Weight of Silence (27 page)

Rose has come back with a tray full of food. Pudding, Jell-O, soup, ginger ale. All soft food, she says, so I won’t hurt my face chewing. I have to smile at that. She is a nice old lady. She leaves me alone so I can eat; she says she’ll be sitting out in the waiting area if we need her. Says she knows I probably don’t want some strange lady sitting in our room watching us. She’s right. I just want to lie in bed, eat my mushy food and watch TV.

Calli, you’re still sleeping. I keep looking over at you, wishing you’d wake up. Because even though I don’t want Rose sitting in here with me, I’m still pretty lonely, and it seems like it’s taking Mom forever to get back here. Your nurse stopped in a few times to check on you, taking your pulse, checking your IV, feeling your forehead.

I try not to think of Dad. I’m beginning to feel a little bit guilty about what happened up on the bluff, but what was I supposed to think, with Petra all hurt and you looking so scared? I don’t think that I can ever look him in the eyes again
after what happened. I hope Mom understands. I couldn’t even tell her that Dad was the one to break my nose, but I think she knows, deep down.

I remember, Calli, before you stopped talking, you’d lie at the end of my bed, waiting for when I’d come home from school. Every day I knew that you’d be up there. I didn’t mind so much. You always left my stuff alone—you did like to play with my rock collection, but you couldn’t hurt a rock collection, could you? I’d open up my bedroom door and you’d be sitting there sorting out the rocks. You’d have a pile of black ones, of shiny metallic-looking ones, of pink feldspar and of yellowish calcite. You didn’t call them by their scientific names, though; you had your own names for each one.

“This is Magic Cat’s Eye,” you’d say about my black obsidian. Or you’d hold up my shiny quartz. “This is Ice Rock. If you bury it in the backyard, everything will all turn to ice.”

Sometimes I thought you’d never shut up. And now that you haven’t talked for so long, I can hardly believe that you ever will again. I miss it now. I never would tell anyone this, but I still talk to you, and in my mind you talk back. Of course I’m still the older, smart one, and you’re still my little sister, who couldn’t possibly know as much as me. In my head you’d say, “Ben, do you think that Daddy will ever stop drinking?” And I’d say back, “I just don’t know, Calli, but I suppose anything’s possible.” Or we’d just talk about stupid, everyday stuff like what we’re having for supper or what we’re going to watch on TV. I wish you’d wake up right now and say, “Ben, I want to watch channel seven, give me the remote!” But you don’t. Never once have I asked you why you don’t talk. I know it’s got something to do with the day Mom lost
the baby, though. I came home from Ray’s house and there Mom was on the couch. Someone had put a blanket over her, was it you? Someone had put a blanket over her, but the blood was seeping through. I asked you what happened over and over, but you didn’t say a word. You just sat on the floor by Mom, rocking back and forth, holding on to your stuffed monkey, and I called Louis and he called an ambulance. I thought for a minute you might say something when the baby came out. For the life of me I still don’t know why they let us two kids watch that. When the baby came outta Mom and they wiped her clean, and you reached out to touch her red hair, I thought you were gonna say something. But you didn’t. You just held your monkey a little tighter, rocked a little faster, until someone noticed us and called Mrs. Norland over to take care of us. At first, I thought it was because it must have been so scary seeing Mom fall down the stairs, but I watched you. I watched you real close after it all. I watched you when you were around Mom and when you were around me. And I watched you when you were around Dad, and I could see it real clear then. Your little face would go all stiff and you’d curl your fingers up real tight when he would come into the room. It wasn’t real obvious, but I knew something was up. I think Mom did, too, but she never said anything. Sometimes I think that’s what’s wrong with Mom; she doesn’t say what she should when she should.

I think you might be waking up. You are kind of wiggling around, trying to open your eyes, but you can’t. You’re so tired. I’m half-afraid that when you do finally open them up you’re going to start hollering like you did when you first saw me. I start to go for the nurse’s buzzer, thinking maybe you’re
hurting somewhere, but then you stop moving around and fall back asleep. I finish eating my chocolate pudding and keep flicking through the channels and when I look back at you, you are awake, just staring at me, like you can’t quite believe I am here. Then you smile, just a little bit, but it’s a smile anyway. I climb out of my bed and come over to your side.

“You okay?” I ask and you nod yes. “That’s good,” I say. You look at me kind of funny and I hurry up to say that I am okay, too. Then you do something that surprises me. You pull back your bedcovers and pat the space right next to you. I climb in next to you, being careful of the tube stuck in your arm, it’s a tight fit in your little hospital bed, but I squeeze in.

