Blessed Are the Wholly Broken (18 page)

I ran, which may seem strange to some, but I knew immediately there was no abduction, no stranger appearing out of the swamp who had absconded with my wife and son. I knew Anna had taken him, and I knew where she’d gone.

Always before on our trips to Big Hill Pond we’d parked in the lot on the south end near Travis McNatt Lake. From there, we’d hike less than a mile northwest to the observation tower before looping around to head southeast across the boardwalk at Dismal Swamp. We’d complete the loop with a short hike back to the car.

Anna had taken Peter to the tower; I knew it. It’s difficult to judge distance in the park because the roads and trails are winding, but I estimated the south lot to be close to two miles from where I stood. I was a runner; I regularly went for long runs on the backcountry roads of Lauderdale County. I could reach the lot in fourteen minutes—thirteen if I pushed myself—less time than it would take me to find a park employee, explain the situation (I couldn’t imagine
how
I’d explain it), and hope for a ride. 

So, I ran, jumping over the young couple making out on Fox Hollow Trail, barely registering the shocked expressions of the elderly couple I shoved past on the rickety boardwalk leading to the access trail. I crashed through trees and wetlands when shortcuts were possible, finally nearly colliding with our car, which was parked haphazardly at the edge of the lot as if Anna couldn’t be bothered to take the time to secure it in a space.

I sprinted farther, leaving the trail and slogging through brush to find the quickest route to the tower, finally cresting the hill and spotting her, the auburn of Anna’s hair bright against the blue of the sky. I had always loved Anna’s hair.

She was midway up the tower, holding the rail with one hand as she made her way up, and while I could not see Peter, I knew by Anna’s awkward gait she held him against her with the other arm. Calling forth every ounce of strength and speed I could, I raced for the tower, fairly leaping up the stairs, yelling Anna’s name, desperate to reach her before she reached the top.

I remember everything.

She reaches the observation deck when I have two flights left and turns to look at me. Maybe, I think, maybe she’s going to wait for me. Maybe this whole morning has been just some crazy mistake brought on by sleep deprivation. She’ll wait for me and we’ll enjoy the view together, and in twenty years we’ll laugh about how I thought….

She swings one leg over the railing when I have one flight left.

I reach her just as she dangles Peter over the edge by his arm. Over the sound of my shouts and Anna’s sobs, over the sound of the screams below and the wind rushing past my ears, I hear the
pop
of Peter’s arm as he swings in the wind.

I leap for them both.

In the midst of that leap I manage to grasp Peter by the back of his jumper with my left hand.

And I manage to shove Anna away from him with my right.

I was pumped full of adrenaline, alternately terrified and angry, and I knew Anna was clumsy, had always been, but my goal that morning was not to hurt Anna; my goal was to save Peter. It’s what Anna—
my
Anna—would have wanted me to do.

I wrest Peter from her grasp and she loses her hold on the railing. For one brief instant, our eyes connect. She isn’t afraid; her expression is calm, peaceful, and I know even then that she loves us, Peter and me. I know, too, that although I will forever feel I’ve failed her, she felt I’d saved her in that moment.

I hear the thud as she hits the ground, and the sound reverberates in the shattering of my heart. In the beat of silence that follows, I realize Peter isn’t breathing. I turn away from Anna to tend to my son.

You told me to take care of him if you couldn’t, Anna, my love. That’s what I did. I kept my promise.

I was unable to read Brian’s expression as the guards led me into the room and removed my cuffs. He waited until we were alone before coming to sit across from me.

“I have some good news, and some bad news,” he said. “Which do you want first?”

“The good news,” I replied. “I’ve had enough bad news lately to last a lifetime.”

“Okay, then.” He sat back, hands on his knees, and took a deep breath. “It seems you were right, and I was wrong.”

“About?”

“About Peter.”

My heart thudded in my chest. “What do you mean?”

He allowed himself the smallest of smiles. “There’s been some improvement.”

“I knew it!” I nearly leapt from my chair before Brian held out a restraining hand. “What’s he doing? What do they see?”

“He’s tracking objects with his eyes. At first they thought it was coincidence, so I didn’t say anything. Didn’t want to give you false hope. But it’s real. I went by to see for myself. And Phil, it gets better. He’s making eye contact. He looked right at me. He responded to my voice, moving his arms. The doctors say these are very hopeful signs.”

