Heather Gudenkauf - The Weight of Silence

I have to smile at that, you thinking that I saved you and Petra, and maybe I did. I guess I’ll never know. It’s nice, sitting here with you; we don’t know what is coming next with Dad, but I figure it’ll all turn out okay. “What do ya want to watch, Calli?” I ask you and you answer me, just like it should go.

DEPUTY SHERIFF LOUIS

I do not go home after the shooting. It is an empty place, what with Christine and Tanner gone. In one crazy day I have lost my wife and my son. I end up at my desk at the station, writing my report, trying not to forget any of the key details. I’ve seen a lot as a deputy sheriff; I have seen the aftermath of suicides, meth lab explosions, I have seen women beaten by their husbands who somehow decide to go back for more. That makes me think of Toni, staying with Griff, who was obviously a mess and didn’t take good care of her, not the way I would have, anyway. But there is something about seeing someone you know inside and out on the edge of being killed. Nothing prepared me for that, no amount of training or years of experience readied me for seeing the barrel of a gun pressed to the head of the girl I first saw careening down a hill of snow on a sled when we were seven. Maybe it is a gift, not being the one to shoot Griff. Now maybe I can go in and help pick up the pieces of Toni’s former life. Start where we had left things so many years ago. Maybe this is my second chance with her. I hadn’t been the one to kill her husband. But will Toni think of it that way? Would Calli and Ben?

Maybe I’m no better than Griff was. He gave up his family for alcohol and it looks like I gave up my own family, as well. But for me it was because of a woman I had grown up with, one I couldn’t ever let go. So who is the bigger villain in the end? Is it Griff or is it me? I think that’s a question I don’t want to look at too closely, an answer I can live without finding.

Once when Toni and I were in the third grade we went walking in Willow Creek Woods. It was just the two of us, when all was innocent and a boy could still be friends with a girl and not be teased mercilessly by his peers. It was a brisk spring day, the light from the sun bright but lacking anywarmth. Toni wore an old sweatshirt of her brother’s and snow boots. We were walking across Lone Tree Bridge, carefully making our way across the thin tree trunk that had fallen across Willow Creek, holding hands, steadying each other so we wouldn’t fall. There on that day, holding the hand of my best friend, I could not imagine a life without her, without Toni, and I still can’t.

This morning I find myself calling Charles Wilson and apologizing on behalf of the sheriff’s department for any inconvenience we have caused him.

“No problem,” he says. “I’m just glad you found the girls.” I hesitate before hanging up. “Did you ever find your dog, Mr. Wilson?” I ask.

“Oh, yes,” he says. “He came home last night, tired and hungry. And embarrassed, I think, for the trouble he caused.”

I apologize once again and wish him well. He’s a good man, Mr. Wilson.

I go to the hospital, hoping to find Toni there with Ben and Calli. I come across her sitting in the waiting room, next to the information desk, looking at her hands. It strikes me that she looks much the same way as she did on the day she found out her mother had died.

“What am I going to tell them?” she asks me, not looking up at me when I stand next to her.

“I don’t know,” I tell her truthfully. I don’t envy her that task.

She stands and wobbles for a moment uncertainly and I hold her elbow to steady her and follow her to the elevator doors. “Do you want me to come with you, Toni?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says and reaches out for my hand.

ANTONIA

Louis helps me tell the children that Griff is dead. These are the hardest words that I have ever had to say, “Your father has died.” It is strange, though, they don’t ask how, they don’t ask why. Ben and Calli just accept the fact, no tears, no anger, just acceptance. Not for the first time, I wonder what in the world have I done to these poor children. I think that perhaps they are just numb. It has been a confusing, painful two days on many counts. One more piece of horrific news probably weighs the same as all the other pieces of bad news that are being piled on them.

Do I cry over Griff’s death? A good wife would say yes. But I am not a good wife. How many times did I wish that I would get the call that Griff was injured so badly on the pipeline that there was no chance for recovery, or that he was in a terrible auto accident and had died? Too many to count. Notice that these scenarios are all accidental deaths. I am too civilized to wish that someone would shoot my husband. But do I feel relief? Yes, I felt relief when his body slumped against mine, shot. I am relieved that it was not me who was shot, and I am relieved that I will not have to endure one more drunken tantrum from my husband, and that my children will not have to suffer through one again, either. I was not a good mother; a good mother would have packed her children up the first time her husband began throwing beer bottles at her; the first time he smacked her child a little too hard for spilling the orange juice; or the first time he made her child sit at the kitchen table for three hours because she did not, could not say, “May I please be excused.” A good mother would not have tolerated any of these things. But as I said, I wasn’t a good mother.

But I get a chance to start over, brand-new. To be a good mother, the kind of mother who protects her children, who will lay down her life for her children. Louis says that I already am that kind of mother, that I always was. But I don’t think so, not really. Here’s my chance. I want what I never got with my own mother, enough time. I just want enough time.

MARTIN

It takes eleven stitches to sew up the damage that Griff Clark did to my head when he hit me with the gun. As a result, I’ve got a concussion and have to spend the night in the hospital away from Petra and Fielda. This morning my head aches terribly, but I know that my daughter is in so much more pain and I am quickly preparing to leave, to make the trip to the hospital in Iowa City to be with my girls. Just as I finish tying my shoes, Antonia Clark comes into my hospital room. She sits on the edge of a chair while I wait for the doctor to sign my discharge papers.

“I should be coming to see you,” I say apologetically. “How are Calli and Ben doing?” I ask.

“They’re going to be fine,” she tells me. “How is Petra?”

“She is out of surgery. She’s still asleep, but it appears the surgeon was able to relieve some of the pressure on her brain from the injury.”

We sit in silence for some time until I am finally able to choke out the words that need to be said. “I’m sorry, Antonia. I am so sorry I came to your home with a gun. I truly believed that Griff had something to do with what happened to Petra. That is no excuse, I know, but I am sorry. It is because of me that he is dead.”

“Martin, look at what Griff did to your head. Look what he did to Calli. Drunk, he took her from her home at four in the morning without shoes and dragged her through the woods so he could take her to who he thought was her real father. He ended up getting them lost, beat up his son and held a gun to my head. Griff wasn’t all that great of a guy, Martin.”

“No,” I say cautiously. “But I’m sorry that he died. I’m sorry your family has to go through another bad thing.”

“We’ll be okay. We’ve got each other and that’s what’s important, right?”

I nod.

“Do you have a ride to Iowa City? You’re not going to drive, are you? Your head must still be hurting.”