Sister of Silence (27 page)

“That’s true,” Mom nodded. “For some reason, Jackie has been uncomfortable around Eddie for a while now. She doesn’t even want to be here when he’s working around the house.”

“She has good reason,” I said, all desire to protect him gone. “Mom, I told you what he was like. Don’t you remember what happened with Carla when we were all together at Bruce’s the summer Eddie and I got married? You know, when we were going on our honeymoon?”

Mom looked puzzled for a moment, then I could see the dawning in her eyes. “Oh that. Well, I just thought that was Carla’s way of getting attention.”

I stared at my mother in disbelief, not sure if I heard correctly.

Wake up and smell the coffee, Mom!

“Mother, she didn’t do anything wrong. Eddie touched her inappropriately on her derriere and she decided she wasn’t going to take it anymore. And from what she said then, that wasn’t the first time he had tried to touch her.” I grew indignant, for both my sister and myself, as I recalled the scene.

“Yes, I guess so. I just don’t remember that much about it. It all happened so long ago,” Mom responded vaguely.

I gave myself a mental shake, as I tried to comprehend why my mother wouldn’t remember something so important. But I didn’t have time to sit there and dwell on it—I was going to find Eddie.

“Jackie, I want you to tell me if you remember anything else weird that’s happened. I’m very sorry he did this to you. It’s a violation and it’s wrong. If he says or tries to do anything like this again, you tell Mom or me immediately,” I said, squeezing her hand, hoping she believed me.

Jackie smiled and I knew she felt as bad about having to tell me, as I
felt hearing about what he’d done to her.

I’m going to kill him. If he doesn’t knock it off, I swear I won’t be responsible for my actions.

As I drove home, I promised myself as soon as the kids were tucked into bed that night, Eddie and I would talk. That is, if he came home. But as chance would have it, he arrived just after I finished the dinner dishes. The kids had been asleep for only a short time. After a brief greeting, I placed his dinner plate on the table. As he was eating, I glanced casually through a magazine I was reading, feeling anything but the outer calm I wanted him to see.

She’s a victim. Jackie’s another victim. First me, then Carla and now
…Jackie. When will he stop? Who’s next?

Then a colder, more chilling thought came to me as forcibly as if I had been struck
.

Mileah. Trista. Gabby. What if he tries to hurt them?

I won’t let him. I’ll kill him if he ever touches my babies.

“Eddie, do you remember the missing lingerie Mother asked us about?”

Eddie smiled as he ate. “Yeah, did she find the stuff yet?”

That’s it, Eddie. Put on a good show. Act all innocent.

“No, as a matter of fact, she didn’t. But I think I know what happened to it.” I continued to flip through the pages of the magazine calmly. “Yes, I know where it went. You took it.” I looked directly at him, staring long and hard.

Suddenly I remembered Abigail from the Bible, who tried to get her husband to listen to reason, but who refused. Ultimately, she acted with discretion, apart from her weak and selfish husband, and gave food and water to King David. Abigail saved not only herself and her household, but was chosen to be one of David’s wives, after her own foolish husband died.

Abigail had been a courageous woman, and I knew her story could help me find the courage to do what I had to do next.

Eddie’s fork stopped in midair. “I took it? Why the hell would I do something like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Probably for the same reason you went through Jackie’s dresser, and then laid her lingerie out on her bed while you were working there last night.” There it was: my ace, on the table.

“Daleen, are you sick or something? I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about. And I want you to know I do not like being accused of something I did not do.” He had gone from angry to innocent to defensive in a matter of seconds, and I was far from finished with him.

“Then let me remind you of all the things you have done, Mr. Leigh. You touched Carla inappropriately when she was just thirteen-years-old. You made a pass at our babysitter, Angie, who was fifteen at the time. You were involved sexually with your neighbor, Vonna, who was also thirteen. You had an affair three years ago. And that doesn’t even begin to take into account what you did to me before we were married, or what you’ve done to me since then.” I could feel anger seething from every pore.

“I can’t stand you!” I spit the words
out through clenched teeth.

Eddie acted like he hadn’t even heard me. “Well, if you want to bring up past events, I think you better take a good look at your sister. Carla was always throwing herself at me—”

I cut him off short. “Oh yes, just like Vonna, right? They all—no,
we
all—teased you so much, didn’t we?”

He sat there, his arms crossed in front of him, staring stonily at me. “Yes, as a matter of fact, Vonna did tease me.”