“Thank God!” I said, taking a few seconds to compose myself. After such wonderful news, I couldn’t imagine what could be bad, or at least not bad enough to erase the euphoria I felt at knowing my son was
still there
. “Brian, this is incredible. And we’re so close, aren’t we? You’ve managed to tear apart everything the prosecution has set forth, and now it’s our turn. We’ve got the expert testimony, and my testimony,” I stopped, as he put a hand on my arm.

“Phil. That’s the good news. The bad news,” he stood, walking behind me to put his hands on my shoulders. “The bad news is that the test results are back.”

I stilled, the joy of a just a few seconds ago seeping away. I knew what test results he meant. I swallowed, preparing myself. “And?”

“And you’re not his father.”

I had known, or at least strongly suspected, that that would be the case. But even hearing the words, I didn’t completely grasp what they meant.

“But I’m on the birth certificate,” I said. “And I was the one caring for him. For Christ’s sake, I’m the one who saved him. Tests mean nothing, Brian.”

He moved back around to sit across from me. “Unfortunately they do, Phil.”

I sat back in my chair, my mind racing. “All right. So now what? The Williams guy, he’s divorced and at least ten years older than I am. There must be something he can sign, something absolving him from having to pay child support, or whatever he’s afraid of. I don’t want anything from him. I just want my son.”

Brian ran a hand over his face before answering me. “He won’t sign anything like that, Phil. He’s fully prepared to seek custody of Peter. In fact, child welfare is completing a home study even as we speak in order to move Peter there.”

“But my trial isn’t over. He can’t just take my son because I’m in here. And what about Cathy? And Mrs. Tyler? Why would they move Peter when he’s been doing so well there?”

“It won’t come as a surprise to you that Cathy’s skipped town. We both knew she didn’t have it in her to care for a baby, particularly not one with special needs. And Mrs. Tyler is in her seventies. Her health has steadily declined over the past year given all she’s had to deal with. So those are factors in the decision to move Peter. But the main reason is because he has a biological father who wants custody of him. This is a blessing in some ways, Phil, because had Peter not had a biological relative able to care for him, he would have to be placed in foster care.”

“I’m glad Peter will be in a safe place, but Brian, I still intend to get him back. Placement with Anna’s coworker will be temporary.”

“I’m afraid that’s easier said than done. Robert Williams is proven to be the biological father. The biological mother is dead, and the man who was married to her sits in jail accused of her murder. Has been sitting in jail, I might add, for most of Peter’s life.”

“But we’re going to win, and I’m going to get out. Right? I mean, that’s almost a given at this point.”

“Yes, we’ll probably win. And you’ll get out. But Peter will still be Dr. Williams’ son. You’ll get your freedom,” he reached out and put a hand on my forearm, “but Phil, you won’t get Peter. He’s not yours to get.”

Before I could respond pain sliced through my chest, crushing me, leaving me breathless. Through the blood rushing through my ears, I heard Brian’s voice, panicked, summoning the guards before everything faded to black.

Myocardial infarction, they said. A mild heart attack caused by coronary artery disease. “Not unusual for a man your age,” the attending physician said. “You’re lucky you’re so physically fit,” he continued, “or it might have been a lot worse. You a runner?”

“Used to be.”

He smiled, not unkindly. “I suppose in your current circumstances, being known as a ‘runner’ could cause problems.”  

I hadn’t felt physically well in quite some time, certainly not since my arrest. I’d had periods of breathlessness followed by a moment or two of dizziness, but had attributed the symptoms to a combination of stress, lack of exercise, and bad food. “All of which could be factors,” the physician agreed. “I’ll send you back with prescriptions to help lower your blood pressure and cholesterol. I’ll also make some dietary and exercise recommendations, but given your situation, they might not be easy to implement.”

Brian insisted the trial be postponed until I was discharged from the hospital and medically cleared to attend court the following week. I didn’t care; after news of Peter, what difference did it make to me?

“There’s the small matter of having a right to be there, but more importantly, I’ll be calling you to testify right after I wrap up with Martha Dunn,” Brian said on the day of my discharge. The guards waited just outside the open door, giving us our privacy. “She’s good, Phil, and I think the information she’s going to share with the court is a very accurate description of Anna’s last months.”

