Never Ending Dispute

TW: Gun Violence, Substance Abuse

Delaney  

“That’s not what happened, and you know it!”   

For nearly a half hour, my sister and I had been going back and forth about an event that took place during our childhood. As the oldest, I was sure my memory was better than hers. 

“See, now you’re just making things up, Rue.” I told her as she continued with her account. 

“No, I’m not, Delaney!” She yelled at me. “You just don’t want to believe the truth!”  

The only reason we were having this discussion was because she refused to accept reality. 

“Listen Rue.” I said, trying to calm her down. “I’m not trying to make you upset. Let’s just drop it, okay?”  

Before she responded, she walked over to the kitchen counter where I was preparing dinner and sat down. 

“Fine, Delaney. I’ll drop it if you promise me one thing.” 

“What’s that?”  

“Promise me that you won’t let that man into this house.”  

I looked into her eyes as they glistened with sincerity. The tears that threaten to fall tugged at my heartstrings. I would do anything for my little Rue, but this request gave me pause. 

The man she was referring to, was our father. After 18 years in prison, he would soon be released on parole. Over the years, I had maintained a close relationship with him. I visited twice a month and provided him with everything he needed.  Those responsibilities fell to me since our mother remained incapacitated. Now, as his only living blood relatives, Rue and I were the only ones left to take care of him. However, Rue refused to even acknowledge him as our father. 

Closing my eyes, I breathed a heavy sigh. “He has nowhere else to go, Rue.”  

“Oh yes, he does.”   

“And where is that?”  

“TO HELL!”  

Hitting the countertop with closed fists, she stood up from her stool. Then, with a loud grunt, she kicked it over before storming out of the kitchen. I heard her bedroom door slam as I made my way around the island to pick it up. 

I knew my baby sister very well. She just needed time to process. Once she calmed down, she would see things more clearly. So, instead of following her, I went back to making dinner.  

When everything was done, I placed each dish I prepared on a serving tray and carried it down the hallway that led to our mother’s bedroom. When I entered the room, she was sitting in her favorite place, in her chair in front of the window, silently rocking back and forth.  

“Hey, mama. How are you feeling?”   

Unfazed by my presence, she continued to stare out of the window, as I placed her dinner on the tray table beside her. Placing a hand on her shoulder, I tried again to get attention.  

“Mama?”  

This time, she turned to me and smiled. 

“Time for dinner.” I smiled back. 

“Thank you, baby”  

She spoke so low that if I weren’t looking at her, I would have missed it. But instead of eating, she went back to silently rocking. 

She did that often. Ever since that day, she hasn’t been the same. The doctors said that the bullet fragments that were left in her brain affected more than just her memory. While her speech and motor skills were still intact, they were limited. Some days were better than others. Sometimes she knew who we were, other days we were complete strangers. The mother we knew then was long gone, replaced with the woman who sat staring, not completely knowing who or where she was, let alone how she got here.  

Tucking a strand of gray hair behind her ear, I kissed her forehead before heading to the door. As I closed it behind me, unwelcome memories from that day invaded my head.  

***  

A crack of thunder in the sky made me flinch on the stool where I sat adding chocolate chips to cookie dough at the kitchen counter with Rue. It had been raining nonstop for over half an hour, making the day look later than it was. At the oven, our mother set the timer to bake then joined us at the counter, scooping the dough onto a pan. Once the cookies were in the oven, we set up the Monopoly game on the table and waited for our father to return from the store. As Rue and I argued over who would go first, another rumble of thunder ripped through the sky causing the three of us to jump just as my father walked in. Soaking wet from the rain, my mother stopped him before he reached the table, then took the paper bag he was carrying and set in on the counter. As he removed his outerwear, she asked him why he had taken so long. He claimed that she didn’t want to know because it would only make her upset. They went back and forth for a few seconds until my father conceded, admitting that he had stopped at a pub to hang out with a few of his friends since they weren’t invited to the house. As she was making her way back to the table, she slipped on the floor that had become wet from my father’s clothes. Simultaneously, my father reached out his arms to catch her, but she had already fallen to the ground. As he bent over to help her up, the gun he carried on his waist fell from its holster and hit the floor. Another sound of thunder resonated through the air muting the sound of the bullet that expelled from the gun, hitting my mother on the side of her head. The amount of blood that spilled from her wound was unreal as my father dropped to his knees and held her in his arms. Within minutes, the police had responded to the 911 call my father begged me to make as he tried vehemently to stop the bleeding. Moments later, Rue and I were sitting in the back of a police car awaiting the arrival of our aunt as my mother was wheeled into the back of an ambulance with my father by her side. 

***

Rue  

“How could you possibly not understand? He shot our mother!” 

For nearly an hour, my sister and I had been arguing about an incident that occurred during our childhood. As the youngest, I was surprised that my memory was better than hers.  

“He tried to kill her, Delaney!” I informed her as she continued with her denial.  

The only reason we were having this discussion was because she refused to accept reality.  

“Listen Rue.” she said, raising her voice. “You’re making me upset. Let’s just drop it, okay?  

