In the Stillness

by Andrea Randall

  Locked on Tosha’s face, I’m startled to feel Ryker’s hand on mine. Looking at my hand, I see it’s in a tight fist, and I finally feel my nails digging into my palm. As I open it, Ryker interlaces his fingers with mine and rubs his thumb along my knuckles.

  “You fought with the cops for a long time—you were screaming that you tried, and you were sorry . . . I have no idea what the hell you were talking about . . . it took three of them to wrestle you to the ground. When they tried to usher the students away, I told them I was your friend and Natalie’s roommate and I needed to get to the hospital. I rode in the cruiser that followed your ambulance. They called it once they got you to the ground and you started throwing up . . .” Tosha sits back and lights another cigarette, signaling the end of her story.

  Ryker releases my hand and runs his over his head a few times before standing up. He walks over to the edge of the patio and stands, silently. Liz wraps her arm around Tosha, kissing her softly on the forehead before taking her hand.

  “Thank you, Tosha,” Ryker says, without turning around.

  “Yeah,” I clear my throat to stop the ever-present tears, “thanks.”

  A minute of heavy silence later, I know what I need to do. I look to Tosha and Liz.

  “Can you guys, um . . . I want to talk to Ryker for a while.”

  Tosha stands. “Will you guys be okay?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ryker nod once—his back still to us—as I reply, “Yes.”

  We make our way inside, leaving Ryker to think, or breathe, or whatever it is he’s doing.

  “Thanks for telling us, Tosh.” I pull her into a hug.

  “Of course. You sure you’re okay?” She’s still wiping tears from her eyes, concerned for me.

  “I am.”

  Ryker walks through the sliding door and right over to Tosha, where he hugs her tightly. She’s so petite, and he’s so tall and broad, the sight makes me grin. Liz grins, too.

  “Thank you, Tosha. It helped hearing it. I never knew more than what the cops told me, and they just said I ran out with her and yelled at everyone.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, thank you.”

  Closing the door once they leave, I turn to find Ryker standing right behind me, with his hands in his pockets. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face into his chest, and begin to cry a little. A second later, I feel his chest shaking under his own cries as he squeezes me back.

  “Did she fill in the blanks for you?” I pull away and walk to the couch. I still don’t know why he needed the details.

  He nods, sitting next to me.

  “You said you know it wasn’t just because of the drugs that you didn’t remember,” I prompt.

  “After our session with your therapist, I called mine. For ten years I’ve been trying to remember, on my own, what happened that night and . . . I just can’t. My shrink said, based on parts of the story I knew from the reports, that it was likely a casualty of my PTSD. It was a high-risk, high-intensity situation and I just reacted, and my brain flushed the memory away.”

  It dawns on me ten years too late.

  “Is this about Lucas?” My blink is a beat longer than usual, as I take a nervous breath.

  “I tried, Natalie. I tried to save him, and I couldn’t,” Ryker begins without preparation. He sounds shocked, like it’s just happened. I guess it must feel like that most days.

  I don’t know if I’m prepared for this. Ten years ago, all I wanted was for Ryker to talk to me about Lucas, and he never would. Now, it’s clear I won’t be able to stop him even if I wanted to.

  “What happened?”

  He turns toward me, barely able to look me in the eyes. “What do you know?”

  “Just what your mom told me over the phone.” I shrug. “That his Humvee was blown up, you pulled him out, then got shot.”

  Ryker nods for a second. “His vehicle was right in front of mine. I didn’t know at the time if it was shot at, or if it was a roadside bomb . . . but it was in flames in a second. I was in the second of four Humvees. It was so loud, Natalie . . . all the guys started hollering, and shooting, and all I could think of was shooting my way to Lucas. That was my first thought— get us out of here. I thought about his family, my mom, my dad, and you. Jesus, I was so scared.”

  Wrapping my arms around my waist, I groan a little. It feels like I’ll never stop crying at this point.

