I was grateful that the airline removed an aisle seat for my eight-year-old son Landon’s wheelchair when we pre-boarded. It was our second flight from Vancouver, and all I could think about was leaving Winnipeg, leaving Manitoba. Landon looked emotionless, his mouth gaping open, but I knew he was upset about his father. Carl, the man I married, was arrested with his brother and some family friends for operating a murder-for-hire ring targeting severely disabled children and young adults. I had to get as far away as possible and start over. Los Angeles, where at least thirteen million people don’t know me.
Yet, I couldn’t let go of what happened in my marriage. I knew that Carl resented Landon more because of his disability. He got mad at me for refusing to put Landon up for adoption because of his cerebral palsy. Carl would spend evenings and weekends away from home, and/or
only spend quality time with our older, non-disabled son, Dominick. He would threaten to put Landon in foster care whenever he thought he was misbehaving, then defend these threats.
“He’s a burden and an obstacle in the family, Mariah!” he shouted. That was the only thing he repeated in every argument. The rest of the fight was about the issue of the day – how I spent more time with Landon than with Dominick, how I wouldn’t let my husband discipline Landon, how I always put my specialists’ advice before that of family. Most of all, how Landon was spoiled and ruining the family because I refused to allow spanking for him. But I knew he would thrive better in our home, yet couldn’t understand what he’d do to earn a spanking.
And yet, I stayed because I kept praying Carl would change. I didn’t foresee him becoming a hitman. I should’ve filed for divorce four years ago, not the moment he got arrested.
Thankfully, my work and the boys’ school allowed us to spend three weeks in Los Angeles during spring break. This allowed me to do house-hunting and job interviews. I also signed with a disability non-profit as a client family. Now, all I needed to do was look for a special learning school for Landon and hire a specialist. And what else did I need to do?
Dominick interrupted my thought process when he asked, “Mom, won’t it be weird that we don’t have any family there? I think we’re going to need help getting settled.”
I was startled and stared at him. It was very important not to take anything out on the boys. But I knew Dominick was right. “Yeah, you’re going to have to stay out of the way while we move all our furniture inside,” I said. “It might not get here for at least two days.” I wondered if we could afford to stay at a hotel.
I immediately thought of another thing: Create a new social circle. Maybe find a new man? The boys would appreciate that.
It was late May when my children and I arrived. As we walked through the Los Angeles airport, I started thinking about their education. Dominick and Landon were eligible to pass into the next grade, but I also knew summer vacation would be starting soon in California. I would have to register them in school while the movers worked. But now, how do I tell them that they’ll actually be going back to school in the middle of August?
XXXXX
We settled into a small accessible house in Hyde Park. Six weeks later, I took Dominick and Landon to the Santa Monica Pier. Along with us was a boy named Benjamin, who was around Dominick’s age, a new friend he’d made. As we strolled down the sidewalks heading towards the marina, I stared out at the beach, wondering how the city could build some wheelchair paths over the sand. Landon was just dreaming of getting close to the Pacific Ocean, or playing with the other kids, building sand castles.
We reached the large marina, and I could tell the boys wanted to speed up. But I told them, “Stay with me and don’t go so fast. You might fall and hurt yourselves.”
We took in the majestic view of the ocean, a gorgeous sapphire shade. The only voices we could overhear were quiet conversations of couples saying romantic things. I was soon entertained by a voice behind me singing aloud a nonsensical, made-up song. I tried to ignore it and concentrate on the scenery when I was distracted by his mother’s loud voice screaming his name, telling him to shut up. I only turned around when I heard a smack and some loud wailing.
The boy was also in a power wheelchair like Landon, and his mother kept striking at and shaking him in front of some horrified witnesses, myself included. Some were even filming it on their phones. Beside them, her other two (able-bodied) children just stood there, not knowing what to do. Dominick pointed at the scene, whispering to Benjamin, too frightened to do much.
“You stop that crying and screaming right goddamned now!” the mother yelled. “You will learn to behave in public, or I will take you to Uncle Carl and Uncle Tom when we get home!”
Right away, I could identify the attacker, too. My ex-sister-in-law! “Oh my God!” I cried. “Tracy?!” Damn, but I hoped she was just on vacation.
