A River of Silence

by Susan Clayton-Goldner

  Once inside his house, he found his wife in the living room, dressed in a red gingham blouse, a long denim skirt and red leather boots. She looked beautiful, all made up and ready for the party.

  A young woman who appeared to be in her early twenties was sitting across from Gracie at a small table in front of the bay window. Gracie had made tea. The room smelled like cinnamon and orange peels.

  As soon as she saw him, the young woman leaped up and held out her right hand.

  Radhauser took it.

  She was pretty, tall and slender with long dark hair, smooth skin and dark eyes that seemed to search inside him. She wore a pair of jeans and a navy-blue sweatshirt with the University of Arizona Wildcat’s logo. “I’m Lisa Flannigan,” she said. “I drove from Tucson to see you.”

  He let go of her hand. His body reacted before his brain did—accelerating his heart rate. A vein pounded in his temple and a sudden, bone-chilling panic washed over him. This was the daughter of the man who killed his first family. Lisa had been thirteen, the same age as Lucas, and was home with her mother the night of the collision.

  He tried to fight the images inside his head, but they kept coming. The smell of the morgue in the basement of Tucson Medical Center. Two little boys in body bags. Laura and Lucas so silent and still on those stainless steel gurneys, white sheets covering them.

  Lisa must have spotted the horror on his face, because her look became one of despair.

  Gracie stood and began to clear the dishes from the table. She looked at Lisa, her face as tender and kind as he ever saw it. “I’ll give you two some privacy.” Before Gracie left the room, she stood on her tiptoes, kissed him on the cheek, and whispered three words. “Listen. Consider. Forgive.”

  A wave of something like fear hit Radhauser and nearly knocked him over. He could listen. But forgiveness? Considering how much this girl’s father took away, how could forgiveness be possible?

  Neither of them moved or spoke until it seemed like the roof might fall in on them under the unbearable weight of their silence. Dust motes spun in the pewter shafts of light that slanted through the west windows.

  Lisa was first to speak. “Is it okay if we sit and talk for a few minutes?”

  Radhauser nodded, then took one of the brown, leather wingback chairs in front of the fireplace.

  Lisa sat on the sofa directly across from him. Her hopeful, homecoming queen smile had returned. “I’m getting married on Christmas Eve.”

  “Congratulations,” Radhauser said. “December is so beautiful in Tucson.”

  “I’d like to tell you about my father.”

  “I don’t want to hear anything about him.” He closed his eyes for a moment in which he could feel the anger, the familiar heat churning inside, try to rise to the surface.

  When he opened his eyes, Lisa gazed at him, the hope on her face morphed into doubt. “I know my father stole something precious from you. He took my little brothers from my mother and me, too. Along with his presence in my life. But please, won’t you just listen?”

  “Didn’t you ever visit him at the prison in Florence?” Radhauser said. “It’s not like he’s dead.”

  “My father didn’t want me to visit. I lived eleven years without seeing my dad. But he wrote me letters every week. They arrived on Tuesdays, like clockwork. But I was living a nightmare of my own—you have no idea what’s it like to be the daughter of a man in jail for murder. Four murders. And as I’m sure you already know, my father is up for parole.”

  “I won’t change my mind,” he said. “What you’re about to ask of me is too much.”

  “Please listen, Mr. Radhauser. I spent my teenage years hurt and livid with him.” She took a photograph from her sweatshirt pocket and handed it across the coffee table. “Because of them.” A tear rolled down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away.

  Radhauser stared at the photo. Twin boys, around five years old, sat on a tree limb, one in front of the other. They were dark-haired like their sister, grinning, and as cute as they come.

  “For ten of those eleven years, I never answered a single letter. But to his credit, he didn’t give up. He kept writing them.”

  Radhauser returned the photo.

  She tucked it back into her pocket. “Believe me. I know what it’s like to think you hate, to be so full of rage you can barely stand to keep living. But I also know what rage can do to your soul.” Her voice was soft now, sweet in a way that tore at him.

