Praise for Heather Gudenkaufs debut novelTHE WEIGHT OF SILENCEA TV Bookclub PickA Top FiveNew York Timesbestseller
Brilliantly constructed, this will have you
gripped until the last page
Closer
Deeply moving and lyrical it will haunt you all summer.
Company
5 stars Gripping and moving.
Heat
The Weight of Silence is a cleverly crafted exercise in sustaining tension. Her technique is faultless, sparse and simple and is a masterclass in how to construct a thriller A memorable read A technical triumph and a brave first novel. Sunday Express
Its totally gripping
Marie Claire
Tension builds as family secrets tumble from the closet.
Woman & Home
This has all the ingredients of a Jodi Picoult novel.
Waterstones Books Quarterly
Set to become a book group staple.
The Guardian
Jodi Picoult has some serious competition in Heather Gudenkauf.
Bookreporter
Deeply moving and exquisitely lyrical, this is a powerhouse of a debut novel.
Tess Gerritsen, No. 1 Sunday Times bestselling author
Gudenkauf moves the story forward at a fast clip and is adept at building tension. Theres a particular darkness to her heartland, rife as it is with predators and the walking wounded, and her unsentimental take on the milieu manages to find some hope without being maudlin.
Publishers Weekly
Heart-pounding suspense and a compelling family drama come together to create a story you wont be able to put down. Youll stay up all night long reading. I did!
Diane Chamberlain, author of Before the Storm
A great thriller, probably the kind of book a lot of people would chose to read on their sun loungers. It will appeal to fans of Jodi Picoult.
Radio Times
Gripping and powerful, right to the end.
Northern Echo
An enchantingly lyrical novel mixed with shockingly menacing overtones.
newbooks
THESE THINGS HIDDEN
HEATHER GUDENKAUF
For Scott
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing, while often a solitary act, never can be done without the world seeping and sometimes crashing in. I am grateful to so many people who have been there for me and my family. Much gratitude goes to my parents, Milton and Patricia Schmida, who have been my strength and anchor in life. My brothers and sisters and their families, my life preserversthank you to Greg, Mady and Hunter Schmida and Kimbra Valenti, Jane, Kip, Tommy and Meredith Augspurger, Morgan and Kyle Hawthorne, Milt, Jackie, Lizzie and Joey Schmida, Molly, Steve, Hannah, Olivia, and Myah Lugar, and Patrick and Sam Schmida. Thanks also to my Gudenkauf family, there for us every step of the way: Lloyd, Lois, Steve, Tami, Emily, Jenni, Aiden, Mark, Carie, Connor, Lauren, Dan, Robyn, Molly, and Cheryl, Hailey and Hannah Zacek.
I am deeply grateful to the following people who generously supported all things Gudenkauf: Jennifer and Kent Peterson, Jean and Charlie Daoud, Ann and John Schober, Rose and Steve Schulz, Cathie and Paul Kloft, Sandy and Rick Hoerner, Laura and Jerry Trimble, Mike and Brenda Reinert and their families. Thank you to Danette Putchio, Lenora Vinckier, Tammy Lattner, Mary Fink, Mark Burns, Cindy Steffens, Susan Meehan, Bev and Mel Graves, Barbara and Calvin Gatch, Ann OBrien, Father Rich Adam and the parishioners of St. Josephs in Wellman, Iowa, Kae and Jerry Pugh, Sarah Reiss and the many families near and far who were always there for us. Huge thanks go to the instructional coaches, principals, teachers, staff and students from the DCSD, especially George Washington Middle School, Carver, Kennedy, Bryant and Marshall Elementary Schools, as well as Jones Hand in Hand Preschool.
Heartfelt thanks go out to my agent Marianne Merola, who always has my best interests in mind and faces me in the right direction. Her guidance and friendship have meant the world. My editors Valerie Gray and Miranda Indrigo have provided friendship, support, insight and suggestions that have helped me to become a better writer. Thank you also to Heather Foy, Pete McMahon, Andi Richman, Nanette Long, Emily Ohanjanians, Kate Pawson, Jayne Hoogenberk, Margaret Marbury, Donna Hayes and everyone at HQ, who have taken me under their wing and have worked tirelessly on my behalf. A special thank-you goes to Natalia Blaskovich, who provided me with valuable information regarding Iowa law and the criminal justice system.
