First, thank you to all my reviewers and followers. You do know how important and uplifting you are, right? And thanks to Anna for suggesting a Patricia/Ryan moment was needed. I wasn't thinking that at all and now see that a Ryan chapter was truly needed. Which also explains why this chapter is so short. It's Ryan. lol. Also... for my followers, be aware that the alerting system was down when I posted the last chapter. If you don't check for new stories on your own, you should hit the back button and catch the much longer chapter I posted a few days ago. Enjoy.
"Whoa," Ryan said. "Who the hell was that?" Patrick Jane had apologized like he cared what their mother thought. It was shocking, to say the least.
"That was your brother," his mother said. "That was closer to the real Patrick than anything you've seen so far."
Ryan saw how elated she was by this turn of events. It made him uneasy. His mother was rarely this elated and he worried that this whole thing, this whole nightmare, was all going to end very badly for her. He saw how Patrick affected her-got her hopes up only to dash them cruelly on the nearest rock.
He scoffed. "Yeah, right."
His mother looked at him with that chastising look he really hated. "And you've been putting your best foot forward here? They've been seeing the best of Ryan Michael Steiner?"
Ryan sighed. "Whatever."
She sighed back at him. "Whatever. I think you've been in the states too long. Whatever."
"Well, you'll note that he only apologized to you," Ryan said. "That's pretty telling if you ask me."
"I don't think you are the best judge of his character, Ryan. People under pressure are not their best selves. You, included."
"Still. I don't think you should expect anything more from him. I mean, sure, be happy when he throws a bone, but don't expect too much."
"He's trying, Ryan," his mother said. "This is much more than I expected from him at this point. And I'm sorry he is so hard on you. You're just an easier target. He's very conflicted about me and it's getting directed to you. I am sorry about that."
"I know," Ryan said. "I get it. I do. Well, to an extent. Of course he would hate me. I mean, what he's been through…. It's awful. It's seriously enough to make anyone a complete asshole. It's just, well, yeah, it sucks for me, but, Mom, I am more worried about you."
She smiled dismissively and that made him even more worried. She refused to see the danger of the situation.
"I wish Dad was here," he said.
"Ryan," she said, reaching and rubbing her hand on his shoulder, "it's going to be all right. Everything is going to work out."
"You don't know that!" He couldn't stop himself. He knew there were way too many variables for her to even suggest that.
"I do know that. I've never known anything more completely than now. For me to find him so easily, without even trying, at a time when he needs me most… that is not a coincidence."
He saw her resolve and knew she would not hear his real concern. Only his Dad could get through to her when she got like this, and even then he wasn't all that effective in keeping her from slipping into the depression that so often followed her closed cases. Ryan had never understood why such happy endings would make her so sad she couldn't get out of bed for days. Until now. He decided to change tactics.
"So what happened today anyway? I thought you said he wasn't psychic and now you're saying he's better than you?"
"No, I said it appeared he had lost his abilities. But he's recovered his memory and with it some of his abilities. He was profoundly gifted as a child."
Ryan shook his head. Over the years he had met others like his mother, watched how they were with each other, and, frankly, they were all just a little off. He had spent most of his childhood and all of his adolescence seeking something, anything, close to normal, and at every turn his mother was constantly revealing the extraordinary. He no longer held it against her, but he also didn't have much patience for it. When extraordinary is the norm, it starts to feel excessive. His mother never thought of her gifts as something that made her better than others, but almost everyone else Ryan had met who had lesser skills than his mother had some sort of bloated conceit. And Patrick Jane had more conceit than most before he even knew he had psychic skills.
"It's very patronizing the way you think about me," his mother said.
And then there was that. Hands down, all his friends in high school and college and even grad school, for god's sake, had agreed he had the toughest go—a mother who knew what he was thinking and why. He frowned at her in defeat. It always came to this with her. He wished they could get a hold of his dad.
"It's going to be okay, Ryan. It's going to work out," she said.
And because he knew there was nothing he could say to change her mind, he said the only thing that would vex her most: "Whatever, Mom. Whatever."