A Confession
It’s too quiet. I ignore the pile of lunch dishes sitting in the sink the same way I’ve ignored the laundry spilling out of the hamper. The clock ticking in the empty kitchen drives me back to our bedroom where Roger sits at his desk, sorting bills. He doesn’t look up. I sit in my chair and try to get interested in a real estate magazine. My foot jiggles. My arm itches.
“I think we should call the police department.”
“Hmm.” Roger doesn’t turn around.
“Roger, I’m going to call Detective Ramos.” My chair complains as I rise and head for the door. Roger spins away from his desk and calls me back.
“Dee, I don’t think that’s a good idea. The police have been very forthcoming through this whole process.”
“This isn’t a process, Roger, it’s our lives! The police haven’t been forthcoming, they’ve been equivocal.”
“What does that mean?”
“Exactly! There are so many holes in the story the police have told us, we have no idea what it means that Lukas has been released and that Father Mike is dragging Walter over here to tell us why. I don’t want to hear Walter’s version of what happened. Walter doesn’t tell the truth.” My head feels like a teakettle whistling steam.
Roger raises his hand to his chin, inches his fingers around and starts massaging the back of his neck. His voice is a low warning. “I know this is hard, but I think we need to trust...”
“The process?”
“I think we need to trust God and not go ahead of Him.” Roger drops his hands to his sides, straightens his shoulders and searches my eyes with some kind of radar I can’t resist. “We’ll get the truth.”
My shoulders slump and Roger reaches out and pulls me close. I didn’t realize how cold I am until his arms close around me and I breathe in the warmth of chest. We stand like this for a moment, relaxing into each other, until a knock at the front door breaks the spell.
Andy’s footsteps down the hall give me a moment to wipe my eyes and run a comb through my hair. Feet scrape lightly across the atrium. Inaudible whispers tell me the taped doorbell must have alerted our visitors to the need for quiet in the house. I half hope it is Laura coming to see the baby, but I know better.
Roger raises an eyebrow and nods in the direction of our closed bedroom door. I take a deep breath and pray a silent thy will be done. Then I open the door and walk out in front of Roger, clear-eyed and regal with self-possession. What have I been thinking to let the likes of Walter Schwartz drive a truck through my heart?
Roger and I enter the living room just as Andy is expressing his regret that the entire family isn’t present. Valerie is out grocery shopping and the young people aren’t home either.
“It’s okay.” He raises his head when he hears us. Walter’s normally booming voice is muted. The man looks like he’s aged ten years. A weak sun shines down through the skylight and casts shadows beneath great bags under his eyes. I don’t know what I expected to see, but not this ghoulish sadness.
Roger and I sit on the hearth and Roger takes my hand. Father Mike sits next to Walter on the couch. He sets a hand down on Walter’s knee and the slumped man jerks like a marionette tangled in string. Walter clears his throat and attempts a rueful smile, but his facial muscles are having none of it. It’s as if gravity exerts twice the normal pull on him. He is literally heavy with grief.
Andy breaks the tension by going to the kitchen and returning with a glass of water for Walter. Walter gulps, chokes, and then takes in the liquid more slowly, nodding thanks to Andy.
“I know you don’t have the complete story on what happened to Scott, yet.” Father Mike opens the conversation.
“Yes, and I’m sorry about that.” Walter takes over. “But you are going to get the truth from me today.”
“Excuse me, Walter, but shouldn’t this come from the police?” I relax my hand in Roger’s hold, but I don’t pull away. He gives my hand a little squeeze.
“Dee, I understand your concern. The report is being written as we speak and someone from the police department will be in touch with you before the findings are released to the press. Detective Ramos promised me that.” Walter lets his words hang in the air for a moment while he takes another sip of water. “You will get all the details, I assure you. But that’s not why I’m here today.”
My hand stiffens under the weight of Roger’s palm.
“Why are you here, Walter?” Roger holds a level tone in his voice.
Walter squirms in his seat, swallows hard, and sputters like an engine low on gas. Father Mike gives him a nod and Walter presses on.
“I want to confess my part in my son’s death.”
R
Walter skirts the details surrounding Scott’s death as only a politician can. He wants to focus on his relationship with Scott. He isn’t here to clear up our confusion over how the dead body of his only son came to rest in a bed of weeds under our plum tree. No, this confession is for the good of Walter’s soul.
“I should have paid more attention to Scott after he dropped out of school, but I thought if I gave him some space he would find his path in life.”
I can’t let Walter get away with this.
“Scott wasn’t looking for a life path, Walter, he was selling drugs in the park.”
Father Mike’s expression remains impassive but his eyes dart back and forth between the determined set of my jaw and the thin lips Walter presses so tightly together speech barely escapes.