She turned and looked at me like I was a former high school rival at a reunion. “Mariah,” she said slyly. “What a surprise to see you here.”
“Seriously, Tracy? You’re going to be smacking your kid – your disabled kid – for something that comes so naturally?” I criticized. “I’ll have you know that Landon also sings nonsensically!”
“Oh, and I suppose you let Landon do that in a library or somewhere else public?” Tracy sneered. “You let him get away with drawing attention and embarrassing you?”
I couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but she made a surprising offer. “Will you let me buy you coffee? Maybe drinks? We need to talk.”
I started thinking about Carl then, feeling angry. “I think maybe we should,” I called for the boys, and both our groups walked quietly, six feet apart.
It was a twenty-five-minute walk to the closest café. The whole way there, I was thinking about how Landon’s disabilities were mostly Carl and his family’s fault. Tracy and I were pregnant at the same time. She insisted on drinking wine during Sunday dinners – and even pressured me into it – her and my parents-in-law insisting it wouldn’t hurt the baby. There was more than one occasion where she would feed me the wine after I repeatedly refused, saying, “If you’re going to behave like a child, I’m going to feed you like one.” The parents wouldn’t say anything, and Carl and his other siblings just laughed about it.
When I started my seventh month with Landon, Carl physically put me on a horse to go riding when I refused, jokingly telling me, “You’re hurting the poor horsey’s feelings.” Now, the horse either collapsed under my weight or threw me off, but this was the accident that caused me to go into premature labour. When Landon was born, I learned his brain hadn’t finished developing. And the family expected him to learn like normal?
We dropped the kids off in a nearby gaming area. When we sat down, I asked, “So, what brings you to Los Angeles? I’m just trying to start a new life.” Then, before she could answer, “You know, I wouldn’t expect a mother as conservative as you to show her face here. You’d never fit in. You’d be run out of town once they got wise.”
“Cut the comedy, Mariah!” Tracy snapped. “This is my paid vacation time at my work, and Tyler is ruining our family vacation with his noise and banter, among other things.”
“So why threaten to take him to Carl and Tom when you get home?” I asked. “You know they’re not getting out of jail.”
“When the family and I petition the courts for their release without a trial, they are,” Tracy replied, trying to guarantee it. She sipped her latte. “Do you know what Carl and Tom were doing with that murder ring? They were helping burdened parents put their children out to pasture – out of love.”
I sat there stunned. All these memories of what happened to Landon were still flowing through me, but I didn’t want to accuse her of anything. “Fine. But what about when the serious parent sabotages the pregnancy or the baby? Personally, I think they should take some responsibility if they don’t want the other parent to be too much of a friend.”
“It’s called exercising your freedom as an adult,” Tracy replied without any hesitation. “A woman should be able to do what she wants, pregnant or not, without having to answer for it. Responsibility and accountability are for the child to learn, not the parent.”
I almost fell from my chair, not believing her audacity. I wanted to dump my latte onto her head. “You’re sure one to talk!” I scoffed. “Killing innocent kids for payment is a crime, last time I checked. How long had Tom been at this? Carl had only been involved in the past eighteen months, after he got laid off in Calgary and we moved to Winnipeg, remember? He managed to hide everything from me, but the way he talked about Landon being a good ‘patient’ made me suspicious. You all let me know what you thought of him, including your parents, the way you kept calling him an obstacle in the family.
“That’s because Landon and Tyler are.” Tracy sounded frustrated, but she was such an actress, the way she took that long drink of her coffee. “If these kids can’t learn any accountability, then they’re not going to survive in the real world. How many times do you liberals have to be told? And besides, a good percentage of them are mostly brain-dead, spending more time in hospitals than schools, destined to become blobs just staring at the TV. So, what’s the point of keeping them alive?
“Come on!” I snapped. “You really think these young kids were crying in pain? That they were in constant agony because of the surgeries and metal rods that had to go into their bodies? That was hardly the case for most of these victims.”
“Mariah, we are talking about teenagers and young adults who will grow up and never make a mark on society, do anything important,” Tracy argued. “These are the ones who don’t excel in school–”
“Not without professional help,” I said.
