucks but we’ve got you.”
Later, I lie awake long after they’ve both fallen asleep. With Belyaevskin’s massive data dump —along with the deaths today under mysterious circumstances of three more rich and connected Russian nationals—the finer details of Stella’s demise have for the most part been overlooked, as has her video. The media is funny about reporting too much about spousal murder-suicides, even of famous people, so that also works in our favor.
Fargo’s now on suicide watch because he already tried to slit his wrists once. He’s been expelled from the House and his wife filed for divorce, filed a restraining order, and filed an emergency order to get full custody of their children.
It’s justnothis day.
Ingalls’ family has gone into hiding and his wife’s also filed a restraining order and divorce papers.
Meanwhile, my poll numbers are surprisingly high. The stock markets bounced back this afternoon after everything came to light, and law enforcement’s making a wave of arrests because more of the local-level organizers, sensing their lives are utterly and completely fucked anyway, are opting to exchange evidence for plea deals.
Law and order, y’all.
Even Fox and FNB are praising my Justice Department, and I cynically wonder how many arms Leo and Casey-Marie twisted to make that happen. I think the fact that one of the main goals Ellis and his cohorts had was to get insanely rich off the stock market tanking has tipped public opinion to the left of center for a while. That those Greedy Old Pricks were willing to kill people and maim our economy in pursuit of political power in conjunction with foreign nationals doesn’t play well with the heartland voters in flyover states, whose mail and Amazon Prime packages were delayed by days or longer because of the transportation shutdowns.
The GOP is exsanguinating voters, who are mostly registering as Independents or Libertarians. Many representatives and senators in districts where they’re facing strong Democratic candidates are opting to leave the GOP and register as Independents and take their chances that way.
No less than ten GOP House reps have suddenly announced they’re not running for re-election after all. Including two first-term candidates.
At least the moderate GOP members still struggling to rehabilitate the party are finally outnumbering the Q-natics. The minority leaders are instituting censure and sanctions measures on members who fail to behave themselves, or who espouse radical views aligning with those of the attacks’ fomenters and participants.
It’s a bittersweet win toward bringing back true bipartisanship in our government. The price was astronomically high, though.
Too damned high.
On the calendar in my head I cross off another day, marking that I’m one day closer to freedom.
If the election were held tomorrow, Ciro would win in a landslide. But all I’m thinking about right now is my parents, and what this has done to them. The personal cost.
And I wish like hell I could travel back in time, shake sense into my sister, and strangle Ellis.
* * *
Two days later,we’re holding Stella’s funeral. When 4:50 a.m. rolls around that morning I’ve already been awake since 2:00. That’s when I grabbed sweats and my walker and moved out to the family dining room so I wouldn’t disturb Leo and Jordan while I sat up studying briefing materials.
I still can’t believe we’ll bury Stella today. It doesn’t feel…
Real.
I expected at some future point to bury my parents butthispossibility never crossed my radar. Not even in the wake of Grace’s death.
Not even as many times as I facetiously wished for Stella to drop dead. Obviously I never meant it literally.
I mean, notseriously.
I know I shouldn’t feel guilty about any of those past thoughts but I can’t help it. She was my little sister.
Jordan set our alarm to go off at 5:30 so I probably should get the coffee started. It’s not my usual task but at least in this way I can take care of my men. Lord knows they’ll have their hands full taking care of me and my family today.
With a twinge of pain and more than a little weariness, I heave myself out of my chair and upright with my walker to head into the kitchen once more to brew a fresh pot of coffee. The several cups I’ve already consumed were from the single-serve pod machine. But with Leo and Jordan about to arise, and my parents and his no doubt soon to follow, I’m certain we’ll need more.
Alotmore. There likely isn’t enough coffee—or alcohol—to get me through this day.
I’ve just punched the start button on the coffeemaker when I hear a noise behind me and I turn, expecting to see Jordan or Leo standing there.
It’s Mom, wearing pajamas and a bathrobe and an achingly sad smile. “Hi, sweetie.”
