In the Stillness (34 page)

“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 months. 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.

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.”