"Summer in Chino" – chapter 2
Anything that rings false about the gritty land of Chino is because I'm from a small, white bread town in the Midwest and all I know of 'bad neighborhoods' is from driving past a few unsavory places in Chicago and other cities.
Later in the story Summer references a certain phone call and subsequent lunch with her mother. This was presented in "Summer Time" so if you want to know more, you can access the story at livejournal.com under bonnied. Actually, the lunch occurred some time in the three months between the two stories and only exists in the land of my brain. Maybe I should put that story down sometime.
************
They pulled up in front of a tiny, neat house with a postage stamp front yard, bordered by a chain link fence. Ryan turned off the engine and sat for a moment. Summer noticed that he was looking not at the house before which they were parked but at a much more dilapidated place next door. There were a couple of kids playing some kind of army game, which involved leaping off a ratty couch on the front porch into the yard then tearing around the side of the building. They fake fired at each other with plastic guns, screaming obscenities and making appropriate shooting noises. One of the boys accidentally slammed his shoulder into the corner of the house as he made the turn too sharply. He howled in pain, fell down on the sparse grass and proceeded to die a twitching, agonizing death.
"Come on, you can't be dead yet. I was supposed to take you prisoner," his friend yelled as he kicked him in the ribs. "Get up, fuckhead."
Summer shook her head and thanked god she'd never had any brothers. Boys were beyond comprehension most of the time.
Ryan unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the vehicle. Summer followed suit and stood on the sidewalk staring at the house they were about to enter and suddenly feeling extremely nervous. She wondered why she'd been so hell bent on having her way and coming with Ryan. But her curiosity about the mythic Theresa outweighed her fears and she possessively took her boyfriend's hand as he went up the path to his onetime neighbors' house.
He rang the bell and they stood waiting in the baking hot, stifling air on the front stoop. Summer glanced next door where the boys' swear-a-thon had turned into a scuffle. They rolled around in the grass like a pair of angry dogs.
No one answered the door. "Must be at work," Ryan muttered. He was looking increasingly pissed off and tense. "Damn."
"She told you where to look, right?" Summer asked tentatively. "You know where she might have seen your mom?" She was pretty certain from the portion of the phone conversation she'd heard that this was true.
"Yeah." He turned his frown on her. "But I was going to leave you here with Theresa. Where I'm going ... I don't want you along."
"The hell. Why'd you think I came all the way here with you? I'm going to help you look." Summer saw his frown and raised him a hand on hip gesture of defiance.
Ryan scowled. "It's too dangerous. Random shit happens. You could get shot or killed just being in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Crack houses and gangs. I get it," she said flippantly.
"No. You really don't," Ryan gave her one of his intense stares as he firmly gripped her upper arm. The kind of stare that let her know a riptide of violence ran beneath his ocean blue eyes.
Summer's return glare never faltered. Then she slowly and deliberately dropped her gaze to his bruising hand. He let go of her immediately and backed off a step.
"I ... don't want to have to worry about you, about keeping you safe...." he began in a contrite tone.
"Then don't," she snapped. "I'll be fine."
As he continued to hesitate, she sighed and rolled her eyes. "God's sake, Ryan. Stop it! I'm not a porcelain doll. If anything happens, I promise I'll run screaming for help. I've got pepper spray on my key chain." She waved her cell, "And 911 on speed dial."
A glimmer of mirth crossed his face. Summer knew how to tease Ryan out of his dark moods. He bit his lower lip and his gaze shifted off to the distance. From the sudden droop of his shoulders Summer could tell the argument was at least temporarily won. She relaxed her stance too.
"All right," he finally said wearily. He led the way back up the sidewalk to the jeep.
As she buckled her seatbelt again, Summer cast a last glance at the house next door. The two boys, still punching each other in the arm, were now running for the front door, yelling "Mo-om!" and pushing each other aside in their eagerness to enter the house first. The door slammed closed behind the kids just as Ryan turned the key in the ignition.
"So, you used to live there?" Summer asked, nodding toward the house.
Ryan glanced quickly at the shabby building. "Yeah." He put the vehicle in gear and pulled away from the curb.
