They sat together in silence; not touching, not even looking at one another. But both were completely aware of the other's presence. They were grateful for each other's company, but it had a strange effect. It was both comforting and torturous, all at the same time. Because, while they were in tune to one another's feelings, to one another's grief, the fact that there was just the two of them only served to remind them of the deep emptiness, of their loss. The silence was deafening, and it could have gone on forever, had Grace not entered the room.
"Mommy, Grandma and Grandpa are here," she said, looking at the two figures sitting side by side on the wall in the garden. The brunette turned and acknowledged the little girl.
"Tell them I'll be there in a minute, please…honey," she said, adding the term of endearment almost as an afterthought. Despite the grief, and the emptiness, and the all-consuming despair, she knew that she was still a mother, and that this little girl was looking to her for answers. Even if her questions had none. None at all. She couldn't fall apart, not in front of her daughter.
"We should go in, talk to them," the man next to her said. It was the first time he had spoken in hours. He had always been a man of few words, but this time his silence was wrought with pain and hurt. Summer shook her head.
"Not yet. I'm not ready," she said quietly. Ryan nodded. He understood; he wasn't ready either. Because going in to talk to Sandy and Kirsten meant they had to deal with the reality of the situation; funeral arrangements and life insurance policies. He couldn't move, not yet. He couldn't go back, that he knew. That part he understood, no matter how agonizing the fact was. But he wasn't ready to go forward yet, either. He was in limbo, out in the garden, sitting in silence with his sister-in-law.
"What am I going to do, Ryan?" Summer asked. The question was so quiet, so wrought with pain that she could barely get the words out, that Ryan almost didn't hear her. "What am I going to do?" Ryan shifted closer to her on the wall, gently putting his arm around her shoulders. Their silence had been broken, and with it, their unspoken pact to not touch. As soon as his hand rested on her shoulder, she broke down. Sobs wracked her tiny frame, and Ryan could soon feel the wetness through his shirt.
"I don't know," he said, his voice breaking. This was too much, even for him. "We'll do it together, though," he whispered. He wiped a tear from his cheek, focusing on a nearby flower to try to pull himself back together.
"What about Grace? And this one?" she asked, pointing to her stomach, full and round with her seventh month of pregnancy. "Oh, my god," she said, the realization of her loss hitting her all over again. She began to cry once more. Ryan realized that if he didn't nip this in the bud, it would take too long to recover, and Sandy and Kirsten would come out looking for them. They'd encroach on this sanctuary they'd created for themselves, and Ryan would rather leave it on his own terms.
"No, Summer, hey. Come on." She looked up at him. He smiled sadly down at her, wiping a tear from her cheek. "We have to go talk to them. You know we do." Summer nodded, and she wiped her face, readying herself to go into her house and deal with the fact that she was a widow.
"Okay, okay. I'm ready." They both stood up. Summer was unsteady on her feet, so Ryan put a comforting arm around her waist and led her out of the garden, out of their sanctuary, and into the future. A future without Seth, without her husband, without his brother. A future without his sarcasm or his smile or his jokes, or his comforting words or long, rambling telephone calls. They left their haven in the garden to move forward to a world without those things. And even though he understood he that he couldn't, Ryan wished he could go back. They entered the kitchen, and Summer immediately sat down before she lost her balance. Kirsten came over and gave Ryan a hug, not letting him go for a long, long time. Her face was pale and drawn, and she looked like she hadn't slept for days. Sandy, too, had deep bags under his eyes. After Kirsten let him go, Ryan approached his father. They stood in front of each other for a long time until Sandy pulled him into a tight embrace.
"We're so lucky to have you," he choked out. Ryan's heart broke. Sandy had just lost a son, a biological son who looked just like him, and here he was telling Ryan how much he loved him.
"I'm so sorry," Ryan said, his voice muffled by Sandy's shirt. And he was. He was sorry he couldn't do more to comfort them, he was sorry for their loss, he was sorry he hadn't been there to stop it from happening. He was just sorry.
"Uncle Ryan?" Grace tugged at his pant leg. He let go of Sandy and bent down to look the little girl in the eyes.
"Yes, Gracie?" he asked. She brought out a paper bag from behind her back, holding it out in front of Ryan.
"Daddy told me that if he ever left, I should give this to you. Mommy told me that Daddy's gone, so I think I should give it to you now." Ryan, eyes glistening, looked into the bag. He almost laughed. It was the first and only "Kid Chino" action figure. Seth had had them made for his own personal collection, all four of the main characters. He had left the one of Cosmo Girl on Marissa's grave, during a trip back to Newport over a decade ago. The ones of Little Miss Vixen and The Ironist stood on a table in his and Summer's bedroom. Ryan had no idea where he'd kept the one of Kid Chino all these years. He looked at his niece, her brown eyes so like Seth's.
"Thanks, Grace," he said, pulling her into a strong hug. He liked the feel enveloping her, of protecting another with all he had. He wished he could have done it for Seth when he most needed him, but he hadn't been there. And it tore at him. He straightened up, releasing Grace from his embrace and turned back to Sandy.
"How's Sophie?" he asked, concerned for his little sister.
"She's fine. She went to Julie's for the night. She wanted to be with Max." Ryan nodded. His sister was eleven; her emotions were unsteady on a good day, and he knew that stable, solid Max Bullit would help her process this news, and help her work through the all-encompassing grief. He looked back at Summer, sitting at the kitchen table with Kirsten, talking quietly, hiccupping through her tears. His mind flashed back to a day, six years ago, as he stood with Seth as Summer had walked herself down the aisle. She had been so strong that day, when her father couldn't, or wouldn't, get out of a conference in New York, politely refusing Sandy's offer to do it. "I can do it myself," she had said. Ryan hoped, for her sake, that this was still the truth. That she could still make it on her own.