Blessed Are the Wholly Broken

by Melinda Clayton

  Only I knew otherwise. Some nights, across the expanse of our bed, I could hear Anna crying. “I can’t do this again, Phil,” she would say. “It’s too late.”

  I’d shush her, reaching across the darkness to assure her everything would be okay; I truly believed it would. “We’ll be fine, Anna,” I’d tell her. “You’ll see.”

  “But this isn’t what I want. It doesn’t feel right; it scares me.”

  “Anna,” I stroked her hair. “We’re in this together. We can do this. It’ll be fine, more than fine. It’ll be wonderful. You’ll see.”

  Looking back, it’s almost as if my stark denial of our situation was my lifeline through it all. As long as I could focus on the end result—a baby, our baby—I could be okay. I didn’t deliberately leave Anna out of that equation; instead, she chose not to join it, and I chose not to change it.

  Peter Michael Lewinsky was born at 1:30 a.m. March 30, 2012. My first inclination is to say the birth was relatively easy for Anna, but that’s not entirely true. Her labor was relatively fast, as it had been with Jeffrey. Unlike Jeffrey, both Peter and Anna had been monitored closely throughout the pregnancy and delivery, factor V Leiden never far from our thoughts. As a result, Peter entered safely into the world and was placed without incident into Anna’s arms.

  I suppose it should not have been a surprise to me, given Anna’s state of mind throughout the pregnancy, that she exhibited more trepidation than joy upon his arrival. “Do you remember when Jeffrey was born,” she asked me, shortly after our friends and families had finally departed for the night, “and they whisked him away? You didn’t know where to go, whether to stay with me, or to go with him.”

  “Of course I remember.” I bent to kiss her forehead, stroking a finger along Peter’s downy scalp, laughing as he scrunched up his little red face. He already had a head full of Anna’s auburn hair, a fact that pleased me. “But you don’t have to worry, Anna. Peter is fine. You’re fine. We knew this time.”

  “Do you remember what I said to you?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “But let’s not think about that now, okay? Let’s just enjoy this moment.”

  “This is important, Phil.” She reached across Peter, who nuzzled at her breast, to put a hand on my arm. “Do you remember?”

  I didn’t. What little I remembered of that night was cloaked in shadows, which is exactly the way I wanted to leave it, and I told her so.

  “As the doctor explained what had happened, I could see you were torn,” she said. “You didn’t know which of us to be with. I told you to go. I said, ‘You have to be there for him, because I can’t.’”

  “Okay,” I said, giving in. “But what does this have to do with now?” I was becoming annoyed. I wanted to focus on Peter, count his toes for the umpteenth time and argue over who he most resembled. I wanted to focus on the present; I didn’t want to be caught in the past.

  “Everything,” she answered. “No matter what, you have to be there for Peter if I can’t. He will always need one of us to be there.”

  That drew me up short, jarring me from my irritation. “Are you feeling okay?” I leaned back to better see her face. Her color was good, but her words worried me. I was suddenly terrified of losing her to a stroke. She was on anticoagulants and hooked up to all sorts of medical equipment; none of the beeps or hisses seemed out of sorts with what I’d grown used to, but knowing Anna as I did, I knew I’d need to pay close attention. “I’ll get the nurse.”

  “No, Phil. I’m fine. I feel fine. I just need to know that no matter what, if I can’t be there for Peter, you will.”

  “Of course,” I said, my concern mixing with confusion. “But Anna, you don’t need to worry. The doctors—”

  “Just promise me, Phil. That’s all I ask.” Her voice was quiet; she sounded drained. I studied her more closely, taking in the fine lines around her eyes, the downward curve of her mouth.

  “I promise, honey. I’m here for both of you, no matter what.” She leaned her head against the pillow, seemingly satisfied with my answer. “Let me take the baby,” I said, reaching for him. “You must be exhausted. Sleep, and I’ll take care of Peter.”

  She handed him over without protest and I gathered him against my chest, enjoying the warm weight of him as I reached to pull the curtains closed before settling into the room’s single chair, perfectly content to hold him through the night while Anna slept.

  At that time, given her health issues, I’d assumed Anna meant physically—if she couldn’t physically be there for Peter. But since that time, I’ve wondered. What did Anna see? What did she sense? Did she know even then, before Peter had even been bathed, the vernix still evident on his tiny body, that in fact she wouldn’t be there for him?

  I think she did, and it’s this knowledge I hold close to me when doubts creep in, when I see that awful morning in my memory. Anna loved Peter. I believe that, and I believe she knew, and she tried to warn me and to protect him. But I didn’t hear her.

  Chapter 41: February 11, 2013—Trial Transcript

  The Court: Your witness, Counselor.

  Defense Attorney: Thank you, Your Honor. Mrs. Tyler, you’ve known Phil Lewinsky for many years, haven’t you?

  Connie Tyler: I have. Over twenty. Just about the same amount of time I’ve known you.

  Defense Attorney: And in all that time, did you ever witness him behaving aggressively towards your daughter Anna?

  Connie Tyler: No. Never.

  Defense Attorney: Did you ever witness him behaving in a hostile manner towards Anna?

  Connie Tyler: No. I never did.

  Defense Attorney: Did you have occasion to witness Phil and Anna together during Anna’s latest pregnancy?

  Connie Tyler: Oh, sure. At least weekly. Sometimes more often. Either they were at our house, or we were at theirs. Or we met out in public, like at church or whatnot.

  Defense Attorney: During those visits, how did Phillip treat Anna?

  Connie Tyler: The same as always. He was always thoughtful with her. Patient. Caring. Worried about her health, making sure she was comfortable.

  Defense Attorney: And after the pregnancy, when you volunteered to move in with Phillip and Anna. Why was that, Mrs.Tyler?

  Connie Tyler: Anna was having some trouble adjusting. She was worn out, just plain exhausted. They both were, really. Peter was a little colicky back then. But you know, it’s hard on a woman, having a baby. Well, I reckon she was depressed. She wasn’t herself, and I could see Phillip needed some help. He couldn’t do it all on his own.

  Defense Attorney: Even during that time, with both Phillip and Anna exhausted, did you ever see Phillip lose his temper or behave aggressively towards Anna?

  Connie Tyler: No. He was worried about her, of course, but he was never angry with her.

  Defense Attorney: How about towards the baby? Did he lose his temper with the baby?

  Connie Tyler: Oh, not at all. He loves that baby. Phillip is an excellent father.

  Defense Attorney: Thank you, Mrs. Tyler. No further questions.

  Connie Tyler: Thank you, Brian.

  Chapter 42: Spring, 2012

  “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.

  Chapter 43: March 4, 2013—Trial Transcript

  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?