As always, all my love and thanks to Scott, Alex, Anna and GraceI couldnt do it without you.
Allison
I stand when I see Devin Kineally walking toward me, dressed as usual in her lawyer-gray suit, her high heels clicking against the tiled floor. I take a big breath and pick up my small bag filled with my few possessions.
Devins here to take me to the court-ordered halfway house back in Linden Falls, where Ill be living for at least the next six months. I have to prove that I can take care of myself, hold down a job, stay out of trouble. After five years, Im free to leave Cravenville. I look hopefully over Devins shoulder, searching for my parents even though I know they wont be there. Hello, Allison, Devin says warmly. You all set to get out of here?
Yes, Im ready, I answer with more confidence than I feel. Im going to live in a place Ive never been before with people Ive never met. I have no money, no job, no friends and my family has disowned me, but Im ready. I have to be.
Devin reaches for my hand, squeezes it gently and looks me directly in the eyes. Its going to be okay, you know? I swallow hard and nod. For the first time, since I was sentenced to ten years in Cravenville, I feel tears burning behind my eyes.
Im not saying it will be easy, Devin says, reaching up and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I tower over her. She is petite, soft-spoken, but tough as nails, one of the many things I love about Devin. She has always said she was going to do her best for me and she has. She made it clear all along that even though my mom and dad pay the bills, Im her client. Shes the only person who seems to be able to put my parents in their place. During our second meeting with Devin (the first being when I was in the hospital), the four of us sat around a table in a small conference room at the county jail. My mother tried to take over. She couldnt accept my arrest, thought it was all some huge mistake, wanted me to go to trial, plead not guilty, fight the charges. Clear the Glenn family name.
Listen, Devin told my mother in a quiet, cold voice. The evidence against Allison is overwhelming. If we go to trial, chances are she will be sent to jail for a very long time, maybe even forever.
It couldnt have happened the way they said it did. My mothers coldness matched Devins. We need to make this right. Allison is going to come home, graduate and go to college. Her perfectly made-up face trembled with anger and her hands shook.
My father, who had taken a rare afternoon away from his job as a financial adviser, stood suddenly, knocking over a glass of water. We hired you to get Allison out of here, he shouted. Do your job!
I shrank in my seat and expected Devin to do the same.
But she didnt. She calmly set her hands flat on the table, straightened her back, lifted her chin and spoke. My job is to examine all the information, look at all the options and help Allison choose the best one.
There is only one option. My fathers thick, long finger shot out, stopping inches from Devins nose. Allison needs to come home!
Richard, my mother said in that unruffled, irritating way she has.
Devin didnt flinch. If you dont remove that finger from my face, you might not get it back.
My father slowly lowered his hand, his barrel chest rising and falling rapidly.
My job, she repeated, looking my father dead in the eye, is to review the evidence and choose the best defense strategy. The prosecutor is planning to move Allison from juvenile to adult court and charge her with first-degree murder. If we go to trial, she will end up in jail for the rest of her life. Guaranteed.
My father lowered his face into his hands and started crying. My mother looked down into her lap, frowning with embarrassment.
When I stood in front of the judgea man who looked exactly like my physics teachereven though Devin prepared me for the hearing, told me what to expect, the only words I heard were ten years. To me that sounded like a lifetime. I would miss my senior year of high school, miss the volleyball, basketball, swimming and soccer seasons. I would lose my scholarship to the University of Iowa, would never be a lawyer. I remember looking over my shoulder at my parents, tears pouring down my face. My sister hadnt come to the hearing.
Mom, please, I whimpered as the bailiff began to lead me away. She stared straight ahead, no emotion on her face. My fathers eyes were closed tightly. He was taking big breaths, struggling for composure. They couldnt even look at me. I would be twenty-seven years old before I was free again. At the time, I wondered if they would miss me or miss the girl they wanted me to be. Because my case initially began in juvenile court, my name couldnt be released to the press. The same day it was waived into adult court, there was massive flash flooding just to the south of Linden Falls. Hundreds of homes and businesses lost. Four dead. Due to my fathers connections and a busy news day, my name never hit the papers. Needless to say, my parents were ecstatic that the good Glenn name wasnt completely tarnished.
