“Screw what the doctor says, Natalie! We just found out our son is going deaf and you still can’t wait to ship them off to your mom and dad’s for a week.” His chair tumbles to the ground as he pushes himself away from the table.
I swear, if he cuts me off again, I’ll punch him. “What the hell are you talking about? They’ve been looking forward to this for weeks, and you know what?” Tears spill out just when I thought I didn’t have any left. “If Oliver ends up totally losing his hearing before the summer is over, I’d like him to be able to have a chance at remembering what his grandparents’ voices sounded like!”
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.