In the Stillness(93)

“I miss you, Buddy. Merry Christmas.” I kiss two fingertips and press them against his name, before hurrying back to the warmth of my car.

When I arrive back to my apartment, the interior is alive with anticipation as I hurry to the bedroom to open Bill’s gift. I don’t know why I feel I need to sit on the bed to open this, but knowing Bill Manning, sitting is best anyway.

A small gift tag on the front of the package simply reads:

Ryker’s sits on his dresser in his house. You need one, too. Love, Bill

With a racing heart, I tear open the package, gasping in my silent bedroom. I’m holding a framed picture—the same one Ryker had on his desk in his dad’s house. It’s the one Bill took the day Ryker left for Afghanistan, the picture that shows us saying goodbye. The picture where Ryker’s white knuckles beg, don’t go.

Staring tearfully at this picture, I wish I could tell that girl everything I know. The good, the bad, and the ugly that lies ahead. The tears. The triumph. More than anything I want to tell her she’ll get to hold that boy like that again one day. But, that’s the one thing I can’t tell her. Because I don’t know.

Walking to my bookshelf, I set the picture front and center. I laugh, remembering how I thought that day was going to be the worst day of my life. As it turns out, it was one of the best—we promised we’d wait for each other.

My phone dings in the bedroom, indicating a text message. I open my phone to find a reply from Ryker.

Ry: Merry Christmas, Nat. Talk to you soon.

I think I really hope so . . .





Chapter 46





“Have you talked to anyone about that letter?”

My visits with Dr. Green have decreased to every other week, and this is the first time I’ve seen her since my mom’s experiment in apology.

“No.”

“Not even Ryker?”

“Not even Ryker.”

“Why not?” She tilts her chin, almost knowingly.

“Well,” I sigh, “what’s the point? I don’t mean that sarcastically, either. I promise.” We chuckle in unison. “I’m at a point now, I think, where I don’t need to dump everything on everyone all the time. I mean, I don’t feel like my friends look at it as me dumping on them. I . . . just don’t need to right now.”

“Excellent, Natalie.” She smiles and takes a careful breath. “Have you spoken with your mother since you got the letter?”

“Yes.”

I tell Dr. Greene that my mother and I had a short, tear-filled conversation where I thanked her for not destroying the letter. She said that once she found out my and Bill were still talking, my dad clued her in on the last ten years, and what Ryker had been through. She said when she put that together with what I told her at the boys’ birthday party, she realized her short-sightedness.

“How did things end with you two on the phone?” Dr. Greene checks her watch, letting me know our time is almost up.

“Things are okay, they’ll be fine. I guess it’ll just take some time, like everything else.” With a smile and an appointment for three weeks from now, I leave the office and look forward to a quiet afternoon.

While I’ve learned to savor the quiet when it comes, I’m grateful that Tosh and Liz will be home from Hawaii at the end of the week. As I finish up a chapter of a book I’ve been getting lost in, my phone rings with a number I’m unfamiliar with. It’s our “413” area code, so I answer.

“Hello?”

“Natalie Collins?” a woman’s voice greets me.

“Yes, this is.”

“Hi, this is Karen Matthews, George and Marion Frank’s daughter.” Her tone tells me to sit.

“Oh, okay, hi.” I know I sound breathless, but can’t help it.

“Dad passed away last night.” She clears her throat as she finishes, allowing for a small sob to escape my throat unheard.

“I’m so sorry,” I make out between not-so-silent tears. I haven’t seen George since Christmas, and Marion the week before that. “What happened?”

“He passed away in his sleep.” After a few sniffs, she manages to tell me that Marion got my number from the Soldiers’ Home, and asked that I be called about the funeral arrangements. It’ll be in two days.

“Thank you for calling, Karen.”

Hanging up, I collapse to the floor in a puddle. Not wanting to bother Tosha on her vacation, but knowing I need to talk to someone—and soon—I call Bill.

“Hey, Nat, what’s going on?”

“Bill . . .” My ugly cry reaches his ear in no time.

“Natalie? What’s going on? Are you hurt?”

“George . . . from the Soldiers’ Home . . .” is all I can make out.

“Oh, Nat . . . where are you?” Bill’s voice cracks.

“At my apartment.”

“Sit tight.”

Twenty minutes after hanging up, Bill shows up at my door. I don’t care how he got my address, I’m just thankful he has it. Though I don’t remember when I stopped, I start crying all over again when I open the door and find his Ryker-blue eyes staring back at me. His hug absorbs my sobs as we move to my couch, where he lets me cry for several minutes. After I calm down, and he—at some point—makes tea and hands it to me, I tell him about my conversation with Karen.