The Weight of Silence

“Yes, me, too,” I say brusquely. I want to get out of there before Christine tries to pull me into her argument with Louis.

Agent Fitzgerald introduces me to the two as his colleagues, Agents Temperly and Simon. I smile at them in greeting and settle myself behind the wheel.

“We need to talk to your children, Mrs. Clark,” Agent Simon says to me.

“I know you do. Should we set up a time for sometime tomorrow?”

“You don’t understand,” says Agent Temperly. “We need to speak with Calli now.”

“No, you don’t understand. Calli’s had a horrible day, she’s sleeping right now. No one is asking her any questions tonight,” I declare firmly.

“We don’t need your permission to speak with a witness, Mrs. Clark,” Fitzgerald informs me.

I wonder whatever made me trust this man. “No, but you do need the doctor’s permission to speak with her. And if he says my children aren’t ready, then you will not speak to them!” I climb out of the car again and march right back into the hospital to let Dr. Higby know that under no circumstances is anyone to talk to my children until I get back.

DEPUTY SHERIFF LOUIS

I pull Christine to a more private corner of the hospital waiting room. Here we go again. Christine threw her little public fits about twice a year, then she would calm down and say she was sorry and we would carry on as usual until the next time.

“What is going on?” I ask her through clenched teeth. “I’m working here.”

“That’s half the problem,” she cries. “You’re working all the time. We never see you!”

“It’s my job!” I say, louder than I intend. I can feel many eyes on us. I glimpse Toni hurrying out of the hospital and wonder where she is going. Did she know that Griff was somewhere out there?

“And she’s the other half of the problem,” Christine’s voice breaks as she tosses her chin toward Toni. “You hung up on me, Loras! You were with her. Whenever she needs something, you go running. Right now, even, you’re looking at her, when I’m trying to tell you that we are leaving.”

That pulls my gaze back to Christine. “What do you mean, you’re leaving? Is Tanner really out in the car?”

“Yes, he’s sleeping. I locked the doors. He’s fine,” Christine growls.

“What if he woke up and climbed out? Jesus, Christine, use your head. Let’s go out there.”

“Yes, let’s go out there, Loras. You can say goodbye to him then. I’m taking Tanner back to Minnesota.”

“What? Like, for a vacation?”

“No, not like for a vacation,” she mimics me. “For good. We’re moving in with my parents until I get settled and can find a house.”

“You can’t just take Tanner and leave!” I explode. “You can’t keep me from my son.”

“I have no intention of keeping you from your son. You do that well enough on your own. We’ll work out those things later. Come say goodbye if you want.”

“Why are you doing this now, Christine?” I ask helplessly.

“I’m finally doing this, Loras. I am sick and tired of walking in her shadow.”

“You don’t have to leave, though. We can work it out. We always do,” I say unconvincingly.

“Do you know what it has been like for me?” Christine asks me. “Living in this town? With your history with her? You won’t get away from it and I can’t get away from it. I’m done, Loras. I am done.”

She walks away from me and into the hospital parking lot toward our station wagon. I follow, knowing I need to give my son a kiss goodbye.

MARTIN

As I creep from my car, which I have parked well down the road, I can see a police officer sitting in a squad car. He’s a reservist, a man from my own church. The interior light from the car casts shadows on his face; he is sipping from a coffee cup, reading. I steal past him unnoticed and move to the back of the Clark home to wait.

I settle behind a small copse of what my father would have called junk trees, thin, craggy things with trunks no bigger than my wrist. The night is still warm, but a soft breeze tinged with a bit of northern air has cooled things considerably. In fact, I am quite comfortable. Under any other circumstances I would be apt to doze off, but the weight of the gun in my lap is a hard enough reminder of why I am here. In the daylight hours I would be easily seen, but in the dark of night I have become an extension of the Clarks’ backyard, at least that is my hope. I have a good view of Antonia’s and Griff’s vehicles, both parked in the driveway near the back door.

From my vantage point I also see into the Clarks’ kitchen. The house is black. If the reservist discovers me, I can just say that I thought I saw a prowler and I came to investigate. A weak excuse, I know. I am also waiting for my good sense to return, but as of yet, it has not. I am a logical man. I know that it makes no sense for me to be stalking my child’s kidnapper and abuser by hiding outside his home with a gun. I am waiting for my good judgment to return to me, that I will suddenly realize that this is not how college-educated, reasonable men behave. But for the moment it does not matter that I am the head of the economics department at St. Gilianus, nor does it matter that for the past fifty-seven years I have been firmly ensconced in the conviction that capital punishment is inherently wrong. Anger rests in my belly like a buzzing colony of bees, scraping at my skin from the inside out.

So I wait, and I do not have to be patient for long. From where I sit I see a figure emerge from the woods, broad but moving in a stilted, uncoordinated manner. Should I go forward, confront the skulking being? Should I slink away, back to my mother-in-law’s, place Fielda’s father’s gun back into its velvet-lined box and hide it behind dusty old treasures? I pause too long for any of those scenarios to be an option, because just as I am going to make the choice, a choice that would surely change my life forever, a car appears and pulls in right behind the other two vehicles and out steps Antonia Clark. The shadow that came from the woods suddenly stops, then quickly retreats. Antonia steps from the car and moves to the front of the house, I hear soft murmurs of a conversation and then silence. I sit for what seems an eternity, listening to my own heart pounding, watching, my eyes darting from the woods to the house, back and forth, waiting.

I startle as the light above the back door comes on. The door opens and I see Antonia step out into the backyard, a bag on her shoulder, in her hands a green pillow and a stuffed animal. I watch as she squints into the darkness and then walks to the area where hours earlier the state crime unit was so intent. I expect Toni to turn and leave, but she doesn’t. She begins to walk toward the woods. In that moment, another choice is offered to me, one that unequivocally will change several lives forever. What will I choose? To warn Antonia or to sit in silence?

ANTONIA

I drive the familiar road back to the house. Our neighborhood looks abandoned, what with the press and all but one police car gone. We have no streetlights along our road and no lights burn in the Gregory home, or mine, for that matter. Hadn’t I turned a light on before I left this afternoon with Martin and Louis? Maybe one of the police officers switched off the lights when they left. I send a silent wish of good fortune on to the Gregory family. I hope that Fielda and Martin are sitting next to Petra right now, holding her hand. I am so fortunate to have my two back safely, damaged for sure, but physically whole. I am still hopeful that a long string of sentences will soon