“–and they wouldn’t really be able to excel in any job or career, not even factory or trade work,” she continued, ignoring me. “Carl and Tom have told me all the stories: all they do is drool and babble nonsensically, and they can’t focus or concentrate on tasks. Do you want me to keep going? These are the small, underdeveloped children who grow up to be big brutes and attack their parents, their families, and destroy everything they touch. They don’t qualify for a group home, and the liberals say it’s cruel and inhumane to put them in mental institutions. Do you think it’s fair that the parents should keep caring for them when they’re old and will need to be cared for themselves? You think these kids will do a good job?”
“Then why don’t the parents find them accessible housing and a caretaker to attend to their needs?” I knew that would be my plan for Landon in ten to twelve years. But the way Tracy looked at me, it was as if she thought it was a thankless job.
“Typical Mariah: always the optimist, never the realist,” Tracy said. “You really think caregivers will be available for everyone with physical and mental disabilities? When these children can’t be disciplined, they start destroying other peoples’ lives, their families. That’s why we call them the obstacles in the family. Just like Landon is going to be when he gets older, because you wouldn’t prepare him for the world. Now, I’m afraid I’m going to have to put Tyler down like a dog, and that would hurt me.”
I gave her a very strange look. When Carl and I saw Tracy, she couldn’t go one time without screaming at and/or hitting Tyler. I think she’d be quite happy to have her son killed to give herself peace.
“Well, how would you know these young ones aren’t interested in living life?” I asked. “They might not have everything that comes with being normal, but I don’t think they want to die before they’re forty.”
She started to plead now. “Mariah, listen to reason. Can’t you see that what Carl and Tom were doing was out of compassion for the family? The disability community has called them killers and monsters, but you know they’re wrong. You’re wrong for not supporting this. Now I have to worry about how your life’s going to turn out with Landon undisciplined and unprepared.” She started to get emotional and hurried out. It took me a while to process this. When I did, I started to cry.
I don’t know how long I stayed there, but I soon felt a strong hand touch my shoulder. I looked up and saw this really handsome man, brown hair and blue-green eyes, with a full moustache. His shirt was unbuttoned, but he wore a police badge on a chain. A plainclothes cop. Behind him were Dominick, Landon, and Benjamin.
“You must be Dominick’s mother,” he said, standing me up. “I’m Detective David Houseman, Benjamin’s father.”
“Mariah Wolever,” I replied. His touch was so gentle and he seemed very open. But I felt so embarrassed; like I neglected the boys somehow.
“I got off duty an hour ago,” David said. “I found them in the gaming area. Ben told me they were bored, so I took them around the beach.”
“Thank you,” I replied, then looked at Dominick and Benjamin. This was a rather unusual way to meet my child’s friend’s parents.
XXXXX
David said he didn’t have to go back on duty until the next morning, so he offered to take us to his home for dinner. He lived in South Los Angeles. It was a lot of work to accompany Landon’s wheelchair; we had to put it in the trunk of his car. Fortunately, David had an older son, aged sixteen; Peter helped us get the wheelchair into the house. However, this meant all the boys had to stay upstairs.
Peter offered to make dinner for us, enlisting Dominick and Benjamin, while David and I talked. I told him about Tracy’s impromptu reunion and what she told me about disabled children and young adults. I started to breathe heavily as the awful memories began forming, then I talked about my husband’s criminal activities, and how I found out. I was taking long pauses with every sentence.
I had just gotten to my confrontation with Carl when David took my hand. His grip was tight, but his eyes showed disgust for him and compassion for me – compassion that went deeper when he looked at Landon. I looked over at Dominick, who worked so well with David’s sons.
“No, I don’t know why anyone would want to kill this little guy,” he said, then went over to tickle his chin. Landon started to laugh. “But I can see this one will need a lot of help with his daily stuff.”
“Well, according to Carl and Tracy and their family,” I replied, “stuff like that impedes with parents’ marriages and livelihoods, and they shouldn’t be bothered with that.”