***********
As they drove through Chino, Summer thought that, although the streets and stores were rundown and worn looking, it was certainly not the raging ghetto she had expected. She had been to L.A. and seen the dichotomy of the filthy rich rubbing shoulders with the even filthier poor. There was no escaping bag ladies and burnouts even on swank streets like Rodeo Drive, and a palm tree shaded, upper class neighborhood sometimes butted up against the most decrepit, crime ridden zone.
Summer pressed her forehead against the cool window glass and watched as reasonably tidy blue-collar homes gave way to vacant lots, burned out buildings and boarded up storefronts. She wondered what the chances were that they would emerge from this without being carjacked.
Ryan continued to drive slowly down the abandoned street and then back into relative civilization where dollar stores and liquor marts, pawn shops and grocery markets were jammed side by side. Heat waves sizzled from the asphalt and the people who meandered down the sidewalks were scantily dressed in shorts, tank tops and flipflops. A group of shirtless, tattooed and pierced, teen boys were gathered in front of a Mexican restaurant, openly passing around a joint and calling out to any females who passed. Summer just had time to notice a mini-skirted, Hispanic girl stopping to scream a few epithets back at them before the jeep turned a corner and the drama was lost from sight.
As they waited at a stoplight, Summer watched a skinny old man in saggy pants with suspenders stretched over his grimy T-shirt, walking a cat on a leash. He took slow, ponderous steps while the cat alternately stopped dead and sniffed at interesting things on the sidewalk or surged ahead, tugging on the lead. The old man bent down and scratched kitty's striped head with gnarled old fingers as he talked to the animal. Summer felt her heart seize up at the touching tableau. Unexpected tears welled in her eyes and she brushed them furiously away.
Ryan pulled the jeep into the parking lot of a convenience store and came to a stop. "You want anything?" he asked, sliding a sideways look at her.
"Uh. Sure. Diet Coke," she said, "And maybe a burrito."
The moment they opened the jeep doors, the air conditioning was sucked out of the vehicle and absorbed into the sweltering heat. Summer was sure she could feel her hair frizzing up instantaneously. She followed Ryan into the relatively cool store where latin music blared and the clerk glanced up from his skin magazine just long enough to acknowledge their presence. They headed to the coolers in the back of the store and picked out their beverages then popped a pair of frozen burritos into the tiny microwave. As they waited for the timer to ring, Summer leafed through a magazine and Ryan approached the clerk.
Summer watched curiously as Ryan flipped a photograph onto the counter in front of the guy. "Hey, man. Have you seen her around?"
Again the clerk barely glanced up. "Naw."
"Are you sure?" Ryan laid a ten next to the photo and the clerk picked up the money and the picture and this time studied Dawn's image more closely.
"I don't know, man," he shrugged. "A lot of people come through here. Maybe." He put the picture back down. Ryan retrieved it and stuffed it in his wallet with a muttered 'thanks.'
The microwave timer went off and Summer pulled out their food. Ryan paid for the sodas and burritos. As the clerk handed over the change, he said, "Missing, huh? You might want to talk to the ho's on Bowman. They see everybody that comes and goes." He added, "But most of 'em won't be out this early."
Ryan nodded and turned to leave. Summer bestowed a radiant smile on the clerk who was helpless not to smile back. "Thank you very much," she said, gracious as Martha Stewart on a good day.
"Uh. No problemo. Good luck," he stammered.
Summer snapped her fingers. "Idea! If you remember anything at all, you can call my cell phone." Ryan opened his mouth to protest, but she rattled it off, making sure that the clerk wrote down the digits correctly.
Outside the store Ryan gave her a skeptical look as he accepted his burrito and Coke. "That guy was totally useless, and now he has your cell phone number," he complained. "And what was with the Miss Newport treatment?"
Summer shrugged and bit into her spicy, calorie-laden snack. "You catch more flies with honey. It never hurts to be polite when you want a favor from someone."
"I'll remember that," Ryan said dryly, draining half his soda in one thirsty slurp.
After they ate and wiped the grease from their hands as best they could, Ryan took a long look around. Summer smiled and dabbed at the hot sauce decorating the corner of his mouth. "Where next, jeffe?" she asked.