  “I did, Natalie, I saw your face, and heard your laugh, and . . . I ran for Lucas. He was on the ground, screaming, when I got to his Humvee. The fire was spreading so I dragged him a few feet away before trying to treat him. I didn’t see his injuries right away, but I felt blood pouring down my arms.”

  I think I might be sick, but Ryker stays in the story.

  “I knew no matter where it was coming from, it was bad. There was just a lot of it. I kept telling him it was going to be okay and I’d get him help. He yelled at me to go get the other guys.” Ryker’s voice pinches, “He knew . . .” Ryker stands and laces his fingers behind his head.

  “When did you get shot?” I have no idea why I’m asking questions.

  “About a second after I told Luke I wasn’t going to leave him. I think I might have screamed once, but I kept just trying to stabilize him. My back hurt like hell. I didn’t know where exactly I got shot, or how much blood I was losing, so I worked as fast as I could. When the medic got over to us, I looked down at Luke and said, he’s here, man.” Ryker sits back down on the couch and buries his face in his hands. “He was gone, Nat. Just like that, in my arms in the middle of fucking nowhere, he was gone.”

  Disregarding old instincts that would tell me to keep my distance, I slide over to Ryker and rest my head on his shoulder. He puts his arm around me, drawing me closer.

  “I was yelling his name and . . . there was just so much blood everywhere, Natalie. I honestly forgot that I’d been shot until I started to get dizzy, and one of the medics behind me spotted the wound. He just . . . died. My best fucking friend, who wanted nothing more than to be a lifelong soldier, died, and I couldn’t stop it. That’s why I lost it the way I did that night in your dorm. I know it is. God, I must have been a sight.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ryker,” I wail, causing both of us to lean back into the couch and give in.

  All it takes is a second for me to really get why Ryker felt like he wanted to reenlist, why he never wanted to talk about Lucas, and what a complete bastard PTSD is.

  “It’s okay, Nat,” Ryker whispers into my hair, “I just . . . I know how I must have looked and sounded that night in the field with Luke and . . . if you saw even a piece of that from me, ever . . . I’m sorry.”

  “It’s over now, Ryker.” I pull my tear-streaked face from his shoulder and place my hands on his cheeks.

  He wraps his hands gently around my wrist and locks his blue eyes with mine. Eyes that have seen more darkness than I ever wanted to admit existed in the world. “That’s the thing, Natalie . . . it’s never really over.”

  “You’re right,” I sigh, sliding my hands down his face to his shoulders, “it never really is.”

  We’ve run out of words and tears as I turn to the side, resting my head on Ryker’s chest as he leans back on the arm of my couch. He’s in no apparent rush to leave, and I don’t want him to. Not yet.

  Chapter 40

  “How long did he stay?” Tosha asks far too early the next morning.

  “A few hours.”

  “And you didn’t talk?” she nearly shrieks through the phone.

  “Not a word.”

  Relaxed, I sit in the kitchen with my coffee and stare out the window. Ryker and I stayed in the same position on the couch for hours, holding hands in silence. Silence, I suppose, is a relative term used to describe what others might have seen. I’m sure his head was filled with as much noise as mine as I replayed everything he’d told me, and cried a little more for what my ex-boyfriend had been through.

  “What’d he say when he left?” T
osh sounds impatient.

  “That he was glad he came over, and that it helped him fill in some gaps . . . then he kissed my forehead and left.”

  “He keeps doing that.”

  “What?”

  She laughs. “Kissing your forehead.”

  “Yeah . . . he does.” I can’t stop my grin.

  “Does it bother you? I can hear your smile, you know.”

  “Not really. It doesn’t, like, mean anything. It’s just . . . it’s Ryker.”

  I can’t deny that having his lips on my skin feels good. Not in a lust-filled sort of way, but in a comforting way. Spending time with Ryker feels like coming home somehow.

  “Mmhmm,” Tosha mumbles.

