In the Stillness (26 page)

My screams come out as a whisper. “Let me out! He didn’t do anything! Stop driving,
Stop!
”
 

No one listens, and I’m forced to watch Ryker be wrestled to the ground by police as I’m driven further and further away from everything I’d held as true up until that moment.

Then, my eyes open.

Sitting up, I’m relieved that I don’t feel nearly as shitty as I should. Unfortunately, I remember every single detail of my self-medication project from yesterday. The low grumble of a lawnmower turns my attention out the window, where I find Ryker on a riding mower wearing faded jeans, a t-shirt, and a tattered baseball cap. I can tell from up here that it’s his old Red Sox hat.
 

I can’t believe I slept until nine-thirty. Walking down the stairs, I scroll through my phone and find only one missed call. From Tosha. I call her back as I wander into the kitchen, relieved at the smell of freshly-brewed coffee.

“Hey skank, how are things?” I laugh at her greeting.

“Interesting . . .” I chuckle, opening a few cupboards until I find the one with the coffee mugs.

“What’s going on?”

With a deep breath and an eye-roll I tell Tosha about Eric coming to her apartment yesterday, and the events leading up to where I’m currently standing.

“Natalie. For fuck’s sake, I leave you alone for a day and
this
is where you find yourself?” Her voice turns serious. “Are you okay?”
 

Placing the pot back on the coffeemaker, I turn around and jump a little when I see Ryker in the doorway, looking as confused as he has over the last twenty-four hours. On auto-pilot, I turn and reach for another mug, pouring him a cup as I continue with Tosha on the phone.

“I’m fine, Tosh. Just having some coffee right now, then . . . who knows anymore.” I walk to the fridge and take out the cream, setting it next to Ryker’s mug.
 

“He’s in the room now, isn’t he?”

“You betcha.” I smile.

“Are you
sure
you’re okay?”

“I am. I’ll call you later.”

She groans in frustration. “This is unbelievable, you know that?”

“I do. Bye.”

I watch Ryker pour the cream into his coffee and tuck the container back into its spot on the door of the fridge. He doesn’t ask me if I want any, because he remembers—I drink my coffee black.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, raising his mug a little.

“Well, thank
you
for letting me sleep it off here. Sorry about that. You should know I don’t usually do—”

“I can tell,” he chuckles, “no one sets out to drink a pitcher of margaritas. Are you hungry?”

“Coffee first, then food.” I lean my back against his counter. An island with a thick butcher’s block on top of it separates us.

“Of course. It’s wicked nice out, want to sit on the porch?”

I shrug. “Sure.”

Naturally, there’s a porch swing. I balance myself on it, and Ryker leans his shoulder against the pillar opposite me. I think better of asking him to sit next to me. This is all too much as it is. The awkward silence is already churning my stomach.
 

Ryker sets his mug on the railing and puts his hands in his pockets as he rolls his shoulders back once. He smells like freshly-cut grass. It’s refreshing. “Look, Nat . . . does it bother you that I call you ‘Nat’?”
 

“Of course not.” It never has . . . not from him.

“I spent most of the night thinking about what you said . . . about ruining my life.”

Any thoughts I had about eating breakfast fly out the window as I watch him struggle to find the right words.

“We don’t have to talk about this right now, Ryker.”

He looks to his left and talks to the fields as the sun highlights his face. “No. We do. I can’t believe you’ve spent the last nine years thinking you ruined my life. It wasn’t like that, Natalie.”

“How was it, then?” This coffee isn’t strong enough.

“Okay, well, of course I spent some time being mad at you. But, mostly I was scared. No one would tell me where you were, I couldn’t get anything out of Tosha . . .”

“You talked to Tosha?”

Ryker finally looks at me and gives his head a quick shake. “I called her every day for like a month.”

“She never told me . . .”

“I’m lucky she didn’t call the police.” His eyebrows shoot up in relief. “She finally told me you weren’t coming back to school till the next year because your parents were making you go to therapy.”

I nod. “They did.”

“Was it for the cutting?”

“Mmhmm.” I stare into my coffee, begging it to suck me into its swirling vortex.

“But you’re still doing it?” He sounds a mix of annoyed and concerned.

“Not
still
,” I whisper. “I hadn’t done it since before that night . . . but a few weeks ago . . . never mind, we’ll get to that, keep going.” I want nothing more than to avoid talking about cutting with Ryker.
 

“Things got really bad for me, Nat. Part of the probation was getting a mental health eval. . . which I failed spectacularly. I had to go to the sessions, though, or I’d be in violation of probation. I just kind of went through the motions. I had my calendar marked for May, when my probation would be over. I could stop counseling, and
maybe
reenlist, though I knew it would be a long shot.” He stops and rolls his head back and to the side like he’s cracking his neck.

“So you were going to counseling . . .” I prompt.

“Yeah, but I was still drinking like a fish and popping painkillers whenever I could get my hands on them. I got really good at hiding it . . .”

“I know a little something about that. So, what happened in May when your probation was over?”

Ryker snorts. “I didn’t make it that far. The U.S. invaded Iraq in March 2003.” He states this like it should explain everything.

“Okay . . .” I shake my head to show him it doesn’t.

“I knew it was coming. I watched the news like everyone else, but I totally lost my shit when it happened. And, I knew I was going to have to wait at least another two months before attempting to reenlist. Since I wasn’t actively engaging with my therapist, but
was
actively engaging in drinking myself under the table, I buckled.” With a heavy sigh, he continues, “One night I destroyed my bedroom, got in a fight with my dad, and took off in his car, crashing it a mile down the road.”

“Jesus . . .” I whisper.

