30. Revisionist History
30
REVISIONIST HISTORY
EVANGELINE
W e slide into the back of the car and Darren stares out the window.
“Are you okay?” I know he’s not okay.
He shakes his head just as thunder rumbles in the distance. His profile is cast in shadow, and I can feel his pain like a cool slice of air.
“I can get through the debate.” He crosses his ankle over his thigh and lets out a breath.
“That’s not what I was asking.”
He tilts his head and gives me an imperceptible nod, and then lays his head back on the headrest.
“Revisionist history,” he murmurs and closes his eyes.
What do you mean?”
“We see the past the way we want to see it, not as it truly was,” he explains and then grumbles, “How the fuck did I miss that?”
I lay a hand on his thigh to bring his attention back to me.
“Because we don’t want to believe that we can lie to ourselves. You saw your parents’ marriage as impenetrable because you needed that.”
“I feel betrayed in the worst way,” he admits. “He gave me everything I needed to find out who he was to my father. How did he expect me to feel?”
“It was not the right way to handle it but maybe it was the only way he could handle it,” I offer.
“I would never have expected you to make excuses for someone who treated you the way Rausch has,” Darren speculates.
I let out a small laugh. “We’ve been at odds since the first time we met, but that’s only because he loves you.”
Darren whips his head at me in disbelief.
“Tell me you don’t believe that?”
Darren grunts and then looks back out the window.
“I know you’re not ready to forgive him, but you need each other.”
He turns to me with his complicated eyes and he opens his mouth to say something, but then Bailey opens the car door.
“Darren,” I lay a hand on his arm to stop him. Now is not the time to tell him about Rebecca. We stare at each other for a few moments. I want to tell him how proud I am of him, and that I believe in him, but I don’t have to say any of those things out loud.
He gets out of the car, pulling me with him. “Bailey, I need you to stay with Evangeline. You go where she goes. If anyone so much as bumps into my wife…”
I interrupt him by planting my lips onto his and he yields, kissing me deeply. “You’re gonna do great.” I smile.
As soon as we enter the community center, the organizers descend. Angie’s waiting nervously on the side of the stage.
“Is everything okay? I thought for a minute Darren wasn’t coming. Where’s Rausch?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer while she searches around the stage.
“Darren’s fine,” I say, not answering her question about Rausch on purpose because I don’t know, but I hope he’s fine too.
She catches her breath. “I never got a chance to tell you this, but I’m sorry. I got caught up in the excitement of it all. I’ve never worked on a campaign before, and I just wanted to impress him. I would have never…”
I watch Darren with the organizers out on that stage, with his easy smile, and the way he holds himself with such confidence bordering on arrogance, and I know how easy it is to be caught up in his gravity.
“Okay, well, I’ll just…” she doesn’t finish her sentence as she hurries on stage to hand Darren his notes.
I watch from the sidelines with Bailey as they run the wire for the mic under Darren’s shirt and clip it to his collar. With everything that’s happened, I just now realize what he’s wearing. “Shit, Bailey, his suit.”
Bailey doesn’t move. “I don’t think he needs the suit.”
Darren greets Jordie Calhoun, his opponent, who’s a few inches shorter than him with dark hair and a sharp bony jaw. Bailey’s right. Darren doesn’t need a suit.
As seats begin to fill up, they each stand at the podium and the moderators take their seats at the table set up in front of the stage.
“Are you going to sit up front? I have seats reserved,” Angie offers.
I shake my head. “No, I’m gonna stay here.”
“Okay,” she says, and rushes down the steps as the moderators announce the debate.
Rausch stands next to me, placing his hands in his pockets as he rocks back on his heels, and I look over at him with surprise.
“I didn’t want to miss this.” He positions himself behind the stage curtain, so Darren doesn’t see him.
I nod.
“I don’t want Darren to hate me,” he says in a low voice.
“He looks up to you. You broke his trust,” I explain.
“I know,” his voice is remorseful.