He looked down at her and for a moment the chronic worried look, which had occupied his face ever since the phone call, disappeared. A genuine smile curved his lips and he bent to kiss her salsa-flavored mouth. She snaked her hands around the back of his neck and held him there for a moment, reminding him with her kiss about the good things in life.
He pulled away and whispered, "Glad you're here," while favoring her with that half-mast, sexy gaze that always drove her wild.
"Yeah? Me too," she answered. "Even though it's hotter than frigging hell itself."
"Gonna get hotter," he warned. "We're leaving the jeep here where it's less likely to get stolen and walking."
"Oh." Summer glanced down at her platform heeled sandals and cursed her vanity, which always made her want to appear taller than she really was. But she'd be damned if Ryan would hear one word of complaint from her this afternoon, even if they had to walk twenty blocks.
***********
A couple of hours later Summer was limping like a distance runner with shin splints. Sweat stuck the fabric of her top to her back and ran in rivulets from under her breasts. They had talked to and shown Dawn's picture to vagrants, shopkeepers, kids, old folks, probable drug dealers, whores, a cop, anyone they could find within a two block radius of the convenience store where Theresa and Eddie had spotted maybe-Dawn in the parking lot several weeks ago. Summer figured that about a third of Chino's lowlifes had her cell phone number despite Ryan's continued protests against giving it out.
"You gonna be okay?" Ryan asked as Summer stopped and leaned against a building, pulling off one of her sandals and massaging her aching toes.
"Peachy," she said shortly.
Ryan gave her skeptical-face again. He knelt and took her foot in his hands, examining the blisters. "You should go back. I can take a bus home later."
"No," Summer replied. "I'm cool. I've just got to lose these stupid sandals is all. Come on." She slipped her foot back in her shoe and led him into the nearest Dollar Tree. When they emerged five minutes later, she was wearing old lady slippers with cushy soles and pink faux fur trim. Her own shoes swung from her hand in a Dollar Tree plastic bag.
"If you ever tell anyone you saw these abominations on my feet, you won't have a tongue left to talk with. Understood?" she demanded.
"I don't think you'd like me without my tongue," he teased, running the appendage up her sweat-salty neck and tickling the back of her ear with it.
"Off." Summer pushed him away. "I'm hot, sticky, smelly and gross and in no mood for your sexiness so cut it out."
Ryan smiled as he obliged her, keeping a safe three feet between them as they walked down the sidewalk.
After talking to a half dozen more strangers with no positive results, Summer was wondering why she'd pressed to keep on with the search when Ryan had offered an easy out. Finding Dawn was as impossible as finding a truthful politician.
They were passing a strip club when a leggy African American and a chesty redhead exited the building, practically tripping over Summer who had stooped to get a pebble out of her nifty new slippers.
"Sorry, hon," exclaimed the tall woman reaching out a hand to grab Summer's arm and keep her from falling. "I didn't see you."
"It's okay," Summer assured her. "My bad." She beckoned Ryan. "Show them the picture."
Wordlessly he held out the photo and the buxom redhead took it.
"Have you seen her?" Summer asked.
The other woman crowded her friend, peering over her shoulder at Dawn's image. "Who's asking?" she questioned, looking up curiously at the young couple.
"I'm her son," Ryan answered.
"She looks familiar," the shorter woman said.
Suddenly Summer hoped that neither stripper would identify Dawn. It would be embarrassing for Ryan to find out she had worked at this club.
"I know," her friend said. "That waitress. At Bud's, remember?" She looked at Ryan and Summer. "I never forget a face, and I eat there all the time. She was nice. Friendly."
"But she's not there anymore?" Ryan surmised.
"Uh-uh. Haven't seen her for months. But you should talk to the girls at Bud's. Prob'ly somebody can tell you what happened to her."
The redhead chimed in with directions to Bud's Diner, which was only a block away. Armed with the first positive clue they'd had all day, Ryan and Summer thanked the ladies and hurried around the corner to the restaurant.
Summer's sweaty legs stuck to the vinyl as she slid into a booth. Ryan sat across from her looking anxiously around the restaurant as if his mom might suddenly, miraculously appear. A waitress soon approached them, slapping menus down on the table. "What can I get ya?"
