A small gift tag on the front of the package simply reads:
Ryker’s sits on his dresser in his house. You need one, too. Love, Bill
With a racing heart, I tear open the package, gasping in my silent bedroom. I’m holding a framed picture—the same one Ryker had on his desk in his dad’s house. It’s the one Bill took the day Ryker left for Afghanistan, the picture that shows us saying goodbye. The picture where Ryker’s white knuckles beg, don’t go.
Staring tearfully at this picture, I wish I could tell that girl everything I know. The good, the bad, and the ugly that lies ahead. The tears. The triumph. More than anything I want to tell her she’ll get to hold that boy like that again one day. But, that’s the one thing I can’t tell her. Because I don’t know.
Walking to my bookshelf, I set the picture front and center. I laugh, remembering how I thought that day was going to be the worst day of my life. As it turns out, it was one of the best—we promised we’d wait for each other.
My phone dings in the bedroom, indicating a text message. I open my phone to find a reply from Ryker.
Ry: Merry Christmas, Nat. Talk to you soon.
I think I really hope so . . .
Chapter 46
“Have you talked to anyone about that letter?”
My visits with Dr. Green have decreased to every other week, and this is the first time I’ve seen her since my mom’s experiment in apology.
“No.”
“Not even Ryker?”
“Not even Ryker.”
“Why not?” She tilts her chin, almost knowingly.
“Well,” I sigh, “what’s the point? I don’t mean that sarcastically, either. I promise.” We chuckle in unison. “I’m at a point now, I think, where I don’t need to dump everything on everyone all the time. I mean, I don’t feel like my friends look at it as me dumping on them. I . . . just don’t need to right now.”
“Excellent, Natalie.” She smiles and takes a careful breath. “Have you spoken with your mother since you got the letter?”
“Yes.”
I tell Dr. Greene that my mother and I had a short, tear-filled conversation where I thanked her for not destroying the letter. She said that once she found out my and Bill were still talking, my dad clued her in on the last ten years, and what Ryker had been through. She said when she put that together with what I told her at the boys’ birthday party, she realized her short-sightedness.
“How did things end with you two on the phone?” Dr. Greene checks her watch, letting me know our time is almost up.
“Things are okay, they’ll be fine. I guess it’ll just take some time, like everything else.” With a smile and an appointment for three weeks from now, I leave the office and look forward to a quiet afternoon.
While I’ve learned to savor the quiet when it comes, I’m grateful that Tosh and Liz will be home from Hawaii at the end of the week. As I finish up a chapter of a book I’ve been getting lost in, my phone rings with a number I’m unfamiliar with. It’s our “413” area code, so I answer.
“Hello?”
“Natalie Collins?” a woman’s voice greets me.
“Yes, this is.”
“Hi, this is Karen Matthews, George and Marion Frank’s daughter.” Her tone tells me to sit.
“Oh, okay, hi.” I know I sound breathless, but can’t help it.
“Dad passed away last night.” She clears her throat as she finishes, allowing for a small sob to escape my throat unheard.
“I’m so sorry,” I make out between not-so-silent tears. I haven’t seen George since Christmas, and Marion the week before that. “What happened?”
“He passed away in his sleep.” After a few sniffs, she manages to tell me that Marion got my number from the Soldiers’ Home, and asked that I be called about the funeral arrangements. It’ll be in two days.
“Thank you for calling, Karen.”
Hanging up, I collapse to the floor in a puddle. Not wanting to bother Tosha on her vacation, but knowing I need to talk to someone—and soon—I call Bill.
“Hey, Nat, what’s going on?”
“Bill . . .” My ugly cry reaches his ear in no time.
“Natalie? What’s going on? Are you hurt?”
“George . . . from the Soldiers’ Home . . .” is all I can make out.
“Oh, Nat . . . where are you?” Bill’s voice cracks.
“At my apartment.”
“Sit tight.”
