Intertwined with that image, superimposed upon it, was that of a devastated young mother bent forward in agony, holding the still form of her infant son against her breast and looking into my eyes as we both began a descent into hell from which we would never fully recover.
“Do you want a divorce?” I asked, the question squeezing past the barriers I was already erecting against the knowledge in my mind.
“No,” she shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Oh, Phil, I—”
“Do you love me?” I asked, because it suddenly mattered terribly.
“Always,” she said, stepping towards me. “I always have, Phil. I always will. This was noth—”
“Hush, Anna. Don’t say it.”
She buried her face in the towel and began to cry. “I just couldn’t…sometimes it’s so dark here, Phil. Every time I manage to pull myself out of it to move on, you pull me back. You won’t let it go; you define everything by Jeffrey, and I can’t live that way. It’s hard enough—”
“Stop it!” I slammed my palm down on the sink vanity and Anna jumped, once again losing possession of her towel. “We won’t do that, Anna. Neither of us is without guilt. We won’t stand here and point fingers. It’s not my place to do that, and it certainly isn’t yours.”
A case would later be made that my anger regarding Anna’s pregnancy propelled me to plan her death, but although that made a neat and tidy package for the jury, it wasn’t true. No sooner had my anger surfaced than it dispersed. It was possible, I discovered in that instant, to have such a mix of feelings one ends up feeling nothing at all, much like a fuse that overheats and is subsequently blown. It was an emptiness that proved to be fertile ground for denial.
The only thing I was sure of as I once again retrieved Anna’s towel from the floor was that against all reason, I wanted that baby. I deserved that baby, by God, not only to make up for all of our past losses, but to make up for the current one, too, the one I steadfastly refused to see. Over the years, I’d accepted the life we had, but the universe was extending another chance to live the life I’d thought we’d have. No doubt I was irrational, but it wasn’t a violent break with rationality; it was instead a protective one. I wanted to protect what I had: my marriage, my life, my home. And now, my child.
As I handed the towel to her once again, I already envisioned a future much as I’d envisioned two decades before, one with me, Anna, and a baby. In spite of my vasectomy, our prayers were suddenly answered, as if it were meant to be. Providence, fate, whatever was at work I was convinced this time everything would turn out right. Any doubts I had about the origin of the baby were quickly dismissed, neatly excised from the truth that was evident, and instead sealed tightly behind the truth I wanted.
“You’ll need an appointment,” I said, surprised at my ability to form a coherent sentence out of the jumble in my head.
Anna nodded, her expression a mix of confusion and surprise. “I’ve already made one for next week,” she said, attempting to scrub the tears from her cheeks. “I had hoped….Phil, I’m so sorry. As horrible as it sounds, as horrible as this makes me, I had hoped to have it taken care of before you even knew. It’s a terrible mistake; I haven’t been myself. I just want to erase it all, pretend nothing’s changed, go back to what we had….”
Her words swirled around me, some floating into the space between us, others lodging themselves into the cracks of my heart. “What do you mean, ‘taken care of?’ You can’t just erase a person, Anna. How could you even have considered such a thing?” I was stunned at her misunderstanding. Of all the revelations I’d had about Anna that morning, this one shocked me the most. For the first time ever, I saw her as someone distinctly different from the person I had married. But then, I was different, too.
“Phil, we obviously can’t move forward with this,” she glanced down at her front, her eyes huge, her expression disbelieving. “It’s not…Phil, please! Don’t make me say these things. I can’t have a baby now. I’m too old; it’s too late,” her voice rose. “There are the medical issues; I can’t go through that again. This is crazy. All of it is crazy. I can’t believe this is happening. Oh, God. I’m so sorry.” She folded to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, her cries muffled by the towel.
