Sister of Silence

by Daleen Berry

  “I think so.” He grinned, then said, “What about you? Is there a Mr. Leigh?”

  “Well, that’s not an easy question to answer…” I paused, then added, “Since we’re separated.”

  I saw the curious look Brad gave me and shrugged. “Just trying to work out a few details, that’s all.”

  We talked easily all the way back, making me realize how good it felt to have someone listen who wasn’t constantly criticizing me. It also felt different from my professional interviews, where I merely asked questions and took notes as I listened to someone else talk. But with Brad, I was doing all the talking, and somehow the topic had come around to writing.

  “So I thought I would tie in the angle about the planes being used to carry military cargo. That should make it a little more interesting. But I’d like to do some more research before I write it up. Who knows, there may be something else I’ll learn before I’m done.”

  “You’re very good at what you do. It’s obvious you do your homework before you write a piece.”

  “Well, I’ve learned from prior experience that it can’t do any harm to ask questions,” I said, nodding, “and usually it results in a much better story.”

  He smiled. “You’re a terrific writer.”

  I blushed again. “Why thank you, Brad. That’s very nice of you.”

  “No, I really mean it. You have a way with words,” Brad said, his expression serious. “Just give me a ring anytime you need my help with a story.”

  “Thanks for coming along. I couldn’t have gotten any prints at all without you, and besides, I’m sure your pictures will be much better than mine could ever be,” I said as Brad got out of my car. “It was nice meeting you, and I’ll call if I need you to do anything else.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.” He smiled and waved goodbye. As I watched his reflection in my rearview mirror, I thought about how good it felt to receive such sincere compliments.

  I could use a lot more of that. It’s so different from the usual put-downs I hear.

  Our shared experience, high in the sky, created an instant camaraderie, and during the next couple of months, I learned Brad’s friendliness was genuine. He had no ulterior motives. He quickly became an invaluable friend and co-worker. We worked together again at the Rowlesburg Ox Roast, an annual country fair held each Labor Day weekend. We chatted as we walked around the fairgrounds, deciding what shots to take. Suddenly, Brad stopped dead in his tracks. “You have four kids?” His look was incredulous.

  “Yes, although sometimes it seems like twice as many.” I laughed at his reaction. It was the same one I got every time anyone learned I had four children.

  “Wow! You don’t even look like you’ve had one—much less four.”

  “Brad, you are so good for my ego!” I laughed. “You know, if you don’t knock it off, my head is going to swell to twice this size.”

  “No, really, I mean it. Do you mind if I ask how old you are?”

  “I just turned twenty-six.”

  His hand went to his forehead, sweeping his hair back in a familiar gesture I was beginning to recognize. “You’re only three years older than me.” He shook his head again. “And you have four kids. Man, have you been busy.”

  I blushed and he added, “I’m sorry, I just meant—”

  “It’s okay; I get that all the time.” We began walking toward the amusements. “Why don’t we get a picture of the Ferris wheel?”

  “Sure. Come on, we’ll get one from the top.” Brad ran ahead and I hurried to catch up.

  “You mean ride it—together?”

  He glanced at me sideways, giving me that silly grin. “No, we’ll go separately and I’ll take pictures of you riding it. Of course we’ll ride it. What better place to get a picture than from the air? Besides, we can enjoy ourselves at the same time.”

  “All right, I’m game.” We handed over our money and sat down, rocking gently back and forth as the carnival worker lowered a metal bar across our laps. As the bucket seat began rising higher into the air, we could see the river from across the ball field. The air was warm, the sun was bright, and billowy soft clouds floated overhead, making it a perfect day.

  “Looks a lot different, doesn’t it?” Brad asked, snapping some pictures of sights below.

  “Yes, it does. The park is lovely. I think the town’s much prettier now than it was before the flood.”

  “I think so too. I mean, it’s a shame so many people lost their homes, but the whole town looks much better now. This park is great.” He leaned over to take some more shots of the new playground equipment.

  “So tell me, Brad, who watches Jason while you and Connie work?”

  “My mom keeps him.”

  “That’s good. You know, two is a great age. I sometimes wish I could have kept my own kids at that age—except for the terrible part of those years, that is.”

  “We’re pretty fortunate. Jason hasn’t reached that stage yet.” Brad put his camera down.

  “What does your wife do?” I asked.

  “She’s a pharmacist.”

  “Sounds like a good job,” I said.

  “Yes, except for the long hours. But it gives Jason and me some time together. He’s with my mom during the week, but Saturdays are for us.” Brad spotted something, and picked up his camera again. “Look at those kids down there.”

  I looked in the direction he was pointing, to two girls eating ice cream. “You sound like you’re very proud of him.” I smiled, recognizing the paternal pride in Brad’s voice.

  “I am.” He turned to look at me and I was once again struck by how handsome he was. I thought how easy it would be to let myself get lost in those blue eyes and that beautiful smile.

  The sudden thought startled me. You’re married, my inner voice reminded me.

  Our bucket came to a gradual stop and as we got out, Brad turned to give me his hand, helping me up. As I took it, I felt a sense of loss. For what, I didn’t know. Maybe for never having experienced such kindness. And now that I was, it wasn’t with someone I could have an intimate relationship with—the kind I should have within my own marriage.