Twenty minutes after hanging up, Bill shows up at my door. I don’t care how he got my address, I’m just thankful he has it. Though I don’t remember when I stopped, I start crying all over again when I open the door and find his Ryker-blue eyes staring back at me. His hug absorbs my sobs as we move to my couch, where he lets me cry for several minutes. After I calm down, and he—at some point—makes tea and hands it to me, I tell him about my conversation with Karen.
“So,” I finally take a deep breath, “will you please come to the funeral with me? I don’t want to go alone, and Tosh—”
“Of course, Natalie.”
After a few minutes of quietly sipping tea, Bill rests his hand on my shoulder.
“You going to be okay, Sweetie?”
I nod, wiping my nose with my sleeve. “I will be. I’ll see you at the church on Thursday.”
When he leaves, I consider texting Ryker, but can’t imagine what he’ll do from so far away. I text Eric to let him know I’ll be pretty unavailable for the next few days, so to only call me if it’s an emergency. I need the quiet today.
Marion lost her soldier. No matter when, no matter how, losing your soldier is unlike anything I can explain. I can only imagine it based on the fear that lingers in my chest. The fear that never really goes away.
A swift, pounding headache produced by too much crying and too little sleep sits shotgun on my drive to the church on Thursday. Two days of silence found me somewhere between reading through Ryker’s letters on the floor at 2am one morning, and sleeping until 9am this morning, making me almost late for the service.
Parking my car in the back of the lot, I’m thankful to see Bill’s car waiting for me. He must have seen me pull in, because as soon as I open my door, he opens his. Walking to his car, I manage a polite wave before my eyes dart to the passenger door as it, too, opens. Nearly slipping on the ice-slicked parking lot, I come to a stop. My lips part as Ryker starts toward me.
“Ryker!” Ignoring the ice, I rush to his side the car, where he lifts me into a fierce hug. “What are you doing here?” I sob into his black peacoat, my feet suspended a few inches from the ground.
“Dad called,” he whispers. “You should have called me, Nat.” Kissing my cheek, he sets me down.
“You flew home just for this?” I whisper back.
I feel him nod before he says, “I came for you.” Kissing my cheek, he sets me down.
“You didn’t have to—”
Ryker silences me by wiping a tear from my cheek with his black cotton glove before locking his fingers with mine. “Let’s get inside. They’ll be starting soon, and it’s freezing.”
Bill walks on my other side, resting his hand on the center of my back as we ascend the steps of the church.
The funeral is a full military affair that immediately calls to mind Lucas’s funeral, only this time I have Ryker at my side. I can see in Ryker’s jaw that he’s thinking the same thing. He doesn’t let go of my hand through the entire service.
As we were the last in, we’re the last out when the service is over. Walking through the connector before the front door, a small voice calls out.
“Natalie.” Marion appears from a side room with a smile on her face.
“Marion.” As I walk toward her, she extends her arms. “I’m so very sorry, Marion,” I sniff as we embrace.
“Thank you, Sweetheart. It’s okay, though. He had a great life.” With glistening eyes, she peers over my shoulder, reminding me that Ryker and Bill are behind me.
“Oh, Marion, th
is is Bill Manning, and,” I take a deep breath, “this is Ryker.”
Marion’s cheeks turn a fresh shade of pink as she eyes Ryker from head-to-toe. “I thought you were in Wyoming?”
Ryker cracks a little grin and looks at me.
“You’ve come up.” I shrug passively.
“Listen, you two,” Marion starts as the funeral director approaches her with her coat, “I want you to come to my daughter’s house tomorrow, around noon.”
Ryker and I look at each other for a confused moment.
“Just do it,” she butts in, “Norman from the funeral home will give you Karen’s address. See you then.”
And just like that, tiny, feisty Marion leaves the church, having given us our orders for tomorrow.
Walking back through the parking lot, I reach for Ryker’s hand. “Thank you for coming, Ry. When do you have to go back to Wyoming?”
Bill gets into his car as Ryker walks me to mine. “I’m not,” he says as we reach my door.
“Why not?”
“I told you already,” he smiles, running his hand down my cheek. “Want me to come back to your place with you?”
