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FOUR DAYS LATER
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Miranda. Robert was a good man. Joe and the boys and I are stunned...”
Shifting uncomfortably in my finest suit coat, I stand next to my mother outside the church. Sergeant Ramsay’s funeral service just ended, and officers mill around, their voices mere whispers.
My throat clenches. It wasn’t my dad that died, but it might as well have been. Robert Ramsay was one of the best men I knew. He was a hell of a lot more supportive of Colt than my father has ever been of me. And Penny was his princess.
“If there’s anything we can do, please let us know.”
I glare at my father, making nice with Mrs. Ramsay. It isn’t natural. Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I squirm as they talk. Miranda Ramsay can’t stand my father. And to see him bend over backwards with apologies as if he cares about her feelings?
Dad doesn’t care about anyone but himself.
There’s been too much drama between the Donovans and the Ramsays over the years. I’ve only heard bits and pieces, but apparently, my father blames Mrs. Ramsay for the death of his first wife—my birth mother.
I never knew the woman. Melissa Donovan died when I was two years old. She and Miranda—her best friend from high school—had been drinking at one of the local bars. Instead of calling my dad to come get her, she’d wrapped her car around a tree. She died instantly.
Personally, I have no feelings about it one way or another since I was only a toddler. Besides, it was her own fucking fault, drinking and driving. She’d practically ruined my dad’s reputation—and our lives.
As Dad drones on, my stepmother squeezes my hand. I give her a watery smile. Caroline Dempsey was our saving grace. Six months after my birth mother died, my dad married my older brother Jamie’s second-grade teacher, salvaging our family and my father’s standing. Caroline comes from a wealthy Detroit home worthy of a Donovan. More importantly, she treats Jamie and me like her own.
Not that I’ve ever known the difference. For all intents and purposes, Caroline is my real mother.
“Joe’s right... if there’s anything we can do...”
Rolling her bloodshot eyes, Miranda sneers at Mom and sways on her feet. The hair on the back of my neck shifts. Shit... Colt doesn’t need his mother passing out at his father’s funeral.
After Melissa’s death, Miranda started drinking heavily. And it’s gotten worse. I only know that because Colt and I saw it first-hand. A year ago, I spent the night with the Ramsays while my mom and dad took Jamie on a college visit. We stayed up late watching horror movies, and about two o’clock in the morning, Miranda barreled through the front door, drunk off her ass.
Colt had played it off like it was a once in a blue moon thing, but Dad’s come home several times over the years, complaining that Miranda Ramsay was going to get herself arrested or die trying.
With her nose in the air, Miranda turns on her heels and stalks away from my parents without a word. My mother sighs, and I shrug. Probably better that way. It would suck if my parents and his mother got into an argument at Sergeant Ramsay’s funeral.
I guess the past never stays in the past.
The doors to the church squeak loudly, breaking the silence. As Colton leads his little sister outside, his shoulders sag. Sadness pierces my chest like a barbed arrow, and I clench my fists to hold back the tears. I can hardly handle this. I’d held it together during the service. Barely. But my best friend has been inconsolable the last three days, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to help.
Walking toward me, Colt gives me a somber smile. “Hey, Donovan. Thanks for being here.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Your dad was like a father to me, too.” A lump sits at my throat. Everyone knew Sergeant Ramsay. He spent a lot of time at the school, volunteering with the D.A.R.E. program and any other safety courses the school offered. “He came to my swim meets, ya know?”
A snuffle leaves Colt’s nose. “He loved you, too, man.” He glances at his sister, sitting hunched upon the stone wall surrounding the church. “Pen’s not processing it.”
I stare at the young girl intently. Her usually brilliant green eyes are lifeless as she gazes at the horizon with a blank look.
“She’s only ten. It has to be hard on her.” Hell, I’m only thirteen, and I doubt I’d be able to handle it if one of my parents died. And I’m not nearly as close to my dad as the Ramsay kids had been to theirs.
Colt stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I mean, she hasn’t even cried. It’s like she’s living in some other world. That our dad’s death isn’t real. She won’t talk about it. She’s shut down. Is that normal?”