The prosecutor would later claim I’d insisted Anna carry the pregnancy to term as a form of punishment. Knowing her medical history, the risks involved, he would insist I’d hoped for the worst, a passive sort of murder, and when that hadn’t happened, I’d taken a more aggressive approach. During the months since her death, I’d spent many hours going over things in my mind, questioning my motivations, and I don’t believe those accusations to be accurate, not even on a subconscious level. What was true, however, was that in the list of things I’d determined to protect, I’d forgotten to include Anna.
So I left her there, rocking against the unyielding oak of the bathroom cabinet.
Chapter 39: February 11, 2013—Trial Transcript
The Court: You may proceed, Mr. Young.
Prosecutor: Thank you, Your Honor. Mrs. Tyler, you are the mother of the victim, is that correct?
Connie Tyler: Yes.
Prosecutor: We’re sorry for your loss, ma’am.
Connie Tyler: Thank you.
Prosecutor: Kleenex?
Connie Tyler: Yes. Thank you.
Prosecutor: Mrs. Tyler, when did you learn your daughter was pregnant with her latest child, Peter?
Connie Tyler: Oh, I think it was in October.
Prosecutor: Of 2011, you mean?
Connie Tyler: Yes. That’s right.
Prosecutor: Who told you she was pregnant, Mrs. Tyler?
Connie Tyler: Anna did. I knew something was bothering her. She didn’t seem well. Sad. Quiet.
Prosecutor: What did she tell you regarding the circumstances of her pregnancy, Mrs.Tyler?
Connie Tyler: I’m not sure what you mean.
Prosecutor: Did she tell you Phillip Lewinsky was not the father of the child?
Connie Tyler: I don’t know why you need to do this to her. To her memory. What does it matter now?
Prosecutor: I do apologize, Mrs. Tyler, but I assure you it is important. We all want to see justice done for your daughter. So I need to ask again: Did she tell you Phillip Lewinsky was not the father of her child?
Connie Tyler: What you people don’t seem to understand is that sometimes there just isn’t any justice. But if you must know, yes. She did. She confided in me one Sunday, when they’d come to our house for dinner. She was highly upset. Crying. I knew something was wrong, so when Phillip and her father retired to the living room, I asked her what was bothering her. She said she was pregnant. I’ll be honest with you; I was worried. Because of her history, you know. And even without her history, she was on the older side to be finding herself pregnant. I was afraid for her health.
Prosecutor: And was it at that time she told you Mr. Lewinsky was not the father?
Connie Tyler: Yes.
Prosecutor: I’m sorry, Mrs. Tyler. You’re going to have to speak a little louder.
Cathy Tyler: Yes. That’s when she told me. It was hard for her to confide in me, and I swore I’d never tell anyone. And now here you are making me.
Prosecutor: Did she say whether or not Mr. Lewinsky was aware of the paternity of the baby?
Connie Tyler: She said she thought he probably knew, but that he wouldn’t allow her to talk about it.
Prosecutor: Did she indicate she’d tried to talk to him about it?
Connie Tyler: Yes. She said she’d tried, but he refused to discuss it.
Prosecutor: Mrs. Tyler, did your daughter indicate her feelings about her pregnancy?
Connie Tyler: She said she was worried. She was worried about her health, because of her medical condition and her age. She was also worried about…about losing the baby. About what that would do to her, mentally, you know, after all she’d experienced.
Prosecutor: Mrs. Tyler, I know this is diffi
cult, but did your daughter speak to you about the possibility of an abortion?
Connie Tyler: It was too late for an abortion by the time she told me about the pregnancy, but she did say she had considered it. She said Phillip wouldn’t hear of it. She said he flat-out refused to consider abortion.
Prosecutor: Even in spite of the risks to Anna’s health, he wouldn’t consider abortion?
Connie Tyler: That’s what she said.
Prosecutor: Were you also worried about Anna’s health?
Connie Tyler: Of course. But she was under the strict supervision of her doctor throughout the pregnancy.
Prosecutor: Mrs. Tyler, after the baby was born, did Mr. Lewinsky ask you to move into his home to help?
