In the Stillness

by Andrea Randall

  I suppose it would have been a TV-worthy moment had we even discussed marriage—at all—before that very moment. Instead, our mothers hugged and cried, and sighed relief, while I gave a shocked “of course.” Of course. Seriously? Tosha stared at me like I was on fire for the entire night, while my dad gave me a long hug. I knew what he meant.

  “Why don’t you like Eric?” she prompts.

  It’s an important word choice of hers, and I don’t let it go unnoticed to myself. Like. It’s clear that love faded—or jumped off a cliff—long ago. But like. No, I guess I don’t like him after all.

  “Aside from the affair?” I snort. “For a while, honestly, most of what I didn’t like about him turned out to be things I was mad about in myself. I didn’t like him because he got to keep going in his Ph.D. program. On paper it made perfect sense. He was already further along than I was and would finish sooner and wouldn’t have to travel. I hated how happy he looked when he came home from a long day in the lab . . . hated.”

  “What was going on last year . . . when he said the affair started? Like, what was going on with you guys?”

  “Well, that was the end of my second year being fully stay-at-home by myself, and the start of his last year at school . . . I don’t know, the pressure? He was in the lab all the time, around her more than me . . . and I was just so tired and, honestly, depressed, I didn’t notice . . . or care to notice.” For the last several weeks I’ve been scrolling through every memory I can muster from the last year, searching for clues or signs of my husband’s infidelity and . . . nothing.

  Tosha seems to hesitate before asking her next question. “Do you think you would have ever left him if it wasn’t for the affair? I mean, you’d talked about it with me a lot, but . . .”

  I sigh and rock my head back onto the couch. “I don’t know. I’d like to think I would have, because we were really starting to bring out the worst in each other. But, I don’t know if I could have shouldered that kind of guilt. There’s enough of it floating around for everyone as it is, but the affair just makes it a little easier for me, you know?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  My phone dings with a text message, interrupting our sudden silence.

  “Oh great, it’s Ryker,” I groan, still feeling slightly embarrassed about our phone call.

  “What’s it say?”

  Ryker: Hey. I don’t want to leave you hanging and picking at your fingernails till Wednesday. I’ll be there.

  “He’s going to come to my therapy session.” Tears forming, I set my phone down and wipe under my eyes.

  “Why are you crying? Isn’t that a good thing?”

  I nod, my jaw clenching around the need deep inside me to cut rather than admit it. “I’m just scared.”

  Panic rushes through my nerves as I struggle to breathe under the full weight of the things I know Dr. Greene is going to have me discuss with Ryker. On Wednesday. In her office. Just the three of us.

  Shit.

  Chapter 36

  “Okay, let’s get started then.” Dr. Greene crosses her legs and leaves her pen and notepad on the table beside her. “Ryker, thank you for coming.”

  He really friggen came. I got here extra early and sat, picking my nails, in the waiting room. If he was going to stand me up, I wanted to be in the comfort of my shrink’s office when I found out. But, he didn’t. He’s here. On the couch. Next to me.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, shooting him a quick, nervous, smile.

  “No problem.” He winks and gives me a sweet grin.

  “Natalie, why don’t you start by telling Ryker why you wanted him to come today.”

  Despite the fact that it was her idea, I had to agree in order for it to happen at all. And, now I have to present it as my idea. I feel like I’m in the principal’s office at the shittiest school on the planet.

  “Well,” I clear my throat, “Dr. Greene and I have been talking a lot about the guilt and anger I’m still dealing with surrounding our relationship.” With my voice shaking out of control, I reach for my glass of water. Ryker’s eyes never leave me, though I notice a bit of sweat forming on his hairline. For some reason, that puts me at ease.

  “Hold your glass out for a minute, Natalie,” Dr. Greene interrupts my opening monologue, thank God. I do as she asks. “Ryker, what I’ve been explaining to Natalie, is the guilt she’s feeling is a bit like the water in that glass. Now, regardless of how little guilt she might have, or how much, the longer she holds onto it, the heavier it will feel. If she holds out the glass for a minute, it might be annoying, but then she could put her arm down and move on.” I make eye contact with Ryker as Dr. Greene says, “In Natalie’s case, she’s been holding onto quite a full glass for the last ten years.” His mouth twitches a little at the side.

