In the Stillness

by Andrea Randall

  Finding fresh skin between my hip and thigh, I brace myself for the extra pain that sensitive area brings. Three seconds later I’m reveling in the release, tricking my brain into protecting me from a dangerous situation. I exhale in satisfaction, like someone who’s just taken a sip of one hundred-year-old whiskey for the first time.

  In the stillness of the moment, I can hear Ryker’s sweet voice, “Don’t do this, Nat.” Only, he never said that—we didn’t get that far.

  “Natalie?” Eric calls as he walks in the apartment.

  Shit.

  Jumping up, I toss the razor into the trash—having no time to clean it—and turn on the shower. “Just getting in the shower, hon, be out in a few.”

  As soon as I close the curtain, the bathroom door opens. “Can I join you?” Eric’s tone is playful, which annoys me. Then I look at the blood trailing down my thigh.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. He can’t see this.

  “Jesus, Eric, can I have thirty-five seconds without someone in my space?” My tone is a little harsher than I planned but, hey, self-preservation.

  “Man,” he scoffs, “sorry.” He slams the door.

  I press my forehead into the shower wall, grateful that I just bought myself more time, but feeling slightly bad about snapping at Eric. My mind is racing a thousand miles an hour and there’s only one thing that can put the brakes on; but I threw it in the trash a few minutes ago.

  When I dry off from the shower and my skin is no longer bleeding, I change into my pajamas and find Eric watching TV in the living room.

  I pour myself a glass of water. “Sorry for snapping at you, today was just really stressful with the screening-”

  “I get it,” he cuts in, “no need to explain.”

  “Wait, are you mad at me for something?”

  Eric slams the footrest down on the recliner and walks out of the room. “Just forget it,” he tones out flatly before shutting our bedroom door.

  Chapter 18

  “How you hanging in there? Have you thought more about what we talked about the other day?” Tosha asks as we stroll through Northampton while the boys are at preschool.

  “About me staying with you and Liz for a while? Yeah, I’ve thought about it. Especially since Eric’s been really weird lately. Something’s going on with him.”

  Tosha picks an open bench and we sit, watching people pass by in front of us.

  “What do you mean? He passed his orals, right?”

  “Yeah,” I sigh, “but something else is . . . I don’t know, maybe he’s upset that I told him I didn’t want to have any more kids. Well, I didn’t tell him that exactly; I just told him how pissed I was that knocking me up was his first post-grad thought.”

  Tosha laughs and lights a cigarette. “Well, maybe he feels since he’s finished this huge accomplishment, he should celebrate it by reproducing.”

  I light one of my own. “Have you ever thought about it?”

  “What, kids?”

  “Yeah.”

  She shrugs. “Liz and I talk about it sometimes. I mean, it’s not like we can really say ‘if it’s going to happen it’s going to happen.’ It needs to be planned. It’s all very clinical.”

  “Would one or both of you carry them, or would you adopt, or what?”

  “Well, I’d hate to have to stop smoking . . .” she laughs on an exhale.

  “Mature.”

  My phone rings.

  “Hello?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Johnson?”

  Whatever.

  “Yes? Speaking.”

  “This is Maggi, the nurse in Dr. Moore’s office.”

  “Oh, right, the Audiologist. What can I do for you?” I briefly panic, wondering if I’ve messed up his appointment time, but it’s not for two weeks.

  “We actually had a cancellation for our next appointment in an hour, and were wondering if you’d like to bring Oliver in? I know you said they would be with their grandparents next wee—”

  “Yes,” I jump and motion for Tosha to follow me, “we’ll be there. Thank you so much for calling.”

  I hang up and breathe a sigh of relief.

  “What’s going on?” Tosha catches up with me.

  “The Audiologist can get Ollie in like right now, so we don’t have to wait two more weeks. Finally, something’s going right.”

