In the Stillness (20 page)

* * *

“Who knew ordering a cake would be such an event.” Tosha fakes being out of breath as she meets me in the produce section. Deliveries are just coming in and we have to dodge dollies of squash and asparagus as we fill our baskets. “Seriously, though, are you okay?”

“I’m feeling trapped, to be honest. Eric and I can’t be married anymore. I don’t love him and it’s just getting uglier between us by the day. That can’t be good for the boys. But, knowing Eric, he’ll press that it won’t be good for them if we split up their home now, especially with everything going on with Ollie . . .” I kneel down in front of a huge basket of yellow squash and start picking through them.

“It’s a bad reason to stay in a bad marriage, Natalie. A disability. You can’t do that to either one of you, or the boys.”
 

“Ugh, I know.” I sigh as I stand. “Luckily after next week, the boys will be at my parents’ for a week, so we’ll have time to sort through some shit while they’re gone.”

“Remember,” Tosha elbows me, “come stay at our place while you get everything squared away and find yourself a place to live.”

I nod and we head to the check-out. It makes sense that I would be the one to leave the apartment. Eric lived there before we even lived together—it’s his. I’m thankful, though, for the generous trust fund my grandmother Baker left to me when she passed away. I’ll be able to live off that for a little while, while I find a job.
 

Unless Eric and I can work it out . . . no, not an option on this side of the table.

As Tosha and I leave the market, I roll my eyes at the “Manning Farms” truck. Apart from seeing Ryker’s dad when I was eight months pregnant with the twins, that name is the most I’ve seen of Ryker since the stairwell in 2002.
 

Until he hops out of the back of the farm truck.

“Ryker,” I whisper as I stop dead in my path, causing a woman to bump into me from behind.

“What?” Tosha mouths “sorry” to the woman behind us as she pulls me to the side. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

I set my bag on a nearby ledge and walk almost trance-like toward the mid-sized box truck. I should be running in the opposite direction. Far away. I have no way of knowing what the last ten years have done to him.

Tosha shouts unabashedly after me. “Natalie! Where are you going?”

As soon as “Natalie” springs from her mouth, Ryker stands straight and turns in my direction.
 

Holy shit, it’s really him.

With erratic breaths, and my heart slamming against my throat, I maintain my march toward him, needing confirmation that he’s really standing there and this isn’t the final straw in my psychological breakdown. He wipes sweat from his brow with his forearm, then takes off his gloves and rubs his eyes for a second before seeming to blink me into focus.

Yeah, it’s really me.

He’s more muscular than he was the last time I saw him. He’s the size he was before he left for deployment. Tanned and dirty, he takes my breath away. Still, this can’t be happening. I stop ten feet from him and stare a second longer than is socially acceptable. Miraculously, my vocal cords work.

“Ryker?”
I shake my head, certain I’ve tumbled off the edge.

A lopsided grin takes over his face as he shakes his head, too.
 

 
“Natalie.”

Chapter 23

It’s him. He just said my name . . .

My jaw loses tension and the late-May air around my body is suddenly frigid. Neither one of us moves, until someone I assume is a co-worker walks up to him. I remind myself that Tosha’s car is a short fifty-yard dash away.

“We’re all set, Ryker, just bring them the inventory sheets and they say we’re good to go.”

That guy just said his name, too.

“All right, Steve-o. Thanks.” Ryker slaps him on the shoulder—but never looks at him— grabs some papers, and walks toward me.

Tosha calls from behind me as she approaches. “Seriously, Natalie, what are you do—” I hear our bags hit the ground. “Ryker?”

Ryker’s grin turns into a full smile as he stops just in front of me. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I say inside my exhale.

Because Tosha is the best friend I barely deserve most days, she saddles up next to me and takes my hand as I watch her look Ryker once over. She surely sees the same thing I do—a man. A healthy-looking man who is smiling at us like that’s all he does. His dirty-blonde hair is long enough that he can run his fingers through it, and as he does, I search for a reason for me to walk away. There are so many. And, frankly, so many reasons for him to push past us and move on with his life. I ruined his.

“Hi Ryker.” Her tone is light.

“Hey Tosha!” She lets go of my hand and hugs him as he reaches over her shoulders.

In the brief silence at the end of their hug, his cerulean eyes shift to me and I see
my
Ryker. The softness I first met has regained its footing across his face, and I can’t believe I’m staring at the same man who was in the midst of an overdose the last time I saw him. Knots tighten through my stomach at the realization we haven’t seen or spoken to each other since the stairwell in my dorm room nearly ten years ago. I really should just say “nice to see you” and walk away.

But, I can’t. He looks so happy to see me and, really, I’m happy to see him. I know that his dad would have called if anything happened to him, but, I’m honestly happy he’s alive.

I lunge forward—as if pulled by a magnet—and lock my arms around his neck. His hands find their special spot on my lower back, and he squeezes me close as he drops the papers he was holding. There are no words because, well, there are just no words. In a second, every painful memory I’ve been holding onto for a decade is washed away by the feel of his scruff-covered chin against my cheekbone and the smell of earth bursting through his neck. We sway back and forth two times, I think, before I let go and take a step back.

“I can’t believe you’re
here
.” I chuckle uncomfortably. I come here all the time, have lived in Amherst for seven years, and have never
once
run into him. Not once.

Ryker tucks his hands into his jeans pockets and shrugs. “I just got a contract with them last week, this is our first delivery.”

The look on my face must clue him in to my confusion.

Pride joins our conversation through his voice. “It’s my farm, Nat. I started it two years ago and this is the first year we’re selling off of the property.”
 

