Natalie,
I remember you told me Max and Oliver’s birthday was coming up, but I don’t think you told me when. The flowers are for you, because you’re a great mother. I hope they’re still your favorite. The book is for them. I guess it’s the best way to try to make sense of it all . . . I hope they have, or had, a good birthday.
~Ry
My car feels too small as I tear open the wrapping and find “The Little Chapel That Stood,” a children’s book about 9/11, and the chapel 100 yards from the Twin Towers that managed to survive the chaos. It became a safe haven for many EMTs, firefighters, and policemen. I flip through the book and can’t get past the fifth page without succumbing to the heavy emotion that brings me back to that day.
The book highlights all the heroes born that day, and illustrates that from evil can come great good. Flipping back to the beginning, I see that Ryker put a note inside the front cover.
Max and Oliver,
Heroes don’t always wear capes, badges, or uniforms. Sometimes, they support those who do.
Setting the book on the passenger seat, I drive to Dr. Greene’s office in a hurry.
“That was quite thoughtful of him,” she says as I show her the card and the book.
“It was. He is.” I’m still wiping tears from under my eyes.
“He called you a hero to your boys but left space for you to explain it to them. How do you feel about that?”
“Overwhelmed. I don’t feel like a hero, at all.”
“What kind of relationship do you want to have with Ryker, Natalie? You’ve spent a fair bit of time with him, and he sent you flowers and your boys a present . . .”
“I actually haven’t thought much about it. It was just such a shock to have him in my life again. I was taking it one day at a time. I tried to prepare myself for the fact that one or both of us would find it too intense to be around each other.”
She crosses her legs. “And, have you found it too intense?”
I shake my head. “It’s been intense, for sure. But . . . not too intense . . .” I look to the ground.
“What is it, Natalie?”
“I really do still love him, Dr. Greene. For the longest time I’ve tried to tell myself that our crazy, mad love story was a product of the drama of war and being in college, but—”
“But what?”
“It was real. True.” I grab a fresh tissue. “Either way, I don’t want him to disappear again. I’m not saying I want to be with him, or anything . . . I just don’t want to say goodbye again.” Even saying “goodbye” in a sentence involving Ryker tugs at my insides.
Dr. Greene nods, licking her lips. “I think your honesty about your feelings is an excellent step, Natalie. I’d say how you’re handling it so far is working, wouldn’t you?”
I nod.
“How was the boys’ birthday?” She changes course, and I’m thankful for the relative break.
I quickly recount the events of the day to Dr. Greene, who nods along like she belongs on a car dashboard.
“Do you think your mother’s apology was sincere?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. She’s never apologized for anything before. I guess it doesn’t really matter if she’s actually sorry, though, does it? That’s kind of on her at this point.”
Dr. Greene smiles. “That’s very good, Natalie, and you’re right. But you know she might want to revisit the conversation, especially if your father tells her about Ryker?”
I tell Dr. Greene there’s no way on God’s green earth that my dad will tell my mom about Ryker. He knows I’ll tell her if and when I’m ready. We discuss some conversational techniques I can use if my mom should want to bring up our conversation again.
“What coping strategies have you been developing to stand in for the cutting?”
“I’ve been really busy, actually, which has been great. Classes at Mount Holyoke start again in a few weeks, so I’ve been gathering materials and preparing lectures. Also, the boys are starting school around then, too, and we’ve been preparing them for that.”
Dr. Greene raises her perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Busy isn’t a coping strategy, Natalie.”
Is so.
“Well, before I was married and had kids, I was a student. That’s what I did, that’s who I was. I read, wrote, and read some more. I loved to study and learn. I never really did anything else.”
“So, have you thought about some things you might want to do with your time, especially on the weeks you don’t have the boys? You’ll be very busy on the “on” weeks that I’m concerned for the “off” weeks. You, yourself, have said that the downtime is a trigger for you.”
“There’s one thing I’ve been tossing around . . .” I shift a little, and have to remind myself that my mother’s not sitting next to me. “When I first saw you, back when I came back to school after taking the semester off, I saw a flyer in my dorm for volunteering at the Holyoke Soldiers’ Home. It probably would have been too soon for me to do something like that, but I wanted to. I know my mom would have had a complete meltdowns, though, so I never did.”
She nods. “Why do you want to do that now?”
Oh, Dr. Greene, you and your loaded questions ...
“I know a little bit about what it’s like, I guess. Most of the men in there are very elderly, with little—if any—family left. I guess . . . I guess I picture Ryker in there someday, and it breaks my heart to think of him sitting alone.”
Dr. Greene and I agree that it’s worth me checking into the volunteer opportunities at the Soldiers’ Home, and soon I’m on my way back home. Pulling out of the parking lot, I scroll to Ryker’s number in my cell phone.
“Hello?”
I love that people still say “hello” with a question, as if they don’t have caller ID.
“Hey, Ry,” my voice starts to shake so I speak as quickly as possible, “I got the flowers, and the card . . . and the book.”
“Are you crying?”
