Blessed Are the Wholly Broken

by Melinda Clayton

  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.

  Chapter 44: June 2-3, 2012

  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  Over time Anna became less withdrawn, losing some of the weight she’d gained and for the first time since Peter’s birth, taking care with her personal hygiene.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.

  Chapter 45: June 3, 2012

  It was a hellish trip to Big Hill Pond. There’s no other way to describe it. Anna sat in silence the half-hour it took us to reach Brownsville. I, on the other hand, was plagued by what I’d seen, or at least by what I was fairly certain I’d seen. As much as I tried to tell myself Anna would never harm our son, the more I allowed myself to think of it, the more I was convinced she had.

  It was the sound I couldn’t deny, no matter how hard I tried. When I’d arrived in the bathroom, my heart pounding, my feet slipping on the tiles, for that split second before Anna turned and saw me I’d heard nothing other than the soft lapping of water against the sides of the tub.

  No panicked alarm raised by Anna. No cries from Peter. No furious splashing as Anna struggled to regain her grip. Nothing except the quiet sound of water settling after previously being disturbed. It was only after I called her name that she reacted. She turned towards my voice and then stumbled backwards with a choking Peter in her grasp.

  Dear God.

  As I pulled up to the pump to fill the car with gas, I didn’t even think about what I was doing before automatically removing Peter from his car seat and taking him with me. All the while, Anna sat immobile in the front seat, staring straight ahead. He was sleeping, barely even stirring as I held him against me with one hand and worked the gas pump with the other.

  I took him with me when I entered the store to pay, holding him in the crook of my left arm while I poured a cup of coffee from the machines in the back of the store. It was when I approached the counter that I saw Anna exiting the car. At first I thought she must be coming to join me. Neither of us had slept well; maybe she needed coffee too, although that would have been unusual for her. Anna had always had a clumsy streak; she’d never wanted to take the chance of spilling hot coffee in the car.

  But she didn’t turn towards the store; instead, she headed to the street beyond. Throwing what I hoped was enough money on the counter to cover the gas, I ran after her, reaching her and grabbing her arm just as she stepped off the curb. “Anna? What are you doing?”

  “Let me go,” she said, and as she turned to face me I saw she was crying. “Do us all a favor, please, Phil. Let me go.” Her voice was soft, clogged with tears.

  “What are you talking about? Come here.” I tried to pull her to me, but she held herself apart.

  “I’m no good. Not for you; not for Peter.”

  “You’re perfect for us,” I said, leading her back to the car while struggling not to lose my grip on Peter, who had awakened and was beginning to cry. “Anna, what is all this?”

  She didn’t answer as I briefly released her to open the car door, then gently nudged her in. I soothed Peter before securing him in his seat and sliding behind the wheel. Anna was turned away from me, but I could hear her ragged breathing in the silence of the car.

  “Please tell me what’s wrong. Let me help you.” I reached for her hand. She didn’t resist; nor did she return my squeeze.

  “You can’t.”

  Behind us, a car honked an impatient reminder. I let go of Anna’s hand long enough to pull away from the pump and get us back on the main road, then reached to take it again, holding it against my thigh in an effort to bring some warmth into her cold fingers. I was afraid, both for Peter and for Anna, but also for myself. “Talk to me.”

  “There’s nothing to say. You should have let me go.”

  “Go where? This is crazy talk, Anna. You’re not thinking clearly. We need to call the doctor again. We need to get you some help. Where were you going? What were you trying to do?”

  “It’s not what I was trying to do,” she said, and her voice dropped so I had to strain to hear. “It’s what I was trying not to do.”

  We pulled into the Big Hill Pond Visitor Center just before ten. Anna hadn’t spoken for the rest of the trip, but at least she’d stopped crying. Looking back, I should have turned
the car around in Brownsville and driven straight to the Tyler’s home. Looking back further, given what had happened with Peter and the bathtub I should have called the doctor’s emergency pager and insisted on getting Anna some immediate help. But how far should one look back? If I look back far enough, I see a marriage full of should haves, but isn’t that the case with every life?

  Isn’t it?

  I’m not sure why I continued on an obviously failed trip that morning. Maybe because I simply didn’t know what else to do. At any rate Anna and I sat in silence for several moments before I opened the car door and stepped out to retrieve Peter from his car seat in the back.

  “Bathroom break,” I said to Anna as I straightened with Peter in my arms. “Are you coming?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m fine.”

  I nodded and turned toward the restrooms. I was halfway there when I heard the car door slam.

  “Phil? Why are you taking Peter? Let me have him. I’m sure he needs changing by now.”

  I hesitated, which only served to annoy Anna.

  “For heaven’s sake, Phil, stop being ridiculous. You can’t possibly relieve yourself while holding a baby. What exactly do you think I’m going to do? Look, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but frankly, I find it insulting and I’m getting really tired of it.” She approached me and reached for Peter. “Give him to me,” she said, as she pulled him from my arms. “I’ll just get his bag from the car and we’ll meet you back here as soon as he’s nice and dry.” She bent down to kiss Peter’s nose. “You need a bathroom break too, don’t you sweetie? Phil, hand me your keys.”

  Still, I hesitated, but Anna turned to pop the trunk and retrieve Peter’s diaper bag, and in the bright summer morning, the blue sky above, the sound of people talking and laughing, the smell of the lake, I felt as if we’d both been behaving ridiculously. We were both tired; we’d had a stressful few weeks. Maybe the day would work out after all, I thought. Maybe the fresh air would clear our heads and put everything back in perspective. I watched Anna sling the bag over her shoulder and slam the trunk lid before turning to continue my way to the restroom.