In the Stillness

CHAPTER 42



I remember the day I knew Ollie’s hearing was gone for good. As the summer progressed, he had fewer days, fewer moments, when he could hear us. Fewer times when his name came from my mouth and mattered, fewer times “Return to Pooh Corner” helped him fall asleep. I still sing it, even if Max is already asleep. But, two weeks after school started, and Eric dropped the boys off at my house one Sunday night, he told me Ollie hadn’t responded to any vocal communication that week. I frowned as I told him that he hadn’t the week before, either.

We stood in broken silence—irony at its finest. The day had finally come. After tucking them into bed, I locked myself in the bathroom and slid down the door until I met the ground in tears. It took every ounce of any strength I ever thought I possessed not to reach for the razors that night. But, I stayed in the bathroom until I’d fully thought the cut through, realizing it wasn’t worth it—then more than ever.

“How are the little guys doing in school?” Tosha asks over lunch on campus.

It’s been incredible getting back to work. The material never left my blood, so getting in the groove didn’t take long. I teach two classes, three days a week, in the morning. It leaves me time to grade and prepare on my days off, and spend time with the boys in the afternoons on my weeks.

“They’re good. I had reservations at first about them going to different schools, but, our options were kind of limited on that front.”

The boys are each in full-day kindergarten. Max works with a therapist for a half hour a day to maintain his sign language. On my weeks, I pick up Ollie first. When we get Max, their hands are moving so fast, signing about their days—it’s hilarious. Ollie can talk to Max just fine and can read lips really well, but they think it’s fun to use sign language, and Ollie has to use it at school for his classmates, anyway.

“And . . . have you talked to Ryker?” Her Thai noodle salad spins around her fork as she asks.

“I texted him last week to let him know I hadn’t forgotten about his invitation to the farm, but things are obviously busy, and with only having them every other week it’s a little complicated.”

She looks up. “Does he buy it?”

Rolling my eyes, I put my drink down. “There’s nothing to buy, Tosha. That’s the truth. I don’t need to freak him out by telling him I’m not ready, when he’s probably not even thinking along those lines. He’s just being nice.”

“How’s Eric been lately?”

“He’s okay.” I sigh. “The earliest the divorce will be finalized is probably March, but our attorney thinks it shouldn’t be a problem to have it done before the first of the year since we’re not contesting anything. It also helps that neither one of us are acting like total a*sholes.”

She laughs. “I bet you want to sometimes though, huh?”

“Yeah,” I snicker, “especially when he first asked me if it was okay for him to go on a date . . . as if he’d been asking my permission for the last year and a half.” I roll my eyes.

“Who was the date with?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Or care, really. We just agreed that we would keep any new relationships away from our boys until it became serious. There’s absolutely no reason to confuse them at this point. Anyway,” standing, I grab my tray and Tosh follows me to the trashcans, “I’ve gotta get over to the Soldiers’ Home.”

Tosh smiles. “How’s that going?”

“Actually it’s really good. Massively humbling, really. I’ve been spending one-on-one time with this Marine, George, who’s a Korean War vet. He’s really something . . . reminds me a bit of my grandfather.” I smile broadly as I think of my new friend.

“I think it’s awesome. All right, chick, catch ya later.” After a quick kiss on the cheek, she heads off to her next class and I get in my car to drive to the Soldiers’ Home.



“Knock, knock,” I smile as I walk into George’s room where I find an elderly woman sitting in the chair next to his. From pictures he’s shown me, I recognize it to be his wife.

“There she is!” George claps his hands and smiles back.

As I lean in to hug him, the woman smiles. “You must be Natalie.”

“I am,” I extend my hand and she takes it, still smiling. “And you must be Marion.”

“What have you told her?” She playfully taps her husband’s arm.

Holding up his hands in mock defense, he laughs, “All good things, all good things.”

“If you two would like some time alone, I can come back another time, I don’t mind.”

“Nonsense, Dear,” Marion scolds playfully. “Sit. I’ve heard a lot about you from blabbermouth over here, and I wanted to come meet you myself.”

I’ve spent a few weeks visiting George. The Soldiers’ Home has an Adopt-a-Veteran program that provides one-on-one visits to residents with volunteers. I was terrified at first that he would assume I was there to make myself feel good, or something, but it turns out he was just happy to have someone to talk to. His wife, Marion, lives with their daughter, but George’s medical needs require 24-hour care. At 82, he looks strong and is of sound mind, but a lifelong love of smoking has left him with emphysema, amongst other issues. Marion visits as often as she can, George has told me, but she doesn’t drive anymore so it depends on their daughter’s work schedule.

“George tells me you have twins?” Marion’s face is bursting with that grandmotherly type of love as I take the seat across from them.

“I do. Max and Oliver; they turned five in July.”

“Boys,” she pretends to faint, “you must be busy! We have one boy and one girl and, I’ll tell you what, boys are easier, but gosh they’re a lot of work when they’re little! Where do they go to kindergarten?”

“Max goes to Amherst, and Oliver goes to the Clarke School in Northampton.”

I haven’t told George that I have a deaf son. Both of them look confused for a moment, until realization crosses Marion’s face.

