In the Stillness

by Andrea Randall

  She kept her voice library-quiet. “You’re okay. You’re at the hospital.”

  “What happened?” I asked, squeezing my eyes shut a few times, trying to pull a memory into focus.

  “You don’t remember?” She handed me a cup of water and I lifted my head and sipped a bit from the straw while I tried to find my voice.

  “I remember going downstairs with you, going back up to get my debit card . . .” I could hear the beeps measuring my pulse’s crescendo as a flood of images burst through the protective dam in my brain. “Oh . . . shit. Ryker . . .”

  She nodded. “He pushed you, Nat. Down the stairs.”

  I scrunched up my face at her. “No, he didn’t. I slipped—”

  “Natalie, you don’t have to protect him anymore.”

  “I’m not, Tosh. He told me he swallowed a bottle of Oxycontin, and then he started to get aggressive, but I ran. He grabbed me on the stairs and I pulled away too hard and fell backward . . . shit, has anyone called my parents?”

  She looked like she sucked on a lemon. “Since it happened at school, they handled the phone call.”

  “Great.” I let my head land back on the pillow. I knew they were going to be so pissed.

  Before Tosha and I could sort out any more events, a nurse came in. After she took my vitals, she informed me that two police officers were waiting to talk to me about what happened. I asked Tosh to wait outside so I could speak to them alone.

  A tall and lean Amherst police officer walked in. “Ms. Collins? I’m Officer Fox. My partner here is Officer Jackson.” He motioned to the slightly shorter woman to his side. “We’d like to ask you about what happened tonight.”

  I nodded. “First, I’m really sorry about pulling that fire alarm. All the commotion it must have caused—”

  “No,” Officer Jackson cut in with a smile, “that was an incredibly smart thing to do. You did the right thing.”

  I spent the next several minutes piecing together what I could remember—which was most of it by the end of our discussion—and they took careful notes.

  “So, you’re saying you “slipped” from Mr. Manning’s hold?” Officer Fox used air-quotes, and that annoyed me.

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying, that’s what happened.” Officer Jackson’s eyes softened into something that looked like pity as I spoke.

  Fox spoke up again. “Despite Mr. Manning’s violent history with you, you’re sure he didn’t push you?”

  “First of all,” I sat up a little straighter, “I’m sure. Second of all, what violent history?”

  Officer Jackson sat in the chair next to my bed. “Isn’t it true that Ryker pushed you outside of his house just a few days ago?”

  I let out a frustrated sigh and told them the events behind that night.

  “Thank you, Ms. Collins. You should get some rest. We’ll come see you tomorrow to talk to you about pressing charges.” Officer Jackson gave me a tight smile as she stood and headed to leave.

  “Charges?” I asked, blinking the mess my life had suddenly become into focus.

  Officer Fox looked me straight in the eye. “What happened tonight, Ms. Collins, could have been much worse. You’re a lucky young woman. Think about it.”

  “Is Ryker okay?” I blurted out without thinking. The officers stared at me like I was on exhibit. “Whatever, look, is his dad here? Bill? If he is, can you send him in?”

  Without another word they exited the curtained area, and Bill Manning suddenly appeared. Disheveled as he looked, he managed a smile and gave me a hug before taking the seat next to me.

  “Bill, how’s Ryker? Is he okay?”

  Tosha entered a second later and stood on the opposite side of my bed.

  Bill squeezed my hand. “They had to pump his stomach. He’s sleeping now, and I suspect he’ll be hurting when he wakes up, but he’s going to live.”

  Bill and Tosha took a few minutes to fill me in on the details of what happened after I fell. Apparently, as my fellow residents poured into the stairwell for the fire alarm, they found Ryker standing over my body screaming my name.

  “When the girls came out and told me what was going on, I ran in after you,” Tosha continued. Her eyes filled with tears. “I met him in the entryway. He was carrying you like an infant. You looked dead, Natalie, and he was screaming for someone to help you.” Bill lowered his head as she spoke. “When the cops and the fire department came, Ryker was screaming orders at them and trying to get into the ambulance with you. They figured out pretty quickly he was messed up, so they called another ambulance and brought him here.”

