In the Stillness(90)

“Did you throw the letters away?”

Marion shakes her head. “Goodness, no. They’re his—wasn’t my place. You bet your behind I thought about it six or seven . . . hundred times over the last sixty years. But, I have his letters to me, and that’s the point.”

I stay for lunch with George and Marion, and we talk about upcoming holiday plans before I drive in refreshed quiet back to my apartment.

Sifting through my mail as I walk up the stairs, I stop at a large envelope addressed to me in my mother’s handwriting. We haven’t spoken since the boys’ birthday party; any communication has been through my father. I felt her apology was just this side of half-assed, and she clearly felt the same or she wouldn’t be avoiding me. Opening the envelope, I find a note and another envelope. I sit as I take in her words.

Natalie,

I’ve had a long time to think since our talk at Max and Oliver’s birthday party. You’re a strong young woman who I’m proud to call my daughter. Your father tells me he’s been speaking with Bill Manning via e-mail for the last ten years. He’s shown me some of the correspondence, and I’m sorry. I misjudged you, and I misjudged Ryker. You two have been through so much, and I’m sorry for any stress I added to the situation.

Needing a small break from this revelation of honesty, I pour a glass of wine and continue reading her letter at the table. I’m thrilled my dad told her about his friendship with Bill, but am still uneasy about where this letter might be going.

Now, for the part I’m not proud of. I thought I was helping you by trying to control what contact you had with Ryker while you were home for Winter break the month after he was deployed. You were so sad, Natalie . . . I can’t go back and give this to you when it came, but I hope, somehow, you can forgive me.

Love, Mom.

What the hell? I reach for the other unmarked envelope. Opening it, I find another envelope. This one, though, has Ryker’s handwriting on it. A mix of sadness and rage flies through me as I see it was sent to my parents’ house a few days after Christmas. From Afghanistan. This would have been Ryker’s first letter to me, since they left somewhere around Christmas, though I didn’t know the exact date. We sent loads of letters to each other while I was home, and never talked about any specifically, just that we liked getting them. There’s no reason I would have known I missed one. And she knew that. The only reason I’m not on the road to Pennsylvania to strangle her right now is that she kept the letter. For whatever reason, she kept it. Unopened.

Unfolding the page, I set it on the table. Leaning back to stare at it, I decide more wine is in order before I look at the words.



December 25, 2001

Natalie,

Merry Christmas, Gorgeous.

I miss you already. I’ve missed you from the second I couldn’t see you anymore after we said goodbye. Don’t go anywhere, okay? Some of the guys with girlfriends have told them not to wait for them, some proposed before they left, and one guy even got married. I know we aren’t ready for the last two, but I’m not ready for the first one. Just . . . don’t go anywhere. Before you know it, I’ll be home and we can pick up where we left off—me telling you how much I love you, and hearing your beautiful voice telling me how much you love me.

We can do this.

I love you.

Ry





Resisting the urge to call my mother, resisting the urge to call Ryker, I calmly walk to my bedroom and reach for the box under the bed. This letter doesn’t change what happened with Ryker and me back then; it’s not like not receiving this letter caused me to break up with him. We said some version of these things to each other in almost every letter we sent. Something about this being his first letter, though, hurts in a different way. His first thoughts from a desert a million miles away were about me, were about us. Confident Ryker knew we could get through anything. Opening the lid, I place this letter on top, where it belongs, before curling onto my bed and crying myself to sleep.





Chapter 45





“How many Christmases were you in Korea, George?”

George and I are alone today, as Marion is a bit under the weather. Just a week shy of Christmas, she didn’t want to get me sick, George says.

“Two. What about your soldier? How many did you two miss?”

“One.” Though, really, eleven. “I just got the letter he sent me on Christmas when he got to Afghanistan.” I quickly tell George the story, giving a basic backstory of my mother’s general awfulness while I was with Ryker.

“Have you spoken with your mother since you read the letter?”

I shake my head. “No. I think I need to decide if I’m more angry or grateful. That will skew the direction of the conversation.”

“She held onto it, though, Bug . . .”

“I know,” I sigh. “Oh! The boys made you Christmas cards.” Pulling the cards from my bag, I catch a smile on George’s face.

“Is this me and Marion?” He turns the cards in a full circle, inspecting them playfully.

“Yes,” I chuckle, “it is.”

“What’s on my back?”

I squint at the picture. “Oh, that’s a cape.” Seeing the question cross his face, I offer more, “I told him you were an “Army guy”—”