The debate gets started. Jordie seems poised and formal, which the crowd seems to respond to. I’m biased, but I like the way Darren walks away from the podium and uses his hands when he speaks. He never liked public speaking but he’s so good at it.
“Twelve percent of households in District five live below poverty level, and the median property value is two hundred and thirty-eight thousand, which tells me that your plan…”
“He does well under pressure.” Rausch seems to say it more to himself than to me.
There’s a loud noise. A single shot that rings through the auditorium, and there’s no mistaking it for a door banging or a chair falling. A cold chill immediately blooms in my belly. Bailey grabs me, slamming me to the ground as he covers my body with his own. Rausch rushes the stage.
The auditorium erupts into chaos, people screaming as a second shot echoes throughout the community center.
“Bailey!” I yell, trying to lift my head so that I can see the stage—see Darren. “Bailey! Where’s Darren? Is he okay?” I crawl a few feet across the floor towards the stage before Bailey yanks me back.
“Don’t move!” he yells but I don’t listen, managing to yank free from him when I see a body on the ground in front of the podium, blood blooming on his shirt, his face covered by someone frantically trying to stop the bleeding. All I can see are a pair of shiny dress shoes and I begin to cry, dropping down to my knees.
“Evan!” I hear Darren call my name as he races over, landing on his knees in front of me. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he grabs onto me. “Thank God you’re okay.” I grip him tight, and cry into his shoulder.
Paramedics arrive with a stretcher, clearing the area, and that’s when I see that it’s Rausch who’s been shot. Two people slide a board underneath him.
“I’ve got her, Bailey,” Darren says, “Find out where they’re taking Rausch.” Bailey disappears into the crowd.
Darren grabs my hand, and we race after him. I don’t know where the shooter is or if they even caught him, but all I can think about is Rausch laying on the stretcher—and there was so much blood.
“What happened?” I ask as we stop outside. On the curb is the ambulance, and they lift the stretcher into the back.
“I don’t know,” he says. “It happened so fast. I heard a gunshot, and then I saw Rausch run in front of me and he just dropped.”
Darren’s voice sounds unsteady, and his eyes are wide as he watches the paramedics close the doors to the ambulance.
“Is he…” he doesn’t finish the sentence.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head, feeling unsteady on my feet.
“Angie?” I look around nervously to see if I can find her. People rush out of the building, most of them now milling in the parking lot. Bailey exits the side door of the community center with Angie at his side and I’m filled with relief.
“They’re still looking for the shooter,” Bailey explains, out of breath. “But they’re taking Rausch to Inova Fairfax.”
“Fuck!” Darren curses.
“What? What’s wrong?” I prod him.
“That’s just outside of Georgetown,” he answers, and in my head, I do the math.
That’s over three hours away.
“They’re medevacing him from the nearest hospital. It doesn’t sound good,” Bailey replies.
Angie’s face is white as a ghost, and she doesn’t look well, but she’s not hurt.
“Angie, are you okay?” I place a hand on her shoulder and that seems to focus her.
“I think so,” she replies and then looks down at her body. “I’m okay.”
She looks like she’s in shock.
“I was just watching Darren and I heard a gunshot. It was so close it made my ears ring, and then another one. I saw Rausch running across the stage—. Is he okay?”
“We don’t know,” I respond.
“Angie, did you see the shooter?” Bailey asks, grabbing a nearby officer.
She nods.
“Can you describe him?” the officer asks.
“I think so,” she responds, her eyes still wide. “He ran past me. It happened so fast.”
“I need to get to the hospital,” Darren announces. “Can you stay here with Angie?” he asks Bailey.
“I can take her to the station so she can give a statement,” the officer says.
“Go,” Angie comments. “I’ll call my family from the station. Someone can come pick me up,” she offers.
We race to the car and stop short.
“Call the pilot,” Darren requests, and both Bailey and I stare at him in disbelief.
“Call the fucking pilot before I change my mind,” he barks.