At home, at night, sometimes you’d climb into my bed with me if you couldn’t get to sleep and I’d tell you some story. Lots of times I’d tell you the regular fairy tales, Red Riding Hood, the Three Little Pigs. But sometimes I just made something up, like you and Petra being princesses and going on these great adventures. You liked them, though, those lame stories. And I figure you want me to tell you one now. I don’t know where to begin. It seems stupid to tell you a story about the Gingerbread Man after what happened today. Then I get an idea. Probably a really dumb idea, and if Mom had known I was going to start telling you this story, I’m sure she probably would ground me for life. But it just sorta begins to spill out of me.

“Once upon a time there were two princesses, one named Calli and one named Petra. These princesses were both beautiful and smart and they were best friends. They didn’t really care about being beautiful, though. They thought it was more important to be smart and brave. And they had many wonderful adventures together fighting dragons and witches and
trolls. The thing was, Princess Calli didn’t talk. No one knew why she didn’t talk, but she didn’t. She was still smart and brave. Plus she had Princess Petra to talk for her. They were quite a team, the two of them. Petra would say the magic words and Calli would wave her magic hands and the fire-breathing dragon would fall over dead and the mean old witch would be turned into a slug.” You smile up at me at this part, that is one of your favorite stories, the one about the witch being turned into a slug.

“One day, though, Princess Calli and Princess Petra got lost in the woods.” I stop and look over at you during this part. You look up at me like you aren’t sure what I am doing, but you don’t act like I should stop, so I don’t. The door opens and the doctor comes in, the one with the crazy tie. I think maybe I should stop telling the story, but he tells me to keep on going, that he is just going to check you and me over quick.

“So Princess Calli and Princess Petra were lost in the woods and the thing was they didn’t go into the woods on their own, Princess Calli’s dad took them there.” I look at you again and you are frowning, like what I am saying is all wrong, so I try again. “Princess Petra and Princess Calli went into the woods by themselves?” Again you shake your head no. I try again. “Some stranger took Princess Calli and Princess Petra into the woods?” Again, no. My idea isn’t working so good and I look at Dr. Higby, who sits down in a chair in the corner of the room, in a spot where you can’t see him. He gives me a nod like he wants me to keep trying.

“Only Princess Calli was taken into the woods by her father, who was under the spell of some nasty potion?” Calli nods hard at this and I sigh. Now I am getting somewhere.

My hands go to the tender spot where Griff had hit me with the gun. I can hear the police sirens getting closer and I am relieved. Such a stupid thing I have done, coming here, thinking that I could mete out justice like some all-knowing demigod. I could never actually shoot someone, even the most vile, evil of men. I am just an angry, silly, weak man, who once again has let things get beyond his control. I scan the ground before me, looking for the gun that Griff knocked from my hand. It is gone and so is Antonia. I have failed her, too. I feel dizzy and nauseous from the lump on my head and I lean against Antonia’s shed for support.

When the sirens are upon me and I see a number of officers spill from their cars I call out to them, not wanting to be mistaken for a criminal. Actually, that is exactly what I am. An inept vigilante. Within seconds I am surrounded by police officers, one of them being, to my relief, Deputy Sheriff Louis.

“Where’s Toni?” he asks me immediately. “Where did he take her?”

“The woods,” I say, pointing in the general direction I had seen her run. “She tried to get away, but he was too quick. They went into the forest.” Without another word, Deputy Louis is gone and behind him a gaggle of officers follows him, including Agent Fitzgerald.

A woman in a blue suit much too formal for the situation, I absurdly think, steadies me by holding my arm. A man takes my other arm and they gently settle me to the ground.

“An ambulance is on the way,” the woman assures me. “Are you Martin Gregory?” she asks.

“I am,” I say weakly, still holding my throbbing head.

“Let me see.” She shines her penlight on my head and winces at what must have been an awful gash. Her companion fishes a handkerchief from his suit jacket and presses it into my hand.

“I’m Agent Simon and this is Agent Temperly. We’re assisting in the investigation of your daughter’s abduction. Can you tell us what happened?”

“I made a mistake. I made a big mistake,” I say, feeling very sleepy. This must have been how Petra felt, I thought, with the gash that I had seen on her head. I’m in pain, this is certain, I have an incredible urge to just sleep, but what Petra has to be going through is so much worse.

