The Last in Line (The Royal Inheritance Series Book 1) (2 page)

The speeches ended and there was a few minutes of pleasant conversation with her second cousin, the monarch of Sweden.

Too soon it was time for the massive family portrait and the organizers with clipboards encouraged everyone to move as quickly as possible into the grand pavilion where bleachers had been set up for the thousands who would stand for the picture. It would take some time to arrange everyone properly as the main families had to be grouped together and then there was some attempt to show descent via taped markings on the bleachers. Organizers with clipboards and bullhorns shouted, “Norfolk! Seymour! Marlborough! Howard! If you are in any of these families please move to the left now. Check your invitations to confirm which family you shall be grouped in! Even if you are in multiple families, the top name in the list is the one you will be photographed with.”

There were even place markings for the Canadian and Australian contingents, descendants of nobles not born to inherit titles who had made their way to new worlds to make their own names. They, more than anyone, seemed to take it better than the British born attendees, viewing it all as a terrific joke. The Queen was surprised that there were no Americans among the invitees, but America had left the realm so rudely, perhaps they had been deliberately uninvited. Or perhaps, seeing as they had the rejection of monarchy as one of their founding principles, they had declined any invitation to acknowledge their royal descent.

The Queen dwelled on these matters and wondered what it would be like to live in a nation without a deep history. Britain needed its monarchy or their history made no sense, but the Americans had turned their back on it and made their own way, each man a king in his own right. Though no one in Britain would admit it, America was their proudest accomplishment.

The Queen was at leisure to drift in last to the pavilion as she would be seated in front, and as she entered, she thought she detected the faint scent of gas. She still didn’t catch sight of Althena, though her sons were stationed by the table of liquor, throwing back drinks as if they were their last. Roberts was also nowhere to be seen. He was a faithful servant and she was sure he would find her.

Even in the pavilion and through the din of thousands of her family members, she could still hear the anti-monarchists making a racket. She loathed those people. The Americans, at least, had rebelled on principle. The anti-monarchists were motivated by mere greed, hoping to grab for their own purposes the portion of the budget that went to the monarchy. She thought of these things while continuing to respond to the Swedish queen’s raptures about her latest grandchild. Everyone was finally in place. The smell of gas seemed a bit stronger now and the Queen wondered if she should interrupt the photo shoot to inquire about it, but it had taken so long to get everyone arranged properly perhaps it could wait a few more minutes.

The noise of the explosion was so deafening, the Queen couldn’t be sure if she had heard anything at all, but all doubt was quickly dispelled by the immense heat and orange fireball that swept towards the bleachers. She barely had time to register the thought, “What is this?” before she and thousands of her family members, the whole of the nobility of Britain and much of Europe, were engulfed in the fiery storm.

CHAPTER ONE

THE PICTURE ON the television screen snapped off with a hiss just as the camera was about to pan over the entire glittering scene of the assembled royal family. Renee jumped from the sofa where she had been curled in the corner, eyes glued to the screen, and wacked the side of the television with her open palm.

“Come on,” she said, “don’t fail now.”

She tried clicking the television off and on several times and then got on her hands and knees to check the plug and connections. Everything seemed ok. She pushed the “on” button again but still nothing. The box remained dark and silent.

“Ray, did you remember to pay the cable bill?” she called out.

Ray strolled out of the kitchen wearing boxers and a stained undershirt, an opened orange juice carton in hand. “How am I supposed to know?”

Renee sighed and went to fix herself some breakfast. She didn’t need to be up so early since she didn’t need to be at the diner until later, but she had wanted to watch the ABC television special, The Royal Grand Reunion, which was transmitting live from England. She loved everything to do with the royal family and eagerly read about them in magazines. The luxury and history of the monarchy was so wholly different from life in her small town of Farland, Texas that it proved the perfect escapist fantasy. Instead of her cramped apartment with mold starting to sprout behind her bathtub tiles, she could picture herself taking tea in Windsor or walking the fields of Balmoral in high, waterproofed boots. Instead of the daily trip to her waitressing job, she could be shopping in Paris or sunning herself on a yacht in the Mediterranean.

She opened the refrigerator, but the light was off. She put a slice of yesterday’s meatloaf on a plate, stuck it in the microwave and pressed the button for 30 seconds. Nothing happened. Morning sunlight streamed through the window, but she tried flicking on the light switch. That didn’t work either. She opened the apartment door and poked her head in the hallway. She could hear her neighbor’s television blaring, which meant that the power had not gone out in the building; it was only her apartment that didn’t have electricity. It was clear what had happened. She bit her lip to keep from letting tears of bitterness escape, which they always did at the worst moments, even when she didn’t feel like crying at all. She definitely didn’t feel sad now. She felt furious.

She walked back into the living room to where Ray was stretched out on a recliner.

“Ray, did you pay the light bill?” She tried to keep the accusation out of her voice because she knew it would only set him off.

