In the Stillness(14)

“Me, too,” I whisper, kissing his cheek once more.

I close their door tightly behind me and take a deep breath with my hand still on the handle, trying not to put too much weight into the words of carefree four-year-olds.

As soon as I walk into the kitchen, Eric comes through the door.

Can I catch a damn break today?

I only look at him from the corner of my eye before turning my back, reaching for one wine glass and pouring myself a slightly too-full glass.

“Please be quiet, they just fell asleep.”

“Natalie, I understand that you’re upset—”

“Clearly you don’t, or you’d leave me the hell alone.” I gulp the wine three times, causing my eyes to water. “You were an absolute prick to that poor girl today, Eric, and it was totally uncalled for.” I toss the wineglass into the sink. It shatters, and I don’t care as I turn for the hallway.

“Hey!” He lunges for me and grabs my arm, spinning me around. “You disrespected me in my office in front of one of my students, and you’re mad at me?” When he’s mad, really mad, a vein pulses down the center of his forehead.

“The girl was a mess and you were a total pompous ass.”

“Students come to us all the time with stuff, Natalie. Only so many grandparents and aunts can die before you become a cynic.”

I try to tug my arm away, but he grips harder. “Did you not see the horror on her face? What the hell is wrong with you? She was as scared as she’s ever been in her whole life, and you didn’t even look at her; you couldn’t be bothered to address her.” As the tears fall, it hits him.

“She’s not you, Nat.” His tone is somewhere between condescending and remorseful.

“That’s what you don’t get. She is me—they’re all me—and to talk to her about her responsibilities—”

“Is this all because you went to that kid’s grave the other day? Is that why you’re being so sensitive?”

“Fuck you, Eric,” I growl.

“Well, that’s two “f*ck you’s” for me today, you got any more?” I jump when he shouts.

“Yeah, I do. Fuck you for forgetting that that kid has a name—it’s Lucas, Lucas Fisher. Fuck you for pretending I don’t know exactly how Danielle felt standing in your office. And . . . just . . . f*ck you.”

I turn again to leave and he tugs me back once more.

“Let go of me,” I let out in a low, calculating tone.

He shakes his head, hopeless panic in his eyes. “I’m not going to let you go. Not ever. We need to figure this out, Natalie. I know the past few years have been hard for you, Honey, I really do, but I’ll be done with my degree in just a few weeks. Then the boys will be in kindergarten in the fall and you can go back to school.”

“If they even accept me, Eric. I got my master’s, taught a few community college classes, and then had the boys. I’m not super employable either; I haven’t worked in so long. And, even if I did get in to the program again, we’d have to spend another two semesters in residence at the university. For research I’ll have to travel, study, and move. A lot. That’s what excited me about the program in the first place, moving all over the world in the name of research.” I tug my hand away. “No one cares about the anthropology of Amity Street. I’m taking a bath.”

“I’m sorry,” he says so quietly I can’t be sure if he’s talking to himself or me.

Yeah, me too.

*

“Jesus, Nat, you’re a mess. Come here.” Tosha led me to the bed when I got home from saying goodbye to Ryker.

“Oh my God, Tosh, it was awful, just . . .” I broke into heavy sobs and pressed my face into the pillow as she rubbed my back. “Little kids were saying goodbye to their dads, and moms, and a guy’s wife was pregnant.”

“Yep, it’s a bitch. Not all soldiers are unattached eighteen-year-olds,” she sighed as she played with my hair.

“I’ve gotta shower or something,” my voice stuttered uncontrollably against my tears. Screaming wouldn’t help, crying hadn’t helped, but something had to.

I ran to the bathroom and fell to my knees in front of the toilet. I painfully heaved my breakfast for several minutes before leaning back and thumping my head against the tiled wall. I slammed my fists behind me a little harder than planned. But, it felt good, somehow, to force the frustration, anger, and fear out of my body onto the cold tile. The pain it returned was a physical echo of my emotional hell. I punched it again. And again. And again.

Ryker’s gone.

My parents don’t care.

They think it’s great that this “distraction” is out of the picture for a while.





At some point I started yelling and screaming between my punches, causing Tosha to force her way into the bathroom.

“Natalie! Natalie, stop, you’re bleeding!” She grabbed my wrists.

Yep. I was bleeding. The skin on the outside of my hands cracked open against the ragged grout. I was breathless with adrenaline when I met Tosha’s eyes.

“Sorry,” I panted, standing to head to the sink.

“Feeeeeel better?” She stretched out with exaggerated question.

I gripped the sink and stared at my reflection as relief washed over me.