Page 109 of Hello, Summer
A small wooden platform had been erected near the Confederate war monument. Draped with American flags, it held a podium and a microphone. The television reporters, with tripod-mounted cameras, were set up directly in front of the podium, and a couple of dozen peoplemilled around. Half of them, Conley noticed, were wearing bright red T-shirts and baseball caps emblazoned withI’M WITH CHARLIE—ROBINETTE FOR CONGRESS 2020.
Always a cynic, she wondered how recently the campaign gear had been ordered and distributed.
The heavy plate glass doors to the courthouse lobby were open, and Conley could see employees with lanyard IDs around their necks, standing inside, craning their necks to get a view of the action.
Conley wove her way through the crowd and managed to wedge herself in between the dueling television reporters. “Hi,” she said breathlessly to the tall male Latino reporter manning a camera with the CBS logo. “Any idea what’s going on?”
He shrugged. “No idea. We were shooting a story about beach erosion, and the producer called and told us to swing by to shoot a press conference. Who is this guy, anyway?”
Before Conley could answer, a cute blonde in a navy-blue pantsuit and tall spike heels walked onto the platform, followed by Charlie Robinette, in his campaign casual dress shirt with the rolled-up sleeves and loosened tie. Conley recognized the blonde. It was Kennedy McFall, from the funeral home. She tapped the microphone and began speaking.
Conley whipped out her cell phone, swiped through to her camera, and began recording video.
“Hi, everyone, and thanks for being here on short notice. I’m Kennedy McFall, communications director for your next U.S. representative, Charlie Robinette. Charlie has a brief statement to make, and then he’ll take questions.”
Charlie put his arm around Kennedy’s waist briefly and nodded at the small press contingent.
“I should tell y’all that Kennedy is also my fiancée. Anyway, that’s not what I came here to talk about today. What I do want to talk about is transparency, which I think is vital for a public servant.” He gulped and ran a hand through his immaculately coiffed hair. “This isn’t a move I make lightly. And it’s something that I’ve been reluctant to address, but I believe that recent events have made my actions unavoidable. As youmay know, last week, we lost my father, a decorated Vietnam War vet and your dedicated congressman of over thirty years.”
“Rest in peace, Symmes,” a man’s deep voice called from behind Conley.
“Yes, definitely,” Charlie said, his face solemn. “What most of you don’t know is that Dad had been diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma last year. He received treatment at Walter Reed, but the prognosis was dire. It was Dad’s wish that we keep his condition a private, family matter. His intent was to continue working for the great Thirty-fifth District and his treasured constituents as long as his health allowed. In the meantime, after many heart-to-heart conversations, Dad impressed upon me that his deepest wish was for me to succeed him in office, and after some consideration, I was honored to accept the challenge. Of course, we all hoped that time would come after his retirement from the term to which he was recently elected, but per my dad’s request, I began to assemble a campaign committee.”
Kennedy nodded sympathetically, touching his arm lightly.
“Although Dad continued to fulfill the obligations of his office in Washington, in recent months, his condition worsened. Three months ago, against the advice of his specialists in Washington, my mother insisted that Dad return home to Silver Bay for treatment.”
Charlie tugged at the knot of his tie. “Since that time, my mother slowly managed to isolate Dad from his closest associates and from the rest of his family. She resisted my suggestion that he return to Walter Reed for treatment from the doctors there who routinely work with cancer patients, saying he was too ill to travel. Eventually, she forbade me to visit Dad, saying that his immune system was too weakened from chemo to allow visitors. Since my parents reside in a gated community, she was able to instruct security guards not to allow me entrance. She also confiscated Dad’s cell phone, cutting off my only other means of communication with him.” He paused. “In effect, my father became a prisoner in his own home.”
“That’s terrible,” a woman behind Conley murmured.
“Tragic,” her friend agreed.
“Still,” Charlie continued, “through admittedly devious means,which I won’t go into here, I managed to see my father, despite my mother’s best efforts. Two weeks before his death, I was shocked by my father’s appearance. He looked emaciated and seemed… somewhat confused. When I confronted my mother with my impressions of Dad’s rapid decline, she flew into a rage, accused me of disloyalty and dishonesty, and informed me that as a result of what she called my ‘disobedience,’ I would not see or hear from my father again. After that, my mother stopped speaking to me. At all.”
He stared off into space for a moment, blinking back tears. “After consulting some of my father’s oldest, most trusted advisers, I came to a very difficult decision. Two weeks ago, I filed a complaint with the Adult Protective Services division of the Florida Department of Children and Families, due to my concerns that my father was the victim of elder abuse, being perpetrated by his wife, Vanessa Robinette.”
A small, collective gasp ran through the crowd.
“This is an incredibly painful, agonizing action for any child to take,” Charlie said. “Believe me, I take no joy in any of this. But what kind of a son would I be if I allowed my father’s suffering to go unreported? What kind of citizen would I be if I merely looked the other way at an instance of abuse? Sad to say, elder abuse is on the rise in the state of Florida, with over two thousand reports of elder abuse just in our region of the state in recent years. An even sadder statistic is that nearly sixty percent of alleged abuse cases are perpetrated by family members of the elderly victims.”
Conley turned and panned with her phone to capture the reactions on the faces of the mostly middle-aged crowd, as did the broadcasters standing on either side of her.
“Following my report, a caseworker began investigating my allegations,” Charlie said. “I haven’t yet been made privy to their findings, because less than two weeks later, my father was killed in a one-car wreck, the cause of which is still under investigation by local authorities.”
“Holy shit,” the CBS cameraman whispered under his breath.
“Damn,” the pretty blond Fox reporter muttered.
“In light of this tragedy, it would be easy for me to stay silent about my concerns, if only for the sake of keeping the family peace. But I can’tin good conscience do that. Not when the welfare of our elderly neighbors, people like my ailing seventy-seven-year-old dad, is at stake.”
Charlie clasped his hands in front of him. “This is the last, best thing I can do for my dad. Thank you all for coming.” He took a half step back from the podium, and Kennedy hugged him briefly.
“Charlie will take a few questions now,” she announced.
“Charlie!” A high-pitched voice called out from the far-right side of the podium.
Heads turned, and the crowd cleared a path for a wizened man dressed in all black. Conley groaned. Buddy Bright.
