Chapter 41
“You bet on a ball game or something?”
My father’s tone was semi-irritable as he caught me looking down at my phone. He shifted his attention away from my uncle Rupert long enough to chastise me. His younger brother was here on his annual visit to join us for Thanksgiving. D-Day had arrived.
“There’s a pool down at the firehouse.” I confirmed his existing theory, letting him think I was trawling football scores. But, today, I didn’t care about football. I cared about having things go as planned.
“What’d you wager?” He wanted to know, swirling the last of his whiskey before finishing it in one gulp. We were waiting for dinner in a room we called the den. A mounted boar’s head hung over the large stone mantel. A wet bar stood off to the side. Brown leather couches were arranged in the center beneath an antler chandelier.
“A hundred on the Volunteers, up five by half,” I continued to lie smoothly.
“You should’ve bet on Ole Miss,” he chided before standing. My father turning his back as he walked toward the bar gave my uncle a chance to roll his eyes.
“You raised him to be a Tennessee fan,” Uncle Rupert pointed out.
“I also raised him to win.” My father, as always, was calm in his condescension. “Ole Miss is 11e and oh this year. There’s no sense betting against a winner. You might as well kiss that money goodbye.”
While my father was busy dropping ice into his glass, I returned my uncle’s eye roll. Neither of us cared for his obsessive need to be smarter than everyone else. If I’d told him I’d bet on Ole Miss, he would have lectured me on staying loyal to Tennessee. He made it so you could never win.
“I think Buck can afford a hundred-dollar loss,” Uncle Rupert said smoothly. He had the same shocking blue eyes as me and my dad, further proof of what a fool’s errand questioning my parentage had been.
“How much are they paying firefighters these days?” My father took his jab.
I took a long swallow of my own whiskey. “You don’t have to worry ’bout me, Dad. I do just fine.”
Come next year, I wouldn’t miss this. Though I wondered what Uncle Rupert would do. As it stood, he could only stomach my father once a year.
Tonight, I had one job and one job only. To keep tabs on my father at all times. And to stall him if he got close to the kitchen. My mother was enlisting the help of her trusted house manager, Viola, for one final task—moving the possessions she couldn’t have taken earlier out to my truck.
Even without the insults he managed to work into every holiday gathering, conversation between me and my father was stilted. It had been since the day I shook him down.
I was relieved when, five minutes later, Trevor walked into the room with the petite Priscilla in tow. It still floored me to see how much Trevor looked like Adam. I’d seen our older brother earlier, in preparation for tonight. After what Tim and I had pieced together in Hinckley, Adam had insisted on being involved. As a victim, he had a right.
“Congratulations, Representative.” I put on a big smile as I greeted my little brother.
“Representative-Elect.” Trevor basked in his victory in a way I didn’t mind. I knew the sense of relief that came after an election. If I wasn’t mistaken, he stood straighter and prouder than he usually did. I didn’t want to deny him that.
“Prissy.” I greeted his fiancée, who shared in some of his glowing, as if she’d won an election, too. As always, she was prettily dressed and perfectly coiffured. My question about how wedding planning was coming along had seemed simple enough, but the answer turned out to be lengthy. I was still hearing about seating arrangements minutes later when my mother sauntered in.
She smiled warmly and greeted Prissy, looking nothing like a woman minutes away from blowing up her own life. A light-beige cashmere sweater and simple diamond studs dressed up her jeans and boots. She was the picture of a casual hostess.
“Viola’s got food on the table,” she told everyone in the room, our cue to move to the next space. Uncle Rupert rose and offered an elbow for her to take. They, too, had always gotten along. Before allowing herself to be escorted, she looked at me over her shoulder. Her small nod told me that this was it—we were on.
“This looks just fine, Viola. Just fine.” My father settled into his seat at the head of the table. “Now you go and get on home to your girls.”
With just one turkey and a scant six side dishes, this was the most modest Thanksgiving dinner Viola had presided over in years. For reasons that were about to become clear to everyone at the table, my mother had insisted on a family-only event.
“Happy Thanksgiving, sir,” Viola replied.
If he’d been paying any attention, he might have noticed Viola wasn’t looking at him, but gazing at my mother, sadly. Viola took the long way around the table and gave my mother’s shoulder a thin squeeze, then said, “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, Annelise.”
That was when it hit me. Intellectually, I knew. But it wasn’t until that moment that I felt it in my body. In minutes, we’d be walking away—both of us leaving a man who had only ever known how to love on his own terms.
“It looks too pretty to eat!” Prissy exclaimed exuberantly. I already felt sorry for her. Out of everyone, she would be blindsided the most.
“I’d like to say grace this year, if that’s alright.”
From her seat at the other table head, my mother reached her hands. My father regarded my mother with surprise. He had—no doubt—expected that he would be the center of attention. Still, he bowed his head and acquiesced.
“I’m thankful for this family, for the love of my beautiful sons, for God letting me deliver healthy boys. I’m thankful for the privilege of raising these two—Bucky and Trevor—and watching them grow into such wonderful men.