"Sprite. The largest you've got," Summer answered promptly.
Ryan held out the picture of his mother. "She used to work here?"
The waitress glanced at it. "I don't know. I'm new."
"Could you...." He looked up at her beseechingly.
"Yeah. I'll ask the cook. He's been here since God grew mountains." She took the photo in her long, red talons. "Look, could you place your order? We're short handed today and I got six other tables waiting for me."
"Uh, sure. Coke."
"And two glasses of water," Summer added. "We're dehydrated."
The waitress was back with their drinks in a minute. "You're in luck." She jerked her thumb toward an older waitress clad in the orange polyester uniform who was serving plates of food to a party of eight in the corner. "Lucy's the one you want. She was her best friend for a while. Said she'll come talk to you when she goes on break."
Summer ordered burgers for both of them since Ryan was too agitated to function and the young waitress swept away again.
"Breathe," Summer ordered, as she watched Ryan toy with his fork and follow Lucy's every move with his eyes. "Hey!" She snapped her fingers to get his focus on her.
"You remember how I freaked out when my mom called and how I practically fell apart the day I had to go to lunch with her?" Summer asked. "Well, you're doing that. Looking back, I can tell you I let myself get ridiculously worked up for nothing. Nothing changes." She searched for words that wouldn't sound harsh, but there was no pleasant way to put it. "Whatever you find out, you have to remember it's your mom's life and stop letting her mess with your head. You're not responsible for her. She left you, remember?"
"If she's in trouble...." Ryan began.
"You might not be able to help her." Summer paused, wishing she'd had this conversation with him before they'd started searching Chino for Dawn. "I mean, you might be able to do something but you might not, so you have to go into it ... detached."
"Detached," he repeated. "I don't know if I can do that."
"What happened to Mr. 'I didn't feel anything when my mom left?' You're such a sham, Atwood. Under that Mr. Cool act you have more emotions simmering away than anyone I ever met."
Ryan was irritated now and opened his mouth to respond, when Lucy approached their table, pulling a chair over so she could sit down. She put the photograph of Dawn on the table and held out her hand to Ryan. "So you're her kid, huh?" she said, smiling slightly as she took his hand. "She talked about you all the time. How she was going to get herself straightened out and make a real home for you." She shook her head and her smile disappeared. She took out a pack of cigarettes, shook one out and lit up.
"What happened?" Ryan asked dully.
"Ah, you know." Lucy shrugged, blowing out a long stream of smoke through her nose. "She started partying pretty hard, first on weekends then just about every night. One thing led to another...."
Ryan nodded and Summer could almost see the walls go up as all expression drained from his face. He stared down at the table and listened impassively to the waitress's story.
"Booze and coke led to harder stuff. She came to work fucked up one too many times and lost her job here. Lost her apartment. Owed all kinds of money to her dealer. I let her crash at my place for a while until she got too dangerous to be around." Lucy took a deep drag on her cigarette. "I hated to kick her out. She was a real sweetie, but...."
She shrugged again and studied Ryan a moment before she went on. "I'm sorry to have to tell you all this."
"You know where she is." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yeah." Lucy paused. "I seen her panhandling outside the Fetzer Center one day. She was wrecked. Wasted, of course, and beat up. I almost ... went the other way, pretended I didn't see her, but ... I just couldn't do it. We were pretty close for a while there, Dawn and me. So, I gave her a twenty and a sandwich so she'd eat something ... and I told her if she was ever ready to get straightened out I'd help her any way I could."
"Crack?" Ryan asked.
"I guess. Probably whatever she could get her hands on."
He nodded, jaw clenched so tight now that Summer was afraid his bones would pop through the skin.
"Where can I find her?"
"You sure you want to, honey?" Lucy asked, reaching out a hand to touch Ryan's shoulder.
He finally looked up from the table with hard eyes and Lucy's hand fell away.
"Okay," she agreed. "I get it. She's your mom. But I don't know if there's anything you can do to help her." She took another drag on her cigarette. "Dawn told me she was crashing in a house on Mariposa Street. I don't know which one."