Connie Tyler: No. He didn’t ask me; I volunteered.
Prosecutor: Didn’t he, in fact, tell you he was “at the end of his rope” with Anna and the baby?
Connie Tyler: Yes, but that was because—
Prosecutor: Thank you, Mrs. Tyler. No further questions.
The Court: Mr. Stone? Your witness.
Defense Attorney: Mrs. Tyler, first of all, I’m sorry for your loss.
Connie Tyler: Thank you, Brian. I know you are. Could I have a tissue, please?
Defense Attorney: We would ask the Court for a short recess in order to allow Mrs. Tyler some time to compose herself.
The Court: Granted, Mr. Stone. We’ll reconvene in fifteen minutes.
Chapter 40: March 30, 2012
Only once, during all that time, did Anna directly express her wishes, and that was the night of my discovery. We’d not spoken since that morning, since I’d left Anna huddled in the bathroom floor. I’d come home later than usual, having stopped with coworkers for a drink after work, something I rarely did. To be honest, I was a coward. I was afraid to go home. I didn’t know what to expect, so I put it off as long as I reasonably could.
To my surprise, I’d arrived home to find it lit with candles, soft music in the background, lasagna, fragrant and steaming, on the table. Anna uncorked the wine just as I walked through the door. I accepted the offered glass willingly and without question, until Anna poured her own glass to the brim and clinked it against mine.
“You’re drinking?” I was surprised. In the early years, through the failed pregnancies, all the way through losing Jeffrey, Anna hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol, or caffeine either, for that matter. Personally, I hadn’t thought an occasional glass of wine would cause any harm, but Anna had been adamant, rigidly adhering to the dietary advice of her doctors.
But not that night.
“I can drink,” she said, “because I’m not keeping this baby. I already told you I have an appointment for next week.”
Those were the words that had kept me from home, that had compelled me to spend the evening in a bar instead of with my newly pregnant wife. I’d worked so hard all day to fortify my belief that first, the baby was most certainly mine (of course it was—how could I have even doubted?) and second, we were getting a final chance at a dream we both had shared, that I couldn’t bear the thought Anna might be in a very different state of mind. Carefully, I set my glass down and turned to look at her.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am, Phil. I’m not a young woman; it’s not as if we’re still in our thirties, trying to have a family. That life is gone. I’m forty-four years old, too old to have a baby.”
“You make it sound as if we’re days away from being sent to an old folks’ home. Plenty of people have babies at our age, Anna.”
“Good for them,” she said, and took a long sip of her wine. “But I don’t want to. I don’t want the anxiety, the worry, the sickness or discomfort. I don’t want the mood swings, the depression, the risks involved. I’m too old to be a PTA mom, and I don’t have the energy to host slumber parties. Twenty years ago, hell, even ten years ago, I would have jumped at the chance. But I’m too old now, Phil. I don’t want it.” She shrugged, a gesture I read as a challenge.
“But you’re just talking about the abstract idea,” I pointed out. “Think of the baby. I think you’re letting your fear get in the way of the reality of us finally having a family. This is what we’ve always wanted.”
“No, it isn’t.” She set her glass down, too, and leaned across the table towards me. “It’s what you’ve always wanted. I stopped wanting it a long time ago, when I realized the two of us are a family. If you ever listened to me, you’d know that. A baby is the very last thing we need.”
“You don’t mean that, Anna.”
“Oh, my God. You….” She shoved her chair back from the table, clearly frustrated. “What does it take for you to hear me? I do mean it, Phil. I’m not in a place to want to raise children. I’m comfortable with my life, my job. Call me selfish, if you need to, but I don’t want to give up what I have. It’s too late for me to make the changes I’d need to make to raise a child. I’ve told you that for years. This dinner….This is about working on us, our marriage.
