This Is How It Happened

by Paula Stokes

  My blood accelerates in my veins. A roar builds in my ears. I force myself to focus. “Okay,” I say. “Is there a time frame? I assume I’d have to testify.” Maybe this is a good thing. I wanted to tell the truth anyway. A wrongful death suit would mean I have to.

  “That’s one of the reasons they haven’t made a definite decision about pursuing legal action yet. Glen doesn’t want to put you through more than you’ve already dealt with.”

  “That’s nice of him, but I don’t want to be the deciding factor in this.” I gnaw on my lower lip.

  “I figured you’d say that. His attorney said it’d be best if you testified in court, but there’s also the option of giving a videotaped deposition. You’d still be under oath, but it’d just be you and the attorneys and judge present.”

  I nod. “Well, whatever they need to do, I understand.” I look down at the ground. “I feel kind of bad, though, for Brad Freeman.”

  “Why is that?” Dad asks.

  “Knowing that you hurt someone is kind of the worst punishment of all. It seems excessive to have to pay a lot of money on top of it.”

  “Ha.” He ruffles my hair. “I wish your mom had felt like that a couple of years ago.”

  I turn to face my dad. “It must have been really hard to finally be honest with her.” I’ve only had to confess a handful of minor misdeeds to my mom, but every time it was scary.

  “It was. But it was worse with you. Your mom is a smart lady and she knew I was lying. But you didn’t see it because you were young and you thought I was better than I am. You gave me the benefit of the doubt and I betrayed that trust. I just didn’t want you to be disappointed in me.” Dad shakes his head. “Maybe if you’d had some warning, the whole divorce would have been easier for you to deal with.”

  I doubt it, but it’s nice to hear that Dad regrets lying to me. “How did you finally work up the nerve to tell us?”

  “Well, part of it was Rachael. I knew I was going to lose her if I didn’t eventually break things off with your mom. But I guess the other part was faith that the people who really mattered—you, my family, my close friends—would at least try to understand why I did what I did.” Dad exhales deeply. “Not that you didn’t have every right to be mad at me, because you will always have that right. I guess I was just counting on the fact that you loved me enough to give me a second chance.”

  “I forgive you,” I say. “I don’t remember if I ever told you that.”

  Dad looks away for a moment. When he turns back, his eyes are misty. “Thank you. Any particular reason why you wanted to know?”

  “I guess I was just wondering what it was that pushed you to do the right thing.”

  Dad nods. “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

  It’s the perfect opening, but I can feel the truth stuck way down inside me. It’s not ready to come out yet. I shake my head. “I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you too.” My dad rises to his feet and then reaches down to help me up. I go in for my second porch hug of the night.

  I take a shower and crawl into bed, but I can’t sleep. I keep going back to the conversation with my dad, wondering if the Kades are going to file a lawsuit. Grabbing my laptop, I Google “Brad Freeman lawsuit.” The first thing that pops up is an article about the charges being dropped.

  I notice right away that this post is using a different picture of Brad Freeman, what looks like an official photo from a driver’s license or similar. Freeman is clean shaven, his chin raised, just a bit of a smile on his face. It doesn’t even look like the same person as the photo I’ve seen on all the other blogs.

  REALE NEWS NOW

  A Closer Look at the Freeman Vehicular Manslaughter Case

  CHRIS REALE, 5 days ago

  Unpopular opinion time. Social media erupted in a rage when the Wentzville district attorney dropped the vehicular manslaughter and DWI charges against Brad Freeman, the man accused of killing Fusion Records performer Dallas Kade. From the point of the announcement onward, there has been a steady stream of demonstrations and angry online postings accusing local officials of protecting Freeman because he used to be a paramedic and his dad was the sheriff. I’m not denying that the thin blue line has been known to protect its family members, but let’s look at the facts:

  • Freeman worked for St. Charles County, not Wentzville. It was Wentzville officers who arrested Freeman and it was a Wentzville officer who was first on the scene and reported that he smelled alcohol on Freeman. That doesn’t sound like a cover-up to me.