Lucy looked at Ryan and then at Summer. "But you better think twice before you go looking for her there." Her eyes returned to Ryan. "Don't take your pretty girlfriend. She's got no business a place like that."
"I won't," he answered shortly.
"Well," Lucy shifted uncomfortably in her seat, "good luck." She stood and hovered by the table for an awkward moment. "Really. Good luck," she repeated earnestly, catching Ryan's eyes and beaming concern and sympathy at him. "I ... had a sister with problems like Dawn's and I know how bad you want to help ... but there's only so much you can do, you know?"
Ryan nodded slowly. "I ... have to see her," he explained.
"I know." Lucy smiled sadly at both of them and turned to go back to the kitchen.
Summer was saved from having to think of something to say to Ryan because the waitress arrived with their food. She stared at her burger. The rich, beefy smell was making her salivate and actually feel light-headed with hunger, but it seemed terribly inappropriate to chow down while her boyfriend was in the middle of a personal crisis.
Ryan slumped against the back of the booth, staring across the restaurant at nothing. He didn't seem to notice the plate, which had been placed in front of him.
"Um, Ryan ... sweetie," Summer said softly. The endearment felt strange. They weren't a 'sweetheart, baby, honey' kind of couple. "You should probably try to eat something even if you're not hungry," she prompted.
His gaze swung slowly to her then down to his food. He picked up the burger and bit into it. Summer was glad to do the same. She wolfed down the hamburger and fries in less than five minutes then watched as Ryan continued to mechanically chew and swallow. He made it through half the burger before setting it down and pushing the plate away.
Summer sucked on an ice cube and thought about what the waitress had told them. She realized now that Ryan had probably guessed all along what he was going to find out about his mother. The area they had spent the afternoon canvassing was not the dangerous, evil place from which he had wanted to protect Summer. This other neighborhood of homeless squats and drug houses was where he needed to go, and she knew he couldn't be budged this time. He would not take her there.
"Okay," Ryan said suddenly, as if coming to an agreement with himself. He sat up and glanced at his watch. "It's after seven. I've got to check in with the Cohens and you probably want to call home."
"Not particularly," Summer interjected.
"I'm going to spend the night in Chino," Ryan continued. "But you ..." he fixed Summer with that stupid paternal look she hated, "should go back to Newport."
"I...." she paused, mimicking his delivery, "am going nowhere. We've already had this conversation – twice!"
"I'm not taking you down to Mariposa. Hell, even the cops don't go there if they don't have to." His eyes were fierce. "Please, don't argue with me!"
"If it's that dangerous," Summer said, "then I don't want you going there either." She added, "You should talk to Sandy about all this."
"He'd tell me to give it up and come home," Ryan argued. "And I can't do that."
"Then neither can I." Summer was beginning to feel like a hamster running a wheel of argument with Ryan over and over. "Okay!" She held up her hand. "Compromise. We get a motel. Check in. Get cleaned up. Take a rest. Then you can go and check out this crack house street and I'll wait in the motel. Deal?"
Ryan finally dipped his head, conceding. "All right."
"But, you have to maintain phone contact with me at all times," Summer added quickly.
***********
Summer sat on top of the slippery bedcover at the SleepTite Inn where she and Ryan had booked a room for the night. She leaned against a pair of limp pillows, staring blindly at MTV and brushing her hair. She could hear Ryan moving around in the bathroom. The water turned off and after a moment he emerged, face scrubbed, the tendrils of hair around it spiky and damp. He stood in the doorway looking a little lost and uncertain of what to do next.
Summer put down the brush and patted the bed. "Come here. You should rest before you go," she adjured.
She realized how tired he must be when he didn't argue but crawled up the bed and threw himself across her lap. His arms banded around her waist tightly and his face pressed against her thigh. Summer gently stroked his back with one hand while the other ran slowly up his arm, riding over the smooth bicep and the cotton of his T-shirt sleeve and stopping at his shoulder where she massaged little circles. Looking down at him, she could only see a portion of his face; the strong jaw, dominant nose and thick eyelashes resting against his cheek. In that quiet, intimate moment an unexpected surge of emotion coursed through her and for the first time Summer felt the words 'I love you' poised on her tongue, aching to be released.