I nod, like he can see me. “Yeah, uh, um . . . it was really sweet of you to . . . and the inscription . . .” I’ve pulled over on the side of the road, since crying and talking while driving is probably not a great idea.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry, Natalie . . . shit, I’m sorry.” His voice is melodic, like a lullaby. “I just want your boys to know, someday, how awesome you are. I mean, they’ll know, obviously, but about that . . . ah, I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”
“I do,” I chuckle through the emotion, “and it was sweet. And completely unnecessary. You’re the hero, you know. You always have been.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“You didn’t sign your name . . . after your note.”
There’s a short pause before Ryker speaks. “I just wasn’t sure . . . I didn’t know what you’d want them to know about me, if anything. I wanted them to have the book, either way.”
“I appreciate your concern, but . . . I want you to sign it. When you’re ready.”
“Where are you now?” he asks, seeming to hold my statement somewhere in the air.
“Driving home from therapy,” I laugh again. This time, he does too.
“All right, well I’ll let you go so you don’t drive off the road. I’d still like to have the boys out to the farm sometime. I think they’d have fun.” His voice is full of nerves.
Suddenly, I’ve fallen through the rabbit hole and I’m panicking. I know he’s trying to be nice, and the boys really would love to go to the farm, but I don’t know if I’m ready for all of that. As innocent as it might be, having my boys and Ryker in the same frame feels like too much right now.
“That’d be great. Can we give it a few weeks? I want to get the boys started in school, and the classes I’m teaching are starting soon . . . there’s just a lot coming up.” I hate the feeling that I’m turning him down, but I have to take myself seriously.
“Sure,” he sounds a little deflated, “absolutely. Just, uh, call me when you’re se
ttled in the routine, okay?”
“I will. Ryker?”
“Yeah?”
No, not yet . . .
“Thanks again for the gift, and the flowers. They’re beautiful.”
“You’re welcome, Nat. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Chapter 42
I remember the day I knew Ollie’s hearing was gone for good. As the summer progressed, he had fewer days, fewer moments, when he could hear us. Fewer times when his name came from my mouth and mattered, fewer times “Return to Pooh Corner” helped him fall asleep. I still sing it, even if Max is already asleep. But, two weeks after school started, and Eric dropped the boys off at my house one Sunday night, he told me Ollie hadn’t responded to any vocal communication that week. I frowned as I told him that he hadn’t the week before, either.
We stood in broken silence—irony at its finest. The day had finally come. After tucking them into bed, I locked myself in the bathroom and slid down the door until I met the ground in tears. It took every ounce of any strength I ever thought I possessed not to reach for the razors that night. But, I stayed in the bathroom until I’d fully thought the cut through, realizing it wasn’t worth it—then more than ever.
“How are the little guys doing in school?” Tosha asks over lunch on campus.
It’s been incredible getting back to work. The material never left my blood, so getting in the groove didn’t take long. I teach two classes, three days a week, in the morning. It leaves me time to grade and prepare on my days off, and spend time with the boys in the afternoons on my weeks.
“They’re good. I had reservations at first about them going to different schools, but, our options were kind of limited on that front.”
The boys are each in full-day kindergarten. Max works with a therapist for a half hour a day to maintain his sign language. On my weeks, I pick up Ollie first. When we get Max, their hands are moving so fast, signing about their days—it’s hilarious. Ollie can talk to Max just fine and can read lips really well, but they think it’s fun to use sign language, and Ollie has to use it at school for his classmates, anyway.
“And . . . have you talked to Ryker?” Her Thai noodle salad spins around her fork as she asks.
“I texted him last week to let him know I hadn’t forgotten about his invitation to the farm, but things are obviously busy, and with only having them every other week it’s a little complicated.”
She looks up. “Does he buy it?”
Rolling my eyes, I put my drink down. “There’s nothing to buy, Tosha. That’s the truth. I don’t need to freak him out by telling him I’m not ready, when he’s probably not even thinking along those lines. He’s just being nice.”
“How’s Eric been lately?”
“He’s okay.” I sigh. “The earliest the divorce will be finalized is probably March, but our attorney thinks it shouldn’t be a problem to have it done before the first of the year since we’re not contesting anything. It also helps that neither one of us are acting like total assholes.”
She laughs. “I bet you want to sometimes though, huh?”
“Yeah,” I snicker, “especially when he first asked me if it was okay for him to go on a date . . . as if he’d been asking my permission for the last year and a half.” I roll my eyes.
“Who was the date with?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Or care, really. We just agreed that we would keep any new relationships away from our boys until it became serious. There’s absolutely no reason to confuse them at this point. Anyway,” standing, I grab my tray and Tosh follows me to the trashcans, “I’ve gotta get over to the Soldiers’ Home.”
Tosh smiles. “How’s that going?”
“Actually it’s really good. Massively humbling, really. I’ve been spending one-on-one time with this Marine, George, who’s a Korean War vet. He’s really something . . . reminds me a bit of my grandfather.” I smile broadly as I think of my new friend.
“I think it’s awesome. All right, chick, catch ya later.” After a quick kiss on the cheek, she heads off to her next class and I get in my car to drive to the Soldiers’ Home.
“Knock, knock,” I smile as I walk into George’s room where I find an elderly woman sitting in the chair next to his. From pictures he’s shown me, I recognize it to be his wife.
