In the Stillness (8 page)

“Of course Eric doesn’t know, Tosh. He barely knows about the last time, you know that. I haven’t cut since before I met him.”

“Until now.” She tilts her chin to my arm.

“I was so mad, Tosh.” Tears start trickling down my face. “Eric’s getting his Ph.
fucking
D. next month. I could be done with mine by now. That’s all I can think about—not that my husband is fulfilling his dream—that I’m not fulfilling mine.”

“Okaaaay,” she prompts, “that’s not explaining why I’m three seconds away from talking to Eric . . . or your mom—”

“Don’t start that shit, Tosh, I’m not a child.”

“I was
there
, Nat. It was ugly, and your boys don’t need to—”

“The boys? What about them? Just because I never wanted to be a mom doesn’t mean I’m not a damn good one.” I smash my cigarette against the stairs and jump to cross the street to get home.

Tosha grabs my hand as she stands. “I didn’t mean that, Nat, you know that. I just . . . I just mean that the last six months you’ve seemed to get sadder and sadder. I don’t want to lose you again. I haven’t said anything to Eric, or anything, but . . . Natalie, I want you to be healthy. Was that the only time?” She points her cigarette to my arm.

“Yeah,” I lie, “I feel better now that I told you.” We walk toward my building.

That was easy.

“Good thing I didn’t let you go to the Pub, sister, your husband’s up.” Tosh nods to my living room window, glowing with a light I’d turned off when I left.

Shit.

My head is swimming in a pool of tequila. “He’s a good man.” I point to the window.

She nods. “Yep.”
 

I have no idea if she believes that. Sure, he
is
a good guy, but Tosh was never head-over-heels for us. Also, she nearly lost her shit when I told her we were getting married. My explaining that I was pregnant, and that our families would appreciate it, were her exact reasons why we shouldn’t.

We hug goodbye and I head carefully up the stairs, smelling a bit like Tijuana.
 

Despite knowing Eric’s waiting for me, I still open the door like I’m trying to sneak in.

“Hey,” I try, nonchalantly.
 

“Where were you? Did you tell me you had plans?” He’s wide awake. I was only gone for an hour.

“I went over to The Monkey Bar. Met Tosh and Liz.” I start for the bedroom but my dizziness sits me on the couch. Next to Eric.

“Why were they out? It’s a Monday.”

You really are a pompous ass.

“It’s exam time. They’re professors. And,
I
don’t work. So, we were free.”

It’s been a long time since we’ve been home together, just sitting on the couch. When I close my eyes I don’t see toys, I can’t hear the sleeping boys, and all I can smell is the Abercrombie cologne Eric still insists on wearing. After a few minutes, I feel Eric sweep me into his arms and bring me to our bed. I half-heartedly help get myself out of the dress, crawling into bed wearing only my panties.
 

 
Eric kisses just behind my ear as he slides into bed next to me. “I love you, Natalie. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

I nod and drift to sleep, dreaming about the time a girl at some party at UMass challenged me about the yellow ribbon on my jacket. I used the pin from that ribbon to cut for the first time.
 

Chapter 9

While I’m at the park with the twins the next day, Tosha calls.

“Hello?”

“And how are you feeling this morning, Lightweight?” she says with a tick too much cheer.

“Well,” I clear my throat, which is slightly scratchy from my single cigarette last night, “I’m hiding behind huge sunglasses at the playground like a bitch, downing a venti, and praying the boys don’t drag me into one of their superhero games.”

“You’re disastrous,” she says mid-laugh.

“Well, I haven’t gone out in months and the first time I do I swallow three margaritas in, what, an hour?”

Tosha whispers, as if others can hear, “Was he pissed?”

“I don’t really know. He seemed it at first, then he carried me to bed and told me he loved me.”

“Is he a fucking saint?” Her annoyance is laughable.

“Yeah, didn’t you know?” I scoff. “And, coffee was ready for me this morning. I gotta go, the boys are about to jump from the fire pole.”

“Fine, but call me later.”

I end the call, gather the boys, and head for a drive before naptime.
 

As we wind down South East St., I find myself looking for a certain house. I drive this street all the time, but it’s only every few times that I look. Ryker’s dad was so nice to me during the time Ryker and I were together, and even when we weren’t. It’s not that he stopped being nice to me; it’s that I stopped letting him. I haven’t spoken to him since I was pregnant with the boys. We ran into each other at the grocery store. He congratulated me, but there was a look in his eyes I’ll never forget. It was bittersweet. I cried for the rest of that day.

Rounding the corner, I spot Bill mowing his lawn. My pulse races as we drive by, but I don’t slow down. I remember walking nervously up their front walk when Ryker first got home. I wanted to run, but it was all I could do to remain upright.
 

 
A quick glance in the rearview mirror and I see the boys are passed out.
Great.
It’s impossible to move them from the car to their bed without them fully waking up, so it looks like I’ll be driving around for a while. I turn right when I get to the end of the street and head for a drive down 116. I like to drive past Mount Holyoke’s stunning campus as often as possible. I call Tosh to see if she has some free time to pop out of her office and say “hi.”
 

“Of course,” she says, “just text me when you’re outside my building.”

As soon as I hang up, the phone rings again. It’s Eric.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask as I drive past Atkin’s Market, winding my way down 116.

He sounds energized. “Hi Babe, just wanted to know if you wanted to swing over for lunch today with the boys? We can eat down by the pond or something?”

“You’re in a good mood.”

“Well, we got a lot accomplished today. I feel like I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.”

Must be nice.

