Making her way back toward the living room furniture, she picked up the remote from the coffee table and plopped down onto the sofa. This time when she hit the on button she was prepared for the 3-D display. She rolled her eyes, noting the name of the program that was now on:Save Your Soul Train. She sighed. Well hell, at least she’d finally found some people of color. There was a lot of booty shaking going on, but apparently it was being done in the name of Jesus.
“This is insane,” Gaia snorted. “Completely batshit nuts!”
She clicked the remote.Good Mormon Americawas still on even though it was mid-afternoon. As she watched, it rapidly became apparent that this was a special election edition of the TV program and it would therefore remain on until the UCA’s first president was declared.
“I voted for Ryan Evans,” one of the blonde hostesses announced.
“So did I,” the other blonde hostess admitted. “Or should I say I votedagainstTom Vickers more than I votedforRyan Evans. I’m sorry, but I’ll take a Catholic president over a Lutheran any day of the week.”
“Right? Me too! I’m going to have to disagree with your view of Evans as the lesser of two evils though. I think the general has been a good ally to the Mormon community.”
“That’s true, Rachael. Good point.”
“Thank you, Mary.”
Gaia blew a stray curl out of her line of vision. Good grief. If this wasn’t the least riveting thing she’d ever had the displeasure of witnessing then she didn’t know what was. Watching paint dry would have been orgasmic by comparison. She was about to turn the channel when it dawned on her what the other oddity to the situation was: both of the TV show’s hostesses were wearing scarves on their heads—scarves that were reminiscent of Muslim hijabs. She blinked.
“Rachael, it’s time to bring in Ken who’s been questioning voters as they exit the polls right here in Washington D.C.! Ken, what kind of feedback are you being given? Who are the people saying they voted for?”
“This should be exciting!” Mary enthused. If her fervent smile was fake, Gaia couldn’t discern as much. “Do tell, Ken!”
The 3-D imagery switched to Ken and where he stood outside a polling station. His smile was as plastic as a used car salesman’s. “Thanks Rachael and Mary. I have to say the name on most lips today is Evans! I’ve had a few Vickers supporters make themselves known, but all the polling stations I’ve visited so far have been overwhelmingly pro-Evans.”
The camera panned to show the long voting line where men and women stood preparing to cast their votes. Gaia’s jaw dropped. She blinked a few times in rapid succession to make certain she was seeing correctly. She stilled. “Oh my God,” she whispered.
Every woman—literally every single female—was wearing a hair covering. Some wore hats, others scarves, but all of them had, at minimum, the tops of their heads concealed. The sight was jaw dropping. “What. Is. Going. On?” she bit out. She was so lost in thought that she almost missed the camera going back to Rachael and Mary.
“I have to admit,” Rachael said, “I’m also a sucker for an epic love story.”
“Me too!” Mary enthused. “Sorry viewers,” she teased, “but that’s all the information we can give you right now.” She winked conspiratorially at the camera. “If Ryan Evans wins, tonight the world will find out who his—and our—new First Lady is.”
“And if he doesn’t win,” Rachael assured the audience, “the mystery will end when he gives his concession speech tonight with his wife by his side.”
“What a lucky girl,” Mary said. “General Evans is so dreamy.”
Gaia blinked.Dreamy? Had she been transported back to the 1950s?
“Okay okay!” Rachael cut in, all smiles. “That’s all the information the UCA’s Board of Censors will let us release right now!”
The two hostesses shared a Stepford giggle. Gaia quickly turned the channel. Unfortunately, they were also discussing Ryan’s mystery wife on the next program she switched to:60 Minutes with Jesus.
“I’m telling you!” an older man with a bad toupee job decried. “I saw photographs the press took of Ryan Evans this morning seated in a black SUV with his wife. If she is who I think she is then all I can say is it’s a miracle from God.”
Gaia couldn’t take anymore. She switched the television consul off and stared open-mouthed at its blank screen. Clearly all these people guessing at who she was thought Ryan was married to someone—anyone—other than her. There was nothing gasp-worthy about Gaia or her life. Unless a bartender slash waitress was somehow noteworthy in this new, bizarre world, she couldn’t think of a single thing she’d done to warrant all this dramatic speculation. No, they definitely thought Ryan was married to someone else, someone far more controversial or exciting.
Gaia pulled her robe closed tighter as a shiver worked down her spine. This day was turning out to be beyond weird. It was downright surreal.
Chapter Seven
Gaia was a tension filled wreck by the time Ryan came back. When she told him about what she’d seen on the television, he sat her down on the sofa and held her hands. “They don’t have you confused with another woman, baby. We married during the civil war.”
“When?” Gaia snapped, pulling her hands from his grasp. “I found the date December 1ston the back of that picture—” She waved a hand toward the photograph on the mantel. “—but there is no year on it.”
“Calm down,” he said softly. “I’ll answer all your questions. Okay?”
She sighed. Everything was getting to her. “I’m sorry. Okay.”
He inclined his head. “We’ve been married almost three years. Our third anniversary is just around the corner.”
