Sister of Silence

by Daleen Berry

  “That means until he realizes he needs help, it’s up to you,” Trudy looked at me squarely. “I’m not saying you have to fix him. You know you can’t do that. That’s up to him. But until he gets help and makes the necessary changes, you’re going to have to take any action to protect yourself—and your children.”

  I nodded in agreement. Just then, a picture of a child in pain suddenly flashed before me. My hand flew to my mouth. “With everything else going on, I almost forgot. It happened last Friday, as we were leaving the theatre.” I went on, telling Trudy about the incident.

  “It happened when Gabby began tugging at her father’s jacket. We were talking, but she was excited and wanted his attention. The next thing I knew Eddie’s arm came out and punched her in the stomach. It was over in seconds,” I said, vaguely aware of the scene inside my head playing all over again. Gabby bent over double, clutching her stomach, unable to breathe; me catching her before she fell to the ground, and seeing the fear and pain written all over her face.

  “Are you all right? There, there. You’re fine. Just breathe. Come on Gabby, breathe! It’s all right. Mommy has you.” I was on my knees, oblivious to anything else as I held my frightened daughter, who was crying and gasping for breath. As soon as her chest began to heave, Gabby’s thumb—her ever-present security blanket—went right into her mouth, while she whimpered softly.

  I glared at Eddie, who was yelling about the children misbehaving.

  “What on earth did you do that for?” My voice could not have been more deadly.

  “She’s always interrupting and I’m tired of it!”

  “Does that mean you have to hit her in the stomach?” I held Gabby against me, stroking her hair. “For crying out loud, Eddie, she’s a child. She doesn’t have the patience you and I are supposed to have!”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Of course you didn’t,” I said sarcastically.

  I turned toward the children. “Come on kids, we’re going home.” I was vaguely aware of people coming and going, and I didn’t want our little sideshow to continue. We walked to the car and when Eddie got inside, he began yelling about how he always gets blamed when something goes wrong.

  “Well, if the shoe fits,” I told him. “You owe your daughter an apology.”

  “For Pete’s sake, Daleen, she’s fine. I didn’t hurt her.” He said, his face set in stone.

  I was incredulous that even he could be so callous. It wasn’t his wife he had struck, after all—it was his child. “Eddie, I saw what happened and there’s no excuse for it, short of an accident, which wasn’t the case. In any event, Gabby deserves an apology.” I wasn’t backing down.

  Not this time.

  His eyes seemed to bore into mine, as he stared even harder at me. Then he swung the car door open and got out. “You can take the kids and just leave. I don’t even want to be in the same car with you all.” Eddie slammed the door and walked away.

  Their tears began immediately, and the kids begged me to go after him. They were afraid something would happen to him. “Shhh, your dad’s just mad. Let’s give him a few minutes to cool down and then we’ll drive by and pick him up.”

  “But Mommy, what if he gets hit?” Trista asked.

  That would be a blessing for everyone.

  “No one’s going to hit him,” I said dryly.

  “How do you know?” she persisted.

  Because some people are too mean to die.

  “Because he’s smart enough to walk against the traffic, and he won’t walk near the road.”

  It disturbed me at how defensive my children were to the very man who was so mean to them.

  We passed Eddie and offered him a ride, but he refused. Remembering the same scenario from so many years ago, I drove off without asking him a second time. Back at home, I spent the evening consoling my children. As I tucked them into bed, I promised them their father would be all right. And sometime later that night, long after I was asleep, Eddie let himself in the front door, safe and sound.

  When I finished giving Trudy the gory details, she sat there shaking her head in a dazed way. “It seems Eddie has a lot of anger toward his entire family. Yet, that’s no excuse for what he did. I think you’re doing the right thing. For you and your children.”

