Cathy came to visit about a month after Anna’s second miscarriage, staying for several days, and although I’d never felt at ease around her, Anna seemed to take comfort from her presence, and for that I was appreciative. We hadn’t seen much of Cathy over the years; she had a tendency to disappear for long stretches of time. The few occasions she did return to Tennessee she arrived unannounced, showing up on her parents’ doorstep with an overnight bag, crashing for a day or two before leaving again, more often than not before Anna and I had even had a chance to see her.
I don’t remember how she happened to be in Tennessee so shortly after Anna’s second miscarriage, but I can’t imagine she made the trip solely for us. I only remember Anna hanging up the phone and turning to me, her expression slightly surprised, to tell me Cathy was coming to be with her. She was touched by that, I could tell, and I was happy for her, relieved at that moment to see something other than the sadness I’d become accustomed to seeing.
To Cathy’s credit, she was very kind to Anna during that visit. They sat on the porch swing sipping hot tea and went for walks through the fields and sat up talking late into the night. During the time Anna spent with her sister, I watched her slowly come back to herself. For her part, Cathy seemed to have settled down some by then; aside from a propensity to wander the house at night in nothing more than a t-shirt and panties—a fact I only became aware of when I literally stumbled into her on my way to the kitchen one sleepless night—her behavior was devoid of the overt sexuality that had always marked her interactions with me.
Unlike Anna, I turned my grief outward: I was angry. While Cathy sat with Anna, I went for long runs, my feet pounding the pavement in rhythm to the angry mantra in my head. I was angry at God, or the universe, or whatever higher power had decided to be cruel to Anna. I stayed away from the women for the most part during that week, keenly aware that my emotional turmoil was unhelpful to Anna. I needed to work through my own feelings before I could help Anna with hers, and I was indebted to Cathy for allowing me the space.
By the time Cathy left, at the end of a week, Anna and I were both in a much better place, and I remember thinking it odd that it took Cathy, of all people, to get us there. Anna remarked on it as we sat together in the swing the evening of Cathy’s departure.
“That’s the closest I’ve ever felt to my sister,” she said. “It was nice to have her here.”
“It was,” I agreed. “And she didn’t even grope my ass.”
Anna laughed, and it was music to my ears. I pulled her close, and she rested her head on my shoulder. In the distance crickets chirped and somewhere behind us I heard a lone tree frog calling for a mate. “Maybe it was good for her to see me in a vulnerable state,” Anna said. “Is that a terrible thing to say?”
“I’m not sure,” I answered her, a little surprised by the statement. “What do you mean?”
“I just mean misery loves company. There’s some truth to that, you know. I think Cathy has been miserable most of her life. Maybe it made her feel closer to me, seeing me miserable, too.” Leave it to Anna to try to figure out the pieces.
I thought about what she had said. “Maybe,” I said, “but that’s a pretty sad assessment, don’t you think? Your sister is finally nice to you because you’re as miserable as she is.”
“I don’t know, Phillip,” she said, nudging the swing into motion with one foot. “I don’t think she can help it. No one would want to live the way Cathy lives, always angry, keeping things stirred up. I remember my mother once saying she’d had a cousin like that, sort of a black sheep of the family. I’ve never met her; I think Mom cut ties with her as soon as she was able. But I’ve heard stories. According to Mom, this cousin lived to create controversy.”
“We probably all have a relative like that,” I said. “The one people dread seeing at family dinners because you just know there’ll be some sort of scene. In my family it’s Aunt Alma, Mom’s sister. Remember how she was at our wedding? The flowers were too wilted, the cake was too dry. Some people just like to complain.”
“I guess so,” she said. “But in my family it seems to be more than that. It goes beyond being grumpy. There are relatives on my mother’s side I’ve never met, did you know that? A distant branch Mom doesn’t like to talk about. A criminal element,” she bracketed the words with air quotes. “Bootleggers from way back, so the story goes, from some unheard of little town in West Virginia. Mean people, very rough. Maybe there’s some genetic strain that works its way through the generations.”
“Your family is predisposed to be mean?” I asked, teasing her, but she ignored the playful note in my voice.
“Not everyone,” she said. “Not my mother, obviously, and I hope not me. But Cathy has a mean streak, you can’t deny that. I feel guilty saying that, after she was so good to me this last week, but the whole time she was here I knew not to let my guard down.”
“That’s understandable, honey. One nice week doesn’t make up for years of mistreatment.”
“This is going to sound terrible,” she said, as if apologizing in advance, “but on the rare occasions when Cathy is nice, I can’t help but wonder what she’s after.”
I shrugged. “Don’t you think it’s possible she just wants to be nice?”
“No,” she said, and shook her head. “I told you it was going to sound terrible. But seriously, Phillip, I’ve never felt Cathy really cares about other people. She cares about what they can do for her, or what she can get from them, but she doesn’t care about them in any real sort of way.”
“That’s sad,” I said, “and a little scary.”
“It is,” she agreed. “Does it worry you?”
“Cathy? Of course not. She can’t hurt us, babe.”