  “It’s different for you,” he said. “You’re his daughter.”

  She bowed her head, as if in prayer. “I didn’t always want to admit that. But yes, I am his daughter. And I finally visited him last week. He’s changed. My father has been sober for eleven years.”

  “That’s not much of an accomplishment in his current location.” Aware of the cruelty in his voice, he tried to swallow against it. Prisoners had ways of getting drugs and alcohol.

  “My dad joined AA. And now he runs the in-house program. He sponsors some of the younger inmates and they tell him things they can’t tell their family. He counsels them toward sobriety, love and forgiveness. And at the same time, he’s trying to find forgiveness for himself.”

  “Am I supposed to give him a trophy?”

  “I understand your bitterness,” she said. “When I finally went to see him, he cried and apologized through most of our visit. He was so ashamed. And I realized he also lost two sons. Yes, he behaved irresponsibly. He should never have allowed my little brothers to ride in the back of the truck, or driven so drunk he drove the wrong way on the freeway. It was his fault, and, don’t you see, that only makes it worse for him. In my opinion, everyone deserves a second chance.”

  Radhauser thought about Caleb Bryce and the scene he witnessed between him and the mother who left him to fend for himself in a big-city hotel room at six-years-old. The way he listened to her apologies, fought his hurt and rage, and finally pressed his hand against hers on the Plexiglas wall. Bryce found a way to forgive his mother and had gazed at her with such longing Radhauser looked away—felt small, ashamed, and a little unworthy.

  Rachael Bryce would have done anything for a second chance with her son. Maybe Lawrence Flannigan felt the same way about his daughter. Maybe he wanted nothing more in the world than to be with her and his wife again.

  “Detective Radhauser,” Lisa said, tears welling in her eyes again. “I want my father—no, I need him, to walk me down the aisle at my wedding.”

  Radhauser had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

  Their eyes met.

  In hers, he saw the pain of losing her little brothers and growing up without a father. It pierced him inside, knowing he had the power to make some of that hurt go away. He understood something new about life. You live it forward, but understand it in retrospect.

  A comradeship hung in the air between them, like they were two veterans of the same awful war. He wanted to say he understood how she must feel about her lost father. Wanted this beautiful young woman to have her dream wedding. Didn’t Lisa deserve happiness?

  Someday, if he was lucky, he would walk Lizzie down the aisle on her wedding day.

  What did he have to gain by giving a victim statement that might prevent Lisa’s father from his parole? Keeping Lawrence Flannigan in jail for another ten years would not bring Laura or Lucas back. He had a new life—Gracie, Lizzie, and the little boy they were all so eagerly awaiting. Maybe the anger he’d harbored all these years added to Gracie’s stress. Maybe it even contributed to her breast cancer.

  This was Radhauser’s chance to be a better man. A man who listened, considered and let go. The man Gracie wanted him to be.

  As the words formed inside his mind, he felt a cool tunnel of air loosening in his chest—releasing everything clenched and bitter that had lived inside him for over a decade.

  “I’ll walk you to your car,” he said.

  Outside, the sun had gone down, and the sky turned silver and darkened to a light purple near the horizo
n. The trees had been stripped almost bare by November.

  He opened her car door, then turned to face her. “Tell you what, Lisa Flannigan. I’ll tear up the victim impact statement I wrote.” He thought about Rachael Bryce again. “Everyone who has worked as hard as your dad to be a better person and make amends to the people he hurt deserves a second chance. I wish you every happiness in your married life. And I hope I’m around to walk my daughter down the aisle someday.”

  Her smile was as big as Texas. She hurled herself toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Your wife told me you’re a good man, Detective Radhauser. I didn’t believe her at first. But, she was right.”

  When Radhauser turned and headed back to his house, Gracie stood on the porch, a mixture of tears and laughter in her eyes.

  “The doctor called. My lymph nodes are negative.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him hard, then put her arm inside his. “I’m so proud of you,” she said. “Come on Mister I-won’t-ever-change-my-mind. I want to meet Bryce, Miss Tilly and Kendra. Not to mention the great Kendrick Huntington Palmer III. We’ve all got some major celebrating to do.”

