By the time the EMTs arrived, both Tom Coggan and Jennifer Bishop were dead.
The Phone Call
Late that morning two uniformed policemen stepped onto the front porch of the Bishop house and rang the doorbell. They waited for several minutes, and when there was no answer they began knocking at the doors of the nearby houses.
Jennifer’s next-door neighbor, Marta Feldman, was watching The Price is Right when she heard the knock. Just as Drew Carey was about to reveal the correct price of the Whirlpool dishwasher the knock sounded again.
“I’m coming,” she called out then snapped the television off and headed for the door. When she saw two policemen standing on her porch, she clutched her hand to her heart and gasped.
“Don’t tell me something’s happened to Walter!”
Looking a bit puzzled, Officer Scott repeated, “Walter?”
Marta gave a fearful nod. “Walter Feldman, my husband. Has something—”
“We’re not here about your husband,” Scott cut in. “But we do need to ask a few questions about your neighbor…” He glanced down at his notes. “…Jennifer Bishop.”
“Jennifer?”
He nodded. “Do you know if Missus Bishop lives with anyone?”
“How could I not know? I’m right next door.” Marta stepped out onto the porch and glanced up and down the street. “If you want to know something about Jennifer, why don’t you ask her?”
“There’s no one at home. All we need to know is—”
“Drew, her husband, lives with her. They have a daughter.”
Marta liked Jennifer and her little girl too. She was none too anxious to give out information they might want to keep hidden. Her brows pinched into a suspicious frown.
“What’s this all about anyway?”
Without answering the question, Scott asked, “Do you know how we can get in touch with Drew?”
“No, I do not,” Marta replied in a bristly tone. “And I’ll not say another thing unless you tell me what this is about. If Jennifer is in some kind of trouble—”
“No trouble,” he said, “but there’s been an accident. Missus Bishop’s cell phone had her home number on it but wasn’t programed with an emergency contact, and we’re trying to figure out who to get in touch with.”
Marta’s hand flew to her mouth. “Dear God. What kind of—”
Without giving her the chance to finish her question, Scott again asked about the husband.
“Drew works for a printing company and travels a lot,” she said. “He comes home every week or two then goes again.”
“Do you know how to get in touch with him?”
“Me? Of course not. But if you have Jennifer’s cell phone his number is in there. Brooke might have it, but she’s just a child and I doubt—”
“Brooke, is she their daughter?”
Marta gave a reluctant nod. “She comes home at about three o’clock, except on days when she has after-school activities, then it’s later. Four maybe. Or five.”
“She’ll need someone to stay with her,” Scott said. “Do they have family nearby?”
Marta shook her head. “Not close by. Jennifer’s parents live in California, and Drew’s daddy…well, I forget where he lives, but it’s nowhere around here.”
“Any close friends you know of? Or should we just get Child Welfare Services?”
“Child Welfare?” Marta exclaimed. “How can you suggest such a thing when I’m standing right here? Jennifer and I are neighbors! What makes you think I would allow Child Welfare to take my neighbor’s daughter?”
“Are you saying you’d be okay with watching the girl until we can get in touch with her father?”
Marta defiantly thumped her hands on her hips. “That is precisely what I am saying.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Scott said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
Both policemen turned away before Marta could ask anything further.
“Call in and have them check the listing for Drew Bishop on her cell phone,” Scott told his partner as they climbed back into the squad car.
As she stood and watched the patrol car pull away, Marta could feel her heart thundering. She had a sixth sense about trouble and knew this was bad. Very bad. Although the officer gave no details, it was obvious something terrible happened to Jennifer. The probability was she’d been injured or, God forbid, was now dead, and there was no telling how long it would be before Drew returned home. Marta’s thoughts went to Brooke. She pictured the child’s big blue eyes and trusting smile.
The girl was only seven years old, eight at the most. Too young to have a next-door neighbor tell her something bad had happened to her mama.
Marta stepped back inside and closed the door. Wondering what to do, she stood at the window watching the walkway to the Bishop house. After a long while she decided that at least for now she would keep the news from Brooke. She would stand at the window and watch for the school bus, and if Brooke didn’t get off of the bus she would continue to stand at the window and watch for one of Jennifer’s friends to bring Brooke home. As soon as a car pulled into the driveway she could hurry out and tell Brooke her mama said she should stay with her until someone got home.
Several times Marta ran through the scenario, anticipating the questions Brooke might ask and coming up with answers that had the sound of legitimacy. Once the pieces were eased into place, she stood at the window with her eye fixed on the bus stop at the corner.
~ ~ ~
Drew Bishop was on his way from Macon to Atlanta when he got the call. There was construction on Route 75, and the traffic noise was worse than usual. The screen flashed “unidentified caller.” He pushed the Talk button and said, “Drew Bishop.”
“This is Officer Scott of the Clarksburg Police Department—”
“Speak louder,” Drew said. “They’re working on the road, and I can hardly hear you.”