  “What do you feel guilty about, Nat?” Ryker sounds like he’s genuinely inquiring and that irritates me a little. I fight the urge to scream your entire life!

  I giggle a little, rolling my eyes. “Where do I start?”

  “Just be honest with him, Natalie.”

  “Well,” I start, looking at my hands, “you know I feel guilty that I had you arrested, and that prevented you from reenlisting, like you wanted to.”

  “Look at him, Natalie,” Dr. Greene urges.

  Ryker shakes his head. “That’s not the only reason I couldn’t reenlist, Nat. And, even if it was, it wasn’t your fault. I was sick, and on drugs . . .”

  “I know,” I take a deep breath, “I feel like I also contributed to your inability to heal when you got home from Afghanistan.” Despite my efforts for that to sound composed, the tears slowly rise.

  “What?” He looks confused.

  “I feel,” we must use ‘I feel’ statements, “that I put pressure on you to continue in a relationship, and you weren’t ready for that. But . . . I also feel guilty about the things I didn’t say to you when we were still together, and guilty about some things I’m feeling now.” Reaching for a tissue, I catch Ryker shifting uneasily in his seat.

  “It’s okay,” Ryker whispers as he grabs my knee, “you can tell me.” Bless his heart, his eyes really believe his words.

  I shake my head and look at Dr. Greene. “I don’t think I can do this.” Suddenly, throwing up in public seems like a much better idea.

  “You need to get this out of you, Natalie. You’re ready to start letting this go.” She sounds like a recording.

  “I’m mad at you,” I barely get out as a sob overtakes my voice. I can’t look at him as I say it.

  “Look at him, Natalie,” Dr. Greene encourages.

  When I do, I find him staring at me with an unreadable expression. He’s definitely clenching his back teeth a bit, though; I remember what his jaw looks like when he does that.

  “I’m mad at you,” I say again, watching our entire relationship flash through his eyes.

  Ryker wipes his palms on his jeans. “For what?” He doesn’t really want to hear why, I can tell by his tone.

  “Look at him,” Dr. Greene says again, when my eyes have fallen to the floor.

  Deep breath. You can do this. And, frankly, you need to do this.

  “I loved you. I loved you, and you hurt me.” He nods and I watch his Adam’s apple twitch as he swallows. Once I get the first sentence out, I feel the gates open all the way. “I loved you and you wouldn’t let me talk to you about Lucas, even though he was my friend, too. You didn’t talk to me after we left his grave the first time, and it made me feel like I’d done something wrong.” I pause to reach for more tissues.

  “Keep going, Natalie.” Dr. Greene. I wish she would shut up for five seconds.

  Looking directly at Ryker, I continue. “You yelled at me, a lot. Or, you wouldn’t talk to me at all. I don’t know which was worse. I watched you slowly crumbling in front of me and there was nothing I could do for you because you wouldn’t talk to me. You told me you were in love with me, but you kept pushing me away. And,” I take a faltering breath, “you really
did push me. Hard. And it hurt, a lot. I was trying to help you and you . . .for Christ’s sake, Ryker, you are like twice my size and you pushed me with all your force across your dad’s fucking driveway! And you know the first thing I did? I drove to Lucas Fisher’s grave and fucking yelled at him for breaking his promise and not taking care of you.

  I’m mad that every single year since the year we broke up, I’ve gone to the Memorial Day service on the common, hoping to run into you, hoping to see that you were okay, and you were never there. Each year that I didn’t see you there, it reaffirmed that I’d ruined everything, Ryker.”

  For a second it’s all too much and I bury my face in my tissues, sobbing a glorious ugly cry that I didn’t think I had left in me. I’ve never told Dr. Greene my real reason for going to the service every year. Picking my face up, I notice tears in Ryker’s eyes, too. That does it.

