A MOTHER’S HEART BROKEN
The headline in Monday’s Life section of the newspaper caught my eye, as I suppose it would any mother’s. The picture beneath it showed a woman I’d guess to be my age, soft in the face and with eyes that could only be described as tortured. She held two eight-by-ten photographs in her hands, both of clean-cut young boys wearing the forced smiles of school photos. The caption beneath read, Theresa Singer holds photos of her two sons. Joe, pictured right, died of leukemia when he was twelve years old. Gary, pictured in happier times, is currently awaiting trial for the murder of Rudy Prince.
That sat me back in my seat. This was the boy who had been arrested for murdering Rudy Prince? Even if the picture was from a few years ago, this innocent-looking child couldn’t possibly be the drug-addicted maniac that I’d been picturing in that prison cell. It didn’t look much like the hollow-eyed man I’d seen in the booking photos, either.
I picked up the paper, carried it outside, and put it in the recycle bin. I didn’t want to see any more.
“Mom, where are my tennis shoes? I know I left them right here.” Caroline pointed at the bottom stair. “They’re not here anymore. I’ve got to have them for PE today. We’re running the mile.”
“Caroline, if you left them right there, then right there’s where they would be. I haven’t moved them.”
“Well, somebody moved them, because I left them right here.”
“Did you look in your closet?”
“Yes.”
“How about the car? Did you take them off in the car on the way home from your father’s?”
She cocked her head to the side. “You know what, maybe I did.” She disappeared out the door into the garage and returned a minute later, tennis shoes in hand.
I went over and patted the bottom stair. “Sure glad you left them right here, aren’t you?”
“Well, that’s where I usually leave them.” She pulled the long pink laces together and tied the first of a double bow. “So, did you pack my lunch? Today’s menu is that mixture of cardboard and rubber the school has the nerve to call pizza.”
“Yes, I packed your lunch. It’s in your backpack.” I pointed toward the bulging blue camouflage bag. “Now, you need to get moving or you’re not going to make it in time for a game of handball before the bell rings.”
“Mo-om, nobody plays handball anymore.”
“Since when?”
“Last week, when we decided that handball was lame. Now we do cartwheels out on the lawn.” There was a wistful tone to her voice.
“Who decided?”
She shrugged. “You know, the group.”
“But you love to play handball.” And besides that, I knew that she hated cartwheels.
“Mom, it’s lame. Now, I gotta go.” She pulled her backpack strap over her right shoulder and opened the front door. I watched her disappear down the sidewalk and thought about how much I hated what peer pressure did to our kids.
I climbed into my car and drove to work, listening to the radio as usual. Reid and Sam, the morning hosts, were discussing the morning’s news. This was fine until Reid brought up the article about Gary Singer’s mother.
“Can you believe that? She lost her youngest son to leukemia when he was just twelve years old. She says right here … Wait, let me find it. Yes, here it is. ‘I spent so much of my energy dealing with Joe’s illness, I just didn’t have anything left for Gary. I saw what was happening but couldn’t stop it. It’s all my fault. If I had forced myself to deal with it then, my son wouldn’t be an addict now. It should be me facing jail time, not my son. I will never be able to forgive myself.’ End of quote. Can you believe the burden that poor woman carries?”
I flipped off the radio, pulled my car to the side of the road, and cried on the steering wheel. I’d never thought of the other mother, of the other family that maybe was very much like my own. The death of one child followed by the addiction of the second, which went down and down from there. This was the woman I was letting take the pain for what my son had done. As much as I’d managed to convince myself that the dream was totally a coincidence, that the bat had been planted—in this moment, I had to acknowledge that I knew better.
But what could I do about it? Going forward meant losing Kurt all over again. And he was doing so well. College waited for him. And, like Lacey said, I was going to be in trouble if I went forward, too. What if I went to jail for destroying the evidence? What would happen to Caroline then?
I knew the answer. Her father would get full custody, and I wouldn’t be able to see her. I couldn’t face that. I’d lost too much already. “God, surely you wouldn’t ask that of me!” I wailed at the sky. “How could you even think of asking that from me? It’s too much, too much.”
At some point I started my car and drove toward work. As I pulled into the church parking lot, I saw Carleigh in the driveway. She smiled and walked over to me, her brown curls dancing happily in the spring breeze. I put on my best church face and smiled back.
“Isn’t it a blessed morning?” she asked.
“Yes, it certainly is.” I smiled back at her and thought of Caroline, handball, and cartwheels. I realized then that grownups aren’t so different from kids after all.
“Lacey, I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
It was only Tuesday. I hadn’t even had breakfast yet and I already felt exhausted. I couldn’t imagine making it through the week. I laid my head on her kitchen table and slapped my palm against the walnut surface.
“As soon as I saw that article in the paper yesterday, I knew you’d start having doubts. Alisa, you need to think this through.”
“What is there to think through? There is an innocent boy locked up in jail right now for a crime that my son committed.”
“Yes, and that innocent boy has a rap sheet longer than this street.”
“But he’s still innocent.”