“I said there’s been an accident. Your wife, Jennifer, was at the drugstore and there was a robbery—”
Drew pulled to the side of the highway and stopped. “Is she okay? Was Brooke with her?”
“Your daughter wasn’t with her,” Scott said, delivering the most positive news first. “But Jennifer was shot.”
“Shot?” Drew’s voice trembled. “Is she—”
“I’m sorry, Mister Bishop, there was nothing anyone could do,” Scott said sympathetically. “She was gone before the EMTs got there.”
Scott explained that Marta Feldman had volunteered to take care of their daughter until Drew got home.
“Does Brooke know?” he asked.
“No,” Scott answered. “Your wife’s name has not been released to the press yet, and we’ve not given Missus Feldman any of the details so I doubt she’ll say anything. I think it would be better if you were the one to tell your daughter.”
Drew pictured Brooke side by side with her mama, and he could already feel the heartache of delivering such news.
“I’ll get there as quickly as I can,” he said. “I’m east of Atlanta right now, and the drive will take about five hours.”
After giving a few more details, Officer Scott’s voice was gone as suddenly as it had come. The screen flashed, “Disconnect call?” Beneath the question there were two options, “Yes” and “No.” Drew ignored them and dropped his forehead onto the steering wheel, his heart thundering in his chest and his breath coming in thin ragged puffs. In what felt like a single heartbeat, his world had fallen apart and his life forever changed. It seemed almost unreal, like a nightmare he should somehow be able to break free of.
Three short days ago he’d held Jennifer in his arms and felt the warmth of her love. She’d kissed him goodbye and playfully nibbled at his ear.
“Hurry home,” she’d said, “because you never know what trouble I could get into while you’re gone.”
She’d laughed, and even now he could hear the echo of that laugh.
How could it be that someone so alive is suddenly gon
e?
A flood of thoughts passed through his mind as he looked back on that morning: Brooke, still wearing her pajamas, wiping sleep from her eyes hugging his neck and kissing his cheek.
“Goodbye, Daddy,” she’d said. Sometimes she complained about him leaving but not that morning. Everything had been good that morning and now, just three days later…
Brooke. Oh, God, poor little Brooke.
He reached forward and pressed the Start button. He had to get home. Quickly.
As he made his way through the construction traffic, Drew placed three calls. The first two were canceling the appointments he had scheduled.
“Family emergency,” he said.
The third call was to Marta Feldman. As he listened to the phone ringing he thought back on the day Jennifer had programed that number into his cell phone. They’d gone to Virginia Beach for a long weekend, and halfway there she’d remembered the geraniums on the front porch.
“They’ll die without water,” she said and then called information to get Marta’s phone number.
That’s how Jennifer was. She knew how to ask someone for a favor and make them feel good about doing it.
“You’re a sweetheart,” she’d told Marta and promised to bring her a box of taffy.
That day he’d teased her about fussing over a few potted plants, and she’d laughed. It was a laugh that filled the car with the sound of happiness. It was a laugh he’d never again hear. Drew’s eyes blurred, and he blinked back the tears that began to roll down his cheeks.
The phone rang several times before Marta picked up. She answered in a hushed voice.
“Marta, is that you?” Drew asked.
“It’s me,” she said. “There’s been an accident, have you heard?”
After a long pause he finally answered, and the sound of a sob could be heard in his voice.
“Yes, the police called me.”
“Don’t worry about Brooke,” Marta said. “She’ll stay here with me after she gets home.”
“She doesn’t know yet, does she?”
“No, I thought it would be easier if you told her.”
“Thank you, Marta. Thank you for everything.”
Drew wanted to say thank you for watering the geraniums, but he didn’t. Instead he leaned on the horn then pulled out and flew past a slow-moving U-Haul. “I’ll be there in a few hours.”
Marta heard the sound of the horn again.
“Drive carefully,” she warned. “Brooke needs you.”
“I know,” he answered wearily.
As he continued down Route 75, he couldn’t dismiss the thought of those damn geraniums. He kept remembering how Jennifer had thought to bring home the box of taffy, and he’d not even taken time to walk across the lawn and say thank you.
A sorrow greater than any he’d ever known settled into his soul, and he began to realize what a vast emptiness Jennifer had left behind. Yes, he would miss her, more than he’d miss an arm or a leg, but he wasn’t the only one. There were so many others who’d feel an emptiness in their lives: all the friends and neighbors she’d taken time to care about. People like Marta and Walter. And then there was Brooke, a child as connected to her mama as the sun is to the sky.
Brooke most of all would feel the pain of Jennifer’s absence.
It was after ten when he arrived at the Feldman house, scooped the sleepy little girl into his arms and carried her home.
That night, long after he’d tucked Brooke into bed, he sat in the living room trying to sort through his thoughts. Trying to think of what had to be done. As he looked at the future the way Jennifer would have done, he came to the realization that he could no longer be an absentee father. He now had to be both father and mother to Brooke.