But they weren't the kind of couple who said that either, so she swallowed hard and moved her hand from his shoulder, threading her fingers through his hair to cradle the back of his head and pull him even tighter against her belly. He imperceptibly sighed and turned his face deeper into her denim-clad torso.
Summer gave what comfort she could. She held him close and waited to see what would happen next.
To be continued....
Reader participation time.
I stopped at this quiet moment because I'm not sure what happens next either. My original plan called for Summer to accompany Ryan every step of the way so she could be witness to what he goes through as he finds Dawn in the nastiest area of town and tries to figure out a way to help her. But the more I wrote, the more my conviction grew that there's no way in hell Ryan would ever endanger someone he cares about by taking them to a crack house. I could simply not create a believable scenario in which he would do that.
So, what to do? Have Summer follow him anyway much as Marissa did in the Thanksgiving ep? Don't like it. Have her wait in the motel as promised, missing out on the angst-ridden reunion of Dawn and Ryan but then have him bring his mom back to the motel and....the idea trails off here. Change POV to Ryan's so we can see what happens? Or get really radical and write it from some random third person POV – maybe a half crazy homeless person or something – that would be unique. But I hate to change POV, because this is Summer's story.
Another problem is that all I know of drug houses is from watching "Trainspotting" and a lot of TV. There's nothing worse than someone who knows absolutely nothing about the reality of a place trying to believably write about it. I'd like nothing better than to gloss right over the "meeting in the ghetto" scene but it seems like cheating somehow. People want to witness Ryan confronting his mama again.
The ultimate point of this story is not "Ryan saves Dawn" but "Ryan learns how to let go when a situation is beyond his control even if someone he loves is hurting." This whole White Night complex has got to end and with Summer's practical approach to girlfriending, I think he can get past it.
Anyway, I'm open to all suggestions or plot ideas – not saying I won't end up going my own route anyway, but I'd like to hear some feedback. Maybe to my email address. Thanks y'all. And thanks for your kind reviews for "Summer Time" and the first chapter of "Summer in Chino."
Anything that rings false about the gritty land of Chino is because I'm from a small, white bread town in the Midwest and all I know of 'bad neighborhoods' is from driving past a few unsavory places in Chicago and other cities.
Later in the story Summer references a certain phone call and subsequent lunch with her mother. This was presented in "Summer Time" so if you want to know more, you can access the story at livejournal.com under bonnied. Actually, the lunch occurred some time in the three months between the two stories and only exists in the land of my brain. Maybe I should put that story down sometime.
************
They pulled up in front of a tiny, neat house with a postage stamp front yard, bordered by a chain link fence. Ryan turned off the engine and sat for a moment. Summer noticed that he was looking not at the house before which they were parked but at a much more dilapidated place next door. There were a couple of kids playing some kind of army game, which involved leaping off a ratty couch on the front porch into the yard then tearing around the side of the building. They fake fired at each other with plastic guns, screaming obscenities and making appropriate shooting noises. One of the boys accidentally slammed his shoulder into the corner of the house as he made the turn too sharply. He howled in pain, fell down on the sparse grass and proceeded to die a twitching, agonizing death.
"Come on, you can't be dead yet. I was supposed to take you prisoner," his friend yelled as he kicked him in the ribs. "Get up, fuckhead."
Summer shook her head and thanked god she'd never had any brothers. Boys were beyond comprehension most of the time.
Ryan unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the vehicle. Summer followed suit and stood on the sidewalk staring at the house they were about to enter and suddenly feeling extremely nervous. She wondered why she'd been so hell bent on having her way and coming with Ryan. But her curiosity about the mythic Theresa outweighed her fears and she possessively took her boyfriend's hand as he went up the path to his onetime neighbors' house.
He rang the bell and they stood waiting in the baking hot, stifling air on the front stoop. Summer glanced next door where the boys' swear-a-thon had turned into a scuffle. They rolled around in the grass like a pair of angry dogs.
No one answered the door. "Must be at work," Ryan muttered. He was looking increasingly pissed off and tense. "Damn."