I was swallowed by a wave of loneliness, the sadness enveloping me like a dense fog. It had been nearly a year since Anna’s death and I still missed her terribly. In my memory she was the beautiful, intelligent, witty woman I’d met the rainy Memphis morning she’d come sliding across the floor on her backside and figuratively bowled me over. In my nightmares she was something else entirely, but I had no control over those apparitions and I knew they weren’t really my Anna.

“That wasn’t really Anna, you know,” Brian said, as if reading my thoughts. “That’s how I’ve managed to press forward with this. I remind myself that the woman we’re discussing in court wasn’t our Socrates.”

“No, she wasn’t, but you know what bothers me?” Brian raised his brows at my question, and I continued. “It bothers me that I don’t know when she slipped away. When did Anna stop being Anna?”

Brian rubbed his chin. “I doubt there was a specific incident, but I could notice subtle changes over the years when I visited you guys. Obviously I didn’t know the extent of the problem, but that was Anna. She never was one to confide, was she?”

I shook my head. “Sometimes I feel so weighted down with guilt, you know? I should have known. I should have listened more. But I did try, Brian. I knew Anna had a hard time sharing any sort of negative feelings, so I paid special attention. You know what the irony of it all is?”

“Tell me.”

“All those years I tried to be so attuned to whatever she might have been feeling, whatever grief or sadness or loneliness she might have felt because of Jeffrey, or the miscarriages, or even our decision not to have children. I worked so hard to be sensitive to those issues, and in the end, that seems to be what destroyed her.”

“What do you mean?”

I struggled to put it into words. “Williams, the guy….Peter’s father,” I forced myself to say it, ripping off the scab I’d spent nearly two years creating. “He said Anna worried she wasn’t enough for me. That I might prefer someone else, someone who could have children with me. There were a couple of times Anna became angry with me—furious, really, to the extent Anna ever became furious—when I mentioned not having had children. She accused me of not being able to let go of the past, said I was holding her back.”

“Don’t do this to yourself, Phil.”

“The truth is I
was
sometimes sorry we hadn’t been able to have children. She told me more than once she’d moved on and had no regrets, but I refused to believe it. I always assumed she was just putting on a brave face, trying to bear up under the disappointment. All those years, all those assumptions about what Anna must be feeling, and I got it all wrong.”

“Don’t you think Anna bears some of the blame for that?” Brian moved to sit in the chair across from me. “It takes two to create a misunderstanding, after all. At any given time, on any given day, Anna could have chosen to address the issues between the two of you, but she didn’t. You can’t shoulder the responsibility for the choices she made. Take the pregnancy, for example. What would you have done if she’d insisted on getting an abortion?”

I winced at the word. “What could I have done? I would have been sad, upset, even angry, but I wouldn’t have left her. We would have had a rough time, but we’d have made it through. Even knowing all I know now, I think we would have made it. And even if we hadn’t, at least she’d still be alive.”

“But Peter wouldn’t.”

“No. Peter wouldn’t. But Brian, would he have been better off, too? What quality of life can he possibly have now?”

“I don’t think those are questions either of us can answer. I know I’m certainly not qualified to determine the quality of anyone else’s life. Hell, I can’t even figure out my own. And it’s a moot point, anyway, because she didn’t insist, did she?”

“No. Not after that first day. She never mentioned it again. She cancelled her appointment—at least I assume she did—without ever mentioning it to me.”

“Look, Phil, my point isn’t to say whether or not your decisions or Anna’s decisions were the right ones. I can’t do that. My point is that Anna made choices along the way, too, and you can’t take responsibility for those.”

“But she wasn’t well, Brian. It was my job to take care of her, and I failed.”

Brian regarded me for a moment before shaking his head. “You’re not as powerful as you think you are, Phil. No matter how much you want to, you can’t always keep everyone safe and make everything turn out okay. Anna was responsible for Anna. Don’t forget that when I put you on the stand.”

He turned to leave, patting one of the guards on the shoulder on his way out. A nurse entered with a wheelchair and the ever-vigilant guards marched beside us until I stood at the exit. We rode in silence the short distance back to the jail, which was fine with me. I was lost in memories of Anna.