Blessed Are the Wholly Broken (16 page)

“How is she doing, Phil?” Mrs. Tyler had pulled me aside shortly after dinner, peeking around the doorframe to ensure Anna remained seated in the living room with her father. “She’s so quiet.”

I shrugged. “Tired, but I guess that’s to be expected. We’re both tired. Peter was up most of the night last night. The doctor thinks he’s a little colicky.”

“Poor baby,” she said. “I used to put a drop of Caro syrup in Cathy’s bottle when she got that way. My mother swore it worked, and it did seem to. Have you tried that?”

I smiled at Mrs. Tyler’s home remedy. “We got a prescription for some drops we’ll use next time he’s fed,” I assured her, checking my watch. “Which should be any minute now, as soon as he wakes up. The little rascal keeps us up all night, then wants to sleep all day.”

“Well,” she said, patting my arm, “if it’s any comfort to you, Cathy outgrew it by three months.” She peered closer at my face. “But I guess three months can seem like a very long time if you aren’t getting any sleep. I do seem to remember being nearly out of my mind with exhaustion, up all night with Cathy, then having to get up and run around after a toddler all day. It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure.”

“It gets a little rough,” I agreed. “We’re taking turns with him. I try to give Anna a little extra time to sleep because I seem to function better tired than she does.”

“Is she really all right, Phil? She’s been so quiet lately. She hardly talks at all, not even when I ask her things about the baby.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer her. Anna
was
quiet, but she was also, if the way I felt was any indication, tired enough to sleep sitting up with her eyes open. But it was more complicated than that. Anna wasn’t
Anna
, and hadn’t been for a long time. She had said things, expressed feelings lately that concerned me greatly. I was tempted to confide in Mrs. Tyler, but at the same time didn’t want to risk upsetting Anna.

She apparently picked up on my hesitation because she pulled me further into the dark hallway. “What is it, Phil? Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

I weighed my words carefully. “She’s not happy,” I finally told her. “I know it’s normal for new mothers to get the baby blues, but this is more than that. I’m worried about her.”

“What’s she done that’s worrying you so?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“She says things, sometimes. Irrational things.” I ran my hand through my hair, agitated, unsure how much to admit.

“Like what? Tell me, Phil.” She prodded me towards the door to Anna’s old room, leading me inside and silently pushing the door closed. “Sit down, hon.” She motioned towards the bed. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Sometimes she says things about herself.” I took a deep breath. “Things like we’d have been better off if she’d died during the delivery.”

Beside me Anna’s mother gasped, covering her mouth with one hand. I plunged ahead, relieved to be sharing this with someone who loved Anna as much as I did.

“Other times, she talks about the baby. About how she wants to save him,” I glanced at her, forcing the words out, “from her. She says she needs to save the baby from the life he’ll have with her as his mother. She says she thinks your family is cursed.”

“What on earth!” Her face had drained of color.

“I know. She told me years ago about relatives living somewhere back in the mountains, people with a criminal history. I just took it as one of those stories all families have, one that probably grows bigger as it gets passed down.

“But lately,” I threw my hands up, overcome by how powerless I felt, “it’s all she talks about. She thinks some sort of insanity, a ‘bad gene,’ she calls it, runs through your family. She’s obsessed with it. She thinks she’s inherited this gene, and she’s convinced Peter has, too.  It’s gotten to the point that I’m afraid, sometimes, to leave her alone. I don’t think she’d do anything, not to herself and certainly not to Peter, but still. I can’t take that chance.”

“Have you told her doctor what’s going on?”

“I did, and he immediately scheduled an appointment, but she refused to let me go in with her, and when she came out she was smiling and joking as if nothing were wrong. I think she convinced him I was overreacting. Or maybe she really thought she was over the worst of it, but she’s not. Not by a long shot. I’ve requested a meeting with him next week. He’s told me he can’t give me any information without violating Anna’s privacy, but he’s assured me he’ll take into consideration everything I share with him. But if Anna refuses to admit it, what can we do? Mrs. Tyler, I’m at the end of my rope. I just don’t know what to do.”  To my embarrassment, my voice cracked. I truly was at the end of my rope.

