Dad pulls his classic gesture of lifting Mom’s hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles before he releases her so she can take her place behind him—where she belongs in his eyes.
But Dad pivots to me with that fake smile and opens his arms.
I return his hug as his beefy hand pats me on the shoulder. “You should have cried for the cameras.”
“Sorry, Dad.” Affection falters in my chest like a dying butterfly.
I step aside so I’m standing by Mom, a few feet away from Dad, and to the right so the cameras get a clear glimpse of the three of us—America’s First Family.
Mom’s eyes are hard like diamonds, but the rest of her body is poised and regal—the picture-perfect First Lady. Even Jackie Kennedy would envy my mother.
Dad raises both hands to silence the crowd, but they continue cheering. He beams them a million-dollar smile and waves until they settle down.
“Thank you, Baltimore.”
The thunderous applause shakes the stadium. I swear, an earthquake could happen, and I wouldn’t feel it.Granted, in these heels, I can’t feel anything below my ankles but stabbing pain and regret, but they were Mom’s choice—and I won’t turn down a free pair of Jimmy Choos.
“God bless America.” Dad places his hand over his heart with a gleam in his eyes. “As a veteran, I was proud to serve my country. But now, seeing this incredible crowd tonight, I’m humbled to have been a part of the history that shapes our great nation.”
As Dad launches into his speech, the crowd hushes, clinging to his every word like he’s some sort of messiah ready to save them from taxes and inflation.
“We are a strong nation. Our forefathers built this radical democracy, and for over two hundred and fifty years, it has flourished.”
I’m pretty sure the Greeks built democracy, but okay, Dad.
“Baltimore, tonight, I make a promise to you. A solemn vow.” Dad turns to Mom with a wistful glint in his eyes. “One as dear to my heart as the one I made to my wife, Grace, thirty years ago.”
Mom beams at him, and maybe at some point, there was real love between them. Not strategies and ploys. Their marriage has always been a chess match—gaming and strong-arming the other with shame or embarrassment if they ever stepped out of line.
As Dad faces the crowd again, I swear I hear Mom sigh with relief now that his gaze is off her.
“If elected for four more years, I will bring back the jobs you so unfairly lost from the previous administration. Their rules are expiring, and I have great plans in store for?—”
Pop!
Dad wobbles, his body twists towards us as he falters sideways. A rivulet of red trickles down from his forehead,his eyes wide in shock. He collapses behind the podium before screams echo around the stadium.
Was… was that…
Men and women in black suits surround me like a shield, hands grabbing and forcing me away. Through the lines of black pant legs, Dad’s limp body stays still, crimson liquid pooling around his head.
No. No, that can’t be blood. It can’t?—
Mom’s shriek breaks through me, and icy realization cracks like shattered glass.
“Grover!” Mom’s voice is pure pain as she screams his name.
From behind her own cluster of agents, Mom’s perfectly manicured hand reaches out for Dad, but we’re carted off. Hands grab my arms, my back, my head, shoving me down into a near fetal position while we scurry behind the curtain in one direction, down a winding maze of halls where Mom’s cries of anguish echo, reverberating until it’s a ringing in my ears I can’t escape.
“Flamingo and Finch secured. I repeat, Flamingo and Finch secured,” one agent announces into an earpiece, and they all break apart and shove me into a lounge with no windows.
Mom follows a few moments later, wobbling as she tries to keep herself upright.
“Mommy?” The childhood name for her bursts from my lips.
But she doesn’t look at me. Her nails rake over her chest as her eyes pinch together. Her lips open before she releases a cry of agony, like someone’s ripped her heart from her chest.
“Grover.” Her voice breaks on Dad’s name.
