Chapter Twenty-Nine
Doe
I knew I was in a dreamlike state and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t wake from it. I couldn’t open my eyes. I tried to move my hands but I couldn’t feel them. I felt like I was floating and I no longer had use for things like limbs. For a moment, I thought I heard my father’s voice. “Ramie, Ramie wake up,” he was saying. But I couldn’t talk to him. I floated further away until I could only hear the echoes of his plea. I drifted off further and further until I was no longer floating.
I’m nine years old. It’s my birthday. My mom just came out and embarrassed me in front of all my friends. She’s drunk again. She just finished telling my friends that no one wants a fat wife so we shouldn’t eat my cake. She goes back into the house and Nadine finishes cutting slices that none of my friends touch. The music we had been playing has turned off and although we’d been taking turns selecting songs, nobody chimes in that it was their turn to pick another one.
My father appears at the back sliding glass door. He’s wearing a suit. It’s the only thing I’ve seen him wear for as long as I can remember. I don’t think he owns anything else. He rarely even takes off his jacket. Once we were at a county fair where he was giving a speech in order to support the Future Farmers of America and his jacket was off. His assistant was holding it folded over her arm as if she were holding the crown of the queen of England. His sleeves were rolled up. The site baffled me so much that when his speech was over I’d asked him if he was sick.
He’d laughed and ruffled my hair until it stuck out in all directions and fell into my face. That morning my mother had insisted on blow drying it perfectly straight, burning my scalp in her quest to make me look every bit the picture-perfect political poster child. “That’s better,” he said, before being whisked off the stage to the awaiting press.
My father slides the door open to the back yard. In his hand, he’s carrying a big bouquet of yellow roses. I think they are for my mother, but most nights they don’t even sleep in the same room. And it’s been months since either one of them has bothered apologizing to the oher after one of their shouting matches. They don’t even really fight anymore.
They ignore.
I preferred the fighting. Because at least then they were communicating on some level, even an angry and bitter one.
My father smiles and walks up to me where I’m sitting on the edge of the pool in silence while Nadine tries to raise the spirits of my classmates and friends. “Happy Birthday, Princess,” my father says, handing me the flowers.
“For me?” I ask, pushing my bangs out of my eyes.
“It’s your birthday isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is.” I sound as defeated as I feel.
“You’re nine now, and that’s a big birthday. I was thinking of getting you another stuffed animal, but I figured that flowers would be a much more appropriate gift for a young lady like yourself.” My father stuck his nose inside the bouquet and inhaled, only to pull away abruptly to close his eyes and cough. I giggled. “People always say these things smell so good. To me they smell just awful.” My dad laughed when he saw my smile and handed me the bouquet. “But nonetheless they are for you, my sweet girl.” The green tissue paper is melting underneath my wet hand that isn’t big enough to fully circle the stems. The flowers tipped in my hand and my father caught them before they fell into the pool. He held them out to me and I pressed my face into the bouquet and inhaled like he had, but didn’t have the same reaction. I decided right then and there that roses were my new favorite smell.
My new favorite thing ever.
“Why do all the party goers look as if they just played pin the tale on the donkey and the donkey kicked them?” he asks. Glancing over at the table my friends sit in silence. I don’t want to tell him that Mom crashed my party in every way, but I don’t have to, because the sliding glass door opens and my mother walks out in a black bikini and floppy hat. She’s still holding a glass, except this one is full to the brim.
“Margot,” my father says in a warning tone.
“What?” she snaps loudly.
My father stands and holds onto my mother’s elbow as he guides her back inside. His jaw is tight and I can’t tell that even though his mouth isn’t opening and closing that he is doing that thing where he talks through his teeth because his lips are moving.
“FINE!” Comes a shout from inside the house followed by a crash. A few minutes pass and he hasn’t come back outside. I just gave up and was about to just tell my friends they should leave before things get worse when the door opens and my father comes running out of the house. Not in a suit. Not in a jacket. Not in a tie. Nope. My father. Senator to his very core. Was wearing long black swim trunks. And nothing else.
Shirtless.
My. FATHER. Shirtless.
“CANNONBALL!” He shouts as he leaps off the edge of the pool and launches himself into the air, hugging his knees to his chest as he crashes into the water, sending water splashing over the edge like a tidal wave, completely soaking me and the picnic table where my friends sit in total shock.
Followed by total laughter.
“Now let’s see who has the best splash,” my father says, coming up for air and shaking the water from his black hair. “Nadine, you and I will be the judges. Winner gets extra cake!”
“Mom said that we shouldn’t eat cake. Said it will make us fat.”
“Well, your mother can…” He closes his mouth, takes a breath and starts over. “Your mother said that because she doesn’t like cake. But that’s her loss. Besides, everyone knows the calories from cake don’t count on a birthday. It’s like. Basic science. Right guys?” he asked. My friends cheered and shouted. Dad hoisted himself up and let his feet dangle as my friends lined up one by one to showcase their best cannon ball.
“Ramie, you’re first. Now make it a good once. The Price Family is famous worldwide for their cannonball skills so don’t let me down!”
I go first and emerge from the water to clapping and cheers. “See? Didn’t I tell you guys? It’s in her blood!”
After the competition, my father’s assistant enters the backyard through the side gate and informs him of an upcoming teleconference that he is almost late for. With another “Happy Birthday” and a kiss on the top of my head, my father wraps a towel around his waist and is gone.
I look over to the picnic table where my friends are happily shoveling cake into their mouths and arguing over who had the better splash. My roses are in the center of the table, an old grey paint bucket serving as a makeshift vase.