I huff a sigh. “How would I know?”
“Well, your real mom died, right?”
Raking my fingers through my hair, I mutter, “Dude, I don’t remember her. This is totally different.”
Colt’s shoulders sag. “I guess so. My mom isn’t helping.”
“She still isn’t sober?”
Tears shimmer in Colt’s eyes and his nostrils flare as he lowers his voice. “You’d think she was the only one who lost someone. She’s drained my dad’s liquor cabinet. She shuts herself in her room. She barely made it here. She probably wouldn’t have if your mom hadn’t have come over and gotten her dressed.” He shakes his head. “Thank god I have my driver’s permit. I get Pen up and feed her breakfast. I make sure she has her homework finished. She’s my baby sister, but I feel like her parent.” His voice cracks. “I’m only fifteen. How am I gonna do this, man? How can I keep it all together?”
As if on cue, the church doors fly wide, interrupting our somber conversation. Thank God. I have no idea how to answer Colt or even help him through this.
A handful of officers dressed in their best blues burst through, the whine of bagpipes accompanying them. Everyone goes silent. As the pallbearers transport Sergeant Ramsay’s casket down the stairs through the morning rain, every man and woman in blue stands at attention and salutes.
As they lift the casket into the nearby hearse, tears stream down my cheeks. For the last time, I turn and face my best friend’s father... the man I admired most.
I can’t believe it. Sergeant Ramsay is dead.
It’s so final.
*****
“AN EXEMPLARY OFFICER, Robert Ramsay was an even better father and friend. Our community will mourn the loss of his courage, strength, and protection for years to come.”
Forty-five minutes later, I’m standing in the cold, rainy cemetery not three blocks from our house listening to my father present his long-winded eulogy. As the newly instated captain of the Detroit vice squad, he insisted upon giving Sergeant Ramsay a proper goodbye. His words.
I roll my eyes. Whatever the hell that means. There isn’t anything the Donovans like more than a public speech, and Captain Joe Donovan loves the limelight. Most of it is for show. With Dad’s family connections, his political hopes aren’t a secret. But taking advantage of the opportunity to show off at his best friend’s funeral doesn’t seem right.
I glare at my father, not quite moved by his comforting words. He shouldn’t have to say them in the first place. Sergeant Ramsay should be here with us, alive and well and joking with his kids. Maybe he would have been.
I clench my fists. The day Sergeant Ramsay died, Dad returned from work shell-shocked. Much as I wanted answers about how a routine drug bust had gone so wrong, I wasn’t about to step into his line of fire. Even my mother warned me to leave it alone.
But that doesn’t mean Dad is guiltless. Not a month ago, I overheard him arguing with Sergeant Ramsay about the promotion the department had given him. It turns out Sergeant Ramsay had been passed over because my grandfather, former Mayor Reginold Donovan, had insisted my father be appointed to the post instead.
I can’t prove it, of course. But something happened during that bust, whether accidentally or intentionally. I can see the guilt on my father’s face. Not that he’d admit to it.
I glare at him. I wish I could let it go. Stewing about it won’t bring Colt’s dad back.
My father yammers on. As he wipes an imaginary tear from his eye and begins to recite the Lord’s Prayer as if he were the Pope himself, I scowl. Such dramatic bullshit.
I’m so sick of my manipulative family. The Donovans have way too much pull in the Detroit area. It’s been going on for over fifty years. Everyone treats us differently because my grandfather was the mayor a decade ago. Or because my Uncle Gary is a congressman. And my Aunt Margo some fancy judge. And now, my father is a police captain.
The current Donovans in power have huge ambitions to reign over the state for generations. Unfortunately, my father expects Jamie and me to follow that path. Only Jamie has the desire to please. He just graduated from high school and has a full-ride scholarship to the U of M to study pre-law. With our father’s blessing, he’s on track to be carved out of the Donovan mold.
Not me. No way. I’ll be damned if my family turns me into one of their pod people.
“Men, to arms!”