He told me?
Still trying to discern his response, I shake my head. “No, it’s okay. Just come to my place in the morning and we can go to Karen’s. What do you mean you told me?” My eyebrows furrow in confusion.
Ryker looks away for a second as he sees it hit me.
I came for you.
He didn’t come today for me. He came today for me.
“Ryker . . .” Ten years, countless tears, and months of therapy later, I find myself at a loss for words.
Ryker’s eyes focus on mine in seriousness as he grabs my shoulders. “Call me if you need me, okay? I don’t care what time.”
“I will.” I nod, trying to swallow away the sudden dryness of my throat.
With his seemingly-signature kiss on the head, he walks back to his dad’s car and they drive away.
Chapter 47
“Any idea why she wants us to go to her house?” Ryker asks as we drive to Marion’s daughter’s house. He showed up about a half hour ago with coffee, and we were on our way.
“Oh,” I chuckle softly, “with Marion, Lord only knows.”
“You got pretty close with them, huh?” Ryker puts his hand on my knee.
“Yeah. It started out with just me and George, but Marion was there one day and, pretty soon, every time I was there.”
“What was George like?”
I take a few minutes to tell Ryker all about George. The Marines, Korea, and even Evie. He gets a kick out of the Evie story, most notably, George’s reaction to it.
“Sounds like he was a great guy.” Ryker gives my knee a slight squeeze before tilting his chin toward the window. “There’s fifty-seven.”
Noting the absence of any cars in the driveway, I knock on the door, wondering if Marion forgot. Half a minute later, she opens the door with a soft smile.
“Glad you two could make it, come in.” Marion leads us through the spacious house to a room that looks like a den near the back.
“Where’s Karen?” I ask, looking around.
“She and her husband took their boys out to give us time to chat. Sit.” Marion motions to the love seat as she settles into the chair.
As Ryker and I settle onto the couch, I notice pictures all over the walls and shelves of Marion and George.
“Now, I asked you two over here today so I could share some things with you. I was going to ask Natalie here anyway, but once I saw you, young man, I knew you had to come.” Marion points at Ryker and I see him blush a little. “As I’m sure you know, I’ve spent several months getting to know Natalie.”
Ryker flashes his best all-American at her. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”
“Natalie,” she turns to me, “George told me on Christmas that you received a letter from Ryker a few days too late?”
Ryker looks at me, thoroughly confused, as I shoot my eyebrows up.
“I didn’t send you a letter . . .” He shakes his head, speaking almost under his breath.
“You didn’t tell him?” Marion looks at me as though I’ve grown a second nose.
“My mom sent it to me, Ryker. It was your first one . . . It said Merry Christmas . . .”
His eyes grow wide. “You never go that?”
“My mom . . .” I shrug, “I’ll tell you more later.”
“Anyway,” Marion redirects our conversation, “Ryker . . . Natalie told George and me a lot about the letters you two sent back and forth to each other while you were overseas. Do you still have yours?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ryker nod. “Yes, ma’am, I do. Every one.”
My chin quivers a little at his admission. I’ve never asked. I don’t know if I assumed he trashed them during his darker days, but . . . I didn’t want to know if he had.
Marion looks at Ryker, and waves her hand toward the corner of the room. “Ryker, could you fetch that box for me?” Ryker picks up a large banker’s box and holds it in front of Marion, who instructs him to sit. “Open it.”
Ryker shoots me an awkward look, and I just shrug. “You heard her,” I tease.
Pulling off the top, Ryker swallows hard as he examines the contents—what looks to be hundreds of letters, handwritten on folded pieces of paper. Neither one of us make a move.
“When George was in Korea, those were all I had of him until I saw him again. Now, once again,” her voice catches and she tries to clear her throat, “they’re all I have of him until I see him again.”
As my eyes cloud with tears, I catch Ryker’s jaw tightening before he seems to focus on something above Marion’s head.
“What’s this?” he asks, setting the box down and standing. Walking to the shelf behind Marion, he picks up a small picture frame. “Nat, did you see this?”
