"Hey, Mrs. Cohen?" Marissa asked, standing in the doorway, looking well kissed.

"Yes?" Kristen said, hiding a smile.

"Could you give me a ride home tonight?" Marissa waved her cellphone, "Dad isn't back yet."

"Sure. Are you about ready?"

"Yeah, I just need to grab my bag."

Kristen refiled the insurance forms she'd been working on, picked up her keys, and met them out front. She started the SUV, and turned off the classic rock station she'd been listening to earlier. She watched as they swayed in each others personal space, saying goodnight.

After three light kisses and many sly looks in her direction, Kristen rolled down the passenger window, "Why don't you two just hop in the back?"

Ryan opened the door for Marissa and she climbed in, giggling.

Kristen turned in her seat, "I need to pick up a few things from the store on the way back, okay, Ryan?"

"Okay," he said, still looking at Marissa.

They spent the rest of the trip holding hands, whispering to each other. When Marissa got out, Ryan followed, walking her to her door. He took the front seat when he got back.

Kristen tapped the steering wheel, humming as they pulled out of the parking lot. "You both look happy."

Ryan shifted awkwardly, opened his mouth, and made a noise somewhere between "uhhmm," and "yeah."

"It's obvious that you two care a lot about each other. That's nice to see. So many kids..." Kristen trailed off. "Um...you can turn the radio on now, if you want."

It was still set to the oldies station. "You can set it on anything," Kristen said. "Well -- anything but Rap. Or hip-hop," she paused, "Or anybody singing about 'hoes."

"It's okay," he said, "I like Jefferson Airplane." She could see him smirking in the passenger window.

"I've finally met a teenager with taste," she said with false solemnity.

"I like hip-hop, too," Ryan said, tossing her a grin.

Kristen sighed, "Just as long as I don't have to listen to it."

"You know, I read somewhere that it makes kids violent."

"No, it's different for everyone. Some kids aren't bothered by it."

"How did you know Seth wouldn't be?"

"Sandy and I took a behaviorist approach with Seth. As long as it didn't affect his personality, or his grades..."

"Behaviorist?" He asked, squinting at her. "Have you read a lot of books about raising kids?"

"Oh, yeah. After Seth was born, we bought almost every book we could find. Ended up throwing most of them out."

"But some of them really helped you?"

"Yeah, there are probably a couple left in our library. You can look through them," she glanced over at him, "if you want to scope out the parental secrets."

He smiled shyly, and stared down at his hands before asking, quietly, "Is that how you be a good parent?"

"I don't know," she said, seriously, "are we good parents?"

He didn't say anything as they pulled into the parking lot. When they stopped, he made a point of meeting her eyes, "You raised Seth, and he's a good guy."

Kristen finished parking, turned off the engine. She gave him a searching look, but stared out the windshield as she spoke, "I've started to think... that maybe what kind of person a kid becomes has more to do with who they are, than anybody else."

They sat in silence for a minute. "I'll be right back," Kristen said, grabbing her list, and getting out of the car. As she walked up to the automatic doors, Ryan jogged up beside her, "I'll, um, push the cart, or something."

"Oh, no," she said, waving her list, "If you come in, you're going to have have to run and get stuff from the far aisles."

As they stepped inside he took a quick look around, "It's a pretty small store."

"Well, we've got twenty minutes and," Kristen consulted her list, "12 items between us." She started to tear the list, "Want half?"

"Nah. Can I have a look?" He took the list, scanned his eyes over it, and handed it back, "I'll take the top six."

"You'll remember?"

Ryan shot her one of his sideways looks, and started off down the aisle.

-

When they got up to the checkout counter, Kristen asked Ryan to go back for chips and salsa. As she watched the clerk ring up her groceries, two people stepped through the automatic doors wearing blue-jeans, black shirts, and ski-masks. They held absurdly small guns, and the woman's tennis shoes squeaked as she lead the store manager back into his office.

Kristen placed her hands on the counter, and winced when the gunman pushed the clerk into the cash register for fumbling her keys. He stuffed the money in his pocket when she finally got it open. Kristen wondered, as she watched the clerk cry brokenly, why he hadn't thought to bring a sack.

He stepped away, but kept his gun trained on them loosely. They waited. The gunman paced. It had just begun to get monotonous when he caught sight of Ryan at the end of aisle five.

He stepped over to get a better look, "Hey, kid!" he motioned with the palm-sized gun, "Get up here."

Ryan walked slowly down the aisle carrying his chips and salsa. He didn't look up.

"Look, fuckwit. Drop the shit, and get up here," the gunman said, training his gun on Ryan.

Ryan tilted his head, looking at the gun blankly. His walk slowed.

The gunman's finger twitched near the trigger.

"Ry-an!" Kristen yelled warningly.

The gunman glanced between them, and aimed the gun at Kristen, "Move."

The salsa jar cracked wetly when it hit the floor. Ryan didn't flinch when the gunman grabbed him at the end of the aisle and pushed him into the magazine rack. The man kept his gun on Kristen, and his left hand at the base of Ryan's skull.

After a minute, the gunman's partner came out with the manager and several blue money bags. Her shoes still squeaked. The thieves nodded to each other, cautiously released their prisoners, and strolled out.

Kristen came out of her daze. She grabbed her credit card off the counter, and came around to where Ryan stood, staring sightlessly at the magazines. His whole body was tensed up, and she could hear him panting a little as he breathed. "We're leaving," she said quietly, glancing at the manager, who was calling the police.

Ryan started at the sound of her voice, and nodded, not looking at her as they exited the store. Kristen was driving when it caught up to her. The tightness in her chest intensified to tears as she pulled over. She watched the streetlight change from blurry red to green. A small box of tissues came into her line of sight, and she took one.

When Kristen looked up she could see Ryan in the light of the open glovebox. He put the tissues back, and stared into it expressionlessly. It was the same look he had given that man's gun. It chilled Kristen.

"What were you thinking?"

He looked up, a challenge in his eyes, "What was there to think about?"

She ignored his unsettling tone, "That man was going to shoot you." He kept staring at her, unaffected. "He could have killed you, Ryan," she blurted, on the edge of tears again.

"So?"

"Don't say that!" she snapped. "You don't get to act like this doesn't matter." Kristen took moment to breathe. Gentling her tone, she said, "You're worth so much to us, Ryan..."

"Insurance would cover that," he said, lips twitching wryly.

Kristen reeled back, aghast. "My God, Ryan -- what is this? What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Ryan said, reaching for the door handle, "I guess I'll walk."