  • The witnesses have all been discredited. Two of them reported seeing Freeman’s truck on a road where he could not possibly have been driving at the time they claim they saw it and the supposed witness to the actual accident admitted to lying after parts of her testimony were questioned.

  • The forensic evidence at the scene was deemed inconclusive.

  • Genevieve Grace suffered major head trauma and has reported that she can’t remember the events leading up to the accident.

  • Freeman has stated that it was Grace who was driving in the wrong lane, not him.

  • According to blood tests done at the hospital, Freeman had a BAC of .083, which is over the legal limit of .08, but there are many DWI cases on the books where BAC results done at a hospital were thrown out. The methodology isn’t as accurate, and when you add in that the blood was drawn through an IV used to give other medicines and wiped with an alcohol swab, it’s at least plausible this result was flawed.

  • The bartender at Eight Ball Bar & Grill where Freeman worked said he drank two beers over the span of an hour and his credit card confirmed these charges.

  • BAC tables show that a man of Freeman’s weight (180 lbs) would probably need to consume at least 4 or 5 drinks in that time to reach a BAC of .083.

  I am in no way disputing that Freeman exercised poor judgment when he got behind the wheel of a car after drinking, but two drinks in an hour isn’t generally enough to put someone beyond the legal limit, and to prove manslaughter charges the prosecution needs to prove not just that Freeman exercised poor judgment, but that his driving caused the accident.

  Without any concrete evidence or eyewitnesses, all the DA has to go on is Freeman’s own testimony that it was Grace, not he, who caused the accident. Is it possible that he’s lying to avoid a prison sentence? Certainly. But is it also at least conceivable that he’s telling the truth and that Grace might have been responsible for the accident? This reporter believes that it is.

  Therefore, the decision made not to bring Freeman to trial seems less like a gross miscarriage of justice as other sites have been reporting and more like a prudent decision to avoid further clogging up an already overwhelmed court system.

  I understand how upset and angry people are over the tragic death of Dallas Kade, but your feelings are not enough to put someone in jail. I have heard rumors that the Kade family intends to file a wrongful death lawsuit against Brad Freeman. I would assume that any lawyer they retain would urge them not to pursue a civil suit unless additional evidence comes to light.

  Recent Comments:

  pxs1228: Why should we believe the bartender where Freeman works? Friends cover for each other all the time. Not to mention Freeman could’ve paid cash for some of his drinks.

  charlotteincharlotte: I think you mean where he USED to work.

  Jude_Archer: Wow, Chris. You live in St. Louis, right? Is Brad Freeman one of your former frat bros or something? Quite the biased reporting. And how is it that you’re the only one who knows how the eyewitnesses were discredited?

  jenjennjenni: someone explain to me how a hospital nurse messes up a blood test worse than cops doing it.

  CeliaRN0612: I don’t have specific information about this case, but I know that most hospitals use a different method of testing than crime labs, and use only the serum part of the blood. This requires the results to be recalibrated in order to obtain a proper BAC and not everyone uses the same formula. Also,
hospital tests don’t always separate out ethanol alcohol (drinking alcohol) from the presence of other types, including the isopropyl that the nurse reportedly used to clean the IV port.

  Out of curiosity, I do a search for “Chris Reale Brad Freeman” to see if maybe the Jude commenter is right and this blogger is someone who knows Brad Freeman. But there are no website hits except for articles about the accident.

  This article should worry me, because if this Chris Reale guy thinks Freeman is innocent, that means he thinks I’m guilty. But instead of feeling worried, I feel comforted. Maybe there’s someone else out there who knows my secret. For some reason that makes me feel a little less alone.

  CHAPTER 28

  At work on Saturday, Halley is burbling with excitement about rumors regarding this year’s secret Fourth of July party.

  The three of us are back in the small staff lounge on the first floor of Zion Lodge, brainstorming ideas for what type of educational material we could put on the individual display signs along the touch trail. While we’re doing this, Rachael has hired a crew to come in and dig all the post holes for the handrail and the display mountings.

