Page 72 of Queen of Ruin

“How friendly are you with Senator Jonathan Langley?”

Rausch laughs. “Washington is a landscape that breeds chameleons. Friends can shift into enemies like the day shifts into night.”

He folds his hands in his lap. “What are you after, Darren?”

“He can be a problem, as I’m sure you know.”

“Let’s not start this off with false pretense. He was a client of Evangeline’s. If you want to bury him, then let’s not pretend it’s political.”

I scowl. Of course he’s right.

“Alright then.”

“I’m sure you know the terms,” he reminds me that nothing, not even information, is given freely.

I nod.

“Then what do you have in mind?”

27

I’M A LIABILITY

EVANGELINE

As I put welcome packages together, I’m still struck with the thought that some women are in such a hurry to leave that they don’t even have time to pack necessities. Even though I’ve been doing this the past few months, I’m still affected. But I feel good. I have a sense of purpose that I’d been missing.

Once the bags have been filled, I sort the clothes. When I get to the box with blazers and skirts it brings a smile to my face, because this is the one thing I can say that I did myself. Bethany was in charge of monetary donations, which went mostly towards rent and insurance. I had the idea to call some of the clothing stores to see if they would be willing to donate professional clothing the women could use to go on interviews.

It's a wonderful feeling to empower someone to be able to care for themselves, because even though they have the safe house, it’s only temporary.

While I hang up the clothes in the storage room, I hear a voice from behind me. “My mother spent a lot of time here.” Darren’s standing in the doorway, one ankle casually crossed over the other. His dark locks are windswept, and he has a satisfied smile on his face. His shoulders are dusted with snow, and behind him through the front window I can see the snow falling.

“Patty told me.”

Darren enters the room, looking around the small entryway and past the stairs that leads to the kitchen.

“What did she tell you?” Darren inquires, shoving his hands in the pockets of his overcoat and leaning over the table.

“She told me how Merrill used to help in the kitchen and serve meals,” I smile.

Darren laughs. “She was great at hiring caterers, but cooking herself, no.”

I laugh.

“Patty didn’t say she was good at it. She said one time, Merrill spilled soup on her pants and had to borrow a pair of jeans from the closet here.” I couldn’t help my interest in knowing what Darren’s mother was like. She seemed like such an interesting woman. I like hearing stories about her.

“I cannot imagine my mother wearing jeans.” Darren raises his eyebrows, another laugh escaping his lips.

I finish folding the clothes while Darren explores a little more, looking at pictures on the wall, one of them taken when the house was first opened, and his mother stood on the front steps with the other volunteers.

“I’ve never been here,” Darren admits, his voice laced with regret.

“Why not?” I ask softly.

An embarrassed smile passes over his face. “I guess I always had more important things to do.”

“Like squandering your potential?” I tease.

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