I’m surprised at my own response. “No, I haven’t. Ever. I’ve been kind of busy, you know. And . . . I didn’t even think about him much until recently—”
“That’s total bullshit, Natalie, and you know it.” Tosha sounds almost angry. “No one else I know who doesn’t have any connection to the military is as much of a stickler for going to Memorial Day and Veteran’s Day and Fourth of July events as you.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I snap back.
“It’s like you’ve spent the last ten years trying to repent for keeping him out of the National Guard when he wanted to reenlist. Like you think if you’re super active in supporting the troops that will pay back some debt you think you owe. You don’t owe anyone anything, Natalie. In fact, you probably saved his fucking life.”
I’ve never given that a thought, that maybe I saved his life. Not likely. Guilt is stronger than reason, and I don’t buy what she’s saying.
“So what do I do?” I turn toward Tosha with tears in my eyes.
“You go figure out your marriage, or what’s left of it, and only think about Ryker Manning when you’re ready. You haven’t seen him in ten years. Maybe you’ll go another ten . . . if you want to.”
I leave her last words to bump around in my brain as I get out of her car and trudge up to my apartment . . . my real life. Pausing for a moment with my door on the handle, I listen for signs of what I’m about to walk into. Silence points to a successful nap time, allowing me to open the door with a tinge less dread than I’d walked up the stairs with.
“Hey,” Eric mumbles as he stares at the TV.
“Hey.” I take my bag to the kitchen and unpack the emotionally tainted produce.
“How’d everything go at the Clarke School today?” Eric asks purely as a matter of formality, since he hasn’t turned down the TV to hear a real answer.
“Everything’s fine. We’re pretty lucky Ollie already knows how to speak and has probably been reading lips for a while, anyway, they said. He’ll still see their speech and hearing therapist, and we’ll all learn sign language to give him the most options for communication.” Ryker’s half-smile blinds all other images from my mind as I try to discuss my child. “Still,” I continue with a sigh, “they suggest really focusing on being face-to-face with him when we speak so he can read lips. We’ve got to work on that with Max, too . . .”
Eric’s footsteps startle me from my speech. His hand feels foreign as it brushes the spot Ryker’s hands rested just half an hour ago. An awkward sense of betrayal swirls around me. I grip the counter and hang my head.
“Natalie . . .” Eric glides his hand up to my shoulder as my tears mockingly tickle my cheeks.
Despite me telling him I don’t love him, and having told him before that I hate him, Eric pulls me into a comforting embrace. My arms hang uselessly at my side. He knows everything, Eric does. He knows I missed school for a semester because I was a cutter with a borderline-abusive boyfriend, and that we’d made a spectacular mess of both of our lives. He knows I didn’t want to have his children, or get married just because it was the “proper” thing to do. Eric knows I resentfully put my aspirations on hold so he could fulfill his. And, still, he tries to hug my pain away.
“I’m sorry, Eric.” I apologize for things I can’t verbalize. Things from ten years ago and things from yesterday. I’m just sorry we’ve gotten in this far before I’ve had the clarity to leave. It’s like I never considered it an option.
“Me too, Hon,” he whispers as he softly rubs my back. “I know this is stressful, Nat, but we’ll get through it, okay?” He pulls away, holding me at arm’s length. “You’re an amazing mom to those boys. They’re lucky to have you.” His eyes say something else, something I can’t quite read, but I appreciate his sentiment. “Look,” he continues, “graduation is Friday, then the boys are going to your parents’, and we can have some alone time to figure things out.”
“I don’t really know what there is to figure out, Eric.” I’m not trying to be cruel, but I don’t want him to interpret my tears as surrender. He’ll want to talk about getting us back on track. There’s no track. Either way, I can’t have that conversation now.
My eyes must look as empty as they feel, because Eric takes one look at me and drops his hands.
“Whatever.” He walks back to the recliner and resumes his responsibilities to his Fantasy Baseball team.
“Yeah, whatever.”
I trudge to our bedroom and rifle through my closet until I find my old denim jacket, still proudly displaying its yellow ribbon. The silk under my fingers suggests a lightness and comfort that doesn’t exist between its fibers. I replay Ryker’s smile and honest hug today, letting myself wonder if he’s finally come home. Shaking my head, I shove the jacket back into my closet. Today was just some sort of sentimental wormhole through which Ryker and I slipped together for a short time. He’s alive and, honestly, that’s more than I expected.
Chapter 24