Mrs. Tyler leaned over and embraced me. “I’m going to move in with you,” she said, and the relief I felt was a physical sensation. “Just until she’s feeling back to herself.” She let go of me and reached for a Kleenex from the box on the nightstand, dabbing at her eyes.

“She’s not completely wrong, you know.” She blew her nose before continuing. “There is a history of
something
; I don’t know what you’d call it. Maybe it is a bad gene. A couple of generations back. I had always thought that was just the way of people, isolated like they were in the mountains back then. But Cathy.” She stopped, looked hard at me. “Don’t think I don’t know, Phil. Cathy has her faults. She was never easy. I love her, by God, just as much as I love Anna. But I’m not blind. Or stupid.”

“But you never saw anything with Anna?” I asked. I had to know; it was inconceivable to me that a woman I’d always considered to be the most level-headed, centered person I’d known was suddenly thrown so off balance.

“No. Never. Anna was always the calm one. Did whatever we asked, never gave us a moment’s trouble. But remember I told you I had a case of the baby blues myself.” She laughed, a harsh sound. “Baby blues. That’s what they called it, you know. Such a cute sounding name. But there wasn’t anything cute about it, I tell you. And you couldn’t talk about it, not back then. Probably not now, either. You’re supposed to be happy, on top of the world; that’s what everyone expects. You don’t want to let them down, and you don’t want to have to put up with the looks people give you if you complain. It’s probably even worse for Anna because she was so torn about being pregnant at this point, with her age, and…and everything. My poor little girl.”

She patted my leg and stood. “Now let me go give my girl a hug. Then I’m going to pack my bags and make myself at home at your place.”

For the first time in weeks, I felt hopeful.

Court Clerk:  Mr. Harris, would you state your name for the record, please?

Joshua Harris: Joshua Eugene Harris.

The Court:  Let’s get started, Mr. Young.

Prosecutor:  Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Harris, you work at the Brownsville Express convenience store on Anderson Avenue in Brownsville, is that correct?

Joshua Harris:  Yep.

Prosecutor:  What is your job at the store, Mr. Harris?

Joshua Harris:  If I’m by myself, I do whatever needs doing. If there’s more than one of us there, I take the register.

Prosecutor:  Were you working the register the morning of June 3, 2012? 

Joshua Harris:  I was. Glenda, the other person working, was doing stuff back in the back.

Prosecutor:  Mr. Harris, did you have occasion to see the defendant, Mr. Lewinsky, at the Brownsville Express that morning?

Joshua Harris:  Sure did. Him and his wife, and the baby, too.

Prosecutor:  What time was that?

Joshua Harris:  It was 8:15 on the dot. I only know that because I was wondering what was taking Glenda so long in the back. I needed a bathroom break and I couldn’t take it until she got back up front.

Prosecutor:  Glenda is your coworker?

Joshua Harris:  Yeah. She’s pretty good, but she’s slow.

Prosecutor:  What did you see that morning, Mr. Harris?

Joshua Harris:  I seen him—the defendant, there—pull up at the pump. Seen him get out, go around back to get the baby. I thought that was kind of weird, him holding the baby while he pumped gas. He got done and walked up to the store, still carrying the baby. Came in the store, and that’s when the woman, his wife, got out of the car.

Prosecutor:  What happened when his wife got out of the car?

Joshua Harris:  He was in the store back by the coffee machine, holding the baby in one arm and getting coffee with the other. I was up front by the register where I could see out the window, and I seen her get out of the car. I figured she was coming in the store after him, but she didn’t. She turned in the other direction, like she was about to cross the street. About the time she got to the street, he came up to the register to pay for the coffee.

Prosecutor:  Did he pay for the coffee, Mr. Harris?