  I quickly call Eric’s mom and arrange for her to pick up Max at preschool and watch him until we’re finished with the appointment. Next, I call Eric.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, the Audiologist can get Ollie in an hour, can you meet us there? Your mom’s going to take care of Max.”

  “Uh . . .”

  “Yes or no, Eric? Can you be there or not?” I’m not sure what he’s even doing at the lab, since his orals are done and he doesn’t officially start his job until after graduation.

  “Yes, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Ascent, right?”

  I sigh in frustration. We’ve been over this. “Yeah, near where Carmelina’s used to be, on the far end of Russel St., almost in Northampton.”

  “K, bye.”

  * * *

  Late that night, after I’d left Bill’s house when Ryker lost his shit about . . . everything, he showed up at my dorm room.

  “Natalie, it’s Ryker, please let me in.” He sounded pitiful on the other side of the thick wooden door.

  Tosha stood and whispered, “What do we do?”

  I’d filled her in on the evening’s events. She pointed out that he probably wouldn’t remember, given his recent history.

  “I’ll let him in. Just . . . stay here, okay?” I’d learned to read Ryker’s tone really well over the past several weeks and he didn’t sound distressed or angry.

  I took one look at my wrist, which was already bruised in the shape of his thumb, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

  “Hey,” I spoke softly, standing in the open space. I wasn’t going to let him in until I visually assessed his mood.

  “Jesus, Natalie.” He lunged forward and picked me up, kissing my neck and cheeks as he carried me to my bed. “My God, I’m so sorry. Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?” He reached for my wrist but I pulled it away and tugged my long sleeve as far down as it would go, not wanting to open up a cutting discussion. At least he seemed to remember what happened at his house a few hours ago.

  I shook my head. “Not really, it’s fine.” I crossed my arms in front of me as we sat awkwardly on my bed, Tosha doing a horrible job of burying herself in her homework with her earbuds in.

  Ryker grabbed my face and pulled my mouth to his, kissing me with an urgency I hadn’t felt since the day he left for Afghanistan.

  “You taste like beer,” I said when I pulled away. “Where’d you go after I left your dad’s?” Since we were both pretty exhausted by the time I left, I’d assumed he would have gone to bed.

  “I grabbed a beer at the Pub to cool down and realized what a total dick I was. I should have talked to you about reenlisting . . .”

  Tosha’s jaw dropped open and her eyebrows shot up. I left out that detail when I told her about Ryker freaking out—I didn’t want to think about it. He clearly didn’t remember accusing me of screwing around on him, so I was leaving that alone.

  I should have nodded and said we would talk about it later, but should haves are just that. “Is there anything to talk about, or have you made up your mind?”

  He clasped his hands in front of him and turned to look at me. “I have to.”

  “Why?”

  Ryker’s massive shoulders rose and fell under a deep breath before he cleared his throat. “They took Luke, Natalie.”

  “I know.” I rested my head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around my waist. He was Ryker for a moment, and I had to drink it in. “And they almost took you, too.”

  It was the first time we ever talked about Ryker getting shot, or about Lucas, since the day we went to his grave. Anxiety fell in tears from my eyes. Tosha closed her laptop and looked a
t me, then the door. I nodded that it was okay that she left, so she did.

  “When your mom called me, Ry,” I continued, “I lost it. I thought it was the call. Tosha had to come get me and drive me home . . .”

  He sighed and rested his chin on my head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I didn’t know-”

  “You don’t need to be sorry for fuck’s sake, you got shot. You didn’t have a choice. But, you have one now.”

  Ryker sat up and shook his head. “I don’t, Nat. Lucas wasn’t the only one who died in that attack.”

  I’d learned from his dad and the news, that five men died that day. I couldn’t honestly wrap my head around how he thought going back overseas was a healthy decision.

  “Are you still having nightmares?”

  “My dad says they’ve calmed down. He hasn’t had to wake me up for one in a little while.”