Ryker crosses his arms in front of his chest. “The cop was such a dick, too. The one who arrested me. I was drunk and trying to explain that another arrest would keep me out of the National Guard, no questions. But he just laughed in my face and said the country was better off with me behind bars than on the front lines.”

My nostrils flare in anger. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Nope. Major asshole. Anyway, my probation was extended for another six months—I’m lucky it wasn’t longer—and, somehow, my dad worked a deal for me to continue my probation and treatment in Jackson Hole, so I could live with my mom. He knew I needed to get somewhere else.”

“How long were you in Wyoming?” I ask as I tuck my heels up onto the swing.

Ryker looks up to the sky for a second. “Um, April 2003 till June 2008.”

That explains why I didn’t see or hear a single thing from him. It was like he disappeared, because he did.

“Well, that certainly connects some dots for me . . . and makes me realize I’m insane.” I rest my head on the chain of the swing.

“Insane? Why?”

“I graduated in May of 2005 and thought I saw you . . . God, never mind . . .” I laugh off my hallucination.

Ryker takes a deep breath and crosses to the swing, sitting carefully next to me. “You did.”

The teacups in my stomach spin faster. “What?”

“You did.” He lifts his hat up and rakes his fingers through his hair before settling it back down. “I came home to visit my dad. I told him I thought I wanted to call you, to just talk . . . but he said no. He said you were finally graduating school and showing back up in your life would just mess things up for both of us. So,” he sighs and leans back against the swing, causing it to sway a bit more, “I just showed up at your graduation. When my dad told me about the cutting and stuff . . . I was so worried about you and what I’d done to you—”

“Ryker,” I cut him off, “it wasn’t your fault, I told you—”

“Just, let me finish, Nat. You looked awesome.” He bites his lip as he grins. “I knew there was no way I could talk to you since you were with your parents and your mom would probably figure out some way to have me arrested . . . but . . . you looked really happy. Until you saw me.”

Thinking back, I remember the queasy, sweaty feeling I had when I thought I saw him standing across from us that day. The boy who disappeared into thin air was a hundred yards away. Then, he wasn’t.

“Your face turned stark white as soon as you saw me, Nat . . .”

“I hadn’t seen or heard from you in two years, Ryker. I didn’t even know if you were still alive. Where’d you go? I called your name and came after you.”

He laughs. “I booked it.”

“Mature.” I roll my eyes. “Tosha told me I was crazy, and then I had to explain to Eric … ”

“You married him? That guy you were standing with?” Ryker looks at me from the corner of his eye as he wrings his hands.

“Yeah,” I sigh, “but that’s a long fucking story . . .”

“I guess, since it’s ends with us sitting on my porch swing like a couple of old people.”

Uncomfortable silence finds us again.

“How was it for you, Nat?”

“How was what?”

“With me. How was it for you, really, being with me after I got home from Afghanistan?” He’s looking down, and I’m glad because tears rise at the thought of all of that.

“Oh, Ry . . . I want to talk to you about that, if you want . . . but I need food, a shower, and some of my own clothes.” I take a deep breath as I carefully choose my next words. “Do you maybe want to come over to Tosha’s sometime this week? We clearly have lots to talk about.”

Ryker thinks for a moment before nodding and looking at me with those impossible eyes.
 

“Yeah. Is tonight okay or do you need a break from me?”
 

 
I can’t decide if he’s looking forward to spending time with me, or looking forward to saying all he thinks he needs to say before disappearing again. Frankly, I can’t decide how I feel, either.

I finally laugh. “No, we’ve had nearly ten years, I guess it’s finally time to face the music. Can you drive me back to The Harp to get my car? I’ll give you directions to Tosha’s for tonight.”

“Sure, let’s go.”

I run upstairs and retrieve my dress before enduring another awkward silence-filled car ride with Ryker.

Chapter 31

“Oh, what the hell was either one of us thinking?” I swirl through Tosha’s apartment, cleaning, while I scream at her through the phone.

“So call him and cancel.” She sounds as if this is some sort of meeting I can reschedule and not a reconciliation of my past.

“I don’t have his number, and he doesn’t have mine . . .”

“Thanks for giving him my address, by the way.” I can tell she’s kidding, but I retort.

“Thanks for telling me he called you every day for a month after I left school.”

Silence.

“That’s what I thought,” I continue, “anyway . . . ugh!”

“Have you talked to Eric today?” She skillfully avoids ‘fessing up.

“No,” I sigh, “since he came here yesterday I’ll probably have to talk to him by tomorrow. We’ve got to figure out a plan of action for when the boys come back. I talked to them this morning and, thankfully, they and my parents don’t seem to have any idea, which is good. That means Eric hasn’t blabbed.”

A slow knock on the door interrupts my verbal flailing.
 

“Shit, Tosh, he’s here. I’ll call you later,” I whisper.

“Okay,” she whispers back sarcastically before hanging up.
 

“Just a sec,” I shout to the door as I race to the bathroom.
 

With a quick run of a brush through my hair and a dab of lip gloss, I stare at myself in the mirror. I’ve washed and dried Ryker’s clothes that I drove home in and changed into a long black skirt and blue spaghetti-strapped tank. It’s about three-trillion degrees outside and feels worse inside my head. He’s already seen the marks on my arm anyway, so I’m not going to bother trying to find a cute way to cover them up.

You can do this.

“Hey.” I smile as I open the door to find Ryker in sneakers, cargo khaki shorts, and a grey UMass shirt.”
 

Figures.
 

He steps over the threshold, and I can tell he’s feeling as unsure about how to greet me as I am about him. I mean, we kissed a minute after first meeting—what are we supposed to do after not seeing each other for a decade? Making a decision for both of us, I walk for the kitchen. He follows.