  “All right, I gotta go, Tosh. I’ve got to gather stuff for the boys’ birthday party this weekend. Tell me you’re still coming.” I feign panic. The party is at Eric’s parents’ house, and while my parents will be there, I need someone completely in my corner for the day.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Her voice turns a shade serious, “You okay today?”

  “I really am. Love you, Tosh.”

  “Love you too, Natalie.”

  By the end of the week I’m looking forward to having the boys back in my apartment, even if it means I have to get through their birthday party with our families first. We’ve invited a few of their friends from preschool, along with my parents, Tosha, and Oliver’s nanny and occupational therapist.

  My therapy session this week centered mostly on managing my stress for the party. Not the stress of the party, but seeing my parents for the first time since they brought the boys home and I was living in a new apartment. I know my mother thinks Eric and I should “just work it out” and will likely spend most of the party telling me exactly why. Dr. Greene helped me work through ways to take the situation into my own hands, and use it as an opportunity to deal with some unresolved things with my mother.

  Joy.

  After the birthday cake and presents, the boys and their friends are running around Eric’s parents’ expansive backyard. He’s chatting with them by the playhouse as I’m cleaning up inside. Ordinarily, that would annoy me—feeling trapped inside while he enjoys life outside. However, this chore provides me with a much-needed emotional break today. And, I know my mom’s going to want to corner me in private—which she’s just done by sneaking through the screen door.

  “This was a lovely party, Honey,” she chirps as she gathers more cups and plates from the table.

  I force a smile through my nerves. “Thank you.”

  “Have you and Eric thought any more about marriage counseling?”

  I roll my eyes. “Marriage counseling only works when both parties want to stay married, Mother.”

  “Oh, Natalie, for goodness sake—”

  “I started cutting again.”

  Her face goes pale. My dad walks in just in time to hear it, too. Because, why not? His face turns red, though, and he looks like he’s about to cry.

  My mom clears her throat. “What do you mean again?”

  Oh, here we go.

  “You know damn well that I was cutting in college, Mom. That’s the reason why I was in therapy. You said it was because I needed to get over my relationship with a soldier boyfriend. While that was part of it, it wasn’t the whole reason.” I take a breath as my dad walks toward me. “Just because you don’t want to admit that I was cutting doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

  My dad puts a hand on my shoulder. “How long has it been going on?” He gets it. He knows how serious it was. We just never talked about it.

  “It’s not going on anymore. I haven’t cut in almost eight weeks. But it was going on for a few weeks before Eric and I separated. I’ve been in therapy with Dr. Greene again since I moved out.”

  My mom steadies herself on the counter as if I’ve just pushed her. I feel a huge weight lift from my shoulders as my dad hugs me. There’s still more I need to say, however, and she’s not going to like it.

  “Mom, I need to talk to you about Ryker.” Ignoring the look on her face, I continue, “He was my boyfriend, and I loved him. Very much. He was sent to war—” I try to clear my throat, but it doesn’t matter, the tears are welling anyway. “He was sent to war, and you acted like that was a relief for you, when, for me, it felt like the end of my world.”

  She straightens her face. “Oh Natalie, don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?”

  “Leslie,” my dad’s stern tone catches me off guard.

  “No, I don’t, Mom. I don’t think it’s dramatic at all. My boyfriend was shipped to a foreign country to fight, and I was scared. I was scared, and you weren’t there for me. And that hurt.” It feels so good to tell her that I’m unsure why I waited so long.

  “I’m sorry, Natalie, but I knew getting mixed up with him would be hard on you, and I wanted to protect you.” She smoothes the front of her skirt and looks up at me unapologetically.

  “You wanted to protect me from being in love? Mom, I would go through every single second of that again if it meant I still got to feel that kind of love—even for a moment.” My chin quivers as I spill a truth that’s been swirling in me for ten years.

  “If you two were so in love then why did you have to cut yourself?” Her voice falters slightly, and I know I’m getting through—even if just a little.

  “Because it’s a bad coping mechanism. I was scared and stressed and had no support. I loved him so much and couldn’t help him. Some people drink, some people do drugs, some people overeat . . . I cut.”