The bagpipes moan, a heartfelt tribute to the Ramsay’s Scottish lineage. Seven officers stand at attention in the nearby field and raise their rifles. As they release the first shots, Colt pushes his sister away and falls to his knees, sobbing. My mother gathers Colt in her arms. Miranda merely stares off into the distance.
Hardly present, Penny stands alone, looking at her brother as if she can’t believe he’s crying. Confusion shifts over her features. Her bottom lip trembles. She doesn’t release a single tear. Colt’s right. She isn’t processing anything.
Pushing past the crowd, I stand next to her and drape my arm across her shoulder. My heart aches for this girl. I can’t imagine what she’s going through, but I can’t let her grieve—or not—alone.
The second sequence of shots echoes loudly around us. I glance at her and croak, “Pen?”
Nearly a foot shorter than me, she gazes up at me, so innocent. So trusting. I push one of her damp curls behind her ear.
She cocks her head, her brow furrowing. She leans against my chest. I draw her closer. For some reason, I feel like Penny’s protector. Maybe it’s Colt’s doing. She has tagged along on many of our adventures, and I often tease her as if she were my own sister.
Or maybe it’s the freaking bullies at school that won’t leave her alone. She’s a sweet little thing with a heart of gold, so I don’t get why kids make fun of her. When she was little, she called me her knight. Even then, I swore to slay her dragons. But now, she doesn’t have anyone except Colt to champion her.
She has me.
As the final round of the twenty-one-gun salute blasts through the air, the ultimate honor for a fallen officer, I can hardly contain my emotions. Colt is sobbing on my mother’s shoulder. Miranda stares at the coffin in a trance.
Dropping to my knees, I pull Penny into my arms. Her chest heaves. My voice catches as I squeeze her and whisper, “It’s okay, Sunshine. I’ve got you.”
All of a sudden, sobs escape her throat. Twining her arms around my neck, she holds onto me as if the world is ending.
For her, it just might be.
Tears stream down my cheeks as she weeps against my shoulder, her pain bleeding into mine. I look at her brother. He gives me a nod... a silent thank you. Right then and there, I know what I need to do.
Today, Penny lost her daddy. Her hero. Her king. But Colt and I have always been her knights. We need to protect her.
From this day on, I swear I’ll never let Penny Ramsay fall.
*****
Two Years Later
This is the private journal of Penny Elaine Ramsay. Do not read!!
SEPTEMBER 2005
Why do I have to write in this stupid notebook? It’s not like I have anything interesting to say. Apparently, Mrs. Donovan, our new principal, and Ms. Eppley, the school psychologist, are concerned about me. They want me to write down my thoughts to help me deal with my dad’s death. Ms. Eppley says if I won’t talk about my feelings, this might help.
I doubt it. But I don’t have much of a choice. I have to spend every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday during lunch in Ms. Eppley’s office like a side-show freak. Luckily, I don’t have to show her my journal. That was the deal.
Maybe writing will help. The adults have no clue what’s going on. I am angry. And hurt. And tired of being everyone’s favorite punching bag at Rochester Hills Junior High.
I’m in the 7th grade. I get good marks. I’m smart. I read. I like to paint. But that’s all I have going for me. I don’t have friends. I’m not athletic enough to play sports. Most of my teachers hate me either because of my brother or because I’m a “know-it-all”. My classmates say the same thing.
Worse, I’m not pretty. Have you ever noticed that people forgive anyone anything if they are attractive? My blond hair is a mess of unruly curls that have a mind of their own. I wear thick glasses because I’m blind without them. Acne covers my chin and forehead.
Not to mention, I’m a little heavier than the other girls. They tease me every day. Dotty the Whale, Uber-Cow, Fat Pig, Tubby Blubber—I’ve heard it all. And if that isn’t bad enough, my mother constantly complains about my weight and hair. It only proves that she doesn’t think I’m good enough, either.
The only one who cares about me is Colt. And Luke. My protectors. My knights. But no matter what they say, even they can’t be there to save me all the time.
I’m all alone. Will I ever escape the walls that have imprisoned me since Daddy died?
Five years, eight months, and twenty-eight days. Then I’ll be free.