Sins of Mine - Mary E. Twomey Page 0,7
name! These people need a place to live!”
“I know. And now, thanks to me, they have one.”
He hangs up, and all I can see on Arlanna’s face is rage.
Going Public
Arlanna
I’m not ready for this. I mean, any of it. But I know from experience that details like that hardly matter when there’s work to be done. It’s rare I step foot outside of our property, because truthfully, I’m a little afraid of the risk. Most of the public has warmed to the side of overthrowing the Sins of the Father bill and exonerating us all. However, I’m still an ex-con, so the armored car I bounce along in is more than just a formality.
Sloan keeps his voice light and conversational, as if he’s unaware of the tension buzzing about the black leather interior of the family car. “Do you have your talking points memorized?”
I hold up my notecards so he can see them in the rearview mirror. “Memorized, and with everything written down, in case I get flustered.”
“You’re going to do great. No one’s going to stand for things continuing on like this after they hear your speech.”
“I still think we should have had the reporters come to the camp. This whole thing is more risk than necessary.”
Father reaches for the cigar in his pocket, but then puts it back. An armored car does no good if he has the windows rolled down, all so he can indulge in his filthy habit. “It’s important we give the illusion that we’ve done nothing wrong. If you’re afraid to step a toe out of your property, it sends the message that you’re living as a criminal on the run, which is the image we want to steer away from. You should never have been incarcerated to begin with. Stick to your speech.”
Unspoken arguments roil and wrestle, wanting to blast out at him.
I wouldn’t have been in Prigham’s in the first place, were it not for my father sending me there to serve time for his crimes. If he would clean up his act and stop trying to orchestrate the world to bend to his crooked will, then I wouldn’t be memorizing a speech on social justice, and striving beyond reason to institute change.
If Father would have seen me as a person, rather than a commodity, I wouldn’t be in this car, hoping to convince the world that yes, in fact, I am a person who deserves basic human rights.
Because of him, I’ve lost my right to vote. I’ve lost my right to travel between territories. I can no longer own a firearm. I’ve never lived in a home without a gun, and I’m not about to start now.
We’ve been set free, yes, but we’ll still be subjected to regular drug tests and sobriety screenings. We’re treated as ex-cons, rather than the scarred offspring of the criminal element.
Not to mention the wounded people in my commune who have children out there, whose families won’t let them back in because now we’re all labeled as dangerous. Many have lost parenting rights, which is a hardship I don’t wish on anyone.
Of course, I don’t give voice to any of that as we jostle along in the car, mainly because there’s no point. Father will do as he does, because he will always be who he is.
But that doesn’t have to stop me from being who I am. Hence, using my celebrity status to instigate a step—maybe even a leap—toward social change.
I pull out my tablet and flip to the section where I’ve got my never-ending to-do list.
Sloan gives me a wary glance in the rearview mirror. “What are you adding, Arly? I thought we had a rule about that thing. You can’t add more items until you cross something off.”
“I’m about to cross off meeting with the press and the king, so I’m preemptively adding. It’s important that I don’t forget.”
Sloan’s chuckle calms my nerves. “I have no doubt. But you’re one person. This is a marathon, not a sprint.”
I bristle, pulling out the spoiled princess vibe I was born wearing like a crown. “It’s whatever I say it is.”
Only Sloan grins when I sound like a brat. “And what is the thing you need to add to your list?”
“I need to ask the census people at the camp if there are any therapists. The people who are losing their parenting rights because of being wrongfully locked up need someone to help them through the transition.”
“Wouldn’t that fall under the medical team Jennifer is putting