Sister of Silence (21 page)

“Well thank you. So do you. I’ve read several of your articles and wondered if we would ever meet. So this was a good idea.”

“Yes, it was.” I looked across the car and smiled at him, wondering how many women hit on him during any given day.

Driving to the airport, Brad told me how he came to be a photographer and I shared my experience about working at the newspaper. Since he was freelance, Brad said he usually just
went on assignments when Linda or Delbert asked him to. He developed the prints in the darkroom basement at the office, but it was usually long after everyone had gone home, so he didn’t really know the staff.

“Well, here we are.” I maneuvered the car into a parking space and we jumped out. Walking into the airport, I kept fidgeting with my pantsuit. White, with a large black rose pattern, it was cool and comfortable, but with the heat I was also afraid it was showing every bulge.

I turned to see Brad grinning at me. “Do I look all right?”

His look was mixed with humor. “You look great, really.”

I felt my face turn red. “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment; it’s just that this thing tends to cling sometimes.”

“I know you weren’t. And it isn’t. It’s fine.” He laughed and I immediately felt comfortable.

After a short media briefing, we were led to the C-130, which looked like a large green bumblebee. Brad and I found two seats and snapped on our seatbelts. After takeoff, we donned what seemed to be a serious-looking harness and then made our way to the cargo door at the rear. It had been opened to the daylight outside, so we could see the terrain a few thousand feet below. The rushing wind, combined with the noise of the huge engines, was so loud it was almost impossible to hear one another.

Brad leaned over and yelled into my ear, “Why don’t you stand near the edge and I’ll get a shot?” I looked at him like he was crazy, but he was so taken by the idea that I took his advice. A few minutes later I was peering down over the edge, my harness the only thing keeping me from blowing away, as the wind whipped against me.

“This must be what it feels like to skydive,” I yelled. “It’s incredible!

Brad flashed a huge grin and gave me a thumbs-up sign, before snapping several more photos. Then it was his turn. I marveled as he leaned toward the opening, camera in hand, clicking away. Brad seemed fearless, standing much closer to the edge than I had.

After the flight, our group was walking back to the airport when we saw the pilot and some of the other military personnel waving. I waved back. “They like you.” He grinned.

“I’m sure they’re waving at all of us,” I
said as I laughed.

“Maybe, but in that outfit, they’re probably waving more at you. I know for sure those eager waves aren’t intended for me,
or at least, I hope not!” He chuckled sincerely afterward.

I realized he was teasing me, and felt myself blushing.

As we left the airport building, Brad held the door open for me. The gesture made me think of Eddie, who never did. “It’s nice to know chivalry isn’t dead, after all. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I do it for my wife all the time.”

“She must be happy to have you around. What’s her name?” I asked.

“Connie. We have a two-year-old son, Jason.”

“That’s great. I’ll bet he’s a doll baby.” I smiled.

“I think so.” He grinned
, then said, “What about you? Is there a Mr. Leigh?”

“Well, that’s not an easy question to answer
…” I paused, then added, “Since we’re separated.”

I saw the curious look Brad gave me
and shrugged. “Just trying to work out a few details, that’s all.”

We talked easily all the way back, making me realize how good it felt to have someone listen who wasn’t constantly criticizing me. It also felt different from my professional interviews, where I merely asked questions and took notes as I listened to someone else talk. But with Brad, I was doing all the talking, and somehow the topic had come around to writing.

“So I thought I would tie in the angle about the planes being used to carry military cargo. That should make it a little more interesting. But I’d like to do some more research before I write it up. Who knows, there may be something else I’ll learn before I’m done.”

“You’re very good at what you do. It’s obvious you do your homework before you write a piece.”

“Well, I’ve learned from prior experience that it can’t do any harm to ask questions,” I said, nodding, “and usually it results in a much better story.”

He smiled. “You’re a terrific writer.”

I blushed again. “Why thank you, Brad. That’s very nice of you.”

“No, I really mean it. You have a way with words,” Brad said, his expression serious. “Just give me a ring anytime you need my help with a story.”

“Thanks for coming along. I couldn’t have gotten any prints at all without you, and besides, I’m sure your pictures will be much better than mine could ever be,” I said as Brad got out of my car. “It was nice meeting you, and I’ll call if I need you to do anything else.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” He smiled and waved goodbye. As I watched his reflection in my rearview mirror, I thought about how good it felt to receive such sincere compliments.

I could use a lot more of that. It’s so different from the usual put-downs I hear.

Our shared experience, high in the sky, created an instant camaraderie, and during the next couple of months, I learned Brad’s friendliness was genuine. He had no ulterior motives. He quickly became an invaluable friend and co-worker. We worked together again at the Rowlesburg Ox Roast, an annual country fair held each Labor Day weekend. We chatted as we walked around the fairgrounds, deciding what shots to take. Suddenly, Brad stopped dead in his tracks. “You have four kids?” His look was incredulous.

“Yes, although sometimes it seems like twice as many.” I laughed at his reaction. It was the same one I got every time anyone learned I had four children.

“Wow! You don’t even look like you’ve had one—much less four.”

“Brad, you are so good for my ego!” I laughed. “You know, if you don’t knock it off, my head is going to swell to twice this size.”

“No, really, I mean it. Do you mind if I ask how old you are?”

“I just turned twenty-six.”

His hand went to his forehead, sweeping his hair back in a familiar gesture I was beginning to recognize. “You’re only three years older than me.” He shook his head again. “And you have four kids. Man, have you been busy.”

