13
austin
I tapmy hand on the steering wheel to the beat of the classic country song playing at low volume on my truck speakers. The flower gardens outside Kenzie’s new therapist’s office look well-tended by whatever landscaping company the complex has hired to keep the place looking cheerful.
My stomach growls. I think about making a quick trip down the street for some tacos, but the clock on the dash reads quarter to six. I’m waiting for Kenzie to get out of her appointment with Jill, who, according to the placard on the wall, is a cognitive behavioral therapist. This is Kenzie’s second appointment, and she seems to like the woman well enough to keep coming back.
I know it took a lot out of McKenzie to finally ask Mary for this referral. Not a day goes by that I don’t tell her how proud I am of her for admitting when she needs help. But words are only worth so much. I’ve got a surprise for my baby girl; one I hope will get the sentiment across better than kind words ever could.
My heart does a little flip as Kenzie exits the building. She spots my truck and makes her way over, the sunset tinting her pretty pink cheeks even pinker.
“Hey, sorry I’m a little late.” She climbs onto the passenger seat. “We were scheduling my next appointment.”
“Same time next week?”
She nods. “One of these days I need to learn how to drive so you don’t have to cart my ass everywhere.”
“I don’t mind driving you around.” I give her hand a squeeze. “But I get wanting to feel more independent. I can start teaching you this weekend, if you want.”
Her lips curve slowly. “That’d be great.”
I put two fingers under chin and draw her in for a kiss. She sighs contentedly. I pull the seatbelt across her body and click it into place.
“Driving lesson number one. Always wear your seatbelt.”
“Noted.” She chuckles. “Do we have everything we need to make dinner?”
“Pretty sure we do.” I back out of the parking space. “We just have to make a quick stop on the way home.”
“Stop where?”
I keep my expression neutral. “A buddy of mine has a replacement part for the new tractor.”
“That’ll be nice.” She puts her window down halfway. I glance at her in my periphery, pleased that she doesn’t appear to suspect a thing.
I turn onto the main drag and head toward the highway. A newscast comes on the radio, and I immediately shut it off at the mention of Jim Davis’ name.
Kenzie sighs. “It’s like I can’t escape it.”
The local news stations, and even some smaller national media outlets, have been covering the former governor’s release as if it’s real news.
“You can thank the Davis family’s PR team for that.” If I had to guess, Jim Davis is probably hoping to get back into politics sometime within the next year. If he can convince the voting public that his conviction wasn’t as rock solid as it seemed, he might win himself a seat in the legislature.
It’s an effective tactic: reframe Jim Davis as the unwitting family man who got caught up in his brother’s scandal. Never mind the solid evidence that he’d been actively working to keep his own son, Hoyt, out of the spotlight. Details that were concrete during the trial are suddenly being called into question, including Kenzie and Holly’s testimonies.
“They talk about me like I’m just a character in a story, not a flesh-and-blood person with feelings,” she says. “They can turn me into whatever they want me to be to serve their narrative. The liar, the slut, the gold digger. The lying slut gold digger.”
“Fuck them and their narrative,” I say firmly. “That’s not who you are.”
“Not that anyone cares.”
“Some people care.”
I reach into her lap and grasp her hand.
“I know. I’m just tired of being defined by the worst things that’ve happened to me. Jill suggested I take this week to think about what I want my next chapter in life to look like.”
“Sounds like a good exercise. Have you thought of anything?”