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Climbing out of bed and putting my robe on over my pajamas, I gear up to help in any way possible.
“Kennedy, listen to me,” Father’s words are clipped, and various voices can be heard in the background. “Go down to my office and find John Robinson’s phone number. It is in my Rolodex. John is my lawyer. Tell him that there was an accident. I have been arrested, and he needs to come to Franklin and post bail.”
“Arrested!” My mind is spinning, a hundred questions running through it.
Before I can voice any of them, Father’s pressing tone cuts me off.
“Jesus Christ, Kennedy. I don’t have time for you to dick around. Just do what I asked. Now!”
A sharp click rings in my ear, and the line is quiet on the other end. Pulling the phone from my ear and looking at the display, the time flashes; the call is over. Sitting in the dark, replaying the conversation, I give myself a moment to process what has happened.
Father said there was an accident. Obviously, he isn’t hurt since he could call, not to mention that he was arrested.
Pocketing my phone, I start making my way to Father’s office. After a bit of searching, my fingers fumble as I try to dial the phone. Several attempts later, the ringing sounds in my ear, preceding a very angry male voice.
“There had better be a very good fucking reason you are waking me up at this God-forsaken hour.”
My mouth opens and closes, words refusing to form. After clearing my throat, the angry voice snaps again.
“Spit it the fuck out already so I can try and get some more sleep.”
“Uhm, Mr.…Mr. Robinson?”
“You call this early in the morning and aren’t sure how you dialed?” His anger bleeds through the line. “This better not be some prank call bullshit. You have thirty seconds before I hang up!”
“S-s… Sir, uhm, my…my name is Kennedy Ainsworth…”—pausing and steeling my nerves to get this out—“my father is Hastings Ainsworth.”
“I know who he is. What is going on?”
Even though he cut me off, his tone is less hostile. He must guess something serious has happened if it’s me and not father calling.
“Father is in Franklin. He said that you need to post bail; there was an accident, and the police arrested him.”
A woman’s voice and the rustling of clothes are heard just before John’s voice becomes muffled.
Waiting for him to return to the phone, I try to calm my racing mind. My thoughts drift to the accident, and I suddenly remember that my father wasn’t alone in the car, causing me to gasp.
More questions rush to the forefront. Are Mr. Carter, Mr. Delroy, and Mr. Atwater okay, or are they injured?
Has anyone reached out to their sons or other business partners?
Tears well in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Once John gets more details, no doubt he will fill me in.
“Alright, Kennedy. Please stay in the house. Don’t open the door or answer the phone unless you see me or your father calling. One of us will contact you as soon as possible. Undernocircumstances are you to speak to the media. Do you understand me?”
“Ye-yes, sir.”
“Good.”
That is the last from John before he disconnects the call. Knowing that sleep will evade me, I head to the kitchen for some coffee.
As the coffee brews, what-ifs run rampant in my head. Doing my best to adhere to my father’s mantra, “Never show weakness,” my tears dry up without falling.
Once the coffee is finished, I grab my cup and move to the sunroom. This is my favorite spot in the house. It is the only other space Father has let me call my own, outside of my bedroom.
I grab the remote and turn the television on, hoping for a distraction from my sporadic thoughts. My nails start taking the brunt of my frustration. As soon as the polish is chipped away, I start chewing them down to nothing.
Flipping through the stations, a breaking story flashes across the screen. The few details the reporter has indicated the driver being intoxicated. It also confirms that one of the passengers died as a result of the crash.