  I met his eyes and found him there, waiting for me to understand. “I’m worried about you, Ryker. Your moods are all over the place, you don’t remember things that happened yesterday—”

  He cut me off with a shout, “I know! Don’t you think I know? Do you have any idea what it’s like to be inside my head?” His neck turned bright red under his sudden rage.

  I slowly slid off my bed and put myself between where he sat and my door.

  “I don’t, Ryker. You don’t talk to me. I’m just worried that with everything going on in your head, if you’re sent over there again . . .”

  “What are you doing?” Ryker stood and walked toward me.

  “What do you mean?”

  Ryker’s voice cracked. “Do I scare you?”

  I gave a pitiful shrug, “I don’t know what you—”

  “I shouted and you headed for the door . . .”

  I looked to the floor, knowing I had to say it, but not wanting to see his reaction. “It’s been kind of hard predicting your actions lately, you know.” Looking back up, I saw him run a hand back and forth over his head a few times.

  “I’m sorry . . .”

  We stood in tense silence, and everything screamed at me to run. Well, to kick him out and just go on with my life. Classes were well under way and I didn’t know how much longer I could balance that life with the life of a soldier who was probably suffering from PTSD.

  PTSD.

  Tosha and I had been talking about it, and my very minute research suggested that was exactly what was going on with Ryker. I didn’t know what to do, until I looked into his eyes.

  In a flash, I was flooded with images of the boy I’d met on the common over two years ago. He was wearing the same t-shirt, taking me in with the same painfully beautiful blue eyes that made me approach him without nerves, and biting the same bottom lip that kissed me for the first time—seconds after we first met. He was still in there, and I couldn’t walk away.

  Instead, I took two steps toward him, and watched him exhale. “You don’t need to be sorry, Ryker. I just want you to get some help, okay? Promise me.”

  Ryker took me into his arms and nodded. I breathed in his clean scent, not wanting him to leave.

  “Will you stay here tonight?” I asked without a second of hesitation.

  Ryker lifted my chin and kissed my lips with a softness I thought he no longer possessed. “I don’t want to stay anywhere else. Thank you for standing by me. . . I don’t deserve you.”

  I smiled in his presence for the first time in a while. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. I deserve you, and you deserve me.”

  “I love you, Natalie.”

  “I love you too, Ryker.”

  That was the first time we’d said “I love you” to each other since the night he first came home. He hoisted me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist as we kissed all the way to my bed. When he set me down, we quickly tore off our clothes and he paused. He looked me over like it was our first time, passion pouring from his eyes.

  “I love you so much,” he whispered into my ear before making another move.

  It felt like our first time. It felt hopeful. It was, in fact, the first time I’d felt hope for him and us since he’d come home. God, it was perfect . . .

  * * *

  Several hours later, Eric’s mom picked Oliver up from the Audiologist once his tests were complete, so we could chat with the doctor uninterrupted. Eric showed up halfway through the exam and looked like he’d been through the ringer. He said they were moving offices and the elevators were down.

  It’s seriously always something.

  The tests were more involved than I thought they’d be. They did some with headphones, needing Oliver to respond one way or another. But, they also taped electrodes on his head, and did some tests putting a small microphone in his ear. The doctor said they were “auditory brainstem response” (ABR) and “otoacoustic emissions” (OAE) tests.

  Sitting in the office with Eric, my nerves are getting the best of me and my palms begin to sweat.

  “What’s the matter?” Eric asks, reaching for my hand.

  I pull it away and rub my palms nervously on my dress. “This isn’t going to be good, Eric. If it was just fluid in his ear, or nothing, they would have sent us home with him and had us make an appointment with his pediatrician.”

  Eric rolls his eyes. “Seriously, Natalie? You can’t stay off the internet for five seconds, can you?”

  Before I can stab him and flee the scene, Dr. Moore comes in. And sits down. My throat tightens as I try to read her eyes.