When he carried his suitcase upstairs to the bedroom, he saw the bed with the covers still folded back. He sat on the side of the bed, touched his hand to the pillow that still held the imprint of where she’d laid her head and cried.
Drew Bishop
How in God’s name can something like this happen? That’s what I keep asking myself. How can it be that one minute your life is fine, perfect maybe, then the bottom falls out and you’re left wondering how you’re going to make it through a single day?
Everywhere I look I see Jennifer—standing in the kitchen, calling out to me from the upstairs hallway, sitting on the side of Brooke’s bed, telling stories and kissing her good night.
Seeing Brooke’s face is like looking at Jennifer in a mirror of the past. She’s the spitting image of her mama. They’re alike in a thousand different ways: the blond hair, the expressions, the giggly laugh and maybe most of all the eyes. When I met Jennifer the first thing I noticed was the blue-green color of her eyes. I don’t know of another person with eyes that color…except Brooke.
There were so many things I never told Jennifer, and now I wish I had. We always had something more important to talk about. A new dishwasher, a bill that was due, plans for the weekend. Now none of those everyday things matter. Instead of talking about those things, I should have told her when I’m far away in a strange hotel room I picture her and Brooke and wonder what they’re doing at that exact moment.
Jennifer knew I loved her, but I so seldom told her how much. I never thought to call just to say she was the heart and soul of me, the heart and soul of our family. I never thought to say without her I would be an empty shell. I never thought to say it, because I never thought it would happen. You don’t expect a woman as alive and vibrant as Jennifer to die. You just never expect it.
All these years we’ve been together the days have flown by. Weekends came and went in the blink of an eye. Now time all but stands still, and I’m stuck in this God-awful minute. This minute of knowing that Jennifer is gone, and in the morning I’ll have to tell Brooke. If it’s this difficult for me to accept, I can’t begin to imagine how hard it will be for her.
Even though I know what is in store, I pray God will give me the words I need. I pray He’ll help me tell Brooke in the gentlest way possible so I don’t break her tiny little heart. I know such a thing is impossible, but still I pray.
When Morning Comes
Brooke put her hand on her daddy’s shoulder and gave a gentle shake.
“Where’s Mama?” she asked.
Drew felt a tightness clutch his heart when he saw his daughter standing alongside of the bed, her face just inches from his.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” he said and pulled himself up on one elbow. “You’re up very early.”
“Where’s Mama?” she repeated.
There was no easy answer. Drew thought he’d have more time to pull the right words together, to say what he had to say in a way that was less painful. He sat up, swung his legs to the floor and took her small hands into his.
“I love you, Brooke,” he said soulfully, “and your mama loves you too. She once told me if she had to choose the most perfect little girl in the world it would be you. Not in a hundred million years would she ever want to leave us, but sometimes things happen, things we can’t—”
A frightened look settled on Brooke’s brow. “Did something happen to Mama?”
Drew gave a solemn nod. “Yes, baby, it did.”
He felt the churn of his stomach as he began to explain. “Yesterday a bad man did an evil thing, and your mama got hurt—”
“Is she in the hospital?”
“No, I’m afraid not, honey.”
“Then why didn’t she come home?”
“She wanted to. God knows your mama would be here if she could. She loved you more than anything on earth, but she didn’t have a say in what happened.”
Brooke bit down on her lip as it began to quiver. “Is Mama coming home today?”
“No, baby, she’s not,” Drew replied softly. “Your mama’s not ever coming home again. She can’t. God took her up to heaven.”
“Only dead people go to heaven.”
“Yes, Brooke, that’s true.” He wrapped his arms around he
r, pulled her to his chest and held her.
“You’re squashing me,” she said and wriggled free. “You’re just saying that to scare me. Mama’s not really in heaven…is she?”
Brooke’s eyes became watery as her voice turned to a trembling mix of fear and childish demand for truth.
A long sigh rattled up from Drew’s chest. It was heavy with the sorrow he himself felt.
“I would never try to scare you, and I would never say such a thing if it weren’t true.”
“Don’t say that!” Brooke angrily pushed back and looked up at Drew with tear-filled eyes. “Where is Mama really?”
“In heaven,” he repeated.
The tears overflowed Brooke’s eyes as she stood there looking up at him.
He gently pulled her into his arms and whispered, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
He kissed the top of her head and breathed in the scent of the vanilla bean shampoo Jennifer used. He held her close, and she buried her face in the cradle of his neck. With his hand on her back he could feel the heave and pull of her tiny body as she sobbed. Her tears continued for a long while, soaking into his tee shirt and cracking his heart into a hundred million pieces.
When the tears finally slowed she asked about what happened.
How could Drew possibly explain this tragedy to a child when he barely understood it himself? He reached for the simplest version he could find. The truth was too harsh, too cruel to tell, so he tried to soften it.
“There was a robbery at the drugstore,” he said. “The policeman told me your mama must have walked in and startled the robber. The gun accidently went off, and the bullet hit your mama.”
Silver Threads Page 2