  She paused and gave him a big grin. “And by the way, Murphy called. He sounded a bit sheepish, but he’s lifted your suspension.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Exactly twenty minutes passed before a buzzer sounded and the bailiff stuck his head into the holding room door. “We’ve got a verdict,” he said.

  Kendra and Bryce locked gazes.

  “We’ve called Judge Shapiro,” the bailiff continued. “He slipped home—guess he didn’t expect anything so soon.”

  The courtroom filled rapidly and there were more spectators than earlier in the day, more reporters and cameramen than the courtroom could contain. They pushed together in front of the door as Bryce was led to the defense table, his arms folded in front of him, his breath coming hard. He lowered his head and tried to regulate his air intake and prevent a panic attack.

  Kendra’s father walked up to the defense table and stood in front of them. “You did a fine job with your closing,” he said, holding out his hand. “I never thought I’d say this to a public defender, but I’m proud, and your grandfather will be, too. You’re one of the best damn lawyers this family ever produced.”

  Kendra gripped her father’s outstretched hand. “Thanks. Coming from you, that means something. And thanks for your help finding Dana’s surgeon and Henry Evans’ psychiatrist.”

  He flashed another rendition of his daughter’s rich girl smile, then turned to Bryce. “Good luck to you, son.” He firmly shook Bryce’s hand, then took his seat behind them in the first row.

  A few minutes later, Judge Shapiro entered. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” his booming voice echoed in the suddenly quiet courtroom. “I understand you have reached a verdict.”

  “We have, Your Honor,” the foreman answered.

  “Pass it to the bailiff, please.”

  The bailiff crossed the courtroom to the jury box, took the folded piece of paper from the foreman, and delivered it to Judge Shapiro.

  Judge Shapiro unfolded the paper, raised his eyebrows as he read the verdict, then handed it back to the bailiff who returned it to the jury foreman.

  “Will the defendant please rise?” the judge said.

  Bryce and Kendra rose, the rustle of papers on the defense table the only sound in the courtroom.

  “Mr. Foreman,” Judge Shapiro said. “On the second count of the indictment, the child abuse of Scott Sterling, how does the jury find?”

  “In the case of the state of Oregon versus Caleb R. Bryce, on one count of child abuse of four-year-old Scott Sterling, we find the defendant, not guilty.”

  * * *

  As cheers echoed through the courtroom, the words repeated themselves inside Bryce’s head. Not guilty. Not guilty. The room whirled around him.

  His mother let out a cry and began to sob.

  Bryce stopped breathing and didn’t move.

  The courtroom broke into applause.

  When the noise level decreased, Judge Shapiro turned his attention to the jury, thanked them for their swift administration of justice, then dismissed the jurors.

  Before they could leave the courtroom, spectators nodded and smiled as Bryce, dumbfounded, drew in a breath.

  It was finally over.

  He stared in disbelief at the jury, some of whom wiped their faces with handkerchiefs as they filed out of the room. When he turned to Kendra to shake hands, she threw her arms around him. “We did it, Bryce.”

  Stunned, he couldn’t quite follow the thread of what went on around him anymore. All Bryce knew was that he and Kendra Huntington Palmer, IV, were standing at the front of a courtroom where people he didn’t even know applauded his innocence.

  Judge Shapiro stood and, without precedent, came down from his throne. He shook Bryce’s hand. “You’re free to go, Mr. Bryce. I’m sorry, truly sorry, for what you went through here. But the system worked. And justice has been done. May the rest of your life be filled with happiness.” He turned and left the room.

  A free man. God, what did it mean to be a free man? He looked at Kendra. “What do I do now?”

  “Well, you could check back into the prison hotel for the night, have a few drinks and a quiet dinner with Poncho and your other intimate friends, or go home. Take your pick.”

  “I think I’ll go home.”

  She smiled. “You can pick up your things tomorrow or next week. Or never.”