  Bill spoke up. “I talked to your dad, Hon. He’s on his way.” I’d briefly forgotten that I’d given Bill my dad’s phone number while Ryker was overseas. I wanted to be able to be reached at all times. “Your mom is staying behind with your brother.”

  At least I could be thankful for something. I wouldn’t have to face my mom and all of her assertions that soldier boyfriends would lead to no good.

  “I’m so sorry, Natalie. Ryker hasn’t been right for weeks. I should have never called you when I didn’t hear from him.” Bill ran his hands through his hair and sat back in the chair.

  “He’s sick, Bill. It’s not your fault.” Tosha spoke over me as I stared into the space at the end of my bed. “He needs help and maybe this will be his chance to get it.”

  “The police want me to press charges,” I said to neither one of them in particular. Raising my hands to my eyes, I started to cry. “God, this is such a mess.”

  And that? That’s when the fight left me. The fight for Ryker, the fight for us, and the fight for anything I thought I knew. In between my sobs of resignation, my dad came in and talked to Bill outside the curtain for a few minutes. Tosha stayed until my dad settled in, then she went back to the dorm.

  I barely remember the exchange with my father, except that the nurses expressed concern about some “wounds” on my arms. They told him what they thought it was, and they were right, but I couldn’t tell my dad that. I just nodded when he said I’d be coming home with him and taking a semester off. I was barely passing my classes that semester, anyway, so I’d have to retake most of them.

  Before I was ready to leave the next day, with nothing more than a nasty headache, I had to talk to the police again.

  “I’ll sign whatever you want,” I said, “I just want him to stay away from me forever.” Walking out of the hospital that morning, I didn’t care if I ever saw Ryker Manning again. My dad told me a few weeks later that Ryker was put on probation and was required to receive a mental health evaluation. I was thankful that he’d at least have the chance to be helped. My mom made it a point, just after Christmas, to tell me I’d done Ryker a favor because with his arrest and probation, he probably wouldn’t be able to reenlist in the National Guard.

  I hadn’t thought of that. I just wanted to pull myself out of his downward spiral, so I requested a restraining order; which may have been slight overkill since I was stuck in Pennsylvania for what would have been my Spring semester anyway. I knew that he wasn’t healthy enough to reenlist when he’d started talking about it, and I don’t know if it was a reaction to my mother telling me, but I started to feel guilty about stopping his life from going the way he’d wanted it to.

  Still, by the time I got back to campus the summer before what would have been my senior year, but was my junior year re-do, I was living off-campus with a new cell phone and strict orders to stay away from all things Ryker Manning. It was easy to do when I was at home—to not think about him or wonder how was doing—but when I was back in South Hadley, I spent a lot of my time in the first few weeks looking over my shoulder and swearing I saw him. Right up through my graduation day two years later, when I swear I saw him through the crowd.

  But. Nothing. He was gone. It was like he vanished into thin air. I was supposed to be okay with that—it’s what I’d wanted in the first place. Still, once my heart started piecing itself back together, it began to ache
again for the smiling boy on the Amherst common who kissed me like he meant it, a minute after meeting me.

  * * *

  “Who knew ordering a cake would be such an event.” Tosha fakes being out of breath as she meets me in the produce section. Deliveries are just coming in and we have to dodge dollies of squash and asparagus as we fill our baskets. “Seriously, though, are you okay?”

  “I’m feeling trapped, to be honest. Eric and I can’t be married anymore. I don’t love him and it’s just getting uglier between us by the day. That can’t be good for the boys. But, knowing Eric, he’ll press that it won’t be good for them if we split up their home now, especially with everything going on with Ollie . . .” I kneel down in front of a huge basket of yellow squash and start picking through them.

  “It’s a bad reason to stay in a bad marriage, Natalie. A disability. You can’t do that to either one of you, or the boys.”