“There she is!” George claps his hands and smiles back.
As I lean in to hug him, the woman smiles. “You must be Natalie.”
“I am,” I extend my hand and she takes it, still smiling. “And you must be Marion.”
“What have you told her?” She playfully taps her husband’s arm.
Holding up his hands in mock defense, he laughs, “All good things, all good things.”
“If you two would like some time alone, I can come back another time, I don’t mind.”
“Nonsense, Dear,” Marion scolds playfully. “Sit. I’ve heard a lot about you from blabbermouth over here, and I wanted to come meet you myself.”
I’ve spent a few weeks visiting George. The Soldiers’ Home has an Adopt-a-Veteran program that provides one-on-one visits to residents with volunteers. I was terrified at first that he would assume I was there to make myself feel good, or something, but it turns out he was just happy to have someone to talk to. His wife, Marion, lives with their daughter, but George’s medical needs require 24-hour care. At 82, he looks strong and is of sound mind, but a lifelong love of smoking has left him with emphysema, amongst other issues. Marion visits as often as she can, George has told me, but she doesn’t drive anymore so it depends on their daughter’s work schedule.
“George tells me you have twins?” Marion’s face is bursting with that grandmotherly type of love as I take the seat across from them.
“I do. Max and Oliver; they turned five in July.”
“Boys,” she pretends to faint, “you must be busy! We have one boy and one girl and, I’ll tell you what, boys are easier, but gosh they’re a lot of work when they’re little! Where do they go to kindergarten?”
“Max goes to Amherst, and Oliver goes to the Clarke School in Northampton.”
I haven’t told George that I have a deaf son. Both of them look confused for a moment, until realization crosses Marion’s face.
“Is he deaf?” she asks with a furrowed brow.
I nod. “He is. He hasn’t been since birth . . . he has a degenerative condition.” I spend a couple of minutes telling them about our summer with Ollie’s hearing.
Marion places her cool hand on mine when I finish. “I’m sorry, dear. But, it sounds like you and your husband are taking it in stride and the boys are doing well.”
“We are, but,” I feel weird talking about divorce to a couple that’s managed to keep their shit together for however long they have, “we’re divorcing. It was in the works before Ollie’s diagnosis.” Shrugging, I look down for a split second before I talk myself out of it and face their looks head on.
Their eyes aren’t filled with condemnation, and not even sorrow. They look like they . . . understand.
“Nothing to be ashamed of, Bug.” George taps my knee. He joked about my nickname “Nat” on day one, and has called me bug for the last month. Who would tell him to stop? He’s adorable.
“What branch of the military is he in?” Marion asks.
I’m thrown slightly off balance by her question. “What? Who?”
“Your soon-to-be ex-husband. Is he a Marine, too?”
“Oh,” I exhale, having misinterpreted the direction of her questioning, “he’s not in the military, never was.”
“Oh . . .” she seems confused, “what brings you in here then? Usually the young girls that volunteer here have husbands or boyfriends overseas, or did.”
Looking to the ceiling for an answer, I bite the inside of my cheek.
“Ah,” George cuts into my train of thought, “there’s a story there, I see. If you ladies will excuse me, I have to go get my place in line for dinner so the vultures don’t steal all the ora
nges.” Slowly getting up with a cough, he wheels his oxygen tank behind him as he leaves for the cafeteria.
“He’s right, isn’t he?” Marion asks with a smile.
My grin gives me away before I can explain. “Sort of . . .”
“Do you want to tell me about him?”
I sigh. “How much do you want to know?”
“As much as it takes for me to understand why he wasn’t the one you married in the first place.” Her smile elicits a chuckle from me.
I stare at her for a minute before I decide she can clearly handle whatever it is I have to tell her. So, I start at the beginning. The very beginning. Marion dabs at her eyes with a tissue when I tell her about Ryker pulling me into a kiss a minute or so after we met. While I don’t go into every single gory detail of the end of our relationship, I don’t sugarcoat it, either. By the end, finishing with the birthday present Ryker sent to my boys, both Marion and I are crying into what’s left of the hospital-grade tissues.
“That’s one of the most beautiful stories I’ve heard in a long time, Natalie.” Marion blows her nose and reaches for another tissue.
“Are you kidding? It’s a mess!” I laugh, drying my eyes and running a hand through my hair.
“Oh, Sweetie,” she whispers, “it only looks like a mess because it’s not over yet.”
My stomach lurches a little. “What?”
“It’s not over yet between you two. Not after what I’ve heard,” she states very matter-of-fact. “Listen, walk with me to the cafeteria and I’ll tell you about George and me.”
You don’t say “no” to nice old ladies who just cried with you as you spilled your guts. You just don’t.
The walk to the cafeteria is rather long for someone as short as Marion, especially with her bad knee, but she makes it worth our while. George enlisted in the Marines in 1948, when he was eighteen years old. He and Marion had been high school sweethearts. When he was shipped to Korea in 1951, she lived with her parents until he came home.
“Did you save your letters from Ryker? Please tell me you did.” She holds my hand as we make our way down the hall.
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