So Much for Democracy by Kari Jones Page A

Piper squirms to be released.
    â€œHow’s Gordo?” he asks when we let go.
    â€œNot…” I’m still crying and my voice squeaks, so I try again. “Not good.”
    â€œAnd your mom?”
    I shake my head.
    Dad frowns. “The car came for Thomas and Abena?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œGood,” he says, and I want to say , No, not good, because I’ve been alone all afternoon waiting for you and because I don’t know who to worry about more, you or Gordo or Mom.
    Dad hugs me again, and I say, “What was it like?” instead.
    â€œFine. It was okay. Things are under control. I spent most of the day making sure all the staff were safe. And now I should go inside and check on Gordo and your mom.” He squares his shoulders like he’s bracing himself. “What have you told her?” he asks.
    â€œNothing,” I say.
    Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. “It’s been a hard day, hasn’t it, Astrid?”
    I nod, because I can’t talk.
    â€œI think…I think we won’t tell her yet that there’s been a coup. That Rawlings was successful this time. We’ll let her focus on Gordo for now,” he says.
    He smiles at me then and takes my hand. “Let’s go check on them, okay?”
    Together, we walk up the stairs. I’m glad he’s home safe, and I’m happy we’re holding hands and walking together, but I can’t understand why Mom gets to be the person with only one thing to worry about.

FIFTEEN
    Gordo’s worse in the morning. Mom hasn’t moved from his bedside for at least twenty-four hours. Twice in the night I woke up and heard her voice in Gordo’s room. The first time, she was singing. The second time, she was crying. Now she sits there mopping his forehead with a cool cloth and feeding him Aspirin and saying over and over, “We should never have come. Look at what’s happened, Richard. We should never have come.”
    Dad stands in the doorway, chewing his lip. Every time Mom says that, he shrinks a little.
    I nose my head under Dad’s elbow and wrap my arms around him. I’m so tired and hot, my fingers and toes feel like sausages. Dad’s slippery with sweat, and it stinks on him, but it’s comforting to lay my head against his chest, so I stay there.
    Gordo groans, and Mom whimpers and smooths his forehead again. “Richard, you have to take him,” she says.
    â€œJoanne, the streets are not safe. I’ve told you that. Besides, who knows if the clinic is even open?” he says.
    Mom sits up straight and looks Dad right in the eye. They stare at each other like they’re having a battle, and then she says, “If he dies, Richard, it will be your fault.”
    Both Dad and I gasp and stiffen. He pulls away from me and walks down the hallway. When he reaches his room, he slams the door. He’s gone to change—I know it. He’s going to take Gordo to the clinic, and it will be Mom’s fault if something happens to them.
    It will be Mom’s fault.
    I stand paralyzed in the doorway, staring at Mom. My face reddens slowly as her words sink in, but her eyes are blank. It’s like I’m not there at all. It’s like she’s not there either. She turns away from me and bends down to Gordo again.
    I don’t think. I run to my room and grab the first T-shirt I see lying on the floor, then pull on a pair of underwear and some shorts. I’m back in the hallway before Dad is. He comes out of his room fully dressed and marches to Gordo’s room. He scoops Gordo out of bed and carries him across the room. I follow him down the stairs, out the front door and to the car. I open the car door and help him settle Gordo in the back seat, but Gordo’s too sick to sit up and slumps over, and we can’t get his seat belt on. Dad stands and runs his hands through his hair. The sound he makes is like a dog growling. I slide into the car