“No.” I walk to Ryker and have to muffle the gasp that comes from my mouth.
In Ryker’s hand sits a black and white picture that looks to have been taken at a train station. It looks like the cover of a Nicholas Sparks novel. I don’t need to see their faces to know it’s George and Marion; his Marine uniform is wrapped tightly around her tiny frame while her high-heeled feet swing freely from the ground. Watching Ryker’s thumb smooth across the center of the frame, I note George’s white knuckles and a tear rolls down my cheek.
“That’s the day he came home,” Marion informs us without looking at it.
“We have one just like this from the day Ryker left.” I smile through my tears.
“Of course you do.” Marion grabs my hand.
“We?” Ryker asks.
“Yeah,” I look up to find his eyes watering, too, “your dad gave me a copy on Christmas.”
Ryker’s eyes close as he shakes his head and chuckles. “Dad . . .”
“Marion, I’d like to keep visiting with you, if that’s okay with you.” I kneel down and pull her into a hug.
“I won’t take no for an answer. You too, young man. I want to get to know Ryker Manning a little bit.” Marion shoots me a cunning look as heat creeps through my face and neck.
After hugging Marion goodbye, and setting a date to come see her in a couple of weeks, Ryker and I get back into the car and drive to my apartment in silence.
“She’s a trip,” Ryker says as he follows me up the stairs to my apartment.
“No kidding, huh?” Unlocking the door, I leave it open for Ryker to fall in behind me.
“So, your mom . . .” Ryker starts as he sits on the couch. “What happened there?”
A slightly-psychotic laugh escapes me as I get us bottles of water.
“What happened there? Where do I start?”
I tell Ryker about my mom’s reaction to the first time I saw him at Atkins, through the boys’ birthday party and up to her unconventional Christmas card and our awkward conversation after that.
“She apologized?” Ryker’s appropriately shocked.
“Mmhmm.
It really was a Christmas miracle,” I snort.
Ryker picks at something imaginary on his palm. “How long has it been since you’ve cut?”
Oh. Well then . . .
“Seven months,” I answer confidently, pulling his eyes toward mine with my words.
Ryker’s eyes glass over as he stands and walks to the kitchen, resting his hand on the back of a chair, bowing his head just slightly.
“Ry?” I pace behind him, gently placing my hand on his shoulder.
“Have you wanted to cut at all in the last seven months?” he asks without looking up.
“A few times,” I whisper.
“Why?”
I shrug. “It’s just . . . a faulty coping mechanism, Ry. What’s . . . what’s going on?”
Ryker turns to me, his broken look threatening to swallow me. “Do I make you want to cut?”
“Oh, Ryker,” grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt, I press my forehead into his chest, “no. Not at all.” I lift my head and find him studying me. “My cutting is not about you, or my boys, or anyone else. It’s about me, and it’s something I’ll always be working on.”
Ryker stares between me and the space behind my shoulder for a moment. “Can you come to the farm with the boys next weekend? I’d like to show them how we start the seeds, and some other things.”
“Uh, sure, that shouldn’t be a problem.” I’m taken slightly aback by the determination on his face.
“Awesome. Okay, I’ve gotta run and get some work done, but call me this week.” He sniffs away the tears that were previously brewing in his eyes.
“Sure.” Releasing his shirt I barely realized I was still clutching, I back up so he can get through the kitchen and to the door. “Thanks for coming with me today.”
“Well, I’d say anytime, but,” he laughs, “Marion’s already made that clear, hasn’t she?”
“Ha! Yeah, she has. I’ll call you this week.”
Until I see you again . . .
Chapter 48
One week turns into three, thanks to back-to-back bouts of the flu with Max and Ollie. Getting through Ollie’s first illness since becoming deaf was a real challenge. I couldn’t ask him questions while he was half asleep with his eyes closed—he needed to have his eyes open and be focusing on me. It was frustrating for all of us. Ryker was more than understanding, and we’ve made plans for me to take the boys there this morning, before I bring them to Eric’s this afternoon.
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