“Not Cathy so much as knowing somewhere in my family history I have ancestors who were bad people. Mean people. What if there is a genetic component?”
I pulled back to look at her. “What exactly are you asking me, Anna? If I’m worried you’ll turn into a moonshine swigging maniac? Or that we’ll give birth to The Bad Seed?”
“Something like that,” she said. “Either one, or both.”
“No,” I said, turning sideways to face her in the swing. “To both questions. I’m not worried. Not in the least. If anything, it’s kind of sexy to think of you running ’shine through secret mountain passes in the dark of night. Promise me if you ever go into the business, you’ll start wearing overalls. I’d like that.”
She studied my face before leaning against me with a sigh. “Okay,” she said. “But promise me if you ever see anything that worries you, you’ll let me know. Anything at all.”
“I promise,” I said, “but I’m fairly certain that’s not going to happen.”
I had the distinct impression Anna was trying to tell me something in her quiet way. In spite of the emotional turmoil of that time, Anna had always been a centered person. Brian’s depiction of her sitting quietly on a mountain and thinking wasn’t too far off the mark. She wasn’t given to outward displays of intense emotion, particularly negative emotion. I couldn’t imagine any circumstance under which Anna might share a part of Cathy’s temperament, but I knew Anna well enough to know her mentioning it to me indicated she was concerned.
“What’s made you wonder about all this?” I asked, slapping at a mosquito and doing my best to sound only casually interested.
“Oh, just…everything.” I felt her breath against my neck. “This has been hard, Phillip.”
I heard the catch in her voice and reached my other arm around her, hugging her close. “I know it has, baby. I’m sorry.”
She wiped away a tear. “I think it’s too hard, Phillip. My body, the hormones, I’m up, I’m down, it’s like a yo-yo. I’m on top of the world, thinking we’re finally going to have a baby, and then the crash…I don’t think I can do it anymore. I don’t think I want to.”
We were thirty-three that summer, I just a few months older than she, and we’d been hoping for a baby
for years by that point. Beyond hoping, really; as I had begun to realize on our trip to Chattanooga, our desire to have children had dominated our marriage, leaving little room for anything else. We’d spent countless hours at medical appointments, undergoing tests, counting days, finally experiencing euphoria, and then, as Anna said, crashing.
I found myself agreeing with Anna, grateful to her for saying aloud what I’d been afraid to admit. I was ready to refocus on our lives, and I was unwilling to put her through any more failed pregnancies. At that moment, as Anna cried quietly against my shoulder, the last thing I wanted was for her to be pregnant.
Jeffrey was born ten months later.
Chapter 17: December 21, 2012—Trial Transcript
Court Clerk: Can you state your name for the record, please?
Cathy Tyler: Cathy Suzette Tyler.
Court Clerk: Spell your first name, please.
Cathy Tyler: C-a-t-h-y.
The Court: Your witness, Mr. Young.
Prosecutor: Thank you, Your Honor. Ms. Tyler, you are Anna Lewinsky’s younger sister, is that correct?
Cathy Tyler: Yes.
Prosecutor: Are there any other siblings?
Cathy Tyler: No.
Prosecutor: Where do you reside, Ms. Tyler?
Cathy Tyler: In Munford. Just outside of Memphis.
Prosecutor: And what was your father’s name?
Cathy Tyler: Michael Tyler.
Prosecutor: And he is deceased, is that correct?
Cathy Tyler: Yes. He died right after Anna did, of a heart attack. The stress of her death….
Defense Attorney: Objection. Witness is speculating. Move to strike that last part.
The Court: Sustained. Ms. Tyler, just answer the questions, please.
Prosecutor: And what is your mother’s name, Ms. Tyler?
Cathy Tyler: Connie Tyler.
Prosecutor: And she lives with you, correct?
Cathy Tyler: Yes. It’s her house. It’s where Anna and I grew up.
Prosecutor: Ms. Tyler, do you know the defendant seated there at Counsel’s table?
Cathy Tyler: Yes.
Prosecutor: Tell the Court how you know the defendant.
Cathy Tyler: He is…was…my brother-in-law.
Prosecutor: And how long have you known him?
Cathy Tyler: I think twenty-two, no, twenty-three years now.
Prosecutor: What year did you meet him?
Cathy Tyler: Nineteen-eighty-nine, when he started dating my sister.
Prosecutor: He married your sister, didn’t he?
Cathy Tyler: Yes.
Prosecutor: What was the date of the wedding?
Cathy Tyler: September 23, 1989.
Prosecutor: Were you in the wedding?
Cathy Tyler: Yes. I was the maid of honor.
Prosecutor: Where did the wedding take place, Ms. Tyler?
Cathy Tyler: At my parents’ house. The one in Munford.
Prosecutor: How long was your sister married to the defendant?
Cathy Tyler: It would have been twenty-three years last September.
Prosecutor: And how would you characterize their marriage?
Defense Attorney: Objection. Vague. The witness can’t possibly characterize….
The Court: Sustained. Rephrase your question, Counselor.
Prosecutor: Did you ever witness your brother-in-law, Mr. Lewinsky, being unfaithful to your sister?
