just I (Anna did, after all, try to understand Brian) smugly defined life as married versus not married, or settled versus not settled, Brian unfalteringly supported me in whatever decision I felt compelled to make at the time. I like to think I supported him, too, but the truth of the matter is he never asked for support, and I was so caught up in my own life I rarely thought to give it.
In my defense, if such a thing exists, I must say that in the beginning, on the day of my arrest, I wanted nothing more than to be free to be with Peter. When I’d placed the call to Brian, I hadn’t been calling an attorney; I’d been calling my friend. But I’ve wondered since then if some part of me, some small part that wasn’t shocked numb with grief, knew that Brian could better help me in his professional role. I’d been desperate to tell him our story; I needed him to understand, but was it because I longed for comfort from my friend, or was it because I needed his help in getting to Peter? In the end, the answer didn’t matter.
“It kills me, too, Brian,” I finally said, because it did, all of it, my shame suffocating me behind the locks and bars.
Chapter 15: January, 2000
We took a trip to Chattanooga after Christmas, a long weekend to relax and regroup. It was nice to be outside, engaged in physical activity. We took a tour through Ruby Falls, hiked through Rock City, and enjoyed a late picnic lunch of cold chicken, potato salad, and iced tea at the precipice of Lover’s Leap. The wind was cold, but the sun was warm on our backs as we took in the view and tried to identify the seven states supposedly visible from the top of Lookout Mountain.
I held Anna’s hand as we walked the trails, taking her arm in the most treacherous spots, aware of her tendency to trip over her own feet even without the added danger of rocks and tree roots. I enjoyed this quiet time away with her. In the earlier years of our marriage we’d traveled frequently, but the last few years we’d been so focused on starting a family we’d neglected nearly everything else. We passed several families along the trails, parents cautioning young children as older children ran ahead, and while the thought crossed my mind that that could someday be us, their presence didn’t stir up any feelings of sadness at our lost chance. We had time, I told myself.
Anna, too, seemed optimistic about our future. “Thanks for this, Phillip,” she gestured at the view as we packed up the remains of our lunch. “This is exactly what we needed. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Not as beautiful as you,” I told her, a play on an old line. I expected—and received—a good-natured eye roll at the cheesiness of the compliment. I was serious, though. Anna looked beautiful, well-rested and fit, her cheeks pink from the cold. She seemed to have recovered quickly physically—she actually looked healthier than she had in weeks—and if her expression was at times wistful, the thoughts she expressed to me were hopeful. She put an arm around my waist on our hike back to the car, and I hugged her shoulders.
“When we do have a baby, we won’t have moments like this,” she said. “I guess we’d better enjoy them while we can.”
“Sure we will,” I said. “We’ll just have to get one of those baby backpack things these people all seem to have. It’ll be good for us. Like walking with weights attached.”
She smiled. “What if we have a baby who hates the outdoors? It’s possible, you know.”
“Then little Poindexter or Genevieve can sit in the shade while Mommy and Daddy hike,” I said, and she laughed.
I took it as a good sign that despite what we’d been through Anna spoke so easily of our future children. She had said she was relieved to know she was capable of pregnancy, and she seemed to be holding on to that thought. I’d spent so much time worrying about her since the miscarriage it was reassuring to know she was okay.
Looking
In my defense, if such a thing exists, I must say that in the beginning, on the day of my arrest, I wanted nothing more than to be free to be with Peter. When I’d placed the call to Brian, I hadn’t been calling an attorney; I’d been calling my friend. But I’ve wondered since then if some part of me, some small part that wasn’t shocked numb with grief, knew that Brian could better help me in his professional role. I’d been desperate to tell him our story; I needed him to understand, but was it because I longed for comfort from my friend, or was it because I needed his help in getting to Peter? In the end, the answer didn’t matter.
“It kills me, too, Brian,” I finally said, because it did, all of it, my shame suffocating me behind the locks and bars.
Chapter 15: January, 2000
We took a trip to Chattanooga after Christmas, a long weekend to relax and regroup. It was nice to be outside, engaged in physical activity. We took a tour through Ruby Falls, hiked through Rock City, and enjoyed a late picnic lunch of cold chicken, potato salad, and iced tea at the precipice of Lover’s Leap. The wind was cold, but the sun was warm on our backs as we took in the view and tried to identify the seven states supposedly visible from the top of Lookout Mountain.
I held Anna’s hand as we walked the trails, taking her arm in the most treacherous spots, aware of her tendency to trip over her own feet even without the added danger of rocks and tree roots. I enjoyed this quiet time away with her. In the earlier years of our marriage we’d traveled frequently, but the last few years we’d been so focused on starting a family we’d neglected nearly everything else. We passed several families along the trails, parents cautioning young children as older children ran ahead, and while the thought crossed my mind that that could someday be us, their presence didn’t stir up any feelings of sadness at our lost chance. We had time, I told myself.
Anna, too, seemed optimistic about our future. “Thanks for this, Phillip,” she gestured at the view as we packed up the remains of our lunch. “This is exactly what we needed. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Not as beautiful as you,” I told her, a play on an old line. I expected—and received—a good-natured eye roll at the cheesiness of the compliment. I was serious, though. Anna looked beautiful, well-rested and fit, her cheeks pink from the cold. She seemed to have recovered quickly physically—she actually looked healthier than she had in weeks—and if her expression was at times wistful, the thoughts she expressed to me were hopeful. She put an arm around my waist on our hike back to the car, and I hugged her shoulders.
“When we do have a baby, we won’t have moments like this,” she said. “I guess we’d better enjoy them while we can.”
“Sure we will,” I said. “We’ll just have to get one of those baby backpack things these people all seem to have. It’ll be good for us. Like walking with weights attached.”
She smiled. “What if we have a baby who hates the outdoors? It’s possible, you know.”
“Then little Poindexter or Genevieve can sit in the shade while Mommy and Daddy hike,” I said, and she laughed.
I took it as a good sign that despite what we’d been through Anna spoke so easily of our future children. She had said she was relieved to know she was capable of pregnancy, and she seemed to be holding on to that thought. I’d spent so much time worrying about her since the miscarriage it was reassuring to know she was okay.
Looking
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