“Your exes have lost the art of being conservative,” he responded. “No real parent would give up a disabled child if they really cared about family. Maybe the right-winged, but not the family-oriented. Suzanne wouldn’t have stood for this. She used to work with kids just like Landon.”
He began to talk about his wife, who was a child caseworker when she was alive. Six years ago, she started a campaign to have corporal punishment outlawed for children with all disabilities. “But there were many right-winged parenting and religious groups, and tough love advocates who objected,” he said. “They said that disabled children have to live in the normal world, the world isn’t going to adjust to them, so they have to be disciplined and whipped into living normal lives, disciplined just like the normal ones. Suzanne wouldn’t have that, and she talked about how immobile kids would need special housing and professional caretakers. She made a lot of enemies along the way.” Then, a year into her campaign, David and his sons came home from a Father’s Day fishing trip to find her dead in the kitchen, beaten and bludgeoned to death. I noticed he wore a ring on a chain around his neck.
I interrupted with, “Is that your wedding ring from your marriage to Suzanne?”
He looked down and spun it with his finger. “Yes. In the twelve years we’d been married, she never took hers off. We even buried her with it on. So, I rearranged mine in memory of her.” He took some breaths to keep from crying. “Anyway, I spent about six months searching for her killer, and as I suspected, it was some members of a conservative parenting group in the Inland Empire area. They were found guilty, and the whole group got the death penalty. Nobody even mentions this group anymore.”
“How many have already been executed?” I asked. Just then, I heard a beeping on my cellphone. I excused myself, saw there was a new message, and was shocked that Tracy had texted me. “Hi Mariah, have you thought about what I told you?”
“Oh my God, it’s the same woman I saw at the pier!” I exclaimed.
He motioned for me to hand him my phone, and I obeyed, hoping he would tell her off. As he composed his message, he said aloud the words in a low, biting voice. “Hello, I’m a new friend of Mariah’s. Please leave her alone and don’t bother her about her disabled son.”
Another beeping, and I wanted to ask for my phone back, but the way his eyes widened told me I shouldn’t. David and Tracy soon began texting each other back and forth, as if having an argument. I guess David refused to give his address because he was muttering as he texted, “Come by my house and I will have you arrested for trespassing.”
“What’s happening?” I asked.
Without showing me the exchange, David gave a worried look. “Mariah, Tracy wants to take Landon back to Canada and keep him until your ex-husband gets out.”
I heard the oven door slam shut, then Peter, Dominick, and Benjamin looked wide-eyed at us, mouths frozen open. I looked horrified at Landon. I knew that if Tracy got hold of him, his fate would be devastating. But David stood me up and held me tightly, tighter than Carl ever held me.
“Don’t you fear,” he whispered. “I’ll take this to the police immediately. I am willing to form a protective shield around your son.”
I took my phone back and said, “Her full name is Tracy Wolever Christman. She also has a wheelchair-bound son, and she’s shameless when it comes to discipline.” I typed her name into the search engine on Facebook and showed him her page. Some selfies and vacation pictures, and photos of her with friends, but it was mostly pro-spanking memes and preachy posts. This included a meme featuring a set of objects: an open palm, a folded belt, a ruler in hand, a switch, a paddle, and a mental institution exterior. The caption: “When it comes to raising children with disabilities, it’s either this, this, this, this, this, or THIS.”
“This lady is nuts,” David said, whistling. “How about after dinner, I start a report on her to send to both the chief and the police commissioner?”
“Actually, Dad, this’ll be in the oven for forty minutes,” Peter said. “You think you can drum up the report in that time, then you can e-mail it after dinner?”
“The sooner, the better,” Dominick added. “Mom would appreciate that.”
David smiled, tussled Landon’s hair for a bit, making him laugh, then went to the living room computer.
XXXXX
For the rest of the summer and into the fall, David and I got closer as his sons did with mine. Either David’s boys would come to my house, or we would go to his, and Dominick and Benjamin would do homework together. David tried to spend quality time with all the boys, but he would spend more one-on-one time with Landon. He sensed that Landon needed him the most, and I never had to tell him. He would always wash him and put him to bed at night. I admired the way he spent his evenings with his family. Maybe being a police detective in real life isn’t the same as in movies and television shows, if some of them tend to work days. Maybe his police chief agreed with his family and encouraged this after Suzanne died. I’ll ask him about this when the time is right.