  “There. Right there,” I continue, pointing at his face. “The last time I saw you cry was the last night we saw each other in my dorm. You told me if I called the police I’d fuck everything up for you and that I better not. Then you grabbed my wrists and saw my cuts and yelled at me for that . . .”

  Ryker shakes his head. “I don’t remember any of that, Natalie.”

  “Of course you don’t,” I say in a sort of sob-growl, “you were busy overdosing on Oxycontin because you were upset that I broke up with you!” Looking at Dr. Greene, I put my hands up. “I need a break. Can I go to the bathroom?”

  “Just finish this, Natalie. Don’t run away. He’s right here, and you’re right here.

  I allow myself one final, deep breath. “And . . . just . . . I’m mad that I see you after a goddamn decade and you smile and hug me like we were old study partners. And, the worst of it? I feel guilty for being mad at you, Ryker. You were sick, and I tried . . .” Just when I thought I was done, fresh energy surges through me. “Who breaks up with a boyfriend just home from war, suffering from PTSD? A coward, that’s who. One who cuts herself every time she comes home from said boyfriend’s house, and one who requests a restraining order when things get ugly.” I shoot a quick look to Dr. Greene. “I know, I know that none of that actually means I’m a coward . . . it’s just how I feel. I don’t know how to change that in my brain.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Ryker swat a tear away from his cheek.

  Dr. Greene touches my knee. “You change it, Natalie, by admitting how you feel and admitting that you know the negative things you’re thinking about yourself aren’t true. And you started that right now.” She smiles and points to my glass of water on the table. “The glass doesn’t feel quite as heavy now, does it?”

  Silence loiters for a while as I lean back with my eyes closed, physically exhausted.

  Finally, I turn to Ryker. “This isn’t all about you, you know . . . I don’t want you to feel—”

  “Natalie . . .” Dr. Greene cautions.

  Oh shut up. Shut up, or I’ll throw that guilt-glass at your damn head.

  “What?” I ask, a bit too bitchy for even my own taste, “I can’t just let him know that the reason I’m a fucking disaster isn’t all his fault, or any of it? It’s mine. It’s my brain. It’s the way I process things.”

  “Why are you so concerned with protecting Ryker’s feelings, Natalie?”

  “Because I love him, and you don’t hurt the people you love. Not on purpose.”

  What the fuck did I just say?

  Ryker stands quickly and paces to the other side of the room with his fingers interlaced behind his head.

  “You love me?” It’s clear he’s putting as much distance between the two of us as he can.

  “I mean . . .” Shiiiit. “I . . .” I cannot remember where the exit is all of a sudden.

  “You dump ten years of guilt and anger on me and then tell me you love me?” He’s angry. I know he’s angry because the tone of his voice causes goosebumps to automatically spring along my skin.

  Ryker turns his back to me as I look at Dr. Greene, who seems annoyingly unfazed.

  Suddenly, it hits me. “I never stopped loving you, Ryker. Ever. I didn’t even consciously realize it until right this second but . . . I’ve always loved you.”

  Despite once loving Eric, marrying, and having children with him, despite the months at a time I’d go without thinking about Ryker, my heart never forgot him. He wasn’t just my college boyfriend. He was the absolute love of my life.

  Ryker turns back around, staring at me with wide eyes and open arms. “Now what?” he huffs.

  “Now,” Dr. Greene answers, looking at me, “we understand a bit more about your guilt, Natalie. It’s a heavy burden to shoulder all by yourself.”

  At the word “burden,” Ryker is by my side again, holding my hand. Holding my goddamn hand.

  “Listen to me,” urgently searching through my eyes, he continues, “I know that I can’t change your mind or your feelings, but you have to listen to me. You didn’t ruin my life, Nat. I spent years beating myself up for hurting you in all the ways that I did. I know a little bit about what’s going on inside your head, and you’ve got to believe me when I tell you that you didn’t ruin me. If you weren’t around when you were, I guarantee you that if I wasn’t dead, I’d be one sorry bastard by now. You stuck with me longer than I wanted to stick with myself. Of course there were days I felt mad at you, but not anymore.”