“Is he deaf?” she asks with a furrowed brow.

I nod. “He is. He hasn’t been since birth . . . he has a degenerative condition.” I spend a couple of minutes telling them about our summer with Ollie’s hearing.

Marion places her cool hand on mine when I finish. “I’m sorry, dear. But, it sounds like you and your husband are taking it in stride and the boys are doing well.”

“We are, but,” I feel weird talking about divorce to a couple that’s managed to keep their shit together for however long they have, “we’re divorcing. It was in the works before Ollie’s diagnosis.” Shrugging, I look down for a split second before I talk myself out of it and face their looks head on.

Their eyes aren’t filled with condemnation, and not even sorrow. They look like they . . . understand.

“Nothing to be ashamed of, Bug.” George taps my knee. He joked about my nickname “Nat” on day one, and has called me bug for the last month. Who would tell him to stop? He’s adorable.

“What branch of the military is he in?” Marion asks.

I’m thrown slightly off balance by her question. “What? Who?”

“Your soon-to-be ex-husband. Is he a Marine, too?”

“Oh,” I exhale, having misinterpreted the direction of her questioning, “he’s not in the military, never was.”

“Oh . . .” she seems confused, “what brings you in here then? Usually the young girls that volunteer here have husbands or boyfriends overseas, or did.”

Looking to the ceiling for an answer, I bite the inside of my cheek.

“Ah,” George cuts into my train of thought, “there’s a story there, I see. If you ladies will excuse me, I have to go get my place in line for dinner so the vultures don’t steal all the oranges.” Slowly getting up with a cough, he wheels his oxygen tank behind him as he leaves for the cafeteria.

“He’s right, isn’t he?” Marion asks with a smile.

My grin gives me away before I can explain. “Sort of . . .”

“Do you want to tell me about him?”

I sigh. “How much do you want to know?”

“As much as it takes for me to understand why he wasn’t the one you married in the first place.” Her smile elicits a chuckle from me.

I stare at her for a minute before I decide she can clearly handle whatever it is I have to tell her. So, I start at the beginning. The very beginning. Marion dabs at her eyes with a tissue when I tell her about Ryker pulling me into a kiss a minute or so after we met. While I don’t go into every single gory detail of the end of our relationship, I don’t sugarcoat it, either. By the end, finishing with the birthday present Ryker sent to my boys, both Marion and I are crying into what’s left of the hospital-grade tissues.

“That’s one of the most beautiful stories I’ve heard in a long time, Natalie.” Marion blows her nose and reaches for another tissue.

“Are you kidding? It’s a mess!” I laugh, drying my eyes and running a hand through my hair.

“Oh, Sweetie,” she whispers, “it only looks like a mess because it’s not over yet.”

My stomach lurches a little. “What?”

“It’s not over yet between you two. Not after what I’ve heard,” she states very matter-of-fact. “Listen, walk with me to the cafeteria and I’ll tell you about George and me.”

You don’t say “no” to nice old ladies who just cried with you as you spilled your guts. You just don’t.

The walk to the cafeteria is rather long for someone as short as Marion, especially with her bad knee, but she makes it worth our while. George enlisted in the Marines in 1948, when he was eighteen years old. He and Marion had been high school sweethearts. When he was shipped to Korea in 1951, she lived with her parents until he came home.

“Did you save your letters from Ryker? Please tell me you did.” She holds my hand as we make our way down the hall.

“I did.” Thinking about the letters puts a lump in the center of my throat.

“Thank goodness. No matter whatever happens, never get rid of those, do you understand me? George’s letters got me through some very troubled days throughout our marriage. When he came home, we married right away. He was never injured in the line of duty, which was good, but it didn’t take me very long to figure out he’d seen things I wouldn’t ever understand.” Inexplicably, she pulls me to a set of chairs in the hallway a few feet from the cafeteria.

“The nightmares were the worst,” she admits. “I could handle him being distant at times during the day but . . . when he was yelling at things that I couldn’t see . . .” She pauses and shakes her head.

“I get it,” I whisper.

Marion goes on to tell me that it took several years for them to be able to have children, and by then a majority of the nightmares had stopped. She says that was no accident, as she looks to the sky.

“His drinking came in waves. He’d go months, or even years, without an issue. But, like a switch I couldn’t locate, he’d be down in that dark hole again.” She stands, letting me know we’re almost finished.

Gripping her hand, I lead her into the cafeteria. “How’d you get through it? The uncertainty, I mean.” I’ve spent a lot of time wondering what goes through Ryker’s head on a daily basis.

She stops and tilts her chin into the direction of her husband, who’s sitting with two plates in front of him. “Because I was never uncertain about our hearts.”

“Oh,” I whisper with a nod. “Well,” I clear my throat as we reach George’s table, “here’s your bride, George. Thank you for letting me borrow her for a few minutes.”

“Any time, Bug. See you next week?”

“Of course.” I kiss his cheek, and dip toward Marion.

“Take your time. But, it’s not over,” she whispers into my ear as she kisses my cheek.

The thread of impending tears causes me to simply nod and smile as I wave goodbye and walk to my car in a daze.

It’s not over.