Eric’s dark eyes take on a vacancy I’ve never seen from him. “Do what you want. You always do. I’m going out.”
Meeting him at the door, I grab his wrist. “You’re not walking away from this.”
Eric shrugs and stares through my eyes. “Why not? You get to walk away from everything else.” He tugs his hand free.
“You’re such a bastard,” I sneer, four inches from his face. “If I got to walk away from everything else, you and I both know we wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation. At all.”
His eyebrows twitch in angry understanding.
“Blame it on me, Nat, go ahead. But you would do well to remember that you wouldn’t be upset over that little boy at all if you’d had your way almost six years ago.”
My stomach sinks as the word “abortion” hangs in mocking silence between us.
“You’re a fucking prick,” I whisper, turning back for the table.
I don’t watch him leave, but I jump when the door slams behind him. I study the last drop of wine strolling down the inside of the glass, when a little voice makes me jump again.
“Mommy?” Ollie’s standing in the bedroom doorway.
“Go to bed, Sweetie.”
He takes two steps out of his room, blankie in hand. “Can you sing me the Winnie-the-Pooh song?”
“N-” I cut myself off as I stare at his beautiful face. “Sure, Baby.” I meet him at the door and crawl into his bed with him. Max is sound asleep in the other bed.
I try to sing it as perfectly as possible so he can commit it to memory, but wonder how Kenny Loggins ever sang “Return to Pooh Corner” without crying. I could, until tonight, but things were different. My tears land on Ollie’s blonde hair, but he’s asleep before I’ve even finished the first verse.
I keep singing, though, because an overwhelming surge of emotion courses through my veins. I want so badly to protect him, to shield him from what’s coming, but I can’t. It’s the absolute worst feeling in the world.
* * *
“Hey Bill. Is Ryker home yet?” I got to Ryker’s dad’s house early for dinner one Sunday.
We’d been doing Sunday dinners there since Ryker slept over at my dorm room a few weeks before. Things were looking up. Ryker’s nightmares were fewer and further between, and I learned which ones I should wake him up from, and which ones I should just leave alone. He was finally starting to talk about re-enrolling in school in January, which I took to mean he was putting off his plans to reenlist.
“He went to the store, should be back soon. Sit down, Sweetie.” Bill patted the space next to him on the couch. “How are things going with you?”
I shrugged as I sat. “Things are fine. Why?”
Admittedly, I was struggling through my course work. While Ryker’s moods seemed stable most of the time, they weren’t perfect. I forced a smile and bit my tongue during his mood swings to help keep him balanced. I knew he didn’t mean to lash out, and he was always apologetic afterward, but I felt like I was locked in a pressure cooker. I’d recently started cutting on my hips, running out of places on my arms and fearful Tosha would be paying close attention. Or that Ryker would find out
Bill put his hand over mine. “I just want you to know how much I appreciate what you’re doing for Ryker.” His eyes glistened for just a second before he continued, “He’s my only son, and I hate watching what’s happening to him. I feel totally helpless.”
“You’re a great dad, Bill. Ryker’s lucky to have you. I can’t imagine how hard it is.” Only I could, because I was with Ryker probably more than Bill was.
“I’ve talked with the VA a few times but they said if he doesn’t want the help . . .” He shrugged and brushed his hand over his face.
I leaned forward. “I thought he was getting help. He told me he was getting help.”
Bill’s eyebrows came together as he muddled over my words. Just then, Ryker entered, carrying grocery bags.
“Hey guys!” He set the bags in the kitchen and turned to hang up his coat. October was unusually cool that year.
“Hey, Babe.” I stood and kissed him as we met in the entryway.
I could feel Bill watching us with concern. It occurred to me that I had no idea what Ryker was like when he was here and I wasn’t around. Maybe Bill had more reason to be worried than I thought.
“You’re in a good mood.” I smiled as I walked to the kitchen to start helping prepare dinner.