  “I don’t have anything in that jail I want, except my watch and ring. And the photos of Jason and his family.”

  Kendra took his arm. “I’ll make sure you get them,” she said as they left the courtroom.

  Reporters flocked around them, and camera flashes exploded in their faces. A young reporter thrust a video camera in front of Bryce. “How does it feel to be exonerated of all charges?”

  “I don’t know,” Bryce said. “I haven’t had time to feel anything yet.”

  When they finally emerged from the wall of reporters, Bryce and Kendra stepped onto Oakdale Avenue. “I have a surprise for you, Bryce.”

  “I don’t know how much more I can handle today.”

  A sandy-haired man rose from his perch on a wooden bench just outside the courthouse. He stood in front of Bryce, his old white cane discarded in favor of a beautiful German Shepherd seeing-eye dog in a harness with a handle attached. “I got one question for you, Caleb Bryce.” Noah Morgan smiled. “How’s the sky look?”

  “Dazzling,” Bryce said, staring into a blue-spun universe that suddenly swelled with hope. “Noah. Noah. Noah. I can’t believe it’s really you.”

  Noah reached down and petted the dog. “This is the guy who took your place. He’s my eyes now. And besides that, he’s a chick magnet, and far more handsome than you ever were. His name is Vision. Go ahead. Shake his paw.”

  Bryce squatted and held out his hand. Sure enough, Vision gave him his paw.

  “I’m pleased to meet my replacement,” he said. “Looks like you’ve taken good care of him.”

  “Let’s get moving,” Kendra said. “There’s a party waiting at your place. Tilly and your mother have been cooking for days.”

  Bryce climbed into the front seat of Kendra’s car. Noah removed Vision’s handle before they both climbed into the back. Through the rearview mirror Bryce watched Noah pet the dog’s sleek coat.

  On the short drive to Bryce’s house, Noah leaned forward and turned his face so Bryce could read his lips, then filled him in on the details of his life, told him he was married, lived in Salt Lake City, and had two young daughters. That he taught creative writing at the Lake Institute where they’d spent their boyhoods.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job of staying in touch, but after Courtney died…” Bryce shook his head. “And now you’re a father.”

  Noah grinned. “You were right. It’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “Tel
l me about your job.”

  “The Institute has over two hundred students and you wouldn’t believe what a difference technology makes. Our blind kids have talking computers. They actually tell the students what they’ve written. It’s fabulous.”

  “Is Dr. Russ still headmaster?”

  “He retires later this year. He sends his regards, says he wants to see you again. I was so sure you weren’t guilty I told him I’d bring you to his retirement party.”

  Kendra pulled up in front of Bryce’s house. The driveway and all the parking places on the street were taken.

  “I’ll drop you three off, find a parking place and be back.”

  Bryce, Noah, and Vision got out of the car. Noah reattached the handle to Vision’s harness.

  The front door flew open and Tilly hobbled out to greet them, making a gallant and hilarious effort to run. “I knew it would be all right, Bryce. I just knew it.” Her heavy feet crunched the gravel driveway as she enveloped Bryce in a bear hug and didn’t let go until he finally untangled her arms.

  “Tilly, I’d like you to meet my other best friend in the world, Noah Morgan.”

  “You’re the one from the school for the deaf and blind. The one Bryce named his baby daughter after.”

  “That would be me.”

  “I’ve heard many a tall tale about all the mischief you boys got into at that school. I feel like I’ve known you forever.” Tilly hugged him, too.

  But when she spotted Kendra, she let go of Noah and stumbled down the driveway, then threw her arms around her. “I swear to God. You are smarter and more beautiful than that Perry Mason fella ever dreamed of bein’.” When she planted a big kiss on Kendra’s astonished face, Bryce burst out laughing.

  Noah took Tilly’s arm and they walked up the steps. “I’m very happy to know that Bryce has you for a best friend now.”

  Bryce took Vision’s handle and stepped into his house. The living room was decorated with crepe paper streamers and balloons and a long table filled with food. Above it, a hand-painted sign read Welcome Home, Bryce.