After three months, David and the able-bodied boys started to tire of bringing in Landon’s wheelchair, so with some lumber in the shed and extra lumber they bought, he spent some of his off-time building a ramp for Landon. When the other boys helped him out on weekend days, Landon and I watched. David would guide Dominick, helping him insert planks, building up the side guards, and I loved how he bonded with my other son. Peter was certainly a great big brother with the both of them.
I wondered if David ever volunteered with a juvenile recreation centre in the city. He’d be wonderful, working with other young boys, further bonding with mine, and Dominick and Landon would make more new friends in the process.
I wondered if perhaps Suzanne Houseman looked down at me and guided David to me.
The evenings I spent with David, entranced in his warmth, his touch, his compassion, made me forget about Tracy. By the time the Christmas season started up, I felt that I was already moving on with my family, moving on from Carl.
Then, two days before New Year’s Eve, she came back.
David and I were relaxing at his house that afternoon, his day off, while all the boys were out playing somewhere. My head was rested upon his body, not noticing anyone heading to the front door. But he got curious and answered when the doorbell rang.
“Is Mariah home?” the voice asked, and I sat up, shocked.
“Tracy?” I cried, then joined David at the door as she let herself in.
“Oh, let me guess, you were going to New York for the celebration, but you flew into a snowstorm and redirected here,” I guessed. “The question is, how did you get this address?”
“I see you’ve already moved on from my brother,” Tracy said snidely. “Luckily, I remembered your new man’s name from the text exchange, so I got his information online. I wanted to call him to get your number, but it’d cost too much on my end and I’m also fiscally conservative.”
“If you’re here to get Landon, you’re wasting your time,” I told her. “I thought you’d left me alone when David texted you off.”
“Look, I want to tell you about Carl and Tom’s trial,” she said. “It was two months ago. They were all found guilty of multiple counts of murder.”
“Great, I hope they get a stiff sentence.” But I knew that wouldn’t be possible in Canada. They’d get a maximum of ten years, with early parole in six for good behaviour.
“Really, Mariah, I wish you’d understand,” she said. “What they were doing was out of compassion. How many times do we have to go through this? What is the point of keeping people with disabilities around if they’re just going to end up vegetables?”
“Their smiles, their laughter, their joy,” I answered. “The fact that people who love them are always happy to see them, and these feelings are reciprocated.”
“And what if they behave badly? I’ve seen these kids run over other kids in their power wheelchairs and beat them with their canes.”
I folded my arms and gave her a cold look. “What a load of crap! Unless they’re relentlessly bullied, they wouldn’t have the mindset for any of that!”
“No, Landon wouldn’t have the mindset for that, would he? But Tyler does, and we all know these children can’t live in society if they can’t behave properly.”
I started to respond, but Tracy, as if she knew what I was going to say, spoke up. “Mariah, do you know how many disability caregivers there are in Los Angeles? Versus how many disabled children and young adults? Do you and this David Houseman want to spend your alleged marriage caring for a young boy who’ll never learn like normal, if that’s what you keep insisting? You’ll be depriving yourself of your retirement years, keeping around someone who will never care for himself. Do you think Landon’s would-be wife will want to spend her life caring for him? She’d be exhausted. I’ll bet you don’t even think of when Landon will marry.”
“Excuse me, but I love Landon enough to want to build a relationship with him!” David boomed. “I want him for a son, just as I do Dominick.”
“I’m sure you’re just saying that to please her,” Tracy replied.
“Look, if all you’re going to do is make us angry, why don’t you leave?” I ordered.
“I’m taking Landon to Alberta, then back to Manitoba,” she answered. “Many conservative Canadians actually approve of Tom and Carl’s murder-for-hire ring. They think it’s a great idea, despite what the disability advocates say. The reason why parents discipline children is to ensure that they grow up to be productive members of society. That’s what punitive measures and corporal punishment teaches them, along with manners and respect for others. If kids like Landon can’t learn any of this, if all they expect us to do is have pity for them, then the one thing we can do for society is take them out of the world. I’ve seen my brothers at their work, they’re showing compassion when they kill them. They pray that God will embrace them in Heaven and give them their last rites and passages like it’s a ceremony. They’re helping to decrease the surplus population. Now, are you going to tell me where Landon is?”
