In the Stillness(75)

By the end of his sentence we’re both crying and wiping our eyes, pulling away from each other to retrieve tissues.

“Thank you for coming today, Ryker . . .” Dr. Greene wraps up my session and sends us back into the world after giving Ryker her number and strongly suggesting he call her.

Ryker and I walk silently to the parking lot, where I see that his truck is parked next to my car.

“Thank you, Ryker . . .” I rest my hand on the door as I open it.

“You’re welcome.” He shrugs and opens his door.

“I want you to know—”

Ryker cuts me off, “It’s okay, Nat. I’m glad I came today. I’m sorry . . .”

“For what?”

“I’ve spent all this time angry at myself over hurting you, that it never occurred to me that you weren’t wicked pissed at me for everything. It never occurred to me that you were upset, or still hurting . . .” In a split second it looks like all the guilt I threw up in Dr. Greene’s office landed on him.

“Ryker, no—”

“I need to take some time to work through this, okay? I’m not mad at you, or anything, I just . . . need to process everything.” He’s not looking at me. I understand that to mean I’m to stay away for a while.

“Okay,” I nod, “I’ll talk to you later.” Sliding into my car, I hear him mumble “later,” before we both pull out of the parking lot.





Chapter 37





Ten years ago, I could spend hours wandering the streets or vegging at home after a therapy session. Today, a few hours after getting home and eating dinner, Eric calls in a panic.

I pause before saying hello, assessing the noise in the background, and quickly determine chaos is in full force.

“Eric? What’s going on?”

“Natalie,” he says almost breathlessly, causing my anxiety to rise a bit, “Ollie’s having a full-on tantrum and Max is freaking out . . . I can’t get Ollie to look at me to see what I’m saying and my sign language is total shit . . . I don’t know what to do.”

I want to wring his neck, I really do. First of all, it’s an hour past their bedtime, so of course they’re exhausted. Second, the therapists have talked with us about tantrums in deaf children, and how Oliver’s likely to act out for a while because he’s scared, angry, and whatever other emotion kicks in when you’re robbed of one of your senses. Instead, I use my exhaustion from the day’s emotional upheaval to feign levelheadedness.

“I’ll be right over. Sit tight.”

Ten minutes later, I can hear the screams coming from the 2nd floor Amity Street apartment—a place I only stand at the threshold of now when I bring the boys here every other week. The full-week alternating between our two houses seems to work best for them, for now.

Opening the door, I find Oliver face-down on the kitchen floor, kicking and screaming louder than usual, Max crying on the couch, and Eric crouching down next to Oliver, yelling at him to sit up and look at him.

First things first. “Max, Honey, go in your room and get a book, Mommy will be there in a minute, okay?” Max hugs my legs for a split second before following my request.

“Eric!” He seems to just process that I’ve walked in. “He can’t hear you! Stop yelling at him!” Though, yelling at Eric feels good.

“He was hearing me a little earlier today, Natalie!” Eric yells, running his hands through his hair. “He was sitting on my lap and I could . . .”

“They told us that his hearing could come and go without notice . . .” Not wanting to rehash our son’s diagnosis for what feels like the thirtieth time, I kneel beside Ollie and scoop him into my arms. Holding him tight against my chest, he’s still screaming. “He’s scared, Eric . . .” My chin quivers slightly as I rock him back to forth. “Go check on Max, please.”

Eric heads down the hall and I stand, still holding Oliver, and walk to the couch. Sitting down, I pull his face forward and smile. He presses his head into my shoulder and keeps crying. Logically, I know that this won’t do any good, but I can’t help it; I dip my chin so Ollie and I are cheek-to-cheek—my lips resting lightly against the skin next to his ear—and I start singing.

Rocking side to side I sing the entirety of “Return to Pooh Corner” to my son, who can’t hear a word of his once-favorite song.

By the time I reach the end, Oliver is fast asleep on my chest. I keep humming, in hopes that the vibrations from my throat are comforting to him somehow, and walk him to their bedroom, where Max is passed out as well. Eric’s standing in the center of their room, watching Max, as I set Oliver next to him.

Max stirs a little and opens his eyes. “Mommy, are you staying here?”

“No, Sweetie,” I whisper, “Mommy is going back to her house.”

“But I want you to stay here.” His sleepy voice slices right through me.

“I know, Honey. You get to come back to Mommy’s house in a few days, okay? Then we’ll have lots of fun with Auntie Tosha.”

“Okay,” he yawns his resignation, and Eric and I slip out as he falls back asleep.

Walking into the kitchen behind me, Eric lets out a long sigh.

“Thank you so much for coming, Natalie. I didn’t know what to do . . .”