Ray scratched himself.

“Well, did you?”

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.” He burped. His eyes were bloodshot and there were deep circles under his eyes.

“Where were you last night?” she asked.

He got up, walked past her into the bedroom and slammed the door.

“Ray! Don’t slam the door on me, I’m so sick of this.” She tried the knob, but it was locked. She banged on the door. “Open up!”

The door flew open and Ray pushed past her, buttoning up a wrinkled shirt.

“I don’t have to answer to you.” He zipped his fly and buckled his belt. “It’s none of your business where I was at. If you want the bills paid, then you pay them. I don’t need this crap from you. I’m out of here.”

He snatched his trucker cap off of a chair, shoved his wallet into a pocket and slammed the front door. Renee stood there trembling.

“Mommy?”

Renee didn’t turn around so that her daughter Cassandra wouldn’t see her face. She was frozen by the front door, fists clenched, and eyes squeezed shut desperately fighting the tears.

“It’s ok, Mom. You can have all my babysitting money.”

Her eleven year old daughter’s offer to give her all her money to pay the electric bill finally caused a sob to escape from Renee’s throat. Cassandra came and wrapped her arms around Renee’s waist.

“Everything will be fine, honey. Do you want some breakfast?” asked Renee in a choked voice. “What would you like? How about some toast—?” but she remembered that they didn’t have any electricity to run the toaster and Ray’s paycheck was in his wallet. She had about four dollars in her purse, mostly in small change.

She spoke quickly to hide her mounting panic. “Tell you what—why don’t we eat at the diner today? Bacon and eggs and hash browns sound good to you? I’ll make sure you get the blueberry jelly for your toast. Antonio hoards it under the counter, but I know where it is. Let me just take a shower and we’ll be out of here lickity-split.”

Cassandra squealed her delight and then ran back into her own room to dress.

Ray was gone with the paycheck. The electricity was out and the rent was due in three days. She wasn’t going to be paid until next week and it wasn’t enough to cover the rent, much less to buy groceries or get the utilities back on. What was she going to do?

Shit
.

*              *    *

At the diner, Renee and Cassandra took stools at the end of the long formica counter.

“You’re early to work today,” said Brenda, coming over with a couple of glasses and a pitcher of ice water. “Your shift doesn’t start until 10am. It’s only 7:30.”

“We’re stopping for breakfast before school. And I was wondering if maybe I could pick up a couple more hours?” Renee gave Brenda a pleading look.

“I’ll check with the boss man, but it’s all right by me. What’ll you have Cass?”

Cassandra scrutinized the menu as if she hadn’t eaten there a hundred times before. “I’ll have sunny side up eggs. Wait. No. Scrambled. And some hashed browns and cantaloupe slices. With whip cream!”

“That’s quite a plate you’re building, kid. Can you eat all that?” teased Brenda.

“I can eat anything you put in front of me.”

“Antonio has some leftover fry grease and old cheese. Can you eat that?”

“Maybe,” said Cassandra.“If you pay me ten dollars.”

“How about I pay you not to eat it? Here’s fifty cents the last table left me on a twenty dollar order, the cheapskates. It’s not even worth keeping it.”

Brenda pulled two quarters from the front apron pocket where she kept her pad of paper and pencil, and rolled them on the counter until they bumped into Cassandra’s hands and fell over with a ringing clang. Cassandra pushed the quarters over to Renee who was slouched against the counter. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, honey, but you keep it. Get yourself some chocolate milk at school today.”

Cassandra smiled and slipped them into her pocket. I don’t deserve such a great kid, thought Renee.

Brenda stopped in front of Renee. “And what will night of the living dead be having?”

“Do I look that bad?”

“It depends on what we’re comparing you to.”

“Thanks. I feel really cheered up.” Renee’s stomach gave a loud growl. “I’ll just have some coffee. Oh, and can you take it out of my paycheck?” she asked quietly with a sideways glance at Cassandra who was busy building a sugar packet house. She silently mouthed, “Ray left.”

Brenda’s countenance changed into one of sympathy.

“Sure, sweetie. No problem. Fresh brewed coffee coming right up.”

“Thanks.”

Brenda left to give their order to Antonio who could be heard in the kitchen variously singing in English and cursing in Spanish while pots and pans banged and clattered. Cassandra giggled.

Once they had eaten—Renee ate one of Cassandra’s cantaloupe slices and the remains of her scrambled eggs—and Cassandra had gone off to school, Renee tied her apron on and got behind the counter.

“Do you think it’s for good this time, Ray’s leaving?” asked Brenda as they passed each other to take orders during the busy breakfast rush.

“I don’t know. He stormed out, but he didn’t have anything with him. Maybe he’ll be back taking a nap when I get home.” 