“Yeah,” he rubbed his hands together in excitement, “I talked to my recruiter today and we worked out a plan.”
I stopped. Mid-whatever-I-was-doing, I stopped and watched him carefully. Bill ran a hand through his hair and listened. I tried to, too.
“A plan?” I asked, hoping for any answer other than what I feared was coming.
“Yeah. I’ll go back to Amherst in January, finish the courses that would have made up my sophomore year—before I was deployed—and I’ll reenlist when the semester’s over.” The look on his face was pure joy.
Bill stepped toward me as I stared into the counter. “Natalie, are you okay?”
I looked up, sweat breaking out across my forehead. “No.” I swallowed hard and ran to their upstairs bathroom.
After a few minutes of throwing up, a soft knock came on the bathroom door.
“Nat?” It was Ryker.
I splashed water on my face and opened the door. “Sorry,” I whispered.
“Come here.” He took me by the hand and walked me to his bedroom. After we sat down on the bed, he continued, “You knew what I wanted . . .” Ryker brushed a loose strand of hair away from my eyes and tucked it behind my ear.
Unable to look at him, I let my eyes scan the room. Pictures of us, things from Amherst College, and a few things from the National Guard decorated his bedroom. A picture on his desk caught my eye.
I walked over to it and picked it up, running my thumb over the glass. “What’s this?”
Ryker couldn’t look at me, either. He sat on his bed, leaned back on his palms. “My dad took it the day I left. He had it printed and framed—gave it to me last week.”
The picture I didn’t know existed was of Ryker and me hugging right before he left. It was taken kind of from the side, but you could see more of my back than his. Our faces were buried in each other’s necks as we hugged goodbye. I was suddenly focused on Ryker’s hands—clenching the red fabric over my lower back so tight his knuckles were white. As my tears fell on the glass, I looked at him.
“I can’t do that again, Ry.” I set the picture back down in its original spot and sat back next to him. “This war isn’t going to be over any time soon. Now they’re talking about invading Iraq . . . if you reenlist, you’re out of here again as fast as they can ship you—we both know that. I can’t do it again.”
He rubbed his hands against his jeans. “What are you saying?”
I took a deep breath, said a small prayer, and forced it out, “I’m saying I’m not cut out to be a military girlfriend. My schoolwork suffered when you were gone last time, I was horribly depressed, I—”
“So you’re saying if I reenlist you’ll leave me?”
I watched his jaw flex beneath his skin. I couldn’t swallow away the tears, so I just nodded.
“Fine,” his cold tone shocked me, “you might as well leave now, then, because I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Ryker, please. I love you—” I managed, reaching for his hand.
He whipped it away. “No! Go, I said! If you can’t support me, then I don’t need you around, doubting me.” He walked to his door and held it open.
Walking toward him, I watched his body stiffen. I thought maybe if he had the night to think it over, we could talk about it in the morning. All thoughts of that flew out the window as soon as he slammed the door behind me the second I stepped out of his room. I found Bill in the kitchen, standing over three empty plates.
“Natalie . . .” It was a tired plea, paved with resignation.
I shook my head and walked toward him. “I’m so sorry, Bill. I can’t do this anymore.” I grabbed him into a hug and he let out a small sigh into my hair. I pulled away quickly, not wanting to collapse into a heap on their kitchen floor. “I love him, but I can’t . . .”
“I know, Kid. I know.” Bill kissed the top of my head and I left their house.
I made it all the way back to my dorm room at Mount Holyoke before crashing into Tosha’s arms and sobbing for what felt like an eternity. The hope of a phone call the next day was the only thing keeping me from going completely over the edge. He’d change his mind, I thought.
* * *
Never mind. It’s about Ryker.
I sit in a mess of silent sobs on my bathroom floor; mourning the loss of a different life I had pictured for my boys, the disaster my marriage has become, and the fact that none of this would be happening if I hadn’t completely destroyed Ryker’s life—and nearly mine.