  “Yes, but I’m afraid it may be harder on them, being without him. You know, I heard a saying once, about a bad mother being better than no mother at all. I wonder if the same thing applies to fathers.” I sighed, torn and unsure of myself. “But I don’t think so. I believe if a parent is bad enough, more damage occurs than if the parent was gone. I guess I’ll find out, won’t I?”

  “You will, but the important thing is, you’re doing what you think is best for everyone involved. I can tell you’ve put a lot of thought into this already,” Trudy said.

  “Yes, I have. At times I wonder how much blame I should accept, for keeping them in an unhealthy environment for so long. I know it’s been a bad influence. Why, Trista told me, ‘Mommy, I’m afraid Daddy’s going to kill you,’ after Eddie got so angry he told them he might kill me one day. Can you believe that? No, I’m making the right decision, I know it.”

  “All right. Now, the question is, where do you go from here? Do you have a plan?”

  “I’m going to stay with Shirley and Butch awhile. They’ve been so good to us, telling me to take as long as I need. They’re like family.”

  “You and Shirley come from similar backgrounds, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Yes, she’s also the adult child of an alcoholic.”

  “So you have a lot in common. I’m sure it’s nice, being around someone who cares about you, and to whom you can relate.”

  I smiled, remembering how much Shirley and I had shared. “Yes, it’s been really nice. When they took us home last night, she and Butch were so thoughtful, taking care of the kids so I could get some rest.”

  “Well, you probably have a lot to consider, so during the next week don’t forget that it may get harder, especially when you tell Eddie. Be cautious, and don’t rush things. Take care of yourself and don’t try to do too much too soon.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “If you’re feeling better, we’ll stop here for today,” Trudy said.

  I smiled. “I’m feeling much better.”

  I felt as though a vacuum was sucking out all my energy during the next several weeks. I returned to the house once more, to gather up my computer and all of the journals I had kept throughout the years. I was afraid Eddie would destroy them, once he realized I wasn’t going back to him.

  My heart was a dead weight inside my chest as I raced from room to room, in case Eddie returned unexpectedly. I felt like a felon, fleeing the scene of a crime.

  I hate this. It’s so unfair, having to run away, when I haven’t done anything wrong.

  At the same time, I finally knew the unimaginable had happened. I wasn’t returning to Eddie.

  I’ll never go back!

  A day later, I knew it was time. I gathered the kids together and cautiously told them about my decision, trying to make sure they knew it wasn’t their fault. “Mommy, why do we have to leave? Why can’t we go back and live with Daddy?” Trista asked.

  I took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. “Sometimes things happen and mommies and daddies can’t live together anymore. So they live apart.” I waited, trying to let it sink in. “But you kids will still get to see us both. And we love you as much as we ever did.”

  Slade began crying. “You made Daddy leave!” He marched off, refusing to return even when I called after him. I watched him, trying to blink back my own tears.

  If only you knew. If only I could tell you. How angry you are. Already. My staying this long has made you one angry little boy.

  I turned to the girls. They were trying to be brave and console me at the same time. I looked into their eyes, hoping they could see how much I hated to hurt them.

  “I’m so sorry. I wis
h it didn’t have to be like this. Just remember, none of this is your fault. You kids have done nothing wrong. Do you understand?” I asked my daughters.

  “Yes,” they said in unison.

  I tipped back Trista’s chin and looked into her eyes. “Do you?”

  She nodded.

  But I didn’t believe her. I didn’t believe any of them.

  A week later, Trudy’s words shocked me.

  “You did the right thing by leaving, so you could protect your children,” she said. “It’s rare for a mother to do that, to put her children’s well-being before her feelings for her husband.”

  I shook my head. “It wasn’t really a choice; it’s the only thing I could do. I know they’ve already been harmed enough; there was no way I was going to stay and let their father hurt them even more.”

  “Well I just wish more women would choose their children over their men,” Trudy said as she hugged me.