“We have things to work on, Phil. Otherwise, we wouldn’t find ourselves in this spot. And I want to do that, to work on things. I love you. I miss you. I think back to our earlier years, even some not-so-early years, and I feel like we’ve lost ourselves, or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m lost. I’ve made mistakes, God knows I have, but I want to fix them. A baby won’t do that for us. In fact, it’s the worst thing that could have happened, and I suppose it serves me right.”
We regarded each other across the dining room table, the lasagna congealing in front of us. “Anna,” I paused, unsure what to say. “I want to work on our marriage, too, but this isn’t going to just…just go away, you know.”
She shoved aside her plate, folded her hands on the table in front of her. I’d never seen Anna look the way she did that night. She wasn’t just determined, she was hard, angry. “It can,” she said, with a tilt of her head, “if we make it.”
I was shaking my head before she’d even finished. “We just can’t do that, Anna. After all we’ve been through, after all you’ve been through, you’d really be okay with that? Don’t you feel that would be like,” I struggled for words, “like slapping karma in the face? Okay, so it’s later than we’d planned, but now that it’s happened, would you really be okay with….” I couldn’t even say the word. “With ending it?”
She crossed her arms and leaned back, her expression defiant. “Are you going to fight me on this? Because if this is some sort of punishment—”
“No.” I stopped her before she could say more. “Wait. Let’s just slow down. This is so sudden and unexpected for both of us. Let’s take some time and think about things, at least a day or two, so we don’t make any decisions we’ll regret.” I was terrified of her words, our words. I knew the things we said that night would set the path for our future, and that frightened me; I wanted to tread very carefully.
“There are so many opportunities for regret here, Anna. I don’t want that. I want to fix things, too. You’ve always been the most important part of my life. I’m not sure where I’ve failed you, but I’m willing to take a look at it and try to fix things. But we need to be careful here, tonight, with what we say and do. We owe that to each other. Okay?”
As quickly as Anna’s anger had appeared, it disappeared, and she dissolved into tears. “It’s too late, Phil.” I watched helplessly as she wiped her eyes on her shirttail and poured herself another glass of wine. “It’s already too late. Either way, we lose; there’s simply no good option.”
“It’s never too late,” I told her, “as long as we’re both willing to try.”
But I had been wrong, and Anna had been right. It was already too late.
We didn’t fight again, not after that first day. We’d spent so many years treating each other with kid gloves by that point, I’m not sure either of us knew a way out of it. We arose the next morning almost as if the previous day had never happened. Anna’s eyes were swollen from crying and her face was drawn, but her voice was cheer
ful as she wished me good morning, and she hummed as she cleared away the dinner dishes we’d been too tired to wash the night before.
I watched her carefully, taking my lead from her. If she was willing to move ahead without revisiting our previous discussion, I was only too happy to oblige. She held me close before I left for work, and I returned the embrace, stroking her back for a moment before releasing her.
If her good cheer was too deliberate, I chose not to notice, and when she called later in the day to tell me she loved me I chatted happily with her about any number of mundane topics: the weather, an irritating coworker, a lab test I was running, a quarrelsome student she had to advise. I couldn’t remember the last time we had stopped in the middle of a busy day to reach out to one another, and I savored the experience.
Neither of us mentioned Anna’s upcoming appointment, and the week passed like any other. I was grateful for that, as well as for Anna’s seeming acceptance of her pregnancy. She made an appointment with her doctor, replaced her morning coffee with juice, and the half bottle of wine leftover from our disastrous dinner found its way to the garbage bin, the remaining contents poured down the drain.
Eventually, over time, we shared the news with family and friends, all of whom expressed pleasure once they’d absorbed the initial shock. Unlike with her previous pregnancies, Anna experienced no morning sickness with Peter. She was instead the picture of health. Her condition carefully monitored, she was full of energy and what appeared, to the outside world, anyway, to be if not exactly excitement, at least a cautious acceptance of the upcoming birth.
Blessed Are the Wholly Broken Page 14