As she took orders and poured coffee, Renee wondered if she even wanted him back. His drinking, smoking in the house when she told him not to, and mysterious night time absences had been on the increase lately. Whenever she asked him where he was going at night, all he would say was out with friends, but she was pretty sure the tramp at the bar, whose chest size had magically increased recently, had something to do with it. Ray had not been as good a stepfather to Cassandra as she’d hoped, usually ignoring her unless it was to yell at her to pick up her shoes or turn down the volume on the pink radio she listened to in her room—“I’m trying to listen to Warrant, goddammit.” He had walked out in anger before, but was usually back in a few days. It was no way to live, but it was better than the hard years Renee had endured after Cassandra’s father had abandoned her while pregnant. But now she was beginning to wonder if maybe she wasn’t better off on her own.

They were too busy to talk after that. Renee felt dead on her feet, but she served everyone with a smile and always made time to exchange news and ask how they were doing. Her regulars loved her.

“Did you hear the terrible news?” asked one customer named Debbie, as Renee set down a plate of bacon and eggs.

“What news?” Renee didn’t have time to chit chat—the man at the next table was indicating that his glass needed a refill.

“The queen of England died. An explosion killed everyone at the big royal family party. It happened just an hour or so ago.”

“No, I didn’t know that! My TV broke down this morning,” she lied.

She brought Debbie some hot sauce for her eggs, filled the annoying man’s glass, and then hurried back to the kitchen to where Antonio kept a small portable television. It was tuned to Mexican soccer.

“You don’t mind if I turn the channel for a minute, right? Thanks,” she said before he could even respond. His hands were breading chicken and he couldn’t snatch the television away from her.

“One minute, that’s all! I’m counting down sixty seconds. Sesenta, cinquente y nueve…”

Renee fiddled with the tuning dial and the antenna, but everything came in fuzzy. Finally, she found a channel in English and turned the volume up. A newsperson was speaking in serious tones.

“…as yet unclear how many survivors there may be. The Queen and her immediate family are surely among the victims. Emergency responders are on the scene dousing the flames. It was, according to witnesses, a huge conflagration, an explosion that rattled houses and blew out windows miles away…”

The picture showed numerous fire trucks and ambulances with lights revolving.

The sound turned to static. Renee switched it off.

“Hey, put back the futból!” said Antonio.

“Oh, sorry.” Renee found the channel and set the portable television on a shelf so he could continue watching it as he worked.

She felt numb. It must have happened right after her electricity got shut off. The destruction of the beloved institution coupled with her argument with Ray this morning made her feel hollowed out. The feeling didn’t improve when she got home after her shift and saw that Ray’s side of the closet was empty, as was the refrigerator.

She opened a kitchen cupboard and reached behind a box of corn flour. Her fingers wrapped around a can. She set it on the counter and prayed before opening the lid. When she opened her eyes again she breathed out in one long exhalation of relief. The roll of green bills was still there, as well as a pack of cigarettes. She stuffed the cash in her wallet and did something she hadn’t done in months—lit a cigarette on the stove before sinking into her favorite corner of the sofa. The shadows were long in the room and soon there would be no light at all.

CHAPTER TWO

THREE WEEKS LATER Renee had fallen into an uncomfortable, but stable rhythm. She would bundle Cassandra off to school in the morning and then rush over to the diner to see if she could catch a couple of extra hours of work before the start of her regular shift. Most mornings were busy enough that she could jump right in, no questions asked, but on the rare occasions when Bryan, the owner, sat out in the dining area, he would shake his head no and Renee would have to wait until 10am. She would then spend her entire shift in a state of nerves until she found out if someone had called out of the evening shift and she could fill in. This meant that most days she worked from 8am until 10pm when the diner closed and though she felt bad about leaving Cassandra home alone in the evening, she was starting to feel a small twinge of hope that she might be able to make it through this rough patch. The rent was partially paid and she had worked out an agreement with the landlord to pay the rest in installments, there was food in the kitchen in addition to what she brought home from the diner every night, and though she had opted not to turn the cable back on, the electric bill was at least taken care of, though there was a stack of other bills piling up on the table in the corner. She tried never to look at them.

Today there was no need for her in the evening at the diner and Cassandra had called to say she was at her friend Stacy’s house. It was the first time she’d had a chance to unwind in weeks, though what that really meant was catching up on housework. It was only 5pm so she pulled a large basket of laundry to the sofa and turned on the television.

The last of the funerals were being broadcast. There were several hundred more people to bury, but few of them warranted media screen time. As macabre as it sounded, she had become hooked on these funerals. Every night when she arrived home she would spend a few minutes sitting on the edge of Cassandra’s bed talking to her about the day, kiss her goodnight and then move into the living room to watch the evening news before going exhausted to bed to start the whole cycle over again the next day. Every night was a new round of funerals and updates on the ongoing investigation, which were maddeningly few. A gas leak, that’s all anyone knew for sure.