“I’m thankful for this house, and all the places we’ve called home, and for never having to want for anything material. I’m thankful for the incredible experiences that came with public life, and for exposing Bucky and Trevor to an extraordinary world. I’m thankful for our philanthropy, and the causes I’ve been able to help.”
Trevor threw me an amused smile, clearly finding our mother’s soliloquy strange. But my eyes had stayed on my father, who chuckled uncomfortably and turned to Priscilla.
“Looks like your future mother-in-law’s taking the spirit of the holiday a bit too seriously.”
“And I’m thankful for you, Rex,” my mother continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “You gave me this beautiful life. Little Annelise Owens never could have imagined hosting dignitaries and hobnobbing with heads of state.”
Something in my father’s eyes hardened, as if he knew things were about to go awry.
“Come on, Annelise. The turkey’s getting cold.”
“I’m not staying for turkey.” She dropped mine and Trevor’s hands. “I came to say goodbye. It’s long-past time that I retire.”
“Retire?” Trevor voiced his knee-jerk reaction. “Retire from what?”
She cast a soft gaze upon him. “From public life. I’ve been doing it for twenty-five years. Eight years after I stopped being First Lady of Tennessee, somehow, I’m still in it.” She shifted her gaze to my father, whose face was reddening by the second. “We both know it’s never slowing down, Rex. We got through the campaign—next, it’ll be the swearing in. After that, the push for the first hundred days. And this time”—she shook her head—“I just can’t.”
“This is neither the time nor the place,” my father warned.
“What are you saying, Momma?” Trevor’s face sobered as he started to catch on.
“I’m saying that I love you, and I’ll always support you, and I’ll be there when you need me, but you don’t need me for this. You’ve got the best political strategist this side of the Mississippi. You’ve got Prissy, who wants this life. And besides all of that, you’re a grown man. I’ve spent the last twenty-five years putting you boys first, and not thinking about myself. And I’m sure as hell not getting any younger. So I’ve come to a decision. I’m spending the rest of my life doing what I want.”
“We’ll talk about this after dinner, Annelise.” My father’s voice rose by decibels.
“No, Rex.” Her voice was as composed as ever. “You’re done telling me what to do.”
My father frowned openly, unaccustomed to this version of her. Today, she was fearless and bold, nothing like the woman I’d seen on the Fourth of July. Now, she sat, back straight and chin up, the picture of tranquil confidence as my father reddened and seethed.
Silence fell over the table as four very different reactions played over the faces of those who hadn’t known. My uncle gazed at my mother with a tender, approving smile. Rupert didn’t like the way my father treated her any more than I did. Something passed between them and he gave a little nod.
“If this is about that trip to Europe, we’ll take it. Shit, we can go right after the first of the year.”
“It’s not about Europe.” She shook her head sadly. “It’s about everything, Rex.”
“This is about the other thing,” he accused.
The way he pointed his finger at her raised my hackles. So did the way he referred to Adam as a “thing.” It took me back to how I’d felt that day in his office, when I’d had to keep my composure to play my part. Today, I would exercise no such restraint.
“What other thing?” Trevor shifted his gaze between our parents as they stared at each other intensely. Prissy sat watching, rapt. Her fingers had floated up toward her collarbone and she seemed dangerously close to clutching her tasteful pearls.
“This is about everything, Rex,” my mother repeated. “Including him.”
Now Trevor stood up. “Will somebody tell me what the fuck is going on in this family?”
My mother looked expectantly at my father, daring him with her eyes to explain. For the first time, I couldn’t hold my tongue.
“You ought to be man enough to say it if you were man enough to make her cover it up.”
My father directed his glare toward me.
Fine with me, fucker.
I’d rather him take it out on me than my momma, which is why I did what I did next. I looked over at my brother, and I told him the safest version of the story—that I’d found out about our brother through a DNA testing site, that our father had known all along and had forbidden our mother from meeting him. Trevor slowly sank back into his seat as my words set in.
The room fell deadly silent, even quieter than before. My father’s lack of protest was as good as an admission of guilt. My mother’s eyes had softened as she gazed at her younger son, aware of how the news would tilt his world.
At some point, he turned hurt eyes upon her, for confirmation, and she nodded. It took me back to my own moment of realization and I felt for him. Soon enough, the hurt in his eyes turned to betrayal and he cast his gaze upon my father.
“And you covered it up?”
My father raised his chin. “I did what I needed to do, to protect this family.”
“No, Dad. You covered it up.” I fished my phone out of my pocket and put it on the table. A few swipes and clicks, and I was pressing play on the recording I’d taken from his office on the day I set him up.
Trevor’s face went ashen. Rupert swore under his breath and called my father the foulest name I’d ever heard issue from his lips. Priscilla’s hand gripped Trevor’s arm above the table and her eyes brimmed with tears. My mother, too, was hearing it for the first time. I regretted her having to hear it at all. She didn’t need another last straw.
“Dad...” Trevor’s expression was a rare mix of surprise and disgust. “Apologize to Momma. Apologize to Buck and me.”