  He grabs hold of my other hand and keeps on, with pain in his eyes, “You’re a beautiful person, Natalie, inside and out, don’t let what happened between us . . . it’s over, okay? We’re not back there in my dad’s house, we’re not in your dorm room, and I’m not in the National Guard anymore. It’s all over, and I’m okay.”

  By the end of his sentence we’re both crying and wiping our eyes, pulling away from each other to retrieve tissues.

  “Thank you for coming today, Ryker . . .” Dr. Greene wraps up my session and sends us back into the world after giving Ryker her number and strongly suggesting he call her.

  Ryker and I walk silently to the parking lot, where I see that his truck is parked next to my car.

  “Thank you, Ryker . . .” I rest my hand on the door as I open it.

  “You’re welcome.” He shrugs and opens his door.

  “I want you to know—”

  Ryker cuts me off, “It’s okay, Nat. I’m glad I came today. I’m sorry . . .”

  “For what?”

  “I’ve spent all this time angry at myself over hurting you, that it never occurred to me that you weren’t wicked pissed at me for everything. It never occurred to me that you were upset, or still hurting . . .” In a split second it looks like all the guilt I threw up in Dr. Greene’s office landed on him.

  “Ryker, no—”

  “I need to take some time to work through this, okay? I’m not mad at you, or anything, I just . . . need to process everything.” He’s not looking at me. I understand that to mean I’m to stay away for a while.

  “Okay,” I nod, “I’ll talk to you later.” Sliding into my car, I hear him mumble “later,” before we both pull out of the parking lot.

  Chapter 37

  Ten years ago, I could spend hours wandering the streets or vegging at home after a therapy session. Today, a few hours after getting home and eating dinner, Eric calls in a panic.

  I pause before saying hello, assessing the noise in the background, and quickly determine chaos is in full force.

  “Eric? What’s going on?”

  “Natalie,” he says almost breathlessly, causing my anxiety to rise a bit, “Ollie’s having a full-on tantrum and Max is freaking out . . . I can’t get Ollie to look at me to see what I’m saying and my sign language is total shit . . . I don’t know what to do.”

  I want to wring his neck, I really do. First of all, it’s an hour past their bedtime, so of course they’re exhausted. Second, the therapists have talked with us about tantrums in deaf children, and how Oliver’s likely to act out for a while because he’s scared, angry, an
d whatever other emotion kicks in when you’re robbed of one of your senses. Instead, I use my exhaustion from the day’s emotional upheaval to feign levelheadedness.

  “I’ll be right over. Sit tight.”

  Ten minutes later, I can hear the screams coming from the 2nd floor Amity Street apartment—a place I only stand at the threshold of now when I bring the boys here every other week. The full-week alternating between our two houses seems to work best for them, for now.

  Opening the door, I find Oliver face-down on the kitchen floor, kicking and screaming louder than usual, Max crying on the couch, and Eric crouching down next to Oliver, yelling at him to sit up and look at him.

  First things first. “Max, Honey, go in your room and get a book, Mommy will be there in a minute, okay?” Max hugs my legs for a split second before following my request.

  “Eric!” He seems to just process that I’ve walked in. “He can’t hear you! Stop yelling at him!” Though, yelling at Eric feels good.

  “He was hearing me a little earlier today, Natalie!” Eric yells, running his hands through his hair. “He was sitting on my lap and I could . . .”

  “They told us that his hearing could come and go without notice . . .” Not wanting to rehash our son’s diagnosis for what feels like the thirtieth time, I kneel beside Ollie and scoop him into my arms. Holding him tight against my chest, he’s still screaming. “He’s scared, Eric . . .” My chin quivers slightly as I rock him back to forth. “Go check on Max, please.”

  Eric heads down the hall and I stand, still holding Oliver, and walk to the couch. Sitting down, I pull his face forward and smile. He presses his head into my shoulder and keeps crying. Logically, I know that this won’t do any good, but I can’t help it; I dip my chin so Ollie and I are cheek-to-cheek—my lips resting lightly against the skin next to his ear—and I start singing.