Say Nothing
Page 41
I asked myself: if I had known, at that very moment, how this would all play out . . . that we would have twenty-five years together . . . that we would make two amazing children . . . but that it would end with the worst agony imaginable. If I had full knowledge of all that, would I still have said hello to that incredible woman in front of the student center?
Of course I would have. My only regret was that I couldn’t live every second of it all over again.
By the end of the service, I had managed to dial my attention back in. The pastor was giving instructions as to how the burial was going to proceed before we started singing the final hymn, which would then give way to the benediction.
But first, he said, there was one small addition to the service, something that wasn’t listed in the program. This, he explained, came at the request of Alison’s children.
I had no idea what he was talking about. Emma and Sam were on either side of me, tucked under my arms. I looked down at them, but they were already squirming out from under me. With a poise Alison would have loved, they walked toward the front of the church.
The pastor was leaning over. From somewhere inside the pulpit, he pulled out two small objects that I didn’t even recognize at first, I think in part because my vision was so blurry from the tears. Then my eyes finally focused.
He was clutching two small stuffed animals. Emmabear and Sammybear.
The pastor walked out from behind the pulpit and met the children by the altar. Sam, naturally, got there first. The pastor handed him Emmabear. Emma, right behind him, accepted Sammybear.
The children approached their mother’s casket. They climbed a stool that had been placed there for them, sharing space on the top of its platform. Sam reached out and patted his mother’s shoulder. Emma grabbed her hand.
The church was dead silent, but for the sound of sniffling into handkerchiefs. Then Emma’s clear, high, pure voice called out, “I’ll miss you, Momma.”
Sam followed with, “I love you, Momma.”
If there were three hundred hearts present, I think every last one of them broke at that moment.
Then Emma and Sam took turns placing a stuffed friend on either side of their mother. Alison had been their momma bear, the one who kept them safe and loved, no matter what the cost.
And now, in their own, small, six-year-old way, they were doing the same for her.
The children climbed down. The congregation began singing the final hymn. As the pastor lowered the lid to the casket, I mouthed one last good-bye.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As a father who was in the delivery room for the arrival of both his kids, I ought to know better than to liken writing to childbirth.
But I swear the creation of this novel was probably as close as a guy can come. And I’d like to thank the series of literary doctors, nurses, and midwives who helped me bring this baby, squirming and bawling, into the world.
Alice Martell, my Jedi Ninja Pimp, became an indispensable voice during the end stages of this book’s journey to publication. I can only imagine what a force she’d be if she actually knew how to buy a burner phone.
Jessica Renheim and Ben Sevier have been magnificent curators, cheerleaders, and champions for this work, and I feel fortunate to partner with them and the entire team at Dutton. That includes marketing gurus Carrie Swetonic and Christine Ball; publicity mavens Amanda Walker, Liza Cassity, and Becky Odell; copy editor Eileen Chetti; cover designer Christopher Lin; and a lot of other talented people at 375 Hudson Street. I’m so proud to call myself their author.
A number of eminent legal and medical professionals provided their expertise at various stages of the manuscript. That begins with two people, who I can’t name, who were incredibly gracious with their time and insights into what it means to be a judge. I couldn’t have written a credible Scott Sampson without them.
In addition, Shevon Scarafile and Greg Parks were my on-call attorneys. Arthur Hellman at the University of Pittsburgh Law School informed my understanding of judicial misconduct and its consequences. Drs. Laurie Lyckholm and Randy Ferrance served as my medical advisors.
Any slight discrepancies between how I did things in this book and the way the world actually works are because I decided to ignore their very fine advice.
My Hardee’s family, including the regulars on the morning crew—like Anne, Monica, Kenny, Dina, Trudy, Angela, Virginia, Matthew, Ashley, and Justin—kept me in good cheer (and Coke Zero) during the writing and editing of this novel. I’m only sorry our matriarch, Miss Teresa, no longer joins our daily fun. I miss her sorely.
As for my actual family, all thanks and love to Joan and Allan Blakely for being such wonderful in-laws and grandparents; and to Marilyn and Bob Parks, who brought me into this world and continue to help me thrive in it.
Lastly, and most important, I need to thank my wife and children for their unflagging love, understanding, joy, inspiration, and support; and for being the best part of my life, every single day.
I am an incredibly blessed human being. They’re why.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Brad Parks is the only author to have won the Shamus, Nero, and Lefty Awards, three of crime fiction’s most prestigious prizes. A former reporter with The Washington Post and The Star-Ledger (New Jersey), he lives in Virginia with his wife and two children.
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