It wasn’t until Trevor asked for it that I realized how much I wanted something—anything from my father—to take responsibility for what he’d done. Some evidence that he regretted what his actions had cost this family. He’d lost control of the secret and he was about to lose his wife. He had nothing to gain by standing his ground.
“He won’t apologize, Trev.” My mother’s calm voice finally cut in. “He’s not sorry about this or anything else he’s manipulated. He’s not sorry about threatening Bucky, or why he needed you to win the election, or distancing himself from Rupert all these years because he’s gay.”
She turned her gaze upon my father again. “It’s just like I said. Me leaving isn’t about any one thing. It’s about me not wanting to live like this. Scheming against your own wife? Your own children? That isn’t family. It’s politics.”
When she stood, so did I.
“So here’s what you’re going to do, Rex. You’re going to let this marriage go. We will file for divorce publicly, and leak a story of my choosing. It won’t be overly scathing—nothing as bad as what you actually did—but it will be convincing. I’ll spin them a golden yarn.”
“You can’t make me do any of that.” My father finally spoke.
“You’re right,” she conceded. “But if you don’t go with my version of events, they’ll dig for the real story. And if they dig, who knows what they might find? I would hate to see what those vultures would do with an exclusive interview or a credible tip. And I would really hate to find out what would happen to your reputation if they uncovered more recordings—recordings about other things that go back some years.”
“Are you threatening me?” he growled.
“No, Rex.” My mother’s eyes saddened. “I’m protecting you one last time. I’m doing what I’ve done for you all along—cleaning up your mess to save your face. I’ll keep your secrets, so long as you let me go on my own terms.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You’ll have me to reckon with.” I had never looked at my father so menacingly.
“If you don’t, I’m leaving anyway,” my mother rejoined. “And you’d better pray for my health and safety. If even the smallest bit of harm befalls me, there are mechanisms in place to take you down.”
We had only letmy father believe the scene at Thanksgiving dinner had been the mic drop. The true burn was what came next. We’d decided my mother’s best bet was to leave town. For an uncomfortable amount of time, Annelise Rogers would disappear. My father couldn’t control a person he couldn’t find.
Given his resources, it was imperative that she go somewhere beyond his reach. He had fingers on strings that could be pulled all over the US. That was why it seemed fitting that she leave the country until the smoke blew over. We’d made sure all the places he would look for her held no trace of her presence. She would travel under her new legal name, Dixie Rose.
My father wasn’t the only one who knew powerful people. My mother was a pillar of the Southern elite. Unlike him, the favors she’d done over the years had been performed out of kindness. It was perhaps because she’d never hinted at reciprocity that those she called on were eager to help.
Charlotte Prescott had never forgotten how my mother had taken in her daughter, Casey, practically adopting the young girl in the weeks after Charlotte’s husband had died. Charlotte was also a high-ranking judge who had never liked my father. One phone call, and my mother’s name-change paperwork, new driver’s license, and new passport had arrived on my mother’s doorstep eighteen hours after she made the call.
There had been other helpers. Her best girlfriend had taken her phone on a road trip to visit her daughter. Should my father try to track her, it would confuse him all the way to Kalamazoo. Her hairdresser, who had known her business for years, had performed some sorcery that turned her hair back to her original color. It made her look even more like Adam and Trevor. I could tell it made her feel more like herself.
The goal wasn’t for her to be gone forever. It was to show that there was no chess to be won if she refused to play his game. Her disappearance would be deeply unsettling. With no ability to spin a story he couldn”t predict, he would have no choice but to fall in line when she resurfaced on her own terms.
“You gonna be okay, Momma?”
These past few weeks, I’d been with her nonstop, working on her behalf every single day. Seeing her now, with her bags packed, flanked by Tim and Adam, it finally hit me how much everything was about to change. She was doing more than leaving my father to lie in the bed he’d made. She was going on a monthlong cruise through the Panama Canal with Tim and Adam, literally riding off into the sunset.
“I’m more than okay.” Her expression didn’t hold a whit of apprehension. I’d seen Tim take her hand on the long drive from Tennessee to the cruise port in Charleston. Adam had seen it, too. Call it a brotherly connection, but we’d both raised our eyebrows at the same time. It made me think of Hinckley, and that first time I’d seen them together in the diner. My blood had nearly boiled that day, resenting the hell out of the way he’d doted on her. Now, I couldn’t be more grateful to have someone who clearly loved her to see her through.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” I said when I got to Tim. My momma wasn’t the only one who had put it all on the line. For all Tim knew, he would come home to another burnt-down garage. He had a lot less than my mother and I did. But as we’d schemed and strategized these past weeks, he had offered her no less than every resource he had.
“You’re the one I ought to be thanking. If you and your lady hadn’t snooped, there’s no way we could’ve done what we did. She needed help on the inside. She didn’t have to just walk away. You gave her a choice.”
“After all she’s done for me, it’s about time I did something for her.” I moved to Adam, who I’d discovered was a hugger. “And it’s about time you get to know these two. And when you’re ready, come see me. One thing being a firefighter has taught me...you can never have too many brothers.”