In the Stillness(37)

“Will you stay here tonight?” I asked without a second of hesitation.

Ryker lifted my chin and kissed my lips with a softness I thought he no longer possessed. “I don’t want to stay anywhere else. Thank you for standing by me. . . I don’t deserve you.”

I smiled in his presence for the first time in a while. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. I deserve you, and you deserve me.”

“I love you, Natalie.”

“I love you too, Ryker.”

That was the first time we’d said “I love you” to each other since the night he first came home. He hoisted me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist as we kissed all the way to my bed. When he set me down, we quickly tore off our clothes and he paused. He looked me over like it was our first time, passion pouring from his eyes.

“I love you so much,” he whispered into my ear before making another move.

It felt like our first time. It felt hopeful. It was, in fact, the first time I’d felt hope for him and us since he’d come home. God, it was perfect . . .

*

Several hours later, Eric’s mom picked Oliver up from the Audiologist once his tests were complete, so we could chat with the doctor uninterrupted. Eric showed up halfway through the exam and looked like he’d been through the ringer. He said they were moving offices and the elevators were down.

It’s seriously always something.

The tests were more involved than I thought they’d be. They did some with headphones, needing Oliver to respond one way or another. But, they also taped electrodes on his head, and did some tests putting a small microphone in his ear. The doctor said they were “auditory brainstem response” (ABR) and “otoacoustic emissions” (OAE) tests.

Sitting in the office with Eric, my nerves are getting the best of me and my palms begin to sweat.

“What’s the matter?” Eric asks, reaching for my hand.

I pull it away and rub my palms nervously on my dress. “This isn’t going to be good, Eric. If it was just fluid in his ear, or nothing, they would have sent us home with him and had us make an appointment with his pediatrician.”

Eric rolls his eyes. “Seriously, Natalie? You can’t stay off the internet for five seconds, can you?”

Before I can stab him and flee the scene, Dr. Moore comes in. And sits down. My throat tightens as I try to read her eyes.

“What’d you find?” I ask before the doctor has a chance to open her mouth. I hope my tone is just stern enough that she knows I don’t want to beat around the bush.

Her eyes volley between Eric’s and mine for a second before she takes a careful, but noted, breath. “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson . . . our testing today shows that Oliver has something called auditory neuropathy.”

I don’t recall coming across this information on my intense WebMD search the other day, so I’m begging my brain to retain whatever she’s saying, though I can hear my heart pounding through my ears.

“While we’re not sure of the cause of auditory neuropathy, in Oliver’s case it seems to be damage to the inner hair cells. Those are the cells that transmit vibrations from sound into electrical signals for the brain to interpret as sound. That’s why he seems to be jumpy sometimes, and not others, as you described. Sometimes the hair cells function normally, and sometimes they don’t. This is one of the reasons we don’t necessarily recommend hearing aids for cases like this.”

I feel Eric’s hand over mine as I lean forward. “Hearing aids?”

Dr. Moore’s face changes just enough to send my stomach into a tailspin. “Unfortunately, the condition is usually degenerative, and—”

“Wait. Oliver’s going to go deaf? Is that what you’re telling me?” Heat overtakes my face as tears strangle my voice.

Eric interjects, “No, Natalie, she hasn’t said that.”

“She said degenerative, Eric. We’re both educated enough to know what that means.” I turn back to the doctor. “That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”

Dr. Moore lets out a slight sigh. “Yes.”

Change never comes slowly, brewing on the horizon. It’s always in a second. Balanced on the tip of a razor blade, in empty pill bottles, behind two pink lines, or learning that one of your children is slowly slipping into a world of silence. And you can’t leave your husband. Not now.





Chapter 19





“Thank God the Clarke School is in Northampton, and they have a kindergarten program,” I say to Eric as I pour a glass of wine after the boys have gone to bed. The Clarke School for Hearing and Speech is a fabulous school, with campuses across the state. And, thankfully, one right down the road. “I’ll call them in the morning.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit hasty? Shouldn’t we see where this goes?” Eric sits at the kitchen table, elbows rooted in the light wood.

“What? Were you not in the same office I was?” My voice cracks for a second, “Ollie’s going deaf, Eric, and we need to get all the support in place before his hearing is totally gone.” I sit and gulp my wine.

“So, what, we’re all going to have to learn sign language now?” His petulant tone rises like bile through my stomach.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does that not fit into your pretty little schedule? Yes, we’re going to have to learn sign language. Again, you heard her, Dr. Moore said it’s clear that Ollie’s starting to teach himself how to read lips. Don’t you notice how he always stares really hard at our faces when we talk?”