  “What’d you find?” I ask before the doctor has a chance to open her mouth. I hope my tone is just stern enough that she knows I don’t want to beat around the bush.

  Her eyes volley between Eric’s and mine for a second before she takes a careful, but noted, breath. “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson . . . our testing today shows that Oliver has something called auditory neuropathy.”

  I don’t recall coming across this information on my intense WebMD search the other day, so I’m begging my brain to retain whatever she’s saying, though I can hear my heart pounding through my ears.

  “While we’re not sure of the cause of auditory neuropathy, in Oliver’s case it seems to be damage to the inner hair cells. Those are the cells that transmit vibrations from sound into electrical signals for the brain to interpret as sound. That’s why he seems to be jumpy sometimes, and not others, as you described. Sometimes the hair cells function normally, and sometimes they don’t. This is one of the reasons we don’t necessarily recommend hearing aids for cases like this.”

  I feel Eric’s hand over mine as I lean forward. “Hearing aids?”

  Dr. Moore’s face changes just enough to send my stomach into a tailspin. “Unfortunately, the condition is usually degenerative, and—”

  “Wait. Oliver’s going to go deaf? Is that what you’re telling me?” Heat overtakes my face as tears strangle my voice.

  Eric interjects, “No, Natalie, she hasn’t said that.”

  “She said degenerative, Eric. We’re both educated enough to know what that means.” I turn back to the doctor. “That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”

  Dr. Moore lets out a slight sigh. “Yes.”

  Change never comes slowly, brewing on the horizon. It’s always in a second. Balanced on the tip of a razor blade, in empty pill bottles, behind two pink lines, or learning that one of your children is slowly slipping into a world of silence. And you can’t leave your husband. Not now.

  Chapter 19

  “Thank God the Clarke School is in Northampton, and they have a kindergarten program,” I say to Eric as I pour a glass of wine after the boys have gone to bed. The Clarke School for Hearing and Speech is a fabulous school, with campuses across the state. And, thankfully, one right down the road. “I’ll call them in the morning.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a bit hasty? Shouldn’t we see where this goes?” Eric sits at the kitchen table, elbows rooted in the light wood.

  “What? Were you not in the same office I was?” My voice cracks f
or a second, “Ollie’s going deaf, Eric, and we need to get all the support in place before his hearing is totally gone.” I sit and gulp my wine.

  “So, what, we’re all going to have to learn sign language now?” His petulant tone rises like bile through my stomach.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, does that not fit into your pretty little schedule? Yes, we’re going to have to learn sign language. Again, you heard her, Dr. Moore said it’s clear that Ollie’s starting to teach himself how to read lips. Don’t you notice how he always stares really hard at our faces when we talk?”

  “So then why do we need to learn sign language?”

  “To give him the most options for communication—what’s your fucking issue? Given the nature of his condition, hearing aids and cochlear implants aren’t a great option; we’ve got to encourage him to read lips and use sign language to make his transition as smooth as possible.”

  Eric slams his fist on the table but says nothing. I stare, waiting.

  “Well,” I continue after a minute of silence, “if that’s all, I’m going to call my parents and fill them in. I’ll tell them about what we discussed with the doctor for their trip next wee—”

  “You’re still sending them to your parents’?” Eric doesn’t look away from the table.

  “Yes. I’m not going to start treating Oliver like he’s a glass figurine, Eric. That will only make things worse. Dr. Moore said we need to keep things as normal—”

  “Screw what the doctor says, Natalie! We just found out our son is going deaf and you still can’t wait to ship them off to your mom and dad’s for a week.” His chair tumbles to the ground as he pushes himself away from the table.

  I swear, if he cuts me off again, I’ll punch him. “What the hell are you talking about? They’ve been looking forward to this for weeks, and you know what?” Tears spill out just when I thought I didn’t have any left. “If Oliver ends up totally losing his hearing before the summer is over, I’d like him to be able to have a chance at remembering what his grandparents’ voices sounded like!”