Absolute Power (Southern Justice #1 (7 page)

Saint Mary’s church, a venerable Charleston landmark, was chosen as the site to hold the funeral. Most of the city’s offices were closed out of respect for the Senator. We had purposely arrived at the church half an hour before the services were to begin in anticipation of the huge turnout. However, even with our early arrival, we had to wait in line for ten minutes before the church doors opened. I was in awe of the crowds that had formed.

St. Mary’s was absolutely beautiful. Stained glass windows, a staple for every historic church, caught the rays of sunlight and colored the extremely glossy wooden pews in hues of bright blues, ambers and sepias. The alter area, where I assumed the casket would be placed, was bedecked by overflowing funeral sprays. The fragrant flowers, so pleasing to the senses, seemed a contradiction to the somber occasion.

Ms. Georgia and Mr. Carson sat on either side of me, my hand clasped in Ms. Georgia’s gloved covered palm. It was standing room only as the casket was carried in through the massive wooden doors I had walked through only a short time ago. Father Nicholas indicated for everyone to rise in respect as the pallbearers walked with pride and reverence down the marble aisle with their precious consignment. As I watched the six men place the flag covered casket onto the stand below the pulpit, I recalled my dad once saying, “I’d rather be judged by twelve men than carried by six.” I couldn’t remember what he was doing at the time, but most likely it wasn’t legal.

Father Nicholas moved from the left side of the church as the six men backed away. To the right of the casket I noticed two things. First, one of the men who’d carried the casket wore a Marine dress uniform. His dark blue jacket had gold medals dangling from his chest. He wore white pants and black shoes so shiny you could see your reflection in them. He made me think of my brother Jack and his dreams of becoming a soldier, which would never come true. Second, I noticed Dylan Morgan, one of the detectives who visited the ER quite frequently. His black suit, gray shirt, and matching tie were a complete contrast to the jeans and boots look he normally displayed. His dark hair styled as if he had just left the salon. His features were strong, with a jaw you would swear was cut from steel and tanned skin without a single flaw to be seen. Dylan was an incredibly good-looking man and could have any girl he wanted. From talk around the hospital, he did.

At first, I thought the family must have chosen him because of all his hard work, but then it hit me, Dylan
Morgan.
This was the son Ms. Georgia spoke of. Dylan took his seat beside the Marine and the rest of the family, his arms resting on his thighs, his eyes never leaving the casket. I noticed his left hand twisting something on his right wrist. At first I thought it was his watch, but as I studied him further, I noticed it was one of those bracelets men wear these days, with the intricate cording design. He just kept twisting it and twisting it.

“Thank you, to everyone who came today.”

My study of Dylan had caused me to miss some of the words of the beautiful woman who now stood beside the casket. Her look was polished; her stance dignified, her hair pulled into a glossy, tight bun at the nape of her neck. Tall black shoes graced the ends of her perfectly slender legs. White pearls caressed her collarbone and finished off her cultured look.

“I know my dad would have gotten a big kick out of the turnout today.” Her red lips smiled, yet her glassy eyes indicated the sadness within her heart.

“For those of you who do not know me,” she said with confidence and extended her palms out to the crowd, “I’m Priscilla VanBuren-Morgan, the daughter of the man you have all come to honor and bid farewell today.” Her voice cracked as she spoke the last two words.

“Now, I can assure you, the last thing Daddy would want is for any of us to cry and pout over his death. He always said death was just another step in our journey. We should celebrate every step we take.” Several people around me nodded their heads in agreement. “So instead of telling you how great of a man my father was, I’m going to share with you a story not many people know.” She looked to the man sitting on the same pew as Dylan and winked at him; I dared not assume who he was.

“When I first married my husband, Dean, my daddy did as every good father does and gave him a warning of what would happen if he made me unhappy.” Priscilla clasped her hands in front of her, her enormous engagement ring glistening from the lights above. “Now Dean, being the educated man he is, swore up and down he would make me happy for the rest of my days.” The man she winked at earlier bowed his head and shook it several times. The man in the Marine uniform looked at him and smiled slightly, but Dylan’s eyes remain fixed on that coffin. “One day, Dean came home from his office and I informed him I wanted to start our family.” Priscilla was clearly a woman who needed her hands to tell a story. As she spoke of Dean, she pointed in his direction. “So we started preparing for the baby I wanted to have.” Her hand rested on her chest as she spoke. “We tried for nearly a year to expand our family and nothing happened. We sought out specialist after specialist and every single one of them could not find a single thing wrong with either one of us. So, we decided that when God was ready for us to have a family, it would happen.”

She paused a moment as if reliving the moment. “It was just after our tenth wedding anniversary and I was on my way to a luncheon, when my brand new car broke down.” Dean was now facing his wife, a stern look about his face. “I managed to pull over into a parking space just outside the Charleston County children’s home.” She pointed to her left indicating the direction. “Now, many of you are familiar with the location of the building, and you have to remember this was before cellphones were as common as they are now.”

I remembered having a little girl in the ER once who was staying at the home Priscilla spoke of. I asked Kitty about it and she explained it was a state funded facility where children were placed until they could find adoptive homes. She said it was in an older building in the downtown area, not a safe place to be after dark, she had warned.