  “I heard it’s going to be back in the Narrows this year,” Halley says.

  The Narrows is a section of the park where the canyon walls rise hundreds of feet above the Virgin River. I remember reading somewhere that the hikes in that part of Zion are often closed due to the danger of flash flooding.

  “In the river?” Elliott asks. “In the dark? Seems kind of dangerous . . . and wet.”

  “There are dry areas over there too,” Halley says. “And if they wait to use the restaurant upstairs like usual, the party won’t be able to start until after ten p.m. when all the customers are gone.”

  “What about a Narrows display?” I suggest, trying to bring the conversation back on topic. “Maybe we could build canyon walls that the kids could walk through?”

  “That’s a good idea,” Elliott says. “Put it on the list.”

  Halley adds “Narrows walk-through” to the short list of ideas for displays. “All right, Jen, if you’re going to make us work, do you guys care if I put on some music? I know it seems counterintuitive, but it helps me focus.” Halley pulls a portable music player out of her backpack. “This is hooked up to my Pandora channels.”

  “Fine with me,” I say.

  Elliott makes a face. “I hope you like ear-bleeding, soulless pop music.”

  I shrug. “I can listen to whatever.”

  Halley swipes at her phone a couple of times and sure enough a recent dance hit starts playing. I go back to my internet browsing. We’ve already got ideas listed for the plants and animals in the region. I do a search for all the types of stone that make up the cliffs. It might not be interesting to everyone, but some kids would probably have fun touching the different rocks.

  “What about constellations?” Elliott adds. “We could do a display that shows the different major constellations that are visible above Springdale in the summer.”

  “For little kids?” Halley asked skeptically. “What do you think, Jen?”

  My brain flashes back to Elliott and me looking up at the stars from the roof of the Ninja Warrior gym. To him pulling me close. To him kissing me.

  Halley clears her throat. “Jen?” she repeats.

  “Hmm?” I look everywhere but at Elliott, hoping that my cheeks aren’t red.

  “Do you think a display with information about constellations would be too advanced for three- and four-year-olds?” Halley arches an eyebrow at me.

  “Depends. Some kids are pretty advanced these days.”

  “We could just do the location of the Big and Little Dippers,” Elliott suggests.

  A fist clenches in my stomach as a few familiar chords emanate from Halley’s music player. Dallas’s label must have released the second single from Try This at Home. The song is called “By My Side.” It’s a rock ballad, a mix of him playing piano and guitar. He wrote it back when he was sixteen.

  He wrote it for me.

  “Ooooh, Dallas Kade. I love his whole album.” Halley sighs wistfully as she turns up the volume on the music player. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “Too loud.” Elliott shakes his head. “The whole lodge can probably hear that.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Grabbing for my purse, I jump up from the table where we’re working and dart out of the staff lounge, hurrying across the main room of the lodge to the restroom.

  I lock myself in a bathroom stall and wrap my arms around my middle. My whole body is shaking. I try to inhale but I can’t get any air. It’s like there’s something stuck in my throat. My head starts to go fuzzy from lack of oxygen. Calm down, I tell myself. Just breathe.

  I sink to the floor of the bathroom stall and sit sideways, my back up against the partition that separates me from the handicapped stall. I know I need to get back to the staff lounge before Halley and Elliott start to wonder about me, but I can’t move. What I need to do is do the right thing and tell the truth. The problem with the right thing is that apparently the longer you wait, the harder it is to do. I thought I just needed a few days to work up the nerve. But now days have stretched into weeks and I still don’t feel any closer to being able to admit what I did.

  I imagine all those tweets, those blog posts, those death threats directed at me and my family. So what if I wasn’t drinking? I still picked a fight with Dallas and made him leave the party when it was dark and I was tired. I caused the accident, and worse, I remained quiet and let someone else take the blame.

  The door to the restroom opens. I struggle hurriedly to my feet.