  Wouldn’t it be nice if Eddie treated me like that? What a joke! Now that we’re separated, the chances of that happening are more remote than they ever were.

  “Well, I need to head back to the office since it’s early, so I can get this film developed,” Brad said as he turned to go.

  I waved as I drove off, and couldn’t help wondering what Eddie would think if he knew I had just spent two hours in the company of another man. Granted, it was two hours spent working, but it was with another man, nonetheless. I realized he’d probably be pretty angry, not to mention jealous. He never wanted me anywhere around another man if he wasn’t right at my side.

  He probably judges all men by his own, unfaithful standards.

  Then I remembered Eddie wasn’t there—he was still staying with his sister. I felt a wonderful sense of independence, like a bird being set free after having been held captive since birth. It was exhilarating!

  Not only did Brad teach me a few techniques to improve my own photography, but on a personal level, working with him was great for my self-esteem. Men had always given me appraising looks, so that was nothing new. But I knew Brad saw the real me—someone with a good head on her shoulders, who cared about people, and who had things to say that mattered. I also knew that, as a colleague, Brad found me attractive. But more important, he talked to me in a way that made me feel pretty. Pretty in a good, wholesome way—not like Eddie always made me feel, since my husband only saw me as a sexual toy, good for his own gratification.

  Not long after Brad and I began working together, Cathy Ford disappeared. The Grant County woman’s body was never found, but the authorities charged a sheriff’s deputy with her murder and succeeded in getting a guilty conviction. Linda summarized the case for our readers, but I pored through everything I could get my hands on, reading every detail about Ford and the blood pol
ice found throughout Paul Ferrell Jr.’s mobile home.

  I suspected the articles may have contributed to my nightmares becoming so vivid that I had only recently begun to remember them. They had been occurring a couple of times a week for a few years, and were always the same: I was wearing a wedding gown, running through a long building, trying to escape my knife-wielding husband.

  But it had taken my becoming a reporter and seeing other cases up close, for me to finally understand those dreams.

  I was afraid Eddie would kill me.

  I began writing down all my dreams as soon as I woke up, trying to piece together anything my unconscious mind was trying to tell me. My relationship with the local police continued to grow, but I remained tight-lipped about what went on in my own home, never talking about it to the “men in blue” I saw every day.

  Suddenly, a year had come and gone. I loved my work and looked forward to each new story, but Eddie and I had recently reconciled. At the time, it was—like so many women—for the sake of the children. It wasn’t long before he was hassling me again. At first, he told me how proud he was I had gone to work as a reporter. But not long after, he quit his paving job to return to the coal mines. Then he began making snide comments, pressuring me to quit. Determined to do anything but that, I went to see Linda.

  “I think we might be able to work something out. Why don’t we talk about it and see what we can come up with?” she suggested.

  I was thrilled when she said I could write my stories at home, as long I met my deadlines.

  “You know, you’re so good at this. Everyone raves about what a terrific job you’re doing and it would be a shame for you to lose all of that. Besides, you’ve been such a godsend for me. You can’t imagine the amount of work you’ve taken off my shoulders,” Linda added.

  “Have I really helped that much?” Even to my own ears I sounded incredulous. I knew she liked my work, but I had never realized how much.

  “Absolutely! You have such a way with words, and your writing skills are improving all the time. Not that they were bad when we hired you. And your column, it’s terrific. Oh, here, a letter came for you in today’s mail.” She handed me a postmarked envelope, one of several I had recently received. Usually they were filled with praise for my column, but occasionally there was a complaint. I wondered which one this letter contained.

  I left Linda’s office feeling better than I had in days, and more secure in the knowledge that she valued me. I was so thankful, because anything else would have seriously endangered my goal of saving enough money so I could leave Eddie and support my children.

  And seeing my plans derailed in that regard was the last thing I needed.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I knew the day when I would leave Eddie was not far off, but in the meantime, it again became impossible living as we were. He was always yelling at one of us, and in turn, we were always living in fear of doing something that would trigger his anger. Not knowing how long it might be before I could make my escape, I suggested we go to a marriage counselor. I thought it might give us some peace and quiet, or at least teach Eddie how to manage his anger. As it turned out, I was the one who had something to learn.

  I casually suggested it one evening when Eddie was sitting at the dining room table, flipping through the pages of an auto magazine.

  “We seem to have the same problems, over and over. I thought maybe we should consider seeing a counselor,” I said, hearing the hesitancy in my voice.

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “Whatever you think.”

  “If you don’t want to go, Eddie, just say so. But I can’t stand to see things go on like they have been, either,” I said.

  “Okay, I’ll try it. But I’m not making any promises.” Eddie followed his statement with a grunt.

  He went back to his magazine and I went to the kitchen for a glass of water, before going upstairs to bed. As I passed him, I stopped beside his chair. “Thank you, Eddie. It means a lot to me.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  We met Trudy Shaffer during our first session one week later, in a large upstairs room of a private psychology firm. The room was light and airy, with watercolor prints hanging on the walls. It was a pale ivory, and decorated sparingly. A thriving ivy plant sat in the center of a wooden Quaker table under a window that overlooked the street below. There was also a fireplace and a bookcase, filled with books on a variety of psychology-related topics.