Cathy Tyler: I witnessed him attempting to be unfaithful. Whether or not he ever succeeded, I couldn’t say.
Prosecutor: In fact, Mr. Lewinsky made a pass at you, didn’t he?
Defense Attorney: Objection. Leading the witness.
The Court: Sustained. Rephrase.
Prosecutor: Can you tell the Court what happened September 14, 1989?
Cathy Tyler: That was the week before Anna and Phillip—Mr. Lewinsky—were married. I was home that week, in Munford, helping Anna and my mother make plans for the wedding. I needed a break, so I decided to go outside for some fresh air. On my way to the door, Mr. Lewinsky, he grabbed me.
Prosecutor: How did he grab you, Ms. Tyler?
Cathy Tyler: He…he grabbed me by the hips and squeezed. He put one hand on each of my hips and pulled me against…pressed my front against his groin.
Prosecutor: You’re saying the defendant, Mr. Lewinsky, made a pass at you in your parents’ home just one week before marrying your sister?
Defense Attorney: Objection. Leading, asked and answered.
The Court: Sustained.
Prosecutor: That wasn’t the only time Mr. Lewinsky made sexual overtures towards you, was it?
Defense Attorney: Objection. Leading the witness.
The Court: Overruled. I’ll allow it. You can answer, Ms. Tyler.
Cathy Tyler: No.
Prosecutor: What happened the week of April 10, 2000?
Cathy Tyler: Anna, my sister, had just had a miscarriage. I went to stay with her, to…to help her. One night after she went to bed, Phillip—Mr. Lewinsky—grabbed me in the dark. I had gotten up to get a drink of water. I wasn’t…I wasn’t fully dressed. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone, but maybe I should have known, after what he’d done before….
Defense Attorney: Objection. Narrative. Motion to strike that last part.
The Court: Overruled. Continue.
Cathy Tyler: I only had on a t-shirt and underwear, and I was going down the hall, going back to bed after getting a drink of water in the kitchen, when all of a sudden he was there. He shoved into me, knocked me against the wall. Then I felt his hands on me…on my…on my breasts. He was feeling my breasts. He was so rough…he hurt me….
Prosecutor: Are you okay, Ms. Tyler?
Cathy Tyler: I’m…I’m fine. It’s just hard to talk about.
Prosecutor: Your Honor, if it pleases the Court, can we adjourn and continue this after lunch?
The Court: We’ll take a short recess and come back at one o’clock. Counselor, you need to get your defendant under control over there.
Chapter 18: June 3, 2012—The Arrest
“I hadn’t known about the miscarriages,” Brian repeated, “but now that I do, a lot of things make sense. Anna didn’t look well when I came to see you. Difficult pregnancy, you said, but even at the time I thought it was more than that. She must have been exhausted, Phil. Three pregnancies in such a short time, not to mention the heartbreak. I wish I’d known. I wish you had told me.”
She was exhausted, yes, and quietly sad. I had not known how to comfort her. It was a very trying time, and though we hadn’t known it, the worst was still to come.
“We didn’t see the point in telling anyone about the miscarriages,” I said. “Our families knew, of course, but no one else did. Anna was private, you know that. She had been through so much; we both just wanted to put it behind us the best we could and move forward.”
“And then Jeffrey,” he said.
“Yes. And then Jeffrey.”
“Not now, Phillip,” he said, and I looked at him, noting for the first time how worn he seemed. He sat across from me, elbows on the table, hands cradling his face. An image flashed through my mind, a picture of a much younger Brian standing with elbows propped on the fence enclosing the practice field. He had done that often our sophomore year, watched his old teammates practice without him.
In the beginning they’d come over to speak with him, invite him to join them after practice, but after a while they moved on, leaving Brian to watch them alone. It must have been hard, I reflected, being left behind. But Brian never spoke of it, and by our junior year he no longer haunted the practice field.
Something in his expression as he regarded me across the scuffed table reminded me of that time. Maybe it was because in both instances he’d lost what he’d come to regard as family.
Brian hadn’t wanted to speak of his loss back then, and he didn’t want me to speak of it now. He didn’t want me to speak of Jeffrey.
“I’ll come tomorrow,”
he said, standing. “I just need some time to think about all this, Phil. It hasn’t sunk in; it’s too much.”
I nodded. “Will you see Peter?”
“Of course. And I’ll do some checking, look into a lawyer for you.”
I stood as he hoisted his briefcase and motioned for the guard. “We’ll get through this, Phil,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.”
That was Brian, aligning himself with me as he always had. I watched him go before the guard snapped the cuffs back on and led me away. Truthfully, at that moment I didn’t see how Brian could help me; he looked as lost as I felt.
Chapter 19: September, 2000
When the by-now-familiar symptoms presented again, just a few short weeks after Anna’s second miscarriage, we agreed to tell no one. We didn’t want to get our families’ hopes up again only to have them dashed, but it was more than that. We also didn’t want to have to make that terrible phone call again, the one signifying the end of everything. The second time had been painful enough; I couldn’t imagine a third.
Blessed Are the Wholly Broken Page 6