It was the best day of my life and although he’d only been part of it for less than an hour, it was the best day with my dad I’d ever spent.
Because that hour wasn’t about politics, values, campaigns, my mother, how we looked to the public, agendas…it was just about me and my birthday. “You’re dad actually jumped in the pool!” Nikki exclaims, dumping a scoop of ice cream onto her third piece of cake.
“I know.” I whisper, still not believing it myself. Unlike the other party-goers, only Nikki and Tanner know that this wasn’t normal behavior for my dad.
“I wish my dad was more like yours,” said Stephanie, twirling a strand of her curly red hair in her fingers. “Because your dad’s the best.”
I catch a glimpse from the side of the house of my father emerging from the garage in his standard uniform of suit and tie, but before he gets into the awaiting Town Car he turns and our eyes meet. He waves and blows me a kiss. I catch it in the air and press it onto my cheek. He flashes me one last smile and wave before ducking into the car.
“Yeah. My dad’s the best,” I agree. And on that day, in that moment, for the first time in my life, I’d meant it.
“Ramie, wake up. Wake up!” I opened my eyes, but only one cooperated. The other was swollen shut. And although my head was still spinning, my vision finally focused in on my father, who was kneeling over me. I tried to lift my arms, but they wouldn’t separate. I gazed down to find them bound together in a weave of elaborate knots.
“Dad?” I asked, still thinking I might be caught up in my memory. But as a drop of sweat beaded from his forehead and dripped onto my arm, I knew it was really him.
“Who the hell did this to you, Ramie?” My father asked with genuine concern in his voice. He jostled my wrists around, trying to untie the impossible looking binding.
I opened my mouth to speak again but my tongue felt heavy in my mouth, dry and thick. All I could manage was a few groans and grunts. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to get you help.”
I needed to warn him. To tell him about Nadine. “Tanner,” I croaked. “Tanner.”
“Where is Tanner?” my father asked still pulling at the ropes. “He is the one who told me to come out here. He texted me, said there had been some sort of accident. I borrowed my secretary’s car and raced over here. And where is Samuel?” I was brought fully back into the present at the mention of my son’s name. I sat up and the room spun. “Dad, go find Sammy. Please. Don’t bother with me. Just go find my son!” I plead. My words coming out garbled but understandable.
My father gave up on the knots at my wrists and snaked his arm around my shoulders. He lifted me up off the floor. It wasn’t until I was upright that I realized we were in the house boat. “Dad, Sammy…because Tanner…Nadine,” I started again but the series of names in no way formed the warning I was trying to relay.
“What happened to Nadine?” My father asked still working at the ropes.
“She’s dead. Tanner…”
“What about me, Ray?” Tanner asked entering through a large rusted hole in the side of the boat. In his hand was a shiny silver pistol with a long wide barrel and a black handle. “Are you talking about that slut, Nadine?”
It was aimed at us.
“What did you do?” My father asked, sounding horrified. His face paled.
“Turns out that bitch was keeping an eye out on your daughter for the fucking pedophile your daughter is so obsessed with.” Tanner clucked his tongue. “Nothing to worry about now. Bitch got what was coming to her.”
“Son, you don’t have to do this—” My father started.
Tanner laughed. “Son?” He waved the gun from side to side. “Ray doesn’t want me to be your son anymore.”
“Watch your mouth, boy, and lower that pistol. Ray’s hurt. I’m taking her to the hospital. You and I can talk when we get back,” my father argued, his southern accent coming out in full force, which made me realize that in public he took great steps to hide it, but now, not concerned about preplanned speeches or impressing constituents, his drawl was much heavier and thicker than I remembered. He hadn’t lost his accent, he’d just been hiding it. “Step aside, Tanner.” My father took a step toward the door and I limped beside him. Tanner aimed his gun at the ceiling above our heads and fired off a shot which tore a skylight sized hole in the roof that rattled the houseboat, echoing in the small space, sending rust raining down around us.
Tanner again took aim at us. “The only thing you’re going to do is set her down or you can watch as I kill her first.”
My father didn’t budge. Instead he pulled me in closer to his side, my head resting on the shoulder of his suit jacket. “There is no need to do this,” my father started, his accent filtering out of his voice. His cool and calm political persona taking over. “You have a lot going on for you and a bright future ahead of you. You don’t want to throw it all away just because my daughter broke your heart.”
“No, not just because she broke my heart, because she’s been toying with it since we were fucking kids!” Tanner took a few more steps into the room. He was in the kitchen area and we were facing him with our backs to the sliding glass door. “But she hasn’t left me. Not yet. I got to her just in time.” Tanner cocked the gun. “Now put her the fuck down, Senator. I won’t be repeating myself again.” Reluctantly, my father loosened his grip around me and gently set me back onto the floor. “Good, now step aside.” My father looked down at me and with a pained expression on his usually unreadable face, he took two steps to the side and raised his hands in the air.
“I can help you, Tanner,” the senator offered. “Just like when you were sick and I got you help. I can do that for you again,” he said calmly. “I can help you.”
Every movement of Tanner’s was jittery, sweat poured off his forehead. His white polo shirt was wet and yellowed at the armpits. “You wanna help me? You can get the fuck out of my way,” Tanner screamed. “All I need is her!” He pointed his gun toward me and then back to my father.
“How do you want me to do that?” the senator asked.
A good negotiator asks more questions than he gives answers to…I remembered my father always saying.
Tanner laughed and licked his bottom lip. Sucking it into his mouth he bit down on it and scrunched up his nose.
“You can fucking die.”