  It was a lovely, soothing room, and I instantly felt at ease. Trudy’s short dark hair bobbed as she offered us seats. She told us she specialized in family counseling, and seemed really nice and down-to-earth. Eddie even seemed impressed. We didn’t go into too many details, just told her why we had come, and she asked some general questions about our jobs and our children.

  “We need to keep a written record, kind of like a game plan, so I’ll know what progress we’re making. Now Daleen, you said you feel that you and Eddie have stopped communicating, but you still love each other. Is that how you see it, Eddie?”

  He thought a moment before answering. “Yeah, I guess so.” From where he sat, in a chair across from both Trudy and me, it was hard to read Eddie’s expression. But I could see a bit of humor there, as if he thought our visit was amusing.

  “Do you see any other problems? Daleen said she’d like for you to work on your temper, but does she do anything that bothers you?” Trudy asked him kindly.

  “Oh no, the problems are all mine. Everything’s always my fault.” Eddie seemed to slump down even further in his chair, his arms crossed in front of his chest like a belligerent child.

  “I see.” Trudy looked from Eddie to me.

  “That isn’t true, and you know it,” I chided him.

  “Well that’s what you always tell me. That if I didn’t cause so many problems everything would be just fine,” he shrugged.

  “Eddie, I know I have problems I need to work on, but I feel like I’m trying, and you’re . . .” I paused, then added, “Well, you’re not.”

  Trudy turned to me. “He’s what? Not trying, you mean?”

  Eddie answered instead. “Yeah, that’s what she always says. But why should I try, when she’s so perfect and nothing I do is good enough for her?”

  I could hear the sarcasm and anger in his voice and I was embarrassed, but I wasn’t backing down. The sooner Trudy sees how things really are, the better. We might as well get it all out in the open now.

  “That’s not true, either,” I said. “I’m not perfect, and I don’t pretend to be, and as far as accomplishing things—why, anytime you do something, I tell you how wonderful it is.”

  Eddie remained silent as Trudy watched us. “See what I mean? She knows everything, so why do you need me here?”

  “Eddie, you sound like you don’t want to be here. Do you?” she asked.

  He looked up from the floor for the first time. “No, not when it’s not going to do any good.”

  I was feeling annoyed and knew it was beginning to show. “That’s the problem. You never look at the bright side. You only see the negative. Of course it won’t help if you don’t believe it will,” I said, frustrated.

  Trudy was writing in her notebook and when she was finished she set it down.

  “I’m going to give you some homework: I want you each to try to give the other person two compliments before you return next week,” she smiled broadly. “Can you try that?”

  We both nodded.

  “Good, then I’ll see you next week.”

  The weather was cold and rainy the following week and Eddie and I had argued on the way into town, making us a fine pair once we found ourselves again confined in the closed space. As soon as we entered her office, I knew Trudy sensed all was not well. Yet her smile showed nothing as we took our seats. I really liked her. She was candid yet kind, and very intuitive.

  “Hello, how are you two?”

  “Fine.” I managed a small smile. “Well, actually, we had a fight on the way here.�
��

  “About coming here?” Trudy looked concerned.

  “No, about—oh, numerous things. You name it, we covered it.” I looked at Eddie, who remained on the couch, staring stonily down at his feet, his body language saying he was trying to get as far away from us as he could.

  “So Eddie, do you want to talk about it?” Trudy turned to him.

  “No, let her. She’s the great talker in the family.” He wouldn’t look up from his tennis shoes.

  There was a brief silence before Trudy smiled and turned to me. “Well, Daleen, did you think of two compliments for Eddie?”

  I felt myself blush. “Yes, but I forgot to tell him.”

  She nodded. “And, Eddie, what about you?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You didn’t what, think of two compliments, or didn’t tell Daleen?” Trudy smiled.

  “Neither.”

  I glanced sideways at Eddie, sitting on his corner of the couch. He appeared to be pouting. Again.

  I guess we’re going to be blessed with his monosyllables for the hour’s duration.

  Suddenly the entire scene seemed hilarious and I fought hard to suppress the laughter that threatened to erupt at any second. I knew if Eddie saw any sign of amusement, he would have a fit. He couldn’t stand it if I didn’t have a frown—like the one he always wore—on my face.

  “All right, then you can both work on that again for next week.” She looked at the notes she had taken during our first appointment. “Why do you think you have such a hard time communicating, Daleen?”

  I sat there trying to come up with an answer. I didn’t really want to get into the details about Eddie’s infidelity, but I didn’t know how to get around it. It certainly was part of the problem. “Well, I guess it goes back a few years, to 1987.”

  “What happened in 1987?”

  “Eddie had an affair.” I saw Trudy shake her head slightly as I peered past her, out the closed window. “I forgave him, and we reconciled, but he never really treated me well afterwards, and I get the feeling he thinks it was all my fault. So…” I shrugged my shoulders and looked at her, “we don’t talk much.”