I blushed and he added, “I’m sorry, I just meant—”

“It’s okay; I get that all the time.” We began walking toward the amusements. “Why don’t we get a picture of the Ferris wheel?”

“Sure. Come on, we’ll get one from the top.” Brad ran ahead and I hurried to catch up.

“You mean ride it—together?”

He glanced at me sideways, giving me that silly grin. “No, we’ll go separately and I’ll take pictures of you riding it. Of course we’ll ride it. What better place to get a picture than from the air? Besides, we can enjoy ourselves at the same time.”

“All right, I’m game.” We handed over our money and sat down, rocking gently back and forth as the carnival worker lowered a metal bar across our laps. As the bucket seat began rising higher into the air, we could see the river from across the ball field. The air was warm, the sun was bright, and billowy soft clouds floated overhead, making it a perfect day.

“Looks a lot different, doesn’t it?” Brad asked, snapping some pictures of sights below.

“Yes, it does. The park is lovely. I think the town’s much prettier now than it was before the flood.”

“I think so too. I mean, it’s a shame so many people lost their homes, but the whole town looks much better now. This park is great.” He leaned over to take some more shots of the new playground equipment.

“So tell me, Brad, who watches Jason while you and Connie work?”

“My mom keeps him.”

“That’s good. You know, two is a great age. I sometimes wish I could have kept my own kids at that age—except for the terrible part of those years, that is.”

“We’re pretty fortunate. Jason hasn’t reached that stage yet
.” Brad put his camera down.

“What does your wife do?” I asked.

“She’s a pharmacist.”

“Sounds like a good job,” I said.

“Yes, except for the long hours. But it gives Jason and me some time together. He’s with my mom during the week, but Saturdays are for us.” Brad spotted something, and picked up his camera again. “Look at those kids down there.”

I looked in the direction he was pointing, to two girls eating ice cream. “You sound like you’re very proud of him.” I smiled, recognizing the paternal pride in Brad’s voice.

“I am.” He turned to look at me and I was once again struck by how handsome he was. I thought how easy it would be to let myself get lost in those blue eyes and that beautiful smile.

The sudden thought startled me. You’re married, my inner voice reminded me.

Our bucket came to a gradual stop and as we got out, Brad turned to give me his hand, helping me up. As I took it, I felt a sense of loss. For what, I didn’t know. Maybe for never having experienced such kindness. And now that I was, it wasn’t with someone I could have an intimate relationship with—the kind I should have within my own marriage.

Wouldn’t it be nice if Eddie treated me like that?
What a joke! Now that we’re separated, the chances of that happening are more remote than they ever were.

“Well, I need to head back to the office
since it’s early, so I can get this film developed,” Brad said as he turned to go.

I waved as I drove off, and
couldn’t help wondering what Eddie would think if he knew I had just spent two hours in the company of another man. Granted, it was two hours spent working, but it was with another man, nonetheless. I realized he’d probably be pretty angry, not to mention jealous. He never wanted me anywhere around another man if he wasn’t right at my side.

He probably judges all men by his own, unfaithful standards.

Then I remembered Eddie wasn’t there—he was still staying with his sister. I felt a wonderful sense of independence, like a bird being set free after having been held captive since birth. It was exhilarating!

Not only did Brad teach me a few techniques to improve my own photography, but on a personal level, working with him was great for my self-esteem. Men had always given me appraising looks, so that was nothing new. But I knew Brad saw the real me—someone with a good head on her shoulders, who cared about people, and who had things to say that mattered. I also knew that, as a colleague, Brad found me attractive. But more important, he talked to me in a way that made me feel pretty. Pretty in a good, wholesome way—not like Eddie always made me feel, since my husband only saw me as a sexual toy, good for his own gratification.

Not long after Brad and I began working together, Cathy Ford disappeared. The Grant County woman’s body was never found, but the authorities charged a sheriff’s deputy with her murder and succeeded in get
ting a guilty conviction. Linda summarized the case for our readers, but I pored through everything I could get my hands on, reading every detail about Ford and the blood police found throughout Paul Ferrell Jr.’s mobile home.

I
suspected the articles may have contributed to my nightmares becoming so vivid that I had only recently begun to remember them. They had been occurring a couple of times a week for a few years, and were always the same: I was wearing a wedding gown, running through a long building, trying to escape my knife-wielding husband.

But it had taken my becoming a reporter and seeing other cases up close, for me to finally understand those dreams
.

I was afraid Eddie would kill me.

I began writing down all my dreams as soon as I woke up, trying to piece together anything my unconscious mind was trying to tell me. My relationship with the local police continued to grow, but I remained tight-lipped about what went on in my own home, never talking about it to the “men in blue” I saw every day.

Suddenly, a year had come and gone. I loved my work and looked forward to each new story, but Eddie and I had recently reconciled. At the time, it was—like so many women—for the sake of the children. It wasn’t long before he was hassling me again. At first, he told me how proud he was I had gone to work as a reporter. But not long after, he quit his paving job to return to the coal mines. Then he began making snide comments, pressuring me to quit. Determined to do anything but that, I went to see Linda.

“I think we might be able to work something out. Why don’t we talk about it and see what we can come up with?” she suggested.

I was thrilled when she said I could write my stories at home, as long I met my deadlines.

“You know, you’re so good at this. Everyone raves about what a terrific job you’re doing and it would be a shame for you to lose all of that. Besides, you’ve been such a godsend for me. You can’t imagine the amount of work yo
u’ve taken off my shoulders,” Linda added.