“He’s a quack,” Marissa says, and this time I do burst into roaring laughter. She gives me the side-eye. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” I glance up at the TV at the new president discussing the newest shitstorm on US soil. In the past six months, unbreakable banks have gone under, federal judges have been fired, and President Monroe has cleaned out his entire cabinet and replaced ninety percent of the White House staff. In essence, he cleaned house, and nobody likes change. I like to keep an open mind. Briefly, I read his assurances in closed caption. It’s much of the same, of how our country will survive, band together, overcome our odds, and come out stronger.
It’s the words that everyone needs to hear, but words that are equally as deceiving. But as I look closer at his surroundings, it’s the man to the right of him that gives me pause before that pause gives way to electric shock.
I pick up the remote and hit rewind.
“Hey, I was watching that,” Billy protests.
“Sorry,” I whisper faintly. “Sorry, just a second. It’ll playback.”
When I’ve gone back a few seconds with a clear view, I hit pause and cover my mouth.
“Oh my God.” I would know that face anywhere, that hair, those eyes, and if he were smiling, that dimple.
Tyler.
Marissa rounds the corner, eyeing me. “Cecelia? What? What is it?”
I drink Tyler in amongst the line of a few standing guard behind our President and scan him from head to foot, his posture tight, his eyes are drawn sharp, watchful, his face stoic. The man standing guard doesn’t much at all resemble the jokester I know and love. But it’s him. It’s Tyler.
Tyler is guarding the President.
I can’t even form words as everyone at the counter stares at me with odd looks. I give myself a second, and then another.
I clear my throat and shrug. “Nothing, I swear, I thought I saw a ghost. Sorry y’all.” I hit play and barely hear Marissa. “He’s okay-looking, I guess, but he could use a tan.”
Hand visibly trembling, I manage to set down the coffee pot, shaking in revelation.
They’re everywhere. The banks, the stock market. All of it. It was them.
They’ve infiltrated the fucking White House.
I don’t know why it surprises me, but the sight of Tyler standing in such an esteemed position has me utterly astonished. Palms sweating, I try to gather my wits and fail.
They’ve done it.
They’re still doing it.
And it comforts me so much. I feel safer knowing whatever agenda they have. It’s the right one. A pride-filled tear threatens, and I haul ass through the service doors to the kitchen and tuck myself in a corner near the baker’s rack.
“You sons of bitches,” I whisper, covering my mouth, my smile widening as I shake my head and tears fall freely down my cheeks. Inside I feel hysterical.
After a few minutes and a few deep inhales, I school my expression and walk back out into the cafe addressing Marissa.
“The deposit is on my desk, could you possibly take it today?”
“Sure, love, you okay?” concern covers her features.
“Fine. I…just want to get home early and let my dog out. There’s a storm coming and he’s afraid of them.”
“No problem. See you in the morning, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
It’s odd how that word can be used as a weapon or term of endearment. Dominic used it once or twice. But I don’t look back anymore with resentment. It’s pride I feel now when I remember my time in my parents’ life choice purgatory. It’s not the hard times I think of. It’s hiking with Sean or watching Dominic read, or sipping wine while gazing at fireflies underneath the night sky with Tobias.
It’s love I had, and love I took with me.