Joshua Harris:  No he didn’t, because as soon as he seen the lady heading for the street, he dropped the coffee on the floor and took off running after her. I had one hell of a mess to clean up; I’ll tell you that.

Prosecutor:  He ran after Mrs. Lewinsky?

Joshua Harris:  He sure did. Had the baby flopping in his arm while he ran, the poor kid. Caught her right before she got to the street.

Prosecutor:  What did he do when he caught her?

Joshua Harris:  He grabbed onto her arm and drug her back to the car.

Prosecutor:  Did Mrs. Lewinsky go willingly?

Defense Attorney:  Objection. Calls for speculation. The witness can’t possibly know Mrs. Lewinsky’s state of mind.

The Court:  Sustained. Rephrase, Counselor.

Prosecutor:  Could you see Mrs. Lewinsky’s face, as Mr. Lewinsky led her back to the car?

Joshua Harris:  I sure could.

Prosecutor:  And what was she doing?

Joshua Harris:  She was crying, and I don’t mean just regular crying. She was crying that snot-running-all-over-your-face kind of crying.

Prosecutor:  What did Mr. Lewinsky do when they reached the car?

Joshua Harris:  He was talking to her and he opened the door and pushed her into the car. Then he put the baby somewhere in the back, and he drove away.

Prosecutor:  No further questions, Your Honor.

The Court:  Your witness, Mr. Stone.

Defense Attorney:  Thank you, Your Honor. Good morning, Mr. Harris.

Joshua Harris:  Morning.

Defense Attorney:  Mr. Harris, were you inside the store when Mr. Lewinsky led his wife back to the car?

Joshua Harris:  Yep. Glenda still wasn’t back up front, so I couldn’t leave.

Defense Attorney:  So you witnessed these events through the front window of the store?

Joshua Harris:  Sure did.

Defense Attorney:  You stated that you saw Mrs. Lewinsky crying.

Joshua Harris: That’s right.

Defense Attorney:  Could you hear her crying, as well?

Joshua Harris:  No. We keep the radio on inside the store, so we can’t really hear much going on outside.

Defense Attorney:  So even though you saw what appeared to be Mr. Lewinsky speaking to Mrs. Lewinsky, you couldn’t hear anything Mr. Lewinsky might have been saying, is that correct?

Joshua Harris:  That’s right.

Defense Attorney: Is it possible he was comforting her?

Prosecutor:  Objection. Now Mr. Stone is calling for speculation.

The Court:  Sustained.

Defense Attorney:  I’ll rephrase the question. Mr. Harris, you have no idea what it was that Mr. Lewinsky said to his wife, correct?

Joshua Harris:  That’s correct.

Defense Attorney:  No further questions.

Mrs. Tyler stayed with us for nearly a month, and during that time Anna seemed to find her footing. No doubt the ability to sleep a full eight hours helped. Mrs. Tyler watched Peter during the day when I went to work, and for the short time his colic continued, she and I took turns walking him throughout the night.

Over time Anna became less withdrawn, losing some of the weight she’d gained and for the first time since Peter’s birth, taking care with her personal hygiene. Instead of finding her disheveled and asleep in the stuffy darkness of our bedroom when I returned from work, I began to find her damp from a shower, sitting at the kitchen table and talking with her mother while Mrs. Tyler prepared our dinner.

True, I never saw her holding Peter, but that was easily explained away by reports of him napping, or even by my own eagerness to hold him at the end of a long day. When I was home Anna scarcely had a chance to hold Peter, so eager was I to hold my son. If Mrs. Tyler worried over Anna’s distance from Peter, she never expressed concern; in fact, she seemed buoyed by Anna’s apparent return to normalcy. I, in turn, was full of gratitude for Mrs. Tyler, not only for her real and physical help during that time, but also for her quiet support of both me and Anna, and her obvious devotion to Peter.

