Page 55 of Queen of Ruin

“I feel guilty for a lot of things,” he admits. “Guilt I never knew until I entered this house, saw that open book and pair of glasses, as if he were coming right back to pick up where he left off. They asked me to come with them, and I said no because I went to Vegas instead.” He glances at me with a knowing expression. “If I had gone, I’d have been in the helicopter with them, but maybe, just maybe, I could have…”

“You couldn‘t have changed anything.”

“I know there was nothing I could have done. I’m not a fixer, I am someone to be fixed,” he fumes.

I take hold of his face, forcing him to look at me. I can see all the guilt inside of him.

“Then let me fix you,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his. He closes his eyes, grabbing hold of me tighter, and kisses me back.

“And you think you’re not a distraction,” he murmurs.

“I can leave if you want,” I say while pulling away.

He pulls me back to him. “Don’t you dare.”

21

GREGORY ALLEN WALKER

DARREN

Lynchburg sits at the foothills of the rugged ridges and weathered peaks of the Blue Ridge Mountains, roughly in the center of the state of Virginia. My father rarely talked about growing up here and as a kid, I just thought my father had always lived in Georgetown, or never thought about it at all. Lynchburg wasn’t on the way to Clarksville, and there was never a reason to come here – until now.

I checked the address twice after looking over the small craftsman style house which looks abandoned. It wasn’t simply that the owner had not kept up with repairs, but that it was simply not inhabitable. Plywood covered the windows, and several sections of roof shingles were torn up as if caught in a tornado.

No one has lived here for a while.

“When my father began his campaign, our private lives became public.” I try to imagine my father living here. It’s such a stark difference from the opulent Georgetown house. His personality was too large to fit in such a small home as this.

Evangeline sits silently next to me in the passenger seat with her legs crossed and one arm draped over the armrest as she waits for me to continue.

“Some reporter interviewed one of my college professors who seemed to give a glowing account of my intellect,” I laugh wearily. “One had gone so far as getting a copy of my report card from junior high.”

“That sounds very invasive,” Evangeline remarks with obvious annoyance.

I shrug. “There wasn’t anything particularly interesting on my report card other than one teacher said that I could become preoccupied by chatting with the opposite sex and not pay attention to the lesson.”

At that, Evangeline laughs, trying to politely cover her mouth given the fact that we’re sitting outside what used to be my father’s childhood home.

“It’s true. I was distracted by Rebecca Fade,” I say fondly. “She had this beautiful long red hair.”

“You mean you weren’t into blondes back then,” she teases.

“Ah, my taste in blondes came a bit later.” I cast my eyes towards her. She’s wearing her hair down the way I like, her bangs pushed to the side so I can see her pretty blue eyes gazing back at me.

“I was going to ask why the media seemed so interested in you when it was your father who was running for office, but…”

“Then you realized who you were talking about?” I brush a fake crumb off my shoulder.

Evangeline smacks my arm playfully.

“But they ran plenty on my father too,” I continue, and watch as her playfulness ebbs away.

“Even after all that digging, somehow, there was barely a mention of Lynchburg.”

The smiles and laughter seemed to be swallowed up by the silence in the car.

“I wonder why that is?”

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