  Because the violence had been so harmful, Trudy began seeing the kids to help them learn healthy ways of coping with their pain and anger. She was teaching them how to express it on paper, using crayons. They drew pictures of what went on at home, and Trudy told me their artwork was quite revealing. They were sad, mad, and afraid: that Eddie might hurt me, that we would get divorced, that they were to blame for the fighting. It seemed there was an unending well of feelings Trudy was drawing up, but it didn’t come without a fight.

  They balked at going, and pouted when I said they had to. I learned Eddie had contributed to their resistance, after the kids told me their father said Trudy had threatened to have him arrested. I told the kids that wasn’t true, but Eddie’s negative attitude rubbed off on them anyway. Eventually though, instead of hearing their complaints all the way to her office, which was happening less and less, they began coming away from the sessions feeling a little better about themselves. Under the circumstances, it was about the best I could hope for.

  Once I told Linda what had been happening at home, she was warm and empathetic, and granted me a leave of absence so I could take care of my family while getting a much-needed break.

  “You deserve it, and your job will be here waiting for you,” Linda said, with an awkward hug.

  “Thank you. That means so much to me,” I said, close to tears.

  I didn’t know how I could give up journalism, because of all it had given me. I felt like a different person, and I loved taking people’s stories and writing about them. I loved the boring meetings, too, because it was a challenge to find something interesting to write about that people would want to read. Mostly, I would miss being able to tell people the truth, about what was going on in their own small corner of the world. But when I walked out of the building, I wasn’t sure I would—or could—ever return.

  Ironically, Eddie called and offered to find somewhere else to live so the kids and I could stay in the house, the same day I went to see about obtaining a legal separation. Because there had been violence in the home, Rita Ashton, the family law attorney I hired, recommended I ask the court to grant me a protective order. But I told Rita I didn’t think it was necessary, because I was sure Eddie wouldn’t try to hurt us anymore—especially since he still hoped I would take him back, and he wouldn’t want to do anything that might mess up his chances with me.

  Rita also told me that even if Eddie gave me money to live on, I might have to file for bankruptcy. She encouraged it, since my debts outweighed any possible income I would have in the near future. Rita asked me if I had any money at all and I told her I didn’t. Then I remembered our savings account. I told Rita it was set aside for home improvements, but she said if I could withdraw it, I could use it to live on—if Eddie hadn’t already taken it. But I told Rita I didn’t want to touch any of the money if Eddie was willing to pay me enough on a regular basis, so I could make ends meet. A few days later I decided to call him and see what we could work out.

  But that’s when Eddie told me that since I was filing for a legal separation, he was filing for divorce. He angrily said he wouldn’t give me a cent. Much earlier, his refusal would have caused me to crawl right back to him, so instinctively I knew that’s what Eddie was counting on. But I wasn’t the child he had married, and I had no intention of making that mistake again. I was older, wiser, and stronger. I was a woman who had learned she could take care of herself—and her children. So instead of getting angry or trying to coerce him into supporting us, I hung up.

  I’ll never go back to him, and I’ll do whatever I have to, to support my children myself.

  The next day after dropping the kids off at school, I drove straight to the bank, giving myself a mental pep talk all the way there. As I got out of the car, I knew I hadn’t been that nervous since the day Eddie threatened me at the school. The bank wasn’t open yet, so I took a few minutes to gather my composure, walked over to the newspaper office.

  The receptionist waved at me. “Hi there, Daleen. How’s it going?” Nancy Robertson’s cheerful demeanor was infectious, and I felt my spirits begin to lift. After I had told Linda I needed a few weeks off, it didn’t take long for the small staff to learn what had happened, and their moral support was so helpful.

  “I’m fine,” I told Nancy, “I needed to stop by the bank and I just wanted to say hello. Does everyone miss me?” I asked, trying to shed my nervousness.

  “We surely do. It’s just not the same without you. Is that husband of yours still bothering you?” she asked.

  “Of course. But not for long. We’re getting a divorce.”

