I shook my head. “You’re still you, Ryker.” I tightened my grip on his hard shoulders. “You just need to get help to—”
In a flash I was flying backward across the driveway as Ryker’s palms connected with my chest. Before his hands left my body, I saw Bill race down the stairs toward his son, who was following me. I hit the ground hard and started scrambling backward to try to get to my feet.
“I said get out of my face!” Ryker’s face was barely an inch from mine, his alcoholic spit spraying across my face as he yelled.
“Ryker!” Bill caught up to him and pulled him back far enough to allow me the space to stand. “Ryker, if you don’t stop screaming, someone is going to call the police. Calm down and come inside.” Bill turned toward me with pleading eyes. “Natalie, go.”
It wasn’t the time to argue. It was the time to run. As I got in and started my car, Ryker’s face changed and he broke free from his dad’s grip and banged on my window.
“Natalie! Natalie, I’m so sorry. Shit. Natalie! I love you, I’m sorry!” He left his fists against the window as I put the car in reverse.
I shook my head, tears from pain of all kinds spilled down my cheeks, and sped backward onto the road. As I drove away, I watched Ryker punch the tree next to the car and storm inside his house.
Without much thought behind my heavy breathing, I drove straight to the cemetery that held Lucas Fisher. Dusk was closing in, and I wanted to confront him before being asked to leave by the police, or whoever it was that guarded the bones at night.
“You,” I sneered as I found his grave through a maze of marble. “You promised you’d take care of him!”
My tailbone started throbbing from my landing in the driveway. Sinking to my knees, I rested my forehead on his stone and continued my verbal assault.
“Why? He’s fucking gone, Lucas, gone! You took him over there with you and sent this home?” The stone was impervious to the salt water I thrust upon it.
I thumped my fists on top of the stone. “Fix it. Please. Somehow, fix this. It’s killing me.” I sat back on my heels and stared at his name. “And, it’s killing him, Lucas.”
A weak mew silenced my yell, turning it to a whisper. “I’m losing him.”
*
“You don’t love me.” Eric forms this as a statement rather than a question.
I stare at him, unable to construct an answer that doesn’t sound awful. I’ve already said the worst, though.
He drops his hands and takes a step back. “And, when, exactly, did you arrive at this conclusion?”
Good question. He wants a date, a scientific pinpoint for the moment he lost my heart. The problem is, I don’t think he ever had it.
I’m temporarily saved from having to fumble through an answer I know won’t suffice as Max and Ollie race into the kitchen. Eric and I each pick up and hug an exuberant boy as our eyes remain locked on each other; mine watering, his—empty.
Chapter 21
“Eric’s not working today?” Tosha asks as we eat lunch at Judie’s.
“Apparently not. Graduation’s next week, I had lots of shit to get straightened out with The Clarke School today . . .”
“How’s everyone adjusting to the news? I’m really sorry, Nat . . .” She reaches across the table and takes my hand.
I give her a gentle squeeze. “It’s going to be okay. We’re trying not to get all hyper about it around him right now because we don’t want to scare him. We’re going to get all his supports lined up and talk to him slowly about it. I don’t know how, though.” Tears form at the thought of trying to explain, in words, to my almost-five-year-old, that he won’t be able to hear any of us soon.
“How’s Eric handling the news?” Tosha knows all too well how perfect Eric likes things to be. Hence, the marriage while I was pregnant with the twins.
I roll my eyes. “He got annoyed at the prospect of learning sign language. I know he’s overwhelmed but—”
“No,” Tosha cuts me off, “fuck that. He doesn’t get to pick and choose which ugly comes into his life. None of us do.”
“Ha, no shit,” I snort as I pick at the remains of my salad.
We pay the bill, and Tosha suggests we take a drive over to Atkins Market to take advantage of the fresh, local produce. I’m a willing hostage, given how much I was able to get done this morning without eighty pounds of children hanging off of my body.
*