  “Ugh, I know.” I sigh as I stand. “Luckily after next week, the boys will be at my parents’ for a week, so we’ll have time to sort through some shit while they’re gone.”

  “Remember,” Tosha elbows me, “come stay at our place while you get everything squared away and find yourself a place to live.”

  I nod and we head to the check-out. It makes sense that I would be the one to leave the apartment. Eric lived there before we even lived together—it’s his. I’m thankful, though, for the generous trust fund my grandmother Baker left to me when she passed away. I’ll be able to live off that for a little while, while I find a job.

  Unless Eric and I can work it out . . . no, not an option on this side of the table.

  As Tosha and I leave the market, I roll my eyes at the “Manning Farms” truck. Apart from seeing Ryker’s dad when I was eight months pregnant with the twins, that name is the most I’ve seen of Ryker since the stairwell in 2002.

  Until he hops out of the back of the farm truck.

  “Ryker,” I whisper as I stop dead in my path, causing a woman to bump into me from behind.

  “What?” Tosha mouths “sorry” to the woman behind us as she pulls me to the side. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  I set my bag on a nearby ledge and walk almost trance-like toward the mid-sized box truck. I should be running in the opposite direction. Far away. I have no way of knowing what the last ten years have done to him.

  Tosha shouts unabashedly after me. “Natalie! Where are you going?”

  As soon as “Natalie” springs from her mouth, Ryker stands straight and turns in my direction.

  Holy shit, it’s really him.

  With erratic breaths, and my heart slamming against my throat, I maintain my march toward him, needing confirmation that he’s really standing there and this isn’t the final straw in my psychological breakdown. He wipes sweat from his brow with his forearm, then takes off his gloves and rubs his eyes for a second before seeming to blink me into focus.

  Yeah, it’s really me.

  He’s more muscular than he was the last time I saw him. He’s the size he was before he left for deployment. Tanned and dirty, he takes my breath away. Still, this can’t be happening. I stop ten feet from him and stare a second longer than is socially acceptable. Miraculously, my vocal cords work.

  “Ryker?” I shake my head, certain I’ve tumbled off the edge.

  A lopsided grin takes over his face as he shakes his head, too.

  “Natalie.”

  Chapter 23

  It’s him. He just said my name . . .

  My jaw loses tension and the late-May air around my body is suddenly frigid. Neither one of us moves, until someone I assume is a co-worker walks up to him. I remind myself that Tosha’s car is a short fifty-yard dash away.

  “We’re all set, Ryker, just bring them the inventory sheets and they say we’re good to go.”

  That guy just said his name, too.

  “All right, Steve-o. Thanks.” Ryker slaps him on the shoulder—but never looks at him— grabs some papers, and walks toward me.

  Tosha calls from behind me as she approaches. “Seriously, Natalie, what are you do—” I hear our bags hit the ground. “Ryker?”

  Ryker’s grin turns into a full smile as he stops just in front of me. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” I say inside my exhale.

  Because Tosha is the best friend I barely deserve most days, she saddles up next to me and takes my hand as I watch her look Ryker once over. She surely sees the same thing I do—a man. A healthy-looking man who is smiling at us like that’s all he does. His dirty-blonde hair is long enough that he can run his fingers through it, and as he does, I search for a reason for me to walk away. There are so many. And, frankly, so many reasons for him to push past us and move on with his life. I ruined his.

  “Hi Ryker.” Her tone is light.

  “Hey Tosha!” She lets go of my hand and hugs him as he reaches over her shoulders.

  In the brief silence at the end of their hug, his cerulean eyes shift to me and I see my Ryker. The softness I first met has regained its footing across his face, and I can’t believe I’m staring at the same man who was in the midst of an overdose the last time I saw him. Knots tighten through my stomach at the realization we haven’t seen or spoken to each other since the stairwell in my dorm room nearly ten years ago. I really should just say “nice to see you” and walk away.

  But, I can’t. He looks so happy to see me and, really, I’m happy to see him. I know that his dad would have called if anything happened to him, but, I’m honestly happy he’s alive.