“What happened?” the woman asks me again.

I sit for a long time saying nothing, not sure of the way to tell them, to share my ridiculous story of selfishness. Finally, Agent Simon rescues me by saying, “What happened to Antonia Clark?” This I can answer.

“Her husband took her into the woods.” Again I point in the direction that I saw Antonia run.

“Did he have any weapons? There were reports of gunfire,” the agent named Temperly asks.

“A gun,” I say, knowing now that I could not postpone the inevitable. “I think he picked up the gun from the ground and took Antonia into the woods.” Blood has seeped through the handkerchief that Temperly handed to me. I fold it, trying to find a clean spot to hold against my head.

“What gun from the ground?” Agent Simon asks, I think already knowing the answer.

“My gun. I came here with a gun,” I admit. “Then Antonia arrived and I couldn’t let her go in the woods where he was. Not after what he did to my daughter. So I warned her. We hid and he found us.”

“Did you threaten him with the gun?” Agent Temperly asks.

“No, no, but I was holding it. That was threatening enough, I think. He knocked it from my hand and it went off, into the ground.” I show them the damaged ground where the bullet had impacted. “He hit me with the gun and Antonia tried to run away. He caught her and pulled her into the woods. They could not have gone far. It’s not loaded, though. The gun. I only had one bullet and that one was used.”

“It’s not loaded,” Simon says, her voice oddly grave.

“That’s a good thing.” I look at her in confusion.

“It’s a good thing if you’re Antonia Clark. It isn’t a good thing for Griff Clark and the officer who may shoot him because they both think the gun is loaded.” Agent Simon turns to her partner. He nods and he walks away, I am sure to try to contact the officers who have dashed into the forest.

“You know coming out here was not a smart thing to do, don’t you, Mr. Gregory?”

I nod miserably and wince at the movement. My eyelids grow heavier. Sleep is what I crave.

“Your wife has been searching desperately for you.”

Immediately my sleepiness vanishes. “Petra,” I gasp. “Is Petra okay?” I try to stand, but my quick movement sends a wave of pain and dizziness through me and I sit hard upon the ground.

“Hey, stay put, you need a doctor. I don’t know exactly what is happening with your daughter, but your wife needs to speak with you. We’ll get you to a phone as soon as possible, Mr. Gregory, I promise.” Once again the piercing sound of a siren fills my ears. An ambulance. For me, I suppose. Hopefully just for me and not Antonia. Surprising myself, I think, hopefully not for Griff Clark, either.

Griff is dragging me through the woods and I am screaming at him to stop, to please stop. Finally he does.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Toni! Jesus. Do you really think I would do those things to Petra? Do you?”

He looks so pathetic and sad that I almost feel sorry for him. I have known Griff long enough for me to know how to handle him. I reach out to him with my other hand, slowly, no sudden movements, and gently remove a leaf that is stuck in his hair. “No, Griff, I don’t think you would have done anything to hurt Petra. I am just trying to understand what happened.” I let my hand rest on his shoulder. In one hand he still holds the gun. With the other, he holds tightly to my upper arm, and I think I know where Calli got her bruises. He drops his head onto my shoulder and coughs out a dry sob.

“Calli was up early this morning. We went for a walk in the woods and got lost. We got separated…”

I bite back a response to Griff’s obvious omission of im
portant details, like why Calli was only wearing her nightgown and no shoes on this walk and why he hadn’t left a note telling us where they were.

“I swear I never even saw Petra until I found Calli on top of the bluff. Then Ben came up and saw—saw Petra. She looked so bad. But I didn’t hurt her, I was trying to help her, God, I swear, Toni. I didn’t do anything to her.” I can feel Griff’s tears on my neck. I wonder if they are real as I pat his shoulder.

“We’ll just tell everyone that, we’ll tell everyone that you didn’t do it, Griff.” I cup his face in my hands and make him look at me. “Griff, they have tests to see if someone really committed a crime, they do DNA testing. When they run those tests they’ll know you didn’t hurt her.”

“I know, Toni, Jesus, I’m not an idiot,” he snarls at me. “But I felt for her pulse, I tried to help her! I practically threw up all over her up there. They make mistakes. The police make mistakes all the time. You gotta tell them. You gotta tell them I was with you or something. That I couldn’t have done this!” He is gripping my arm even more tightly, the gun in his hand resting on my shoulder.

“I will, Griff, I’ll tell them. Don’t worry, I believe you!” I say convincingly. “I’ll tell them you were with me, that you went up there to look for the kids and Ben made a mistake. Don’t worry.”