“I knew Sister Mary Theresa, from this very church, was once one of the teachers over there.” Several people around me began to laugh. “I know, I know.” She raised her hand. “We all have stories about Sister Mary Theresa, but that is for another time.” She glanced at Father Nicholas who had a smile upon his face.

“I knew the Sister would allow me to use the phone to call for a tow truck and a taxi to get me back home.” She again looked at Dean, her face with just a hint of a smile. “See, I didn’t want to call Dean. He had insisted I get the car that had just broken down. I had wanted a different model, but he knew cars better than I did.” Her face was in an all-knowing smile now. Several more snickers could be heard joining in her story. “So he was the last person I wanted to speak with at the time. As I walked up the sidewalk, I grew angrier and angrier at Dean. I had it all planned out in my head what I was going to say to him.” She pointed at her temple. Dean now had a Cheshire grin on his face.

“I rang the bell and, sure enough, Sister Mary came to let me in. I told her my story and she reminded me men were simple creatures and thus the reason God invented women.” A gush of laughter followed her admission. I looked to Dylan who remained stoic in his posture and stare. “Sister Mary encouraged me to follow her to the back where I could use her phone, all the while continuing to tell me of different men in the bible who should have listened to their wives. As we passed what I think was a television room, I noticed three little boys standing huddled together. On the opposite side, stood a bigger boy and a little girl.” Noticing movement to my right, I looked to see Dylan was now looking at Priscilla.

“Something in me snapped as I watched the taller of the three boys, as he seemed to be protecting the other two.” Priscilla was looking in Dylan’s direction. “I asked Sister Mary about the boys and she told me how they came to be at the center. She ushered me away from them, which was quite a feat, if my memory is correct.” Her eyes remained on Dylan. “I made three phone calls. The first to Dean.” She counted off on her dainty hand. “At first I was told he was in a meeting and could not be disturbed.” Her head shook as if this was so beneath her. “The response changed, however, when I advised his secretary my next call was to my father’s office. I told Dean, once he picked up the line, to get to the Children’s Center as fast as he could. I gave him no explanation as to why he needed to come, only to hurry.” Dean nodded his head, reliving the memory himself.

“The next call I made was to Daddy.” Her hand landed on the casket. “He arrived first, walked over to where I sat talking with those three boys, the youngest sitting on my lap.” Her voice cracked again, as she caressed the fibers of the flag. “Dean arrived not long after the boys went to eat their lunch.” A single tear fell down her face.

“He and Daddy listened as I spoke of the feeling I felt in my heart when I first laid eyes on those three little boys. How I just knew I was destined to stop and come into this building. How I knew that I was destined to become their mom. I looked to Daddy and said, ‘I now know why I was unable to get pregnant all this time, because my boys had already been born.” Her words were so pure and powerful that not a dry eye remained.

“Daddy turned to Dean and spoke with conviction, and just a hint of mischief. ‘Son, it seems your wife is unhappy. You promised me you would keep her happy for the rest of her days. What are you gonna do about all of this?” She imitated her father’s voice in a deep baritone. Laughter replaced the sniffles as the answer was plain as day seeing the three men who sat beside Dean. “Before sunset that night, I had my three boys in my home where they belonged. This is how my daddy showed his love for me, by allowing my husband to keep his promise to him. A simple selfless act, the kind he showed to everyone he knew.”

Sex lies at the root of life, and we can never learn to reverence life until we know how to understand sex.

~Havelock Ellis

“S
till have yours, I see.” I’d been twisting this damn bracelet since I’d heard the news; tracing over the etched letters with my fingernail. Granddaddy, the man who was as big an influence as my own father, was dead.

“Do you remember the day he gave them to us?” Chase was my youngest brother, yet wiser in maturity than all of us combined. He was born with an old soul, as the old-timers say. He always knew what he wanted out of life. Always so sure about his choices—he’d been a Marine in his heart since he knew what they were.

“Sure, it was right before I left for Parris Island.”

Chase was currently stationed at Camp Leatherneck, in Afghanistan. Dad sent Granddaddy’s private jet to get him. A move which would have been cast away for anyone, who wasn’t the grandson of one of the country’s most loved US Senators. Chase told us yesterday the General himself drove him over to the airstrip.

“Strange, I was just thinking about what he told us that day.”

I took a swig of my now-warm beer, constant thoughts of him running around in my mind.

I had sat in his house as fellow mourners gave me words of condolences and gratitude for things he had done for them. It all became too much at one point. I kissed Mom’s cheek and headed out, my brothers falling in line silently behind me, just as they always did. That was how we ended up here, drinking beer and commiserating together.

“I won’t even date a girl named Faith.”

Austin, my middle brother was book smart as fuck, but without a speck of common sense. He attended MIT straight out of high school and lived in New York City where he built firewalls for big money companies.

“At least you’re willing to take a young lady on a date, unlike this one.” Carson pointed at me. When my brothers and I had walked into the bar a half hour earlier, I heard someone call my name and looked over. There sat Carson and his wife, Ms. Georgia. The first time I introduced him to my brothers, he fit seamlessly into the fold.

“You know, I have never been able to believe the three of you are not natural brothers,” Ms. Georgia spoke, her sweet southern dialect as warm as my own momma’s. Georgia had given her opinion on my lack of a steady love life a few times in the past, although she had sense to never try and set me up. She’d warned me on numerous occasions that one day I would meet a young and proper lady who would toss me on my ass.