In the Stillness(61)

“No.”

“K,” he stands and takes the rest of the Advil with him, “night.”

“Night.”

As if I’m going to be able to sleep now.





Chapter 30





My fingers glide along the metal railing of the stairwell in my Mt. Holyoke dorm.

What the hell am I doing here?

Just ahead I spot Ryker, carrying someone. My chest clenches as I realize it’s me; my right arm dangling limp as he clutches me to his chest.

“Help her! Please, someone help her!” Ryker’s voice is hoarse and sounds weak, like he’s crying.

Following quietly as though I’m going to disturb the scene, I watch as we come upon ambulances and fire trucks through the door.

Right, the fire alarm.

“Sir, what happened?” A fire lieutenant runs alongside Ryker as he races toward the nearest ambulance.

“Help her! Help her, I can’t tell if she’s breathing!” He probably would have known what to do if he wasn’t so strung out on Oxycontin.

In a flash I see myself on a gurney and locked behind the ambulance doors while Ryker bangs his fists on them, begging to be let in. Another flash and I’m inside the ambulance with my body, banging my fists banging on the door, staring into his dilated pupils as the police approach him from behind.

My screams come out as a whisper. “Let me out! He didn’t do anything! Stop driving, Stop!”

No one listens, and I’m forced to watch Ryker be wrestled to the ground by police as I’m driven further and further away from everything I’d held as true up until that moment.

Then, my eyes open.

Sitting up, I’m relieved that I don’t feel nearly as shitty as I should. Unfortunately, I remember every single detail of my self-medication project from yesterday. The low grumble of a lawnmower turns my attention out the window, where I find Ryker on a riding mower wearing faded jeans, a t-shirt, and a tattered baseball cap. I can tell from up here that it’s his old Red Sox hat.

I can’t believe I slept until nine-thirty. Walking down the stairs, I scroll through my phone and find only one missed call. From Tosha. I call her back as I wander into the kitchen, relieved at the smell of freshly-brewed coffee.

“Hey skank, how are things?” I laugh at her greeting.

“Interesting . . .” I chuckle, opening a few cupboards until I find the one with the coffee mugs.

“What’s going on?”

With a deep breath and an eye-roll I tell Tosha about Eric coming to her apartment yesterday, and the events leading up to where I’m currently standing.

“Natalie. For f*ck’s sake, I leave you alone for a day and this is where you find yourself?” Her voice turns serious. “Are you okay?”

Placing the pot back on the coffeemaker, I turn around and jump a little when I see Ryker in the doorway, looking as confused as he has over the last twenty-four hours. On auto-pilot, I turn and reach for another mug, pouring him a cup as I continue with Tosha on the phone.

“I’m fine, Tosh. Just having some coffee right now, then . . . who knows anymore.” I walk to the fridge and take out the cream, setting it next to Ryker’s mug.

“He’s in the room now, isn’t he?”

“You betcha.” I smile.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am. I’ll call you later.”

She groans in frustration. “This is unbelievable, you know that?”

“I do. Bye.”

I watch Ryker pour the cream into his coffee and tuck the container back into its spot on the door of the fridge. He doesn’t ask me if I want any, because he remembers—I drink my coffee black.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, raising his mug a little.

“Well, thank you for letting me sleep it off here. Sorry about that. You should know I don’t usually do—”

“I can tell,” he chuckles, “no one sets out to drink a pitcher of margaritas. Are you hungry?”

“Coffee first, then food.” I lean my back against his counter. An island with a thick butcher’s block on top of it separates us.

“Of course. It’s wicked nice out, want to sit on the porch?”

I shrug. “Sure.”

Naturally, there’s a porch swing. I balance myself on it, and Ryker leans his shoulder against the pillar opposite me. I think better of asking him to sit next to me. This is all too much as it is. The awkward silence is already churning my stomach.

Ryker sets his mug on the railing and puts his hands in his pockets as he rolls his shoulders back once. He smells like freshly-cut grass. It’s refreshing. “Look, Nat . . . does it bother you that I call you ‘Nat’?”

“Of course not.” It never has . . . not from him.

“I spent most of the night thinking about what you said . . . about ruining my life.”

Any thoughts I had about eating breakfast fly out the window as I watch him struggle to find the right words.

“We don’t have to talk about this right now, Ryker.”

He looks to his left and talks to the fields as the sun highlights his face. “No. We do. I can’t believe you’ve spent the last nine years thinking you ruined my life. It wasn’t like that, Natalie.”