  “Good for you! Good for you! I’ve always said no woman should have to live with a man who treats her badly.” Nancy was openly empathetic.

  I shook my head wryly. “It just took me a long time to realize that’s what it was.”

  “Well, at least you had the good sense to see it in time. Some women don’t.” Her expression was grim.

  “Yes, you’re right. Well, I’ve got to get to the bank. I’ll stop in again. Please tell Linda I stopped by.”

  “I’ll do that, Daleen. Take care.” Nancy gave me a reassuring smile before I turned and left the building. I hadn’t taken more than six steps when I saw him—a tall, slender man wearing a baseball cap hurrying down the steps of the bank building. His head was down and he was putting something into his wallet.

  Eddie! What’s he doing here?

  For a minute, I thought I might faint from fear, my heart was beating so rapidly. There was no way for him to know what I planned to do, since I hadn’t told anyone but my attorney.

  What if…what if he already beat me to it?

  I gave myself a mental shake.

  Relax. He can’t hurt you. You’re in broad daylight and there are people everywhere.

  I casually glanced toward the county jail and then nonchalantly back toward Eddie, and saw him staring directly at me. Half a dozen more steps and we would pass each other. Would he grab me? Would he try to force me into his car, like the man who had raped his wife at gunpoint just last year? I had covered the story and knew she, too, had left a horrible home life. He later found her and forced her into his car, where he raped her in front of their two, small children. It was one of the most poignant domestic violence stories I’d covered, and it was pivotal in helping me to see the violence within my own family.

  Forcing myself to stop thinking about that story, I shook my head to clear my thoughts.

  Relax Daleen, it’s going to be okay. Besides, the sheriff’s office is across the street. Just scream loud and long and everyone will come running—and Nancy will be the first one out the door to help!

  The vision of Nancy beating Eddie with her bare hands made me chuckle. By then I got so tickled by the idea, I had to bite the back of my hand to quell my laughter.

  “Hello, Daleen. Fancy meeting you here.” Eddie spoke without malice, and I even sensed some humor. Certainly a hint of sarcasm, but nothing that alerted me to any impending danger.

  “Yes, I had to stop by the office for a minut
e,” I said, trying to act as though we were friendly neighbors meeting on the street corner.

  “Oh, you’re working then?”

  “You know I had to take a temporary leave of absence. That’s why it really would be good if you could give us some monetary support right now—for the kids’ sake.” As long as we were standing face-to-face, in person, I hoped the added pressure might prick his conscience.

  He stood there, one hand rubbing his chin. “Well, I thought maybe you might change your mind and come back. After all, we’ve had these little disagreements before and we’ve been able to work them out.” He didn’t move a muscle, and managed to look quite smug as he stood there, waiting me out.

  I swallowed hard, gazing just beyond his shoulder. As Eddie’s words sank in, I recalled all the times in the past when money had been an issue with him—when he had used it to manipulate, subdue or control me. He had done it throughout our entire marriage, which is why I began researching relationships, and learned how money and sex cause the biggest arguments. With money, Eddie had always gone from one extreme to another. Either he spent it on things we didn’t need or couldn’t afford—or he abdicated his responsibility, dumping it in my lap—only to give me grief when there wasn’t any left to buy his “toys” because I used it to pay bills. Then there were the times he had controlled it so tightly it hurt his family. I recalled his first layoff from the mines, when I struggled just to feed our family with the free commodities we received.

  And you were too selfish to give up that stupid luxury car, which kept us from being able to get food stamps, simply because a vehicle was more important to you than we were!

  Coming out of my reverie, I looked straight into his eyes. “No, not this time. It won’t work.”

  He shrugged, and a disgusting smile crept onto his face. “Well then, I guess my answer is still ‘no’, I’m not giving you a cent. See you later.” Eddie turned and walked away.

  I stood there staring, resisting the urge to scream, “What about your children, you creep? Don’t you care anything about what happens to them?” Instead, I remained mute, saying nothing.