  I lunge forward—as if pulled by a magnet—and lock my arms around his neck. His hands find their special spot on my lower back, and he squeezes me close as he drops the papers he was holding. There are no words because, well, there are just no words. In a second, every painful memory I’ve been holding onto for a decade is washed away by the feel of his scruff-covered chin against my cheekbone and the smell of earth bursting through his neck. We sway back and forth two times, I think, before I let go and take a step back.

  “I can’t believe you’re here.” I chuckle uncomfortably. I come here all the time, have lived in Amherst for seven years, and have never once run into him. Not once.

  Ryker tucks his hands into his jeans pockets and shrugs. “I just got a contract with them last week, this is our first delivery.”

  The look on my face must clue him in to my confusion.

  Pride joins our conversation through his voice. “It’s my farm, Nat. I started it two years ago and this is the first year we’re selling off of the property.”

  Tosha and I turn toward each other and mimic wide-eyed stares. I smile back at Ryker. “That’s amazing, Ryker, good for you.”

  “Thanks.” His eyes slip to the ground for a moment before causally coming up for air along the line of my dress. “You look great, Natalie.”

  “You do too.” The air is no longer cold.

  A truck approaching behind Ryker’s sounds its horn.

  “Shit, listen,” he shakes his head as if to clear a million words from it, “I gotta get these papers inside and get back to the farm. You should stop by sometime and see the operation.” He picks up the last bag and hands it to me. “It was great seeing you, Natalie.” He seems to be saying my name at every opportunity to convince himself he’s really talking to me. He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze before picking up his papers and jogging inside.

  After a few seconds of staring at the space he vacated, I turn without announcement and walk to Tosha’s car. When she gets in, the sound of her slamming door echoes in silence for a minute.

  “What the hell just happened?” I breathlessly fight off a shiver.

  “Well . . .” She tries to form something coherent. But what just happened was anything but.

  “You should stop by sometime?” I repeat Ryker’s invitation as Tosha starts the car and backs out of the space.

  “Yeah . . .”

  “The last time we saw each other I cracked my fucking head open and I sh
ould stop by sometime?” My sweating palms make it hard to clench my fist. The interior of the car is shrinking, along with my throat.

  “He probably panicked. You know, like how you gave him a hug?” Tosha’s voice sounds crackly as my head spins.

  We make it a mile or so down the road before I’m suffocating and my tongue is numb.

  “Stop. Tosha stop the car, stop!”

  Pulling over by a corn field, she doesn’t yet have the car in park before I’m unbuckled and throwing the door open. I haven’t had one in a long time, but panic attacks are no stranger, and I need to walk this off. I lock my fingers behind my head and look to the clouds, swallowing fresh air into my lungs. Ignoring the rough gravel, I sit against the car tire and hold my head in my hands—begging it to stay attached to my body.

  “You okay?” Tosha sits next to me and lights a cigarette.

  Feeling slowly returns to my face and fingers as my pulse returns to normal. Ripping the cigarette from her fingers, I take a deep drag as I lean my head against the car.

  “I just need to go home . . .” Still shaking, I hand her the cigarette and dust myself off before climbing back in her car.

  Tosha remains studiously focused on the road for the remainder of the drive to my apartment. When we pull up alongside my building, I take one more cleansing breath.

  “Are you going to be okay?” There’s no snark in her tone.

  “Did you know he had a farm around here?” I ask to the windshield.

  Tosha shrugs. “How would I?”

  “I don’t know, haven’t you ever Googled him or anything?”

  “Why would I? Have you ever Googled him?”

  I’m surprised at my own response. “No, I haven’t. Ever. I’ve been kind of busy, you know. And . . . I didn’t even think about him much until recently—”

  “That’s total bullshit, Natalie, and you know it.” Tosha sounds almost angry. “No one else I know who doesn’t have any connection to the military is as much of a stickler for going to Memorial Day and Veteran’s Day and Fourth of July events as you.”