“Give it up, Eddie. It’s a lost cause.” I stood up, unable to be near him a moment longer. “Well there is one thing I can tell you for a certainty. Jackie did not tease you, did not lead you on, did not throw herself at you. That much I am certain of, because she can’t stand you. In fact, she doesn’t want to be anywhere within a fifty-mile radius of you. As for her morals, you can’t find a teenager with a better reputation than hers. Everyone who knows Jackie knows that. Why don’t you just accept the fact that you’re a sexual pervert and get some professional help? Give us all a break, why don’t you?” I gave him one long, last look of disgust, before turning and walking out of the room.

I was filled with fury at him or any other man who used women for their own base, selfish desires, only to then try and turn the tables, by saying the women (or in this case, the young girls) had brought it upon themselves, that the women had somehow seduced them. If it wasn’t so deadly serious, it would be a joke—that a big, brawny man was powerless to the wiles of a mere woman. Why, in every other area of their lives, they made it clear they were the boss, so why not when it came to sexual desires, too? Why not just admit that men who chose to use and abuse both girls and women were weak, and deficient in some way?

My sixth sense told me that admitting such a thing would deeply wound their already fragile egos, leaving them unable to function in a culture that had trained them to look at women as sexual objects whose sexuality lured them in, like bait on a fishing line. I wasn’t sure how or where other men—normal men who had been reared differently, who had been taught to respect women as equals—were, but I knew they were out there. Men like Brad, Delbert, and deputies Stiles and Haney, whom I had come to know and respect.

But I wasn’t with a man like that—I was still stuck in my prison cell, with a man who would never look at a woman as his equal, who instead saw me in the only way that mattered: as a tool for his own sexual needs.

And I soon learned the price I would pay for being bold enough to suggest that very thing to Eddie. Yes, he made sure I paid dearly for my act of bravery that day.

For the next few days, Eddie was very cool toward me. He never admitted what he had done with Jackie’s missing panties, but Mom told me that they had suddenly turned up. Their equally mysterious reappearance wasn’t surprising, but they turned up in a place where they couldn’t have been—at the bottom of Mom’s dirty clothes hamper. If I’d had any doubts that Eddie was to blame, which I didn’t, his guilt would have been sealed when the missing lingerie made its comeback.

Right on the heels of that episode, something else happened that I couldn’t ignore. A grand jury had convened that morning, consuming most of my day as I took notes about each case that was going to be prosecuted. It was almost midnight when I left the office. The drive home seemed much longer than fifteen miles and I had to roll down the window and turn up the radio so I could stay awake.

I let myself in the front door and heard sounds from the bathroom. Eddie was probably showering. Turning on my computer, I went into the kitchen for a snack, hoping it would keep me awake while I wrote. When Eddie came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, I was typing.

“Hi, when did you get home?” he asked.

“Just a few minutes ago.” I avoided eye contact and hoped he wouldn’t grill me like he sometimes did. “Yes, I thought I could get this done at the office, but finally realized I’d have to finish it here.”

Coming over to stand beside me, he read the computer screen over my shoulder. “I thought maybe we could go to bed together for once.”

My heart sank, and I felt a return of the feelings of disgust. “It’s already
one a.m.—I’m not going to feel like making love because I’m already exhausted. I’m sorry.” Not wanting to make him angry, I hid my disgust and tried to let him down gently.

“Well, I don’t mind waiting.”

I kept typing, trying not to break my concentration. “Eddie, you might as well go to bed, I don’t really know how long I’ll be.”

He settled down in front of the TV. “Okay, I’ll just watch TV. If I doze off, you can always wake me.”

I sighed. It was no use; he wasn’t going to go to bed until I did. I stared at the computer screen, trying to make sense of what I had written. I went back and forth between my notebook and the keyboard, trying to make sure every sentence was accurate. I glanced up at the clock above my desk, which said it was two-thirty in the morning.

“Eddie, you need to go to bed,” I spoke loudly in his direction.

His eyelids fluttered open. “That’s okay, I’ll wait for you.”

Well, I’ve got news for you. I barely have the energy to write, much less for sex.

I turned back to my notebook. My own eyelids were so heavy I knew I would have to proofread the article after I got some sleep. Turning off the computer, I glanced over at Eddie. I wanted to let him sleep there, but I knew he would have back pain the next morning, so I took pity on him. “Come on, Eddie, it’s four o’clock. I’m going to bed.”