As spring headed towards summer and the soybean fields around us began to sprout, oblivious to the coming drought that would render fields shriveled and burned by July, Anna finally began to show an interest in Peter. She held him sometimes in the evenings, alone in his room, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet and humming a tuneless melody. As I peeked in from his open door and saw her gazing intently into his face, I wondered what she was seeing, what she was saying to him in those moments. Conveying her love? Pledging her protection? 

How well she fooled us.

By the end of May Mrs. Tyler and I felt Anna was doing so well she broached the subject of returning home. Mr. Tyler had been unwavering in his support, but I knew he worried, not only because it was in his nature to worry, but also because he loved Anna, and Peter, beyond all reason. They were both eager, I think, for a return to routine, and witnessing the progress Anna had made I, too, was ready to have my family back, just the three of us.

So it was on a stifling Sunday morning, the heat index already edging into the nineties, that Mrs. Tyler packed her bags while Mr. Tyler sat at our breakfast bar enjoying a plate of sausage links, scrambled eggs, and toast prepared by none other than Anna. It was the first she’d cooked since Peter’s birth, and it served to add to our belief that Anna was, if not fully mended, at least well on her way.

Peter’s colic seemed to have abated by then; he’d slept a full eight hours the previous night, waking that morning with a full diaper and an empty stomach. Now freshly changed, he lay in the crook of my arm noisily slurping down his second bottle of the day. Mrs. Tyler set her bags down by the bar and leaned over to kiss his head.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, sweet boy,” she said, then looked at me for confirmation. “Are y’all still coming for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Yes ma’am,” I assured her. Although I had returned to work almost immediately after Peter was born, I had arranged to take the next couple of days off to stay with Anna. With Mrs. Tyler gone and me at work, Anna would bear sole responsibility for Peter, and although she seemed to be in a much better place emotionally, all of us agreed it would be better to take things slowly. “I’m already looking forward to it.”

“Good,” she said. “And call me if you need anything before then. Okay?” She caught my eye, and I nodded.

“We will,” I promised. “Thanks again for everything. I don’t know how we would have made it without you.”

She squeezed my arm. “Take care of them,” she whispered against my ear as she nodded in Anna’s direction.

“I will,” I promised, and I meant it, in spite of how it all turned out.

In just over twenty-four hours, Anna would be dead.

I awakened that night to the sound of Peter’s crying, the first such night in over a week. Squinting, I checked the nightstand clock: It was just before three a.m. Anna stirred beside me. “Stay here,” I told her. “I’ll get him.”

“No,” she answered. “I’ll do it. I need to get back into the swing of things.”

I didn’t argue, although those words would come back to haunt me. We’d spent a quiet day at home, but I was tired and we had a long drive ahead of us in the morning. Anna had suggested we take a day trip to Big Hill Pond Park, a beautiful park on the southern border we hadn’t visited in years. I had worried it might be too difficult, particularly with a baby in tow, but she assured me not only was she up for the trip, she looked forward to being outdoors, hiking as we used to so often do. “I need some sun, Phil,” she said. “Not to mention some exercise. We’ll pack a lunch and take plenty of diapers for Peter and make a morning of it; what do you think?”

“I think I’ll finally get a chance to use that backpack thing we bought,” I said. “It’ll be good for me. Like walking with weights.” She smiled, and I wondered if she remembered our conversation thirteen years previous, when we’d taken a trip to Chattanooga to heal from the heartbreak of Anna’s first miscarriage. I was feeling hopeful, I remember, looking forward to time with Anna and Peter, ridiculously excited to finally be the dad with the backpack. Anna had always found the outdoors to be healing; I saw her request as more proof that the worst of her depression was behind us.

I’d just managed to drift back into sleep when a second noise awakened me:  the sound of running water, as if Anna were preparing a bath in the guest bathroom down the hall. I was curious, I remember, but not curious enough to leave the warm comfort of bed to investigate. Not until I heard Peter scream, a vocalization that was abruptly cut off by the sound of a large splash.