Before responding, I walked over to the kitchen counter where she was preparing dinner and sat down.     

“Fine, Delaney. I’ll drop it if you promise me one thing.” 

“What’s that?”  

“Promise me that you won’t let that man into this house.”  

She stared into my eyes as I struggled to look away. I tried my best to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. I loved my Laney, but the decision she had made was unfathomable. 

The man I was referring to was her father. After 18 years in prison, he would soon be released on parole. Over the years, my hatred for him grew without remorse. I never visited or supported him in any way. He would never earn my forgiveness as long as our mother remained incapacitated. Now, as his only remaining relatives, Delaney insisted that we were the only ones left to take care of him. However, I refused to ever acknowledge him as my father again. 

Closing my eyes, I let out an exasperated sigh when she said, “He has nowhere else to go, Rue.”  

“Oh yes, he does.” 

“And where is that?”  

“TO HELL!”  

Hitting the countertop with open hands, I stood up from my stool. Then, with a low grunt, I slammed it against the counter before storming out of the kitchen. Once I made it to my room, I closed my door, threw myself onto the bed and screamed into a pillow.  

I knew my big sister very well. When she made up her mind about something, there was no changing it. Once she calmed down, I would try again to reason with her. So, instead of returning to the kitchen, I let my tears soothe me until I drifted asleep.  

Sometime later, I woke up to a dry mouth and a grumbling stomach. I went straight to the kitchen and found a covered plate waiting on the kitchen counter filled with the food Delaney had saved for me.  

Once I was done eating, I headed down the hallway that led to our mother’s bedroom. When I entered the room, she was sitting in her favorite place, on her bed, knitting and humming a tune I couldn’t quite place. 

“Hi mommy. How are you feeling?”   

Unfazed by my presence, she continued to hum, as I sat on the bed, beside her. Placing a hand on her arm, I tried again to get her attention. 

“Mommy?”  

This time, she turned to me and smiled. 

“What are you making?” I smiled back. 

“A blanket, sweetie”  

She spoke so softly that if I weren’t so close to her, I wouldn't have heard it. When I nodded my head, she went back to humming. 

She did that often. Ever since that day, she hasn’t been the same. The doctors said that the bullet fragments that were left in her brain affected her memory, but her speech and motor skills were still intact. Some days were better than others. Sometimes she knew who we were, other days we were complete strangers. The mother we knew then was long gone, replace by a woman who knitted and hummed, not completing knowing who or where she was, let alone how she got here. 

Tucking a strand of stray hair behind my ear, I kissed her cheek before laying my head on her shoulder. As I listened to her song, unforgotten memories from that day replayed in my mind.  

*** 

A flash of lightning ripped through the sky grabbing my attention, as Delaney and I sat at the kitchen counter adding walnuts to the brownie mix we made. It had been threatening to rain for over an hour, but never followed through. At the sink, our mother retrieved the utensils she needed then joined us at the counter to pour our batter into a pan. Once the brownies were in the oven, we set up the Game of Life on the table and waited for our father to return from the store. As Rue and I argued over who would go first, another flash of lightning struck the sky just as my father walked in and slammed the door, causing the three of us to jump in our chairs. Noticing his drunken state, my mother stopped him before he reached the table, then took the paper bag that concealed the bottle responsible for his intoxication. As he removed his outerwear, she asked him why he had taken so long. He claimed that she didn’t need to know because it wasn’t her business. They argued for couple minutes until she coerced him into admitting that he stopped at a bar to consume his favorite liquors since she discarded the ones in the house. As he shouted profanities at her, she tried to walk away but he yanked her arm. Simultaneously, he forcefully pushed her shoulders, making her fall to the ground. As she tried to get up, he pulled the gun that he carried on his waist from its holster and aimed it at her. Another flash of lightning filled the room, this time, it came from bullet that expelled from the gun, hitting my mother on the side of her head. The amount of blood the spilled from her wound was surreal as my father dropped to his knees and stared at the gun in disbelief. Within minutes, the police had responded to the 911 call I begged my sister to make as my father prevented us from coming near them. Moments later, Delaney and I were sitting in the back of a police car awaiting the arrival of our uncle as my mother was wheeled into the back of an ambulance and my father was handcuffed beside her.  

***

The Weston Daily 

Wife of Ex-Marine Shot in Head During Domestic Dispute  

By Alaina Bradford 

Daily Staff Writer 

On Saturday Afternoon, police responded to a 911 call made from the house of Ex-Marine and local hero, Michael Bernette after a domestic dispute turned violent. Reports say that his wife of 13 years, Katherine Bernette, was found on the kitchen floor bleeding from a gunshot wound to the head. 

The call was made by the couple’s 12-year-old daughter, who, along with her 9-year-old sister, was present during the incident. Katherine was immediately taken to Weston Memorial where she remains in intensive care. Michael was taken into custody for questioning. 

It is still unclear what exactly took place that afternoon. As of now, no evidence of previous abuse has been found, however, a witness statement has alluded to multiple incidents of domestic violence. 

Dispute continued on page 5.