When he leaves, I consider texting Ryker, but can’t imagine what he’ll do from so far away. I text Eric to let him know I’ll be pretty unavailable for the next few days, so to only call me if it’s an emergency. I need the quiet today.
Marion lost her soldier. No matter when, no matter how, losing your soldier is unlike anything I can explain. I can only imagine it based on the fear that lingers in my chest. The fear that never really goes away.
A swift, pounding headache produced by too much crying and too little sleep sits shotgun on my drive to the church on Thursday. Two days of silence found me somewhere between reading through Ryker’s letters on the floor at 2am one morning, and sleeping until 9am this morning, making me almost late for the service.
Parking my car in the back of the lot, I’m thankful to see Bill’s car waiting for me. He must have seen me pull in, because as soon as I open my door, he opens his. Walking to his car, I manage a polite wave before my eyes dart to the passenger door as it, too, opens. Nearly slipping on the ice-slicked parking lot, I come to a stop. My lips part as Ryker starts toward me.
“Ryker!” Ignoring the ice, I rush to his side the car, where he lifts me into a fierce hug. “What are you doing here?” I sob into his black peacoat, my feet suspended a few inches from the ground.
“Dad called,” he whispers. “You should have called me, Nat.” Kissing my cheek, he sets me down.
“You flew home just for this?” I whisper back.
I feel him nod before he says, “I came for you.” Kissing my cheek, he sets me down.
“You didn’t have to—”
Ryker silences me by wiping a tear from my cheek with his black cotton glove before locking his fingers with mine. “Let’s get inside. They’ll be starting soon, and it’s freezing.”
Bill walks on my other side, resting his hand on the center of my back as we ascend the steps of the church.
The funeral is a full military affair that immediately calls to mind Lucas’s funeral, only this time I have Ryker at my side. I can see in Ryker’s jaw that he’s thinking the same thing. He doesn’t let go of my hand through the entire service.
As we were the last in, we’re the last out when the service is over. Walking through the connector before the front door, a small voice calls out.
“Natalie.” Marion appears from a side room with a smile on her face.
“Marion.” As I walk toward her, she extends her arms. “I’m so very sorry, Marion,” I sniff as we embrace.
“Thank you, Sweetheart. It’s okay, though. He had a great life.” With glistening eyes, she peers over my shoulder, reminding me that Ryker and Bill are behind me.
“Oh, Marion, this is Bill Manning, and,” I take a deep breath, “this is Ryker.”
Marion’s cheeks turn a fresh shade of pink as she eyes Ryker from head-to-toe. “I thought you were in Wyoming?”
Ryker cracks a little grin and looks at me.
“You’ve come up.” I shrug passively.
“Listen, you two,” Marion starts as the funeral director approaches her with her coat, “I want you to come to my daughter’s house tomorrow, around noon.”
Ryker and I look at each other for a confused moment.
“Just do it,” she butts in, “Norman from the funeral home will give you Karen’s address. See you then.”
And just like that, tiny, feisty Marion leaves the church, having given us our orders for tomorrow.
Walking back through the parking lot, I reach for Ryker’s hand. “Thank you for coming, Ry. When do you have to go back to Wyoming?”
Bill gets into his car as Ryker walks me to mine. “I’m not,” he says as we reach my door.
“Why not?”
“I told you already,” he smiles, running his hand down my cheek. “Want me to come back to your place with you?”
He told me?
Still trying to discern his response, I shake my head. “No, it’s okay. Just come to my place in the morning and we can go to Karen’s. What do you mean you told me?” My eyebrows furrow in confusion.
Ryker looks away for a second as he sees it hit me.
I came for you.
He didn’t come today for me. He came today for me.
“Ryker . . .” Ten years, countless tears, and months of therapy later, I find myself at a loss for words.