  “Jen?” It’s Halley.

  “I’m here,” I say. “Sorry. I just felt sick to my stomach.”

  “Do you want me to call Rachael for you? I think she’s down at Weeping Rock.”

  “No, don’t bother her.” I open the door to the stall so Halley can see I’m okay. Striding over to the sink, I splash some water on my face. I stare at myself in the mirror, waiting for my reflection to distort like a surrealist painting, to become someone I hardly recognize so my insides and outsides will match.

  Halley’s face is a mask of concern. She taps the toe of one of her cowboy boots and then reaches out to feel my cheek. “You’re a little warm,” she says. “Maybe you should take the rest of the day off.”

  “I’ll be okay,” I say. “I’m feeling better now. Sorry to run off like that.”

  Her phone chimes with a text. She glances down at it. “Elliott,” she says. “He’s worried about you too.”

  “Well, then let’s get back there so he can see there’s nothing to worry about,” I say, my voice unnaturally bright.

  Halley and I head toward the door to the restroom. “He likes you, you know?” she says.

  “Yeah, he told me.”

  “I know you’re leaving at the end of the summer, but he isn’t the kind of guy I would push away.” She puts her hand on my arm. “I’m not saying you ought to date him necessarily. Just that two months with Elliott might be better than years with other guys.”

  I smile. “Sounds like maybe you ought to date him.”

  Halley laughs. “Nah, he’s like my brother.” She wraps an arm around my waist and leans over to give me a half hug. “Sorry, I shouldn’t make you talk boys when you’re not feeling well. To be continued.”

  “To be continued,” I agree. I catch sight of her black-and-white bracelet in my peripheral vision and my hands start to shake again. I tuck them deep into my pockets. Focus, I tell myself. I can fall apart later at home—in private, where no one else will see me.

  I follow Halley back into the staff lounge, where Elliott looks up in concern. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I say. “Sorry for the dramatic exit.” I clear my throat as I return to my seat at the table. “Where are we on ideas?”

  “I think we’ve got everything we need,” Elliott says.

  “All right. So then wha
t do we do now?” I ask.

  “Something else we’ve been waiting for you to do.” He grins. “Want to be one of the first people to officially walk the Zion Canyon Touch Trail?”

  “You guys haven’t walked on it yet?”

  Elliott shakes his head. “Nope.”

  “Let’s do it,” I say.

  Halley and Elliott have worked at this park for years. They’re paid staff and this is much more their accomplishment than it is mine. But I am strangely excited about playing a role in the creation of a brand new trail, especially one for kids. It’s a tiny flicker of brightness in an otherwise dark tunnel I can’t seem to find my way out of.

  The three of us walk the trail, and I can’t believe how good it looks. The surface is set and has a natural-dirt look to it but the flatness and stability of asphalt. All the holes for the handrail have been professionally dug, and someone has laid out lumber along the side of the trail.

  “This afternoon we’re going to start building the railing,” Elliott says. “Get ready to swing a hammer for the first time.”

  I force a smile. “I’m definitely ready for more hard physical labor.” I hope swinging a hammer has the same effect on me that swinging a Pulaski did. Anything that will clear my head for a couple of hours is definitely welcome.

  Halley has been quiet for most of our walk, but near the end of the trail she turns to Elliott and me and grabs both of our arms. “We totally need to celebrate. I know just the thing.”

  Elliott smirks. “Let me guess. A certain Fourth of July party?”

  “It would be kind of perfect.” Halley grins back at him. He rolls his eyes and she turns to me. “What do you say, Jen?”

  “Count me in,” I say. I’m nervous at the thought of being around so many people, but Halley has been an awesome friend, and I want to do this for her. Who knows? Maybe it’ll actually be fun.

  On Sunday, I text Shannon to fill her in on what I’ve been up to.

  Me: Hey Shan. You would not believe how that trail project I’ve been working on for Rachael is coming along. It looks like a legit trail. What about you? How’s life at the pool? More importantly, how’s Niko? ;)