With a frustrated growl, I realize my empty tampon box is just that—empty. I used the last blade several days ago and haven’t cut since. Desperate to make sense of my life and not feel any of it at all, I tear my bathroom apart looking for something reasonable to stand in its place.
Eric shaves.
Of course, he uses an electric razor that will do nothing for me. I set my sights on the kitchen. We have knives, of course.
Do I really want to go there?
I fumble through my silverware drawer like a junkie until I find what I’m looking for. With a pounding heart, I race back to the bathroom and drown the blade in peroxide—pouring some on my hip for good measure.
Locking the bathroom door—just in case—I lean back in my empty bathtub, exhaling a grateful breath before I begin my escape.
Chapter 20
I wake early the next morning, surprised that I’m up before the boys. I’m even more surprised to see Eric sleeping next to me. I assumed he would have slept on the couch or not come home at all—though he’s never not come home. More surprisingly, he’s not at the lab. I’m actually a little annoyed. I’m not looking forward to round two so early in the day.
Sliding slowly out of bed so as not to wake him, I tiptoe to the kitchen and start the coffee. Hazelnut. Eric hates flavored coffee, and I hate that I constantly drink flavorless shit just to avoid hearing him talk about it every morning. I barely have time to finish inhaling the fresh steam swirling from my cup before Eric plods into the kitchen. Turning for the table, I audibly slurp my first sip as I sit, facing the deck door and trying to enjoy the sunrise before I hear his voice.
“Is this regular coffee?” He stands with the pot in his hand, spout suspended above his cup.
I shrug. “It’s not decaf, if that’s what you’re asking.”
His sigh is response enough. He pours a cup anyway, filling it only halfway, and the rest of the way with milk.
“Where’d you go last night?” I ask without removing my eyes from the view.
“Out.”
Shifting in my seat to face him, I find his back against the counter as he faces the far kitchen wall. His petulance is evident in his hunched shoulders as he tastes the coffee with a grimace.
I clear my throat, ignoring his brewing tantrum. “Are you working today?”
Eric shakes his head.
“Okay,” I draw out, “in that case, I’ve got a lot to do this morning so you’re on kid duty.”
He huffs into his coffee.
“What’s that?” I ask as I walk to pour my second cup.
Eric blindly sets his mug on the counter behind him and crosses his arms in front of his bare torso. “You’re going to run out as soon as we have a free day to spend together as a family.”
I don’t even try to stop the laugh that flees my throat. “You’re kidding, right? Actually I’d rather not drag the boys around with me as I meet with Oliver’s new school and figure out how to get us enrolled in learning sign language as soon as possible. But if you’d rather have the day to yourself, I can bring them along.” I look at him in time to see his eyebrows twitch. “And as far as your assertion that we’re a family? Come on, Eric, even you’re not delusional enough to believe that.”
Eric pushes off the counter and blocks my exit to the bedroom. “What is that supposed to mean?” His tone is saturated with a bitterness that I’m sure only I bring out in him.
“I mean, I was scared, Eric. I was barely finished with my master’s degree and I got fucking pregnant! Of course my first thought was to not have a baby, I wasn’t ready and neither were you.”
My eyes water as I think of the fear that ripped through me when I’d missed my period over five years ago. Every twenty-eight days since I was twelve—every twenty-eight—I’d gotten my period. I didn’t need a pregnancy test to tell me what I already knew, but proceeded with the formality anyway.
“Don’t you think I was scared?” Eric runs his hand over his hair and rests it on the back of his neck. “Jesus, I was already started in my doctoral program. But, I loved you, Natalie. I’d never felt that way about anyone else and I knew that . . .” He trails off and looks somewhere past my shoulder.
I clear my throat and whisper, “You knew that what?”
“I knew I wanted to be with you for the long-haul, and even if they weren’t planned, I was going to love them as much as I loved you.”