"She told you where to look, right?" Summer asked tentatively. "You know where she might have seen your mom?" She was pretty certain from the portion of the phone conversation she'd heard that this was true.
"Yeah." He turned his frown on her. "But I was going to leave you here with Theresa. Where I'm going ... I don't want you along."
"The hell. Why'd you think I came all the way here with you? I'm going to help you look." Summer saw his frown and raised him a hand on hip gesture of defiance.
Ryan scowled. "It's too dangerous. Random shit happens. You could get shot or killed just being in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Crack houses and gangs. I get it," she said flippantly.
"No. You really don't," Ryan gave her one of his intense stares as he firmly gripped her upper arm. The kind of stare that let her know a riptide of violence ran beneath his ocean blue eyes.
Summer's return glare never faltered. Then she slowly and deliberately dropped her gaze to his bruising hand. He let go of her immediately and backed off a step.
"I ... don't want to have to worry about you, about keeping you safe...." he began in a contrite tone.
"Then don't," she snapped. "I'll be fine."
As he continued to hesitate, she sighed and rolled her eyes. "God's sake, Ryan. Stop it! I'm not a porcelain doll. If anything happens, I promise I'll run screaming for help. I've got pepper spray on my key chain." She waved her cell, "And 911 on speed dial."
A glimmer of mirth crossed his face. Summer knew how to tease Ryan out of his dark moods. He bit his lower lip and his gaze shifted off to the distance. From the sudden droop of his shoulders Summer could tell the argument was at least temporarily won. She relaxed her stance too.
"All right," he finally said wearily. He led the way back up the sidewalk to the jeep.
As she buckled her seatbelt again, Summer cast a last glance at the house next door. The two boys, still punching each other in the arm, were now running for the front door, yelling "Mo-om!" and pushing each other aside in their eagerness to enter the house first. The door slammed closed behind the kids just as Ryan turned the key in the ignition.
"So, you used to live there?" Summer asked, nodding toward the house.
Ryan glanced quickly at the shabby building. "Yeah." He put the vehicle in gear and pulled away from the curb.
***********
As they drove through Chino, Summer thought that, although the streets and stores were rundown and worn looking, it was certainly not the raging ghetto she had expected. She had been to L.A. and seen the dichotomy of the filthy rich rubbing shoulders with the even filthier poor. There was no escaping bag ladies and burnouts even on swank streets like Rodeo Drive, and a palm tree shaded, upper class neighborhood sometimes butted up against the most decrepit, crime ridden zone.
Summer pressed her forehead against the cool window glass and watched as reasonably tidy blue-collar homes gave way to vacant lots, burned out buildings and boarded up storefronts. She wondered what the chances were that they would emerge from this without being carjacked.
Ryan continued to drive slowly down the abandoned street and then back into relative civilization where dollar stores and liquor marts, pawn shops and grocery markets were jammed side by side. Heat waves sizzled from the asphalt and the people who meandered down the sidewalks were scantily dressed in shorts, tank tops and flipflops. A group of shirtless, tattooed and pierced, teen boys were gathered in front of a Mexican restaurant, openly passing around a joint and calling out to any females who passed. Summer just had time to notice a mini-skirted, Hispanic girl stopping to scream a few epithets back at them before the jeep turned a corner and the drama was lost from sight.
As they waited at a stoplight, Summer watched a skinny old man in saggy pants with suspenders stretched over his grimy T-shirt, walking a cat on a leash. He took slow, ponderous steps while the cat alternately stopped dead and sniffed at interesting things on the sidewalk or surged ahead, tugging on the lead. The old man bent down and scratched kitty's striped head with gnarled old fingers as he talked to the animal. Summer felt her heart seize up at the touching tableau. Unexpected tears welled in her eyes and she brushed them furiously away.
Ryan pulled the jeep into the parking lot of a convenience store and came to a stop. "You want anything?" he asked, sliding a sideways look at her.
"Uh. Sure. Diet Coke," she said, "And maybe a burrito."
The moment they opened the jeep doors, the air conditioning was sucked out of the vehicle and absorbed into the sweltering heat. Summer was sure she could feel her hair frizzing up instantaneously. She followed Ryan into the relatively cool store where