Griff looks relieved and he lets go of my arm. “Thank you, thank you, Toni. You won’t be sorry. I’ll stop drinking, it will be good now, I promise. I know I’ve made some bad mistakes, but it will be better now.” He smiles at me gratefully. “Do you remember what it was like before? It’ll be like that again, like
when Ben was little. It was good then, wasn’t it? I’ll quit the pipeline, get something here in town. Or maybe we’ll just move, start all over in a new place. Won’t that be better? We could go to the ocean. You’ve always wanted to see the ocean. We could go live by it, get a house right on the beach.”

I nod. “Yeah, that’ll be good. It’ll be good.” I’m surprised that he remembers this about me. “Come on, let’s go back now. We’ll talk to the police, they’ll understand.”

“I don’t know.” Griff hesitates. “I think that I might have hurt Martin. I hit him pretty hard. God, I shouldn’t have hit him so hard.”

“What were you going to do? He had a gun, remember? You were scared. You were protecting yourself. Come on, let’s go home. They’ll be looking for us, it’ll be better if we go to them, Griff. Please, let’s go, the kids need us.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Griff frets. “Let’s keep going. You know the woods better than anyone. Let’s keep going, then when things calm down we’ll go get the kids.”

“Keep running?” I ask. “But why? I told you I would cover for you. It’s okay, we need to get to Calli and Ben. Please, Griff,” I beg.

“You’re always takin’ their side. Jesus, Toni, just do this one thing for me, please, then we’ll get the kids. We can get to Maxwell by morning if we can get over to Highway Eighteen in the next few hours. Then we’ll make sure the coast is clear and go get the kids.”

“Griff, Calli’s feet are all bandaged up. She’s not going to be able to travel for a while, and Ben’s got some broken ribs. We can’t just start dragging them around the countryside.”

“Then we’ll come back for them in a week or so, when
they’re doing better. Toni, come on, they’ll be coming in here soon after us.” He sounds desperate.

“You go on without me, then. I’ll tell the police everything. How you were with me, how you didn’t do anything but take Calli for a walk this morning. I’ll tell them that you just want them to know the truth before you come home. They’ll understand that, I’m sure they have arrangements like that all the time. You go on to Maxwell. I’ll make sure the kids are okay, then meet up with you soon.”

“You’re lying,” Griff says in a wounded voice, grabbing my arm again.

“No, I’m not, I’m not,” I assure him.

“Jesus, you’re lying to me!” His face twists in grief and he begins to drag me deeper into the forest.

“Griff, you’re hurting me, please stop, please!” I try to pull away from him, but he waves the gun in my direction.

“You’re coming with me. We’ll get to Maxwell, then we’ll get the kids.”

I begin to cry noisily and brace my feet against the dry earth. He easily tows me along behind him like a child’s pull-string toy. “Shut up!” he orders. I can’t stop my sobbing; my cries come forth in loud brokenhearted jags.

“Shut up!” he bellows. “Goddammit, Toni, they’re gonna hear you. Shut up!”

Panic has overtaken me and I can’t catch my breath. I begin hyperventilating. My fingers are tingly and I have a strange numb sensation around my mouth. I look up at Griff helplessly.

“I can’t breathe!” I try to tell him, but all that comes out is a hiss of breath as I try to gulp in more air.

“Shut up! Shut up, Toni, they’ll hear you!” He grips me by
the shoulders and thrusts me up against a tree, my head striking the rough bark. “Shut up, shut up! If you don’t be quiet you will never see Calli and Ben again, do you hear me? They’ll find us! I will not go to jail for something I didn’t do! Shut! Up!”

“Please,” I whisper, catching enough breath to speak. “Please let me go.”

He leans in close to me, puts his lips close to my ear and murmurs, “If you say one more goddamn word, I will shut your mouth for good. Now shut up.”

I go still, not because of his threat, but because I had encountered this very same scene, in a different time and a different place, as an outsider looking in, but the same nevertheless. Poor Calli, I thought. Poor little four-year-old Calli, watching her mother fall down a flight of stairs. His screams of “shut up, shut up” causing Calli to cringe, not able to stop crying. I remember lying on the couch, covered in a blanket, watching Griff screaming at his little four-year-old daughter. I remember Griff bending down to whisper into Calli’s ear something, something. And for four years, she has only spoken one word. One lonely word.

“Oh, God,” I gasp in his ear. “It was you, it was you!”