“This time. All you’re doing by letting him out is prolonging the inevitable. He will eventually end up in prison, I can guarantee it.”
I didn’t doubt at all what she was saying, but my justifications for what I’d done were feeling thinner and thinner “I know that’s probably true.” And Kurt was clean, he was good, he was living a worthwhile life now. “But is it fair for him to go to prison for someone else’s crime?”
“Our legal system’s not about being fair. It’s about society’s version of justice. If you ask me, society would be better served by having Gary Singer locked up, and having Kurt Stewart doing well in college and making something useful of his life.” She put her hand on the back of my head. “Are you willing to face charges yourself for this?”
Just the thought made me want to cower in fear. “I don’t know. You know I don’t want to, but I don’t think I can live with myself, knowing what that mother is going through. I don’t know what else to do.”
“That’s a decision you’re going to have to make for yourself. But I can tell you, I don’t think substituting Kurt, and the life he is building, for that Singer boy’s life is a fair trade. I’m sorry that his mom has had such a rough time of it, but you had your own, too. It wasn’t a bit fair that either one of you lost a son the way you did, but the fact is, Kurt has turned his life around and that Singer boy has not.”
The words made so much sense when she said them. But as much as they were exactly what I wanted to hear, this time they didn’t offer the release I’d hoped they would.
“You read the article. That poor mother is blaming herself,” I said. “I know what that’s like, because I did the same thing. At least I did until I destroyed the evidence and somehow managed to convince myself that nothing really happened. Well, now there’s no denying the fact that something did happen. How can I allow that poor woman to live with any more sorrow than she already has?”
“Baby, you do what you’ve got to do. I’m not going to talk you into something that will eat you alive, but I am going to make sure you think about every aspect of this before you do anything. What do you see happening if the truth comes out?”
I shrugged. “Not much doubt I’d have to step down from my job at the church. They were going to move me to full-time, but obviously that won’t happen. If Rick and I are going to get divorced, I’ll need to find something that can pay the bills. As for my friends at church …” The words that rose to their defense died somewhere before they reached my lips. I wanted to believe they would be there for me, and I knew that a few of my closest friends would be. The others, well, I tried not to think about what would be whispered as I walked down the aisle to my usual seat.
“They would crucify you and you know it.”
“Probably some of them would.” I sat up and rested my forehead in my hands.
“Of course they would. I’m guessing that from the sheer volume of the backlash you’d have to leave there altogether. Not only the job, but the church.”
I was the Christian here. She was the friend I was supposed to influence for the better. I wanted to argue with her, tell her that these people would still love me and support me no matter what. The problem was, I wasn’t so sure that would be the case.
That afternoon, after a quick trip to the grocery, I found Kevin Marshall standing at my front door, looking at me with his deep blue eyes.
“Hey,” he said, with a smile I could barely resist.
I wanted to reach out and hug him, tell him thank-you for taking time out of his day to come see me, for distracting me from the things that haunted me. Instead, I settled for, “Hey, yourself.”
“Well, I told you I would be in town this week, and here I am. I guess if I’m going to keep popping by like this, I need to call first and give you a little warning.”
He stood there, looking like everything I so badly wanted at this point in my life. But there were so many things going wrong, I knew that if I didn’t stop this, and stop it right now, it would only make the disaster that much worse. I took care to keep my voice casual. “There’s no need for old friends to call each other when they are going to stop by.”
He smiled. “I’m glad to hear you feel that way. I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go grab some dinner? We could talk about how things are going. There’s a new place in Solvang I’ve been wanting to try.”
It sounded so wonderful. A nice dinner, conversation with an interesting man, at least a few hours’ distraction from the things weighting my life. But when two married people start talking about going out of town to eat dinner, there’s really no other reason for it than they feel guilty. I had more than enough guilt in my life right now; I knew that I couldn’t stand even a little bit more.
“Kevin …” I looked at him, not wanting to hurt him, but knowing I could go no further with this. We were fast approaching the point of no return, the same point an addict crosses when the drugs become more important than doing the right thing. I would not put my family through that kind of aftermath again. “I’d love to, really I would. It’s just that … I can’t. … I mean, you’re so wonderful, and I love spending time with you, and I want to spend time with you, a lot of time. But, separated or not, I’m still married to Rick. It just doesn’t seem right. … No, that’s not true, it’s more than that. I know what I’m feeling is wrong.”
He put his fingers against my lips. “You don’t have to say another word. I understand.” His face turned a light shade of pink, and I knew that he did.
I couldn’t look into his eyes anymore and let my head drop. “I think we both understand each other, a little too well.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right.” He gave my shoulder a quick squeeze and let go. “I’m going to miss our visits. It was one of the few things I looked forward to.”
I knew exactly how he felt. “Me too.”
“Well, I better get going.” He turned and walked down the steps, got into his truck, and drove away for the last time.
It felt good to have done the right thing. A really hard thing, something I would rather not have done, but something that was right.
There was something else I needed to make right, and I needed to do it while I still had the courage.