  My dad turns me toward him. “But you said you’re not doing it anymore, right?”

  I nod. “Right, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do it again . . . it just means that I’m going to work like hell not to.”

  “I’m glad you’re working on yourself, Natalie,” my mom starts with a stone-like cadence. “I’m sorry if you felt like I wasn’t there for you . . . I thought . . .” My normally poised mother falters as she knots her hands.

  Walking toward her, I hold out my arms. And we hug. “I know. I’m a mom, too, you know, and I get what you were trying to do. But, it hurt. I forgive you for it, but I had to be honest with myself, and you, and tell you. I just want to move on from it, okay?” And, I really do. I’ve learned that holding onto resentment and anger only poisons me. Forgiveness is the only way I have a shot of being healthy again.

  She nods, and when we pull away from our embrace, she excuses herself outside. My dad is still standing behind me. With a deep breath, I turn around as he speaks.

  “Nat, Baby—”

  “I’ve been spending time with Ryker, Dad,” I blurt out. He barely looks surprised. “We’ve hung out a few times, talked a lot about the past, and I had dinner at Bill’s house.”

  My dad smiles. “I know, Bill e-mailed me. He said it was great to see you again.”

  “How often do you guys talk?” I chuckle.

  “Off and on over the last few years . . .” He shrugs and I understand I’m not to press any further.

  “He went to a therapy session with me a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Who did?” Eric asks as he materializes from behind the sliding door.

  Fantastic.

  Slowly turning around, I meet his eyes. We haven’t spoken much today, but it hasn’t been awkward. Until now.

  “Ryker.” I swallow hard and brace for his reaction.

  Eric looks to my dad, and then the floor as he clenches his jaw. “Why?”

  I know I don’t owe him any damn explanation, but I offer one anyway. “Because we went through a lot together, and—”

  “And we didn’t?” Eric looks at me in disgust. “We had a marriage and a family, but you’ll bring him to your therapist?”

  “It’s not like that, Eric . . . Dad, can you give us—”

  My dad cuts me off with a nod and quickly excuses himself outside.

  “What is it, Natalie?” Eric and I haven’t been alone in a room in almost two m
onths. My anxiety is rising quickly.

  “I was always very honest with you about my feelings, Eric. With Ryker, it was different. I had a lot of things that needed to be said to him in order for me to be able to move on. You have no idea what it was like when he came home—”

  “Because you never talked to me!” Eric’s shout makes me jump.

  “This isn’t about you, Eric. What you and I went through—are going through—has nothing to do with that. We made some tough choices early on that turned out to be the wrong ones.” I keep my tone firm and calm. A screaming match right now won’t do anyone any good.

  “Like what, having the boys?” he mocks.

  Sweet Jesus, are we having this conversation again?

  “No, like getting married because we were worried about what other people would think. Like me staying at home . . . like you having an affair.” I haven’t thrown the affair in his face, but he needs to know that I’m not ignoring it.

  “If you’d paid a little more attention to me, Nat—”

  “Nope,” I shake my head, “no way. You’re not blaming me for the affair. It was your choice. One you made every day for a year, if I remember correctly. Look,” I run a hand through my hair and walk past him, “the party is winding down outside . . . I’m going to get the boys and go home.”

  As I set my hand on the door, he speaks in an almost-whisper. “I loved you, Natalie.”

  “I know,” I sigh, “I loved you, too. But, I can’t live in past tense anymore, Eric.”

  Chapter 41

  A few days later, I’ve got the boys set up with our nanny, Caroline. As I’m getting ready to leave for therapy, there’s a knock at the door. Opening it, I find a man standing there, holding three tulips—my favorite flower—and a package with a card taped to it. After setting the flowers by the window, I take the card and package to the car, not wanting to be late for Dr. Greene.

  I recognize the writing on the card immediately. Hundreds of letters from Afghanistan made me a Ryker Manning handwriting expert. With shaky fingers, I slide the envelope open.