Tosha and I turn toward each other and mimic wide-eyed stares. I smile back at Ryker. “That’s amazing, Ryker, good for you.”

“Thanks.” His eyes slip to the ground for a moment before causally coming up for air along the line of my dress. “You look great, Natalie.”

“You do too.” The air is no longer cold.

A truck approaching behind Ryker’s sounds its horn.

“Shit, listen,” he shakes his head as if to clear a million words from it, “I gotta get these papers inside and get back to the farm. You should stop by sometime and see the operation.” He picks up the last bag and hands it to me. “It was great seeing you, Natalie.” He seems to be saying my name at every opportunity to convince himself he’s really talking to me. He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze before picking up his papers and jogging inside.
 

After a few seconds of staring at the space he vacated, I turn without announcement and walk to Tosha’s car. When she gets in, the sound of her slamming door echoes in silence for a minute.

“What the hell just happened?” I breathlessly fight off a shiver.
 

“Well . . .” She tries to form something coherent. But what just happened was anything but.

“You should stop by sometime?” I repeat Ryker’s invitation as Tosha starts the car and backs out of the space.

“Yeah . . .”

“The last time we saw each other I cracked my fucking head open and I should
stop by sometime?
” My sweating palms make it hard to clench my fist. The interior of the car is shrinking, along with my throat.
 

“He probably panicked. You know, like how you gave him a hug?” Tosha’s voice sounds crackly as my head spins.

We make it a mile or so down the road before I’m suffocating and my tongue is numb.
 

“Stop. Tosha stop the car, stop!”
 

Pulling over by a corn field, she doesn’t yet have the car in park before I’m unbuckled and throwing the door open. I haven’t had one in a long time, but panic attacks are no stranger, and I need to walk this off. I lock my fingers behind my head and look to the clouds, swallowing fresh air into my lungs. Ignoring the rough gravel, I sit against the car tire and hold my head in my hands—begging it to stay attached to my body.

“You okay?” Tosha sits next to me and lights a cigarette.
 

Feeling slowly returns to my face and fingers as my pulse returns to normal. Ripping the cigarette from her fingers, I take a deep drag as I lean my head against the car.

“I just need to go home . . .” Still shaking, I hand her the cigarette and dust myself off before climbing back in her car.

Tosha remains studiously focused on the road for the remainder of the drive to my apartment. When we pull up alongside my building, I take one more cleansing breath.

“Are you going to be okay?” There’s no snark in her tone.

“Did you know he had a farm around here?” I ask to the windshield.

Tosha shrugs. “How would I?”

“I don’t know, haven’t you ever Googled him or anything?”

“
Why
would I? Have
you
ever Googled him?”

I’m surprised at my own response. “No, I haven’t. Ever. I’ve been kind of busy, you know. And . . . I didn’t even think about him much until recently—”

“That’s total bullshit, Natalie, and you know it.” Tosha sounds almost angry. “No one else I know who doesn’t have any connection to the military is as much of a stickler for going to Memorial Day and Veteran’s Day and Fourth of July events as you.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I snap back.

“It’s like you’ve spent the last ten years trying to repent for keeping him out of the National Guard when he wanted to reenlist. Like you think if you’re super active in supporting the troops that will pay back some debt you think you owe. You don’t owe anyone anything, Natalie. In fact, you probably saved his fucking life.”

I’ve never given that a thought, that maybe I saved his life. Not likely. Guilt is stronger than reason, and I don’t buy what she’s saying.

“So what do I do?” I turn toward Tosha with tears in my eyes.

“You go figure out your marriage, or what’s left of it, and only think about Ryker Manning when you’re ready. You haven’t seen him in ten years. Maybe you’ll go another ten . . . if you want to.”

I leave her last words to bump around in my brain as I get out of her car and trudge up to my apartment . . . my real life. Pausing for a moment with my door on the handle, I listen for signs of what I’m about to walk into. Silence points to a successful nap time, allowing me to open the door with a tinge less dread than I’d walked up the stairs with.

“Hey,” Eric mumbles as he stares at the TV.

“Hey.” I take my bag to the kitchen and unpack the emotionally tainted produce.

“How’d everything go at the Clarke School today?” Eric asks purely as a matter of formality, since he hasn’t turned down the TV to hear a real answer.

“Everything’s fine. We’re pretty lucky Ollie already knows how to speak and has probably been reading lips for a while, anyway, they said. He’ll still see their speech and hearing therapist, and we’ll all learn sign language to give him the most options for communication.” Ryker’s half-smile blinds all other images from my mind as I try to discuss my child. “Still,” I continue with a sigh, “they suggest really focusing on being face-to-face with him when we speak so he can read lips. We’ve got to work on that with Max, too . . .”

Eric’s footsteps startle me from my speech. His hand feels foreign as it brushes the spot Ryker’s hands rested just half an hour ago. An awkward sense of betrayal swirls around me. I grip the counter and hang my head.

“Natalie . . .” Eric glides his hand up to my shoulder as my tears mockingly tickle my cheeks.

Despite me telling him I don’t love him, and having told him before that I hate him, Eric pulls me into a comforting embrace. My arms hang uselessly at my side. He knows everything, Eric does. He knows I missed school for a semester because I was a cutter with a borderline-abusive boyfriend, and that we’d made a spectacular mess of both of our lives. He knows I didn’t want to have his children, or get married just because it was the “proper” thing to do. Eric knows I resentfully put my aspirations on hold so he could fulfill his. And, still, he tries to hug my pain away.
 

“I’m sorry, Eric.” I apologize for things I can’t verbalize. Things from ten years ago and things from yesterday. I’m just sorry we’ve gotten in this far before I’ve had the clarity to leave. It’s like I never considered it an option.