“I only learned that when I found Scott’s journal in his bedroom after he died. It never occurred to me that Scott had gotten himself involved in drugs.”
“All the signs were there, Walter.” I wave my hand in the air. “But never mind that, what did you read in Scott’s journal that will help us understand how he died? Was it a drug overdose?” What about the gun? “Did he shoot himself?”
Walter folds into himself as if I have just fired a bullet at him. I replay my words and wince. For all his caginess, Walter is a grieving father. “Walter, I’m sorry. Tell us what you came here to tell us.”
Walter moves his attention to Andy and Roger. Words march out of his mouth as if they have rehearsed for a hopeful outcome.
“I had a hard time making sense of what Scott wrote. I couldn’t tell what was real. He seemed to have an obsession with death, experiencing death, causing death.”
My stomach clutches as my mind goes back to the day Sophie went missing. She really had been in danger! When she came home safe, we let the incident go too quickly. What if we had confronted Walter with his son’s behavior? Could we have prevented what happened?
“I figured I would show Scott’s journal to Father Mike, because he had spent time with Scott. I thought maybe he would be able to help me understand what was going on with my son.”
Did you not know your son was an insane pervert? Of course he didn’t. We all want to think the very best of our children. The image of Scott’s handsome, troubled face floats before my eyes. I see his expressions change, click - warm and wanting to help – click - cold and murderous. While I weigh the possibilities, Walter runs out of words.
Father Mike takes over. “I think it’s safe to say that Scott had some mental problems. We will never know exactly what those problems were because he never received medical attention for them.” Father Mike shakes his head slowly. “That’s not surprising. We treat mental illness as if it were a behavior problem that can be disciplined. Discipline without diagnosis and treatment of the underlying cause just drives the problem underground, where it behaves like a fault in the earth.” Father Mike moves his hands together to simulate his words. “Plates grind against each other. Pressure builds. Inevitably there’s a rupture.” He lets his fingers fly away from his chest and I envision Scott’s heart flying into a million pieces.
“Walter, are you telling us that Scott committed suicide?” Andy has been listening as if Walter was building a case in need of a summary argument.
Walter gives a deep sigh. His voice flattens into a monotone. “I’m trying to tell you what I did.”
According to Walter, his list of misdeeds began when he denied that his son was becoming a danger to himself and others and ended when he found Scott’s journal and did not turn it over to the police. I suspect his shortcomings as a parent began long before that, but the relevance was that if the police had read Scott’s journal they probably would have gotten to the truth earlier. While I wrestle with that idea, another thought niggles. Had Walter paid attention, Scott might still be alive. Who am I to judge, though? None of us paid attention.
“We still don’t know happened, Walter.”
“Dee, Elinor and I aren’t completely clear on that yet either. I hope you can be patient. The police will make a statement later today that will completely exonerate your family. But I want to do more than that. Elinor and I want to go public with Scott’s problem. We want to announce the Scott Schwartz Foundation for Research and Treatment of Mental Illness. And we’d like to be able to say that you are part of it.”
This is the first time I have ever heard Walter make a reference to his wife. I sit with this thought a moment and then my mind changes gear. Unbelievable! Walter is trying to use charity to get in front of a bad public relations situation! My mouth drops open, but Walter is still talking.
“Roger, Andy,” he addresses the men. “I’m here today to ask you to join the Scott Schwartz Foundation Board and work with my wife and me to establish treatment programs for troubled teens.”
I skewer Father Mike with a harsh, how-could-you look? He is quick on the uptake.
“I suggested to Walter this might not be the best time to make such a proposal to you, but he was insistent that people see some good come from a tragic situation.” Father Mike met my hostility with kind eyes and a sympathetic smile. “Walter won’t be running for re-election. He’s going to have his hands full coming up to speed on mental health issues and fundraising techniques.” He turned to Roger and Andy. “I also suggested to Walter that he take a back seat to Elinor in this endeavor. Elinor will serve as the foundation board chairman. She will be grateful for any expertise you have to offer in legal and organization matters.”
“We’ve never had the pleasure of meeting Elinor.” My words lower the room temperature by about ten degrees.
“My wife is a lovely person whom I’ve neglected, along with my son, for many years. She tried over and over again to tell me that Scott needed help but I was too busy with meetings and campaigns and other people’s problems to listen to her.”
A knock at the door interrupts our conversation. As I cross through the atrium, Valerie comes in through the garage with an armload of grocery bags she sets on the counter. I go to open the door. Detective Ramos stands there, police report in hand. Behind him, a boy’s face floats like a pale moon obscured by two unsmiling adults. It’s the Dolds and Lukas.
Now we are going to get the truth.