“We gave them all bus fare! They said they were going to the park. How the hell should we know which one?” I snapped.
She immediately left, which prompted us to hurry to David’s car. As we followed her, I wrote down her car’s license plate – likely a rental – but he was contacting the police and reporting her. She was looking for both my sons, and every time we turned onto a new street, David updated them.
It took half an hour, and we were on Leighton Avenue. Tracy found Dominick and Landon playing with Peter, Benjamin, and all their friends on a soccer field. I got out and immediately started chasing her.
“Tracy, stop!” I called.
I saw Dominick turn in our direction and stop, several other boys crashing into him. He tried to get up and get Landon out of there, but Tracy called out, “Landon! Landon, it’s Auntie Tracy!”
I heard Landon scream, then Dominick and Benjamin held onto his body tightly, to keep him from being taken. But Tracy hurried into the soccer field, and this prompted David to chase with me. I heard him say, “Potential abduction suspect is at Martin Luther King Jr. Park. All available units respond and head to South Western and West 39th!” He described Tracy’s long auburn hair and what she was wearing.
When she got closer, Landon broke from the others and started to speed around the field, Tracy chasing him as he tried to find a way out. Fortunately, it didn’t take him long. He was speeding his way past the baseball diamond and recreation centres, nearly crashing into a young family as they came from the parking lot.
Tracy screamed Landon’s name, then looked at me furiously. “You see why you put your hand on disabled kids like that?” she called. “He could have run those people over!”
She ran faster and caught up with him just as he got to West 39th. She tried to undo the straps and free him from the wheelchair. Just as she got him out, David and I caught up to her and took hold of one arm while Tracy took the other arm, engaging us in a tug-of-war.
“You’re only going to beat him until he’s near dead, then use those spanking weapons to finish him off,” I said.
“At least I know how to raise a disabled child properly!” she snapped.
We kept pulling harder, but Tracy strengthened her grip. I was determined to hold on to him. Landon was crying and screaming the whole time. A few minutes later, we saw several police cars park on the street, and officers running up to nab Tracy. She screamed in both surprise and fright as they wrestled her to the pavement. She kept screaming defiance and resistance as she kicked and slapped officers.
“Let go of me!” she screamed. “That kid is going to be mine!” These statements competed with the officers’ repeated orders, “Stop resisting!” I don’t know how long this went on, but I do know that Dominick, Benjamin, Peter, and the rest of their group arrived just in time to watch the cops tase Tracy.
David was soothing and holding Landon as he was crying, my son’s arms latched around his neck. I offered to take him, but he said, “Don’t trouble yourself, darling. I’ll strap this kid back in his wheelchair.” He kissed me.
I watched with relief as the police took Tracy away. I listened to one uniformed officer give her the Miranda rights, but his voice got softer the closer they got to his car. David strapped Landon back into his chair and stood with him and the other boys as other officers asked me questions. From time to time, I looked over at my son. David had instructed the older ones to take him back, then stood next to me.
I remembered which police car they filed Tracy in, and pointed it out to David. He took me over there when I finished answering questions. I was satisfied, in love again, thankful that compassion had won, but still couldn’t resist throwing her some satisfying shade. “Hey, Tracy, maybe when we find out which prison Carl and Tom are in, we’ll tell the authorities to send you there once you’re back in Canada. I’m sure they’ll welcome you once they know you’re their sister.”
ABOUT
David Lightfoot identifies as a writer with a disability (Cerebral Palsy) and chose a writing career while in junior high school. He studied creative writing through correspondence from two institutions, one in Canada and one in the United States. Along with self-publishing a novel on human rights violations for the disabled, “Broken Family Portrait,” he also has fiction in Medicine and Meaning Journal, Men Matters Online Journal, October Hill Magazine, Books & Pieces Writing Magazine, Lit Shark Magazine and elsewhere. David lives in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada and is an advocate for educational literacy.
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