Page 8 of Longing for Liberty
“Uh, yes, sir. But just Libby is fine.” I looked down again, fastening my gaze directly on his loosened navy and cream striped tie as I fiddled with my purse to get it secure on my shoulder.
“Your parents must have been true patriots.”
Not to the extent that he was probably thinking, but I nodded and said, “Yes, sir,” hugging the basket to my torso, my brain tripping over itself to find a way out of this. “Your dinner is ready in the refrigerator, sir. Have a restful night?—”
“Sit down with me, Liberty.”
Oh, shit. Fuck!Every bad word I wasn’t supposed to think or say screamed in my head.
He managed to sound firm and authoritative without sounding harsh, leaving zero wiggle room to disobey.
“Yes, sir.” We moved to the couches, he to one and me to the other across from him. I sat on the edge of the middle cushion, crossing my feet at the ankle, setting my purse inside the basket on my lap, back straight. He watched me as he unbuttoned his jacket and sat. I felt a jolt as his jacket fell to the side enough to show a handgun in a holster. Guns had always made me nervous, even before the State Force began parading them in our faces every day.
I was certain my lipstick was long gone, and my hair was a mess of escaped wisps. I self-consciously reached up to try to smooth the top. I met his eyes one more time before dropping my gaze to his tie and feeling him studying me. My cheeks were probably pink from the rush of nervous blood. While I took up as little space as possible, Amos Fitzhugh rested back with his trousered legs in a comfortable man-spread, one arm draped over the back of the sofa while the other unbuttoned his top two buttons and pulled the tie open further.
Was he undressing? My heart sputtered until he finally stopped, leaving the loose tie hanging.
Do not bounce your knee. Do not fidget. Breathe normally. Feel nothing.
“Thirty-five?” he asked.
“Hm?” It took a long moment for me to realize he was asking my age. “Oh. Yes, sir.”
“Originally from the former state of Maryland? Graduated the University of Maryland.”
Okay, so he’d done his research. That made sense. I was going to be in his home, after all.
“Yes, sir. That’s correct.” I still stared at his tie, uncomfortable with how his energy was able to radiate all the way across the space and envelop me.
“Married and living in the singles quarters…how do you like it over there?” His tone barely rose or fell in the conversational tones that most people did. He just sounded…serious.
I thought about the rickety barracks-style duplexes with their lukewarm window air conditioning units that left us sweating at night. “It’s very comfortable,” I said. “I love the garden and orchard.” At least the last part was kind of true.
“Mm-hm.”
I picked apart everything I said, wondering how it sounded, finally adding. “We are blessed.”
“Mm-hm,” he said again, the sound coming from deep in his throat. “What have you heard about me?”
“About you?” Every thought left my mind. “I…hm.”
“That I’m a…scoundrel?” He said the word with dark amusement.
“No! No, of course not,” I lied. To which he gave a light chuckle without smiling.
“What are they saying about the last maid?”
Blood rushed quickly through my heart as I shook my head like I didn’t know.
“She was on her knees the first time I met her,” he said, making my eyes bulge. “In front of the toilet, vomiting. Pregnant out of wedlock.” Locking eyes with me, he punctuated the words, “Not by me.”
“Oh.” My voice was breathy. Was that true? Had she maybe been pregnant already, but her friend Macey didn’t know? I ran my palms down my skirt, trying to digest this possibility. And then his next words hit like a sucker punch from the side.
“I was sorry to read about your three children. Tell me about that day.”
The shock of him bringing up the kids and expecting me to talk about them had my heart absolutely in my throat, a stinging sensation razing across my skin. I swallowed and rubbed my free hand down my arm to soothe myself. I’d told the story many times. I should be used to it. Staring down at the glass coffee tabletop, I gathered my wits and recited it.
“My mother had the kids that day while my, uh, husband and I were trying to get our finances situated at the bank in Maryland. That was the day…” My voice thickened. My system was too overwhelmed to tell this story. He watched me carefully as I cleared my throat and went on. “…the day the bombs hit, and the banks shut down. Then the borders. I thought my mom would be staying home, but she’d taken the kids into D.C. to the history museum…” And then thousands of missiles and two nuclear warheads had been launched at North America. Washington, D.C. was hit. The entire West Coast and the border of Mexico were razed. New York, all of New England, and lower Canada annihilated. By whom? Well, the news had made its best guesses at China, Russia, or North Korea, though many other names had been thrown out too. According to the Three, all of our enemies and even some of our allies had joined forces to bring down the “strongest” country in the world, because that’s the only way our military could have been defeated—if the entire world was against us.
