In the Stillness

CHAPTER 47



“Any idea why she wants us to go to her house?” Ryker asks as we drive to Marion’s daughter’s house. He showed up about a half hour ago with coffee, and we were on our way.

“Oh,” I chuckle softly, “with Marion, Lord only knows.”

“You got pretty close with them, huh?” Ryker puts his hand on my knee.

“Yeah. It started out with just me and George, but Marion was there one day and, pretty soon, every time I was there.”

“What was George like?”

I take a few minutes to tell Ryker all about George. The Marines, Korea, and even Evie. He gets a kick out of the Evie story, most notably, George’s reaction to it.

“Sounds like he was a great guy.” Ryker gives my knee a slight squeeze before tilting his chin toward the window. “There’s fifty-seven.”

Noting the absence of any cars in the driveway, I knock on the door, wondering if Marion forgot. Half a minute later, she opens the door with a soft smile.

“Glad you two could make it, come in.” Marion leads us through the spacious house to a room that looks like a den near the back.

“Where’s Karen?” I ask, looking around.

“She and her husband took their boys out to give us time to chat. Sit.” Marion motions to the love seat as she settles into the chair.

As Ryker and I settle onto the couch, I notice pictures all over the walls and shelves of Marion and George.

“Now, I asked you two over here today so I could share some things with you. I was going to ask Natalie here anyway, but once I saw you, young man, I knew you had to come.” Marion points at Ryker and I see him blush a little. “As I’m sure you know, I’ve spent several months getting to know Natalie.”

Ryker flashes his best all-American at her. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

“Natalie,” she turns to me, “George told me on Christmas that you received a letter from Ryker a few days too late?”

Ryker looks at me, thoroughly confused, as I shoot my eyebrows up.

“I didn’t send you a letter . . .” He shakes his head, speaking almost under his breath.

“You didn’t tell him?” Marion looks at me as though I’ve grown a second nose.

“My mom sent it to me, Ryker. It was your first one . . . It said Merry Christmas . . .”

His eyes grow wide. “You never go that?”

“My mom . . .” I shrug, “I’ll tell you more later.”

“Anyway,” Marion redirects our conversation, “Ryker . . . Natalie told George and me a lot about the letters you two sent back and forth to each other while you were overseas. Do you still have yours?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ryker nod. “Yes, ma’am, I do. Every one.”

My chin quivers a little at his admission. I’ve never asked. I don’t know if I assumed he trashed them during his darker days, but . . . I didn’t want to know if he had.

Marion looks at Ryker, and waves her hand toward the corner of the room. “Ryker, could you fetch that box for me?” Ryker picks up a large banker’s box and holds it in front of Marion, who instructs him to sit. “Open it.”

Ryker shoots me an awkward look, and I just shrug. “You heard her,” I tease.

Pulling off the top, Ryker swallows hard as he examines the contents—what looks to be hundreds of letters, handwritten on folded pieces of paper. Neither one of us make a move.

“When George was in Korea, those were all I had of him until I saw him again. Now, once again,” her voice catches and she tries to clear her throat, “they’re all I have of him until I see him again.”

As my eyes cloud with tears, I catch Ryker’s jaw tightening before he seems to focus on something above Marion’s head.

“What’s this?” he asks, setting the box down and standing. Walking to the shelf behind Marion, he picks up a small picture frame. “Nat, did you see this?”

“No.” I walk to Ryker and have to muffle the gasp that comes from my mouth.

In Ryker’s hand sits a black and white picture that looks to have been taken at a train station. It looks like the cover of a Nicholas Sparks novel. I don’t need to see their faces to know it’s George and Marion; his Marine uniform is wrapped tightly around her tiny frame while her high-heeled feet swing freely from the ground. Watching Ryker’s thumb smooth across the center of the frame, I note George’s white knuckles and a tear rolls down my cheek.

“That’s the day he came home,” Marion informs us without looking at it.

“We have one just like this from the day Ryker left.” I smile through my tears.

“Of course you do.” Marion grabs my hand.

“We?” Ryker asks.

“Yeah,” I look up to find his eyes watering, too, “your dad gave me a copy on Christmas.”

Ryker’s eyes close as he shakes his head and chuckles. “Dad . . .”

“Marion, I’d like to keep visiting with you, if that’s okay with you.” I kneel down and pull her into a hug.

“I won’t take no for an answer. You too, young man. I want to get to know Ryker Manning a little bit.” Marion shoots me a cunning look as heat creeps through my face and neck.

After hugging Marion goodbye, and setting a date to come see her in a couple of weeks, Ryker and I get back into the car and drive to my apartment in silence.

“She’s a trip,” Ryker says as he follows me up the stairs to my apartment.

“No kidding, huh?” Unlocking the door, I leave it open for Ryker to fall in behind me.

“So, your mom . . .” Ryker starts as he sits on the couch. “What happened there?”

A slightly-psychotic laugh escapes me as I get us bottles of water.

“What happened there? Where do I start?”

I tell Ryker about my mom’s reaction to the first time I saw him at Atkins, through the boys’ birthday party and up to her unconventional Christmas card and our awkward conversation after that.

“She apologized?” Ryker’s appropriately shocked.

“Mmhmm. It really was a Christmas miracle,” I snort.

Ryker picks at something imaginary on his palm. “How long has it been since you’ve cut?”

Oh. Well then . . .

“Seven months,” I answer confidently, pulling his eyes toward mine with my words.

Ryker’s eyes glass over as he stands and walks to the kitchen, resting his hand on the back of a chair, bowing his head just slightly.

“Ry?” I pace behind him, gently placing my hand on his shoulder.

“Have you wanted to cut at all in the last seven months?” he asks without looking up.

“A few times,” I whisper.

“Why?”

I shrug. “It’s just . . . a faulty coping mechanism, Ry. What’s . . . what’s going on?”

Ryker turns to me, his broken look threatening to swallow me. “Do I make you want to cut?”

“Oh, Ryker,” grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt, I press my forehead into his chest, “no. Not at all.” I lift my head and find him studying me. “My cutting is not about you, or my boys, or anyone else. It’s about me, and it’s something I’ll always be working on.”

Ryker stares between me and the space behind my shoulder for a moment. “Can you come to the farm with the boys next weekend? I’d like to show them how we start the seeds, and some other things.”

“Uh, sure, that shouldn’t be a problem.” I’m taken slightly aback by the determination on his face.

“Awesome. Okay, I’ve gotta run and get some work done, but call me this week.” He sniffs away the tears that were previously brewing in his eyes.

“Sure.” Releasing his shirt I barely realized I was still clutching, I back up so he can get through the kitchen and to the door. “Thanks for coming with me today.”

“Well, I’d say anytime, but,” he laughs, “Marion’s already made that clear, hasn’t she?”

“Ha! Yeah, she has. I’ll call you this week.”

Until I see you again . . .