“I’m actually driving over to see Tosh at her office. The boys are sound asleep in the back so it’s a-driving I go.” I try not to sound too sarcastic, but this is what my afternoons have become. I don’t like it.

“Okay,” he huffs, “well I’ll be home early tonight. We’ll grill for dinner, and when the boys go to bed, you and I can have some quality time together. It’s been a tough few months for both of us.”

Mmmhmm.

“Sounds good. See ya later. Love you.” I remember to say
love you
in the nick of time. He gets all bent out of shape if we hang up without saying it.

“I love you.”

Sometimes I wish I could chuck my cell phone out the window so Eric can’t interrupt my thoughts any time he pleases. Not that he calls me all that much—he actually doesn’t call that often—but when he does, it grates on my nerves. He’s in my face plenty, why can’t we just leave well enough alone when we’re apart?

* * *
 

I didn’t have to beg my parents for a cell phone on Christmas of 2001; they thought it was suddenly a necessary item. Apparently, they’d want to know immediately if I was in the middle of some terrorist activity. The cell phone was the answer to all of their problems.

Just after Christmas, I gave Ryker’s dad, Bill, my new cell number, so he could give it to Ryker when he called. His unit was deployed just before Christmas, and winter break felt like purgatory, waiting for his call with
nothing
to distract me.

 
Finally, the first week in January, the phone rang with an “unavailable number.” I tried not to get my hopes up that it was him.

My voice was shakier than I would have liked. “Hello?”

“Damn, it’s good to hear your voice,” Ryker purred into the phone. I could hear his smile.

I threw my hand over my mouth to silence the tears. “Hey you,” I squeaked out.

Hearing his voice made it real. All at once. Ryker Manning—my boyfriend, Amherst College political science major, and Bill and Julia’s son—was at war.
 

“Heeey,” he stretched out like a parent comforting an infant, “don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” I quickly composed myself, “how’s . . . everything?” I felt like such an idiot. How’s everything?

“It’s weird, kind of hard to explain. Tense, boring, you know.”

“Yeah,” I chuckled, “I know. It’s boring and tense without you around.”

“How’d you finish out the semester?” He sounded nervous.

“Do you really want to talk about school, Ryker?”

He laughed. “Not really. I’d rather talk about how much I love you.”

Suddenly I was suspended in air. We’d said
I love you
to each other a few times before he left. He just reaffirmed that he felt the same way. I started to cry again, but worked really hard to keep it out of my voice.

“I love you, too.” I turned my back as my mom walked into the kitchen. She poured orange juice and pretended to take a sip. She hates orange juice; she was eavesdropping.
 

“I got your letter. I keep it in my pocket all the time.”
 

The day I got home from saying goodbye to him, I wrote him a letter telling him every good thing about him I was feeling that moment, and promised it would never change. I said it would probably only increase as he was gone, but that I wanted him as soon as possible. The me of today would tell the me of then to just put the pen down, or write a simple “I love you.” There were loads of promises in that letter . . .
 

“Will you write me more?” he asked. “I can’t explain what it’s like to actually get a letter. It’s a piece of you here with me.”

“I’ll write you every day if you want.” My mom choked a little on her juice. I really wanted her to go away. I moved out to the living room. “I miss you.” I promised myself I wouldn’t say it, but it came flying out anyway.

“God, Nat, I miss you too. It’s only been a little over a month but—”

“But you’re so far away.” I wiped under my eyes as my mom, obviously, came into the living room.

“Yeah, so far away. I love you, Baby. I’m going to keep writing you, too. Okay? I want to be there with you any way possible. Listen, I gotta go,” he cleared his throat, “but I’ll call you again as soon as I can.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Click.

I sat in silence, staring at the phone that had just connected me with my soldier thousands of miles away and now sat blank. I didn’t care that my mom was watching, I let the tears pour down my face. I didn’t think simply hearing his voice would hurt so much.

“Honey, don’t you think you’re a bit too serious about this boy?” my mom said unflinchingly.
 

I turned my head slowly and found my dad cautiously entering the room. He’d heard what she said.

“I beg your pardon?” I questioned.

“You’re a mess, Dear. You’ve been seeing each other just a few months . . .”

“It’s not like he stayed in Amherst while I came home to Pennsylvania for Christmas,
Mother,
he’s in
fucking
Afghanistan!” I rose as I shouted.

“Natalie . . .” My dad raised his hand in an effort to calm me.

She picked imaginary lint off her shirt. “I just don’t think it’s good for you to be involved with a military person at this point in your schooling.”
 

“Soldier. The word you’re looking for is soldier. And, Dad,” I turned toward my father, “how would you feel if you found out that Gram’s mom told her to stop getting “so serious” with Grampa when he was in Korea?” My grandfather served in the Marines in Korea. That’s the closest I’d ever been to the military until Ryker.

“This isn’t about your grandfather, Natalie. This is about you and what’s best for your future.” My mom was as unruffled as they came.

I looked right at both of them as I said, “That’s
exactly
what this is about. After high school, Dad wanted to join the military and you cried and begged him not to. You won.” I stomped up the stairs, slammed my door, and listened to “I Miss You” by Incubus until I fell asleep, clutching my brand new cell phone.
 

There was only one number that mattered in those days, and it came up “unavailable.”
 

The irony never stopped.

* * *

While Eric grills outside on the deck, my mother calls.
 

“Hey Mom, what’s up?”
 

“Hello, Dear, I’m just checking in to see how things are coming along for Eric’s graduation.”

“Fine,” I mumble, “he makes his presentation this week, I think, then by graduation time he’ll be a doctor.” The deck door is open, and Eric can hear me, so I force a smile when I speak the last word.