I jumped from bed and raced down the hallway, yelling Anna’s name as I swung through the door and skidded to a stop on the wet tiles. Anna was kneeling, leaning over the side of the tub with her back to me. She turned her head as I spoke, then stumbled back, holding a naked, sputtering Peter in her arms. “I slipped,” she said. “I was trying to bathe him and I slipped, dropping him in the water.”  Her eyes were huge as she handed the baby to me. He was slimy with water, his skin freezing. I wrapped my arms around him as Anna handed me a towel and Peter regained his breath to release another shriek.

“He’s okay now, aren’t you little guy?” I wrapped us both in the towel, warming him against my bare chest. “He’s so cold, Anna. Did you not check the temperature of the water?” I asked over Peter’s cries.

“Of course I did,” she said, her tone defensive as she reached to unstop the tub, the water swirling down the drain with a slurp. “What kind of mother do you think I am? He’s fine; he’s just scared. It scared me, too,” she said, with a little hiccup of a sob.

“Come here, honey,” I held out an arm. What a terrible experience, I thought, that the very day Anna pledges to move forward and reclaim her life such a scary accident would occur. “Are you okay?” She snuggled into my embrace, and I held them both until Peter’s cries subsided.

“Why don’t you go back to bed?  I’ll take care of Peter. I’d kind of like to rock him for a while to make sure he’s okay.”

She yawned. “I think I will. Thanks, babe.” She kissed Peter’s head. “Good night, Pumpkin. Sorry for scaring you. Good night, Phil.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss my cheek before heading back down the hallway to our bedroom. I heard the soft latch of the door before I turned my attention once again to Peter.

“So how are you, little man? That was an unexpected baptism, wasn’t it?” His head found its spot under my chin and I inhaled the scent of the baby shampoo I’d used earlier, during his evening bath.

She’d decided to bathe him, Anna had said, and I’d assumed he must have soiled his pajamas in some way, maybe a leaky diaper, or even more likely, a bit of spit-up formula. But his diaper and pajamas were on the floor at my feet, perfectly clean aside from showing signs of dampness from the cold water splashed from the tub.

“So why were you bathing him last night, anyway? And why in the big tub?” I asked Anna as she packed a diaper bag of supplies in preparation for our trip. I had made up my mind, as I tossed and turned the few remaining hours before being rescued by the alarm, not to ask Anna those questions. I knew no matter how casual I tried to make them seem, Anna would pick up on the unspoken accusation. Sure enough, as soon as the words escaped my lips, her shoulders tensed for a brief second before she turned to face me.

“Am I not allowed to bathe my own child?”

“Of course, honey. I just meant, it was so late, and I know you were tired. He seemed clean as a whistle. I’m just surprised you wanted to bathe him again, is all, especially in the big tub. He’s a slippery little dude when he’s wet.”

“Look, Phil. I’ve put up with you and my mother for weeks, always watching over me, monitoring my every move, whispering about me behind my back. She’s gone now, and you need to back off. Understand?”

“We care about you, Anna. We want to make sure you’re okay. That’s all.”

“I’m fine, Phil. Better than I’ve felt in months, maybe years. Everything is crystal clear.”

“What does that mean?” For some reason, her words chilled me.

“It means I know what I need to do. I understand the direction I need to take. You and my mother need to back off and let me take it. Now let me hold him while you load up the car. We are still going, aren’t we?”

  I was torn. A part of me wanted to call Mrs. Tyler, but I wasn’t sure what I’d say. “Mrs. Tyler, I think I may have witnessed Anna trying to drown our baby last night.” It sounded absurd, but more than that, I wasn’t sure it was true. Things may have unfolded exactly as Anna said:  She slipped, dropping Peter in the tub. That seemed to be a much more believable explanation than the one lurking in the back of my mind.

“We’re still going. We’ll need to stop for gas in Brownsville, but we should get to the park by ten o’clock at the latest. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect,” Anna said as she took Peter from my arms. Some instinctive part of me struggled with letting him go.