My chin quivers as I start to cry. “I love them, Eric. More than absolutely anything in my life. You don’t ever need to remind me that I wanted an abortion. Ever. I feel enough guilt about that as it is.”
He grabs my shoulders and pours his brown eyes into mine. “Then why are you fighting us so hard, Nat?”
I squeeze my eyes tightly and with a shaky voice I tell him. “Because I don’t love you.”
* * *
For the first few days after I broke up with Ryker, things were quiet. I was able to push through schoolwork, but often found myself exhausted and going to bed by dinner time.
“I think you’re depressed,” Tosha toned out blatantly, one night that I’d managed to stay awake past six-thirty.
“Oh yeah? How’d you figure that one out,” I spat back.
“Are you still cutting?”
I’d gotten really good at hiding it and tried to only do it when I was in the shower anyway— to avoid unnecessary time in the bathroom—which would set off warning bells for her.
“Not really. Are you still smoking?”
She just rolled her eyes. “Oh, because that’s the same.” Sarcasm was the tone du jour.
“Whatever. Dump your PTSD-riddled soldier boyfriend and tell me how you feel.” I’d been crying a lot, and that night was no different. I started wiping tears away from my cheeks when Tosha joined me on the bed.
“Natalie . . .” She sighed and brushed my hair aside so she could rest her chin on my shoulder.
“What?” I sniffed.
“You can’t walk around feeling guilty all the time. It will eat you.”
It had already started. Slowly, using my heart as an appetizer before it devoured my soul.
“I love him, Tosh. I’m so in love with him it hurts.”
“I know” she sighed, “and you love him enough not to watch him make a horrible mistake. More importantly, you love yourself more. You have to take care of you first. You know that.”
My phone rang after a few minutes of sniffling silence. I studied the number.
“Who is it?” Tosha asked.
“Bill . . . Ryker’s dad.” I answered with a racing heart. “Hello?”
“Natalie?” He sounded distressed.
“Bill, what’s going on?”
“Is Ryker with you, by any chance?”
I jumped to my feet. “No, why?”
Bill was silent for a few seconds too long.
“Bill?”
“He took off with my car and I haven’t seen or heard from him since last night—”
“What? I’m on my way.”
“No, it’s—”
>
I hung up before he finished. Tosha stared at me bug-eyed.
“What happened?”
“Bill hasn’t seen Ryker since last night. That’s not like him.” I threw clothes out of my closet in order to find something other than what I’d been wearing for two days.
“And what is it you think you can do?” Tosha’s words stopped me in my tracks.
“Bill sounded really freaked out, Tosh. I have to help him find Ryker. I know all the spots he goes…”
Tosha met me at our door. “So tell Bill. Natalie, you don’t need to get involved.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “I already am, Tosh. The second I fell in love with him I became involved. Just because I’m not with him doesn’t mean I stopped caring. I don’t want him to get hurt.”
“Or hurt himself.” She cocked her eyebrow.
Bile creeped up my throat. “What are you saying?”
Tosha stared at me for a while; I watched her eyes dart across my face. “PTSD isn’t something you should fuck with, Nat. It’s not even something Bill should—look, just promise me you’ll call the police if things get dicey. Promise me.”
She was right. I wasn’t emotionally or otherwise qualified to deal with PTSD. But, I loved Ryker, and I knew that had to mean something to him still.
As I drove down 116, I figured I should drive by Bill’s house first to see if he was there or had gone out looking for Ryker. A mixture of relief and tension seared through me when I saw Bill’s car in the driveway, meaning Ryker was home. I took it he’d just gotten there since Bill hadn’t called to tell me he’d come home.
I was right. Ryker got out of the car as I pulled in. I watched him stagger for a second before he turned and registered that my car was right behind him.
Great. He’s drunk.
Bill came to the door just as I got out of my car. Ryker leaned against his father’s car and addressed me as I nervously approached him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked as he jammed his hands into his pockets, looking at his feet.
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