I follow Devin as she leads me to her car, and for the first time in five years I feel the full weight of a sun that isnt blocked by a barbwire-topped fence. It is the end of August, and the air is heavy and hot. I breathe in deeply and realize jail air doesnt really smell any different than free air. What do you want to do first? Devin asks me. I think carefully before I answer. I dont know what to feel about leaving Cravenville. Ive missed being able to driveId had my license for less than a year when I was arrested. Finally, Ill have some privacy. Ill be able to go to the bathroom, take a shower, eat without dozens of people looking at me. And even though I have to stay at a halfway house, for all purposes Ill be free.
Its funny. Ive been at Cravenville five years and youd think Id be clawing at the door, desperate to get out. But its not quite like that. Ive made no friends here, I have no happy memories, but I do have something that I have never, ever had in my life: peace, which is a rare, precious thing. How I can be at peace for what Ive done? I dont know, but I am.
When I was younger, before I was in prison, my mind never stopped racing. It was constantly go, go, go. My grades were perfect. I was a five-sport athlete: volleyball, basketball, track, swimming and soccer. My friends thought I was pretty, I was popular and I never got in any trouble. But under the surface, beneath my skin, it was like my blood was boiling. I couldnt sit still, I could never rest. Id wake up at six every morning to go for a run or lift weights in the schools weight room, then Id take a quick shower, eat the granola bar and banana Id shove into my backpack and go to class all day. After school thered be practice or a game, then home to eat supper with my parents and Brynn, then three or four hours of homework and studying. Finally, finally, at around midnight, I would try to go to sleep. But nighttime was the worst. I would lie in bed and my mind couldnt slow down. I couldnt stop myself from worrying about what my parents thought of me, what others thought of me, about the next test, the next game, college, my future.
I had this thing I did to help calm myself at night. Id lie on my back, tuck the covers around me just so and imagine that I was in a small boat. I would conjure a lake so big that I couldnt see the shore and the sky would be an overturned bowl above me, black, moonless and full of winking fairy lights for stars. There would be no wind, but my boat would carry me across the smooth, dark waters. The only sound would be the lazy slap of water against the side of the boat. This calmed me somehow and I could close my eyes and rest. Because I was only sixteen when I got to prison, I was separated from the general population until I turned eighteen. After surviving the first terrible weeks, I suddenly realized that I didnt needed my boat anymore and I slept just fine.
Devin is looking up at me expectantly, waiting for me to tell her the first thing I want to do now that Im free. I want to see my mom and dad and my sister, I tell her, biting back a sob. I want to go home.
I feel badly for much of what has happened, especially for what my actions have done to my sister. Ive tried to apologize, tried to make things right, but it hasnt been enough. Brynn still wont have anything to do with me.
Brynn was fifteen at the time I was arrested and, well, uncomplicated. Or so I thought. Brynn never got mad, ever. It was like she could store her anger in a little box until it got so full it had nowhere to go and it morphed into sadness.
When we were kids, playing with our dolls, I would grab the one with the creamy, unblemished face and the smooth, untangled hair, leaving Brynn with the doll that had a mustache drawn on with a permanent marker, the one with ratty hair that had been cut with dull scissors.
Brynn never seemed to mind. I could have swiped the new doll right out of her hands and the expression on her face wouldnt change. Shed just pick up the sad, broken-looking doll and cradle it in her arms like it was her first choice. I used to be able to get Brynn to do anything for metake out the garbage, vacuum when it was my turn.
Looking back, there were signs, little chinks in Brynns easygoing personality that were almost impossible to deduce, but when I watched quietly I saw them. And I chose to ignore them.
With her fingers, she would pluck the fine, dark hair from her arms one by one until the skin was red and raw. She would do it absentmindedly, unaware of how odd she looked. Once her arms were hairless, she started in on her eyebrows. Pulling and plucking. To me she seemed to be trying to shed her own skin. Our mother noticed Brynns eyebrows getting thinner and thinner and she tried everything to get her to stop. Whenever Brynns hand moved toward her face, our mothers hand would fly out and slap it away. Do you want to look strange, Brynn? she would ask. Is that what you want? For all the other little girls to laugh at you?