I prayed he would realize I was too exhausted for anything as, all my energy depleted, I climbed the stairs. I hated working so late, especially when the kids would be getting ready for school in a few hours. I threw on a nightgown and crawled under the covers. Eddie leaned over to kiss me goodnight. “Good night,” I murmured, turning over. I was almost asleep, but I could feel his kisses on the back of my neck. “Eddie, stop it
.” I tried to move away.

I felt him tugging at my nightgown, and I came awake enough to snap at him.
“No! I have to get up in two hours, I’m exhausted, and I don’t want to have sex.”

“Just lie
back and go to sleep, if you want. But I’ll bet I can make you want to stay awake.” I heard him, his voice all silky, and I punched my pillow and tried to turn towards the wall. But he held me tightly against him, and I knew any resistance was futile, and would only serve to fuel his arousal.

Somewhere a loud, shrill buzzing noise wouldn’t stop. I pulled the covers over my head, trying to hide from the sound. When it didn’t work, I opened my eyes and saw the alarm clock. I had to get the kids up for school. I turned the clock off and turned over. Eddie was still asleep. I started to get out of bed when I remembered what happened while I was semi-asleep, just a short while ago.

I used my foot to nudge his leg several times. “Eddie, wake up. Time to get the kids ready.” He moved a little and I poked a finger into his back. “Come on, you kept me awake, so you get up now and let me sleep.”

He looked at me like he was in shock, and I couldn’t resist a bit of sarcasm. “Don’t tell me you’re sleepy? Why, you got at least three more hours sleep than I did. So it’s only fair for you to get up with the kids.”

“Do it yourself,” he growled. I resisted the urge to place my foot against his back and kick him. The mental picture of him falling to the floor with a great thud made me laugh as I crawled out of bed, feeling as tired as I had two hours earlier, when I had crawled into it.

When Eddie got up later that morning, he found me in the bathroom. “What do you have planned today?” he asked.

I finished brushing my teeth, but said nothing.

“Hey you, can you hear me?” He grinned at me in the mirror.

“You raped me last night,” I said flatly.

His brows shot up. “I what?”

“You heard me,” I said, brushing past him on my way to the kitchen. “You better never touch me again, or I swear I’ll press charges. Do you understand?”

Eddie didn’t move a muscle. He just stood there, staring at me like I was from Mars. The next thing I knew he was gone and a few minutes after that, his truck roared to life and I heard the rubber peel off his tires.

Two days later, I knew it wouldn’t work. We had been fighting since the night he raped me. The abuse, the effect it had on the kids, the roller coaster lifestyle; all if it was too much for me, and I was finding it more and more difficult to concentrate on anything. Moreover, it was tearing me apart to see my children suffer because of having an unhappy home life. They would often run to me, cowering, whenever Eddie was angry. Or they would wait until he had stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him, to say anything. Then the tears flowed down their soft little cheeks.

“I hate him! I hate him!” Mileah managed to say as huge sobs racked her small body. Her words took me back to that night on the stairs, when I was just eight and had said that very same thing to my own mother.

I wept inside for Mileah, my heart breaking. I had felt the same way a few weeks earlier, when our family outing turned into an excuse for Eddie to abuse Gabby. I was still weighing my options, unsure what to do, and unaware of how dramatically—and how quickly—our lives would change direction.

My breakdown came just four days later. I had been in a bad mood all week. I kept thinking about the rape. Since then, I had consciously decided I wasn’t going to live like that anymore. The realization that my husband had really and truly raped me opened the valve, and a free-flowing stream of consciousness began flowing inside my mind. During the next few days, similar acts of violence came to mind, leaving me with more memories than I knew what to do with. I felt dangerously close to a breaking point, but I still couldn’t let my guard down, afraid of what my family and friends would think—if they knew the real truth about my life—so I pasted on my usual smile and went my way.

It was a slow, sunny day when I picked up the kids at school, and we went out for burgers. I promised to take them to a nearby playground before our Bible meeting. I had just parked the car when I realized I didn’t have the energy to move. I asked the kids to just sit quietly and read while I took a short nap.

“Then we’ll get out and play,” I promised. But I was so tired, I felt like I’d been drugged.

But they wouldn’t sit still, and began arguing with each other.

“All right, you four. If you don’t quiet down, you won’t have to worry about playing or going to Bible study, because we’ll turn around and go straight home.” My threats earned me some much-needed peace—until someone began crying.

“Mommy, Trista hit me in the stomach,” Mileah cried
out.

“I did not. She pulled my hair
.” Trista said.

I swung around to face them. “Look, is it asking too much to be able to take a short nap? Don’t you understand that I’m tired?” I felt like my nerves were about to snap, and I just couldn’t stand the noise and confusion.

“Look, Mommy, Brandon and his sister are here. Can we go over and play with them?” Gabby asked, spotting some friends.

“No!” I yelled. “You can’t. If you kids won’t be quiet and let me get some sleep, I am not going to let you out of this car!”

“But it’s hot in here.”

I couldn’t listen to another word, and I was beyond caring. I just wanted to get some sleep, so I rested my head against my arm and tried to tune out their chattering.

But sleep eluded me, and I just stared out at the children on the playground, not really seeing them at all. I was startled by a knock on my window. It was Brandon’s mom, Cindy.

I rolled down the window.

“What are you doing here?” She laughed and I tried to return the laughter, but the most I could muster was a small smile.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Oh I’m just tired, that’s all,” I told Cindy, opening my door and getting out. The kids took off for the playground before I could tell them to behave, but I didn’t care. I somehow managed to keep the conversation going for a few minutes, before Cindy’s husband yelled for her, and they left.

I sat down at a picnic table and stared at my children, who were divided equally between the swing set and the sliding board. Normally, I wouldn’t take them to the playground dressed up in their best clothes on a Bible study night. But the day had been anything but normal.

Finally, I called for them to come to the car. “It’s time to go, or we’re going to be late,” I said. Several minutes and much yelling from me later, and they were all inside, buckled up.

We drove across town to our Bible meeting, but I couldn’t concentrate on what the minister was saying.

What’s wrong with me?

I felt like I was going to explode. I was angry
—with the kids for not listening; and with myself, for being so impatient with them.

Why am I so angry? What’s going on?

Suddenly I felt tears well up behind my eyes. I swallowed hard, trying to hold them at bay. But it didn’t work. As I sat there, my vision grew blurry from the tears and I kept sniffing, trying to hold them back. Finally, I couldn’t stand it. When the tears began streaming down my cheeks, I left my children sitting there and fled to the women’s restroom. Once inside, I leaned up against the stall, trying to figure out what was happening. But I already knew. I wasn’t angry with my children or myself—I was angry with Eddie—for what he had taken from me. I was angry with him for not giving me any say over my own body—and for the first time since then, it was all beginning to sink in.

“Daleen? Daleen, it’s Shirley. Are you all right?”

I turned the lock on the door and left the little stall. Shirley took one look at me and knew something was wrong. “What can I do?”

“I—I don’t know.”

Shirley looked at me closely. “Did something happen? Did Eddie hurt you again?”

I nodded as sobs wracked my body. I couldn’t even talk.

She just held me for a few minutes, before saying anything. “I’m so sorry. Can I do anything?”

“No.”

I heard Shirley’s voice, but I couldn’t follow her words. I tried to focus, but I couldn’t. The only person I really wanted was Trudy—and she had long since left her office.

“Why don’t we go out to the lounge and sit down. I’ll go get Butch and we’ll decide what to do
,” Shirley said.

I sat down on the couch and when she returned, I was still sitting there. The tears continued fall
ing, unabated. “Daleen we want you to come home with us. I thought, with the kids, it might be better if you didn’t drive right now. You’re so upset. I wish I knew what to do.” Shirley put her arm around me and held me, letting me cry until I could cry no more. I don’t have any idea how much time passed, but the next thing I knew she was helping me into her car.

“What about the kids? Where are they?” I was present enough to notice their absence.

“It’s all right. Butch is going to drive your car. They’re with him. He’ll follow us home.”

“Are they all buckled in?” I managed to ask.

“They sure are. I did it myself.”

“But they—they have school tomorrow. I don’t know if I can take them, or how they’ll get there.”

“You let me worry about that. Don’t you think about it at all,” Shirley said.

I looked out the window, fastening my seatbelt automatically. As we drove, I didn’t think about anything. I was completely calm, as if the tears had washed away all my pain and anger.

“I know you’ll want to wait until we get home, but is there anyone else you need to talk to, Daleen?” I saw Shirley glance over, and though she didn’t say anything specific, I’m sure she suspected Eddie was behind this.