In the Stillness(5)

“Surprise me. You’re a great mom, you know that?” He says things like this when he feels bad that my entire identity has morphed into something he knows damn well I never wanted. He’s assuring me that I’m doing it well—this thing I hate doing.

Mom—the most four-letter three-letter word I know.





Chapter 3





Eric never made it home for dinner last night. The fight was epic, and I made him sleep on the couch. It scared me how much I thought about those razors in the dumpster. Just two times and it’s become the first thing I think about when the dark side takes over. I sobbed into my pillow all night while Eric snoozed down the hall.

“Baby, wake up.” Eric kisses my forehead. I grumble. “Listen, I’m really sorry about last night. I took today off. I want you to get out of the house and do something for yourself today.”

Silently, I resent the implication that he’s “allowing” me to go off by myself for the day. I sit up, smile, and kiss him on the lips. He wraps his hand around the back of my neck in an attempt to deepen the kiss. I let him. It’s been so long since I’ve had a day alone—a whole day.

After I shower, I find him and the boys in the kitchen, dumping sprinkles onto bubbling pancakes.

“Mommy look! Daddy let us put sprinkles on our pancakes!” Max points excitedly to the griddle.

“Mmm,” I kiss his little cheek, “those look delicious. Have fun today, boys.” I kiss them all on the head, Eric included, before heading to the door.

“Where you off to today?” Eric puts plates on the table, situates the boys, and meets me at the door.

I shrug. “I’m going to drive around for a while. Maybe grab some lunch.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Are you gonna call Tosha?”

“She’s still at a conference in L.A., I think. I’ll keep myself occupied, don’t worry.”

Ten minutes later I’m on my knees in front of Lucas Fisher’s grave at the edge of the huge Catholic cemetery with tears pouring down my face.

I shouldn’t be here. At all. The last time I was here was about three days before my parents pulled me out of school for a year. I screamed at him—I screamed at a grave. Today, I’m not screaming. I’m just . . . remembering. Remembering how this all really started.

*

Ryker and I had been together for about four months by September of 2001. He was enrolled at Amherst College and we met at a concert on the Amherst common at the end of our freshman year. He was wearing a grey t-shirt with “National Guard” in black block letters across his toned chest. At a height I placed around 6’5”, he was so striking, I had to sway my tipsy self over to him and say “hi.” He had a blonde buzz-cut that let me see the tight muscles in his neck each time he tilted his head.

“I’m Natalie,” I giggled, “you’re cute.”

I watched the heat wrap around the back of his neck and up to his cheeks. “Thanks. I’m Ryker Manning. You’re hot.”

“National Guard, huh?” I pressed my palms onto his pecs. I was more forward, then.

“National Guard.” He grinned, grabbed my wrists, and pulled me into a kiss. Just like that. Four seconds after meeting Ryker Manning, I was standing on the common kissing him.

“Who’s your friend, dude?” A slightly shorter guy stepped to Ryker’s side.

“This is my new friend, Natalie.” Ryker laughed, “Natalie, this is my best friend, Lucas.”

Lucas was a childhood friend of Ryker’s who went to Westfield State. He was also in the National Guard, which seemed like a really good idea in June of 2000 when they graduated high school.

In all honesty, all “National Guard” meant to me, as far as Ryker was concerned, was it forced us to have one sexless weekend a month. That summer, I stayed in South Hadley, rather than returning home to Pennsylvania, because I’d gotten an internship. That’s what I told my parents anyway. In reality, I took enough classes to keep my dorm room for the summer, and I busted ass tending bar at Rafter’s Sports Bar. All in the name of Ryker Manning.

He was taking classes, too. He was a poly-sci major at Amherst and wanted to go into legislation. He spent that summer interning for the local government. I was able to sneak him away at the beginning of August for a Dave Matthews Band concert in Hartford, CT. Tosha and Lucas outright refused to go—they hated DMB. Ryker wasn’t crazy about them, either. But, he was crazy enough about me to go.

He kind of stood with his hands in his pockets and nodded along to most of the songs, but when they played “The Space Between”—a new song of theirs at the time—and I went nuts, he laughed.

“Shh!” I scolded playfully. “Just listen.”

By the end of the song he was standing behind me with his arms wrapped around my shoulders, and I was swallowed up in his massive arms. We swayed to the music as his lips rested on the top of my head. It’s my favorite memory of Ryker Manning, August 3, 2001.

In the two weeks leading up to September 11th, Ryker and I hadn’t seen much of each other, as classes were getting underway and we were both workaholics. It was a gorgeous Tuesday morning. I was putting in some work study time at the campus library when someone said, “A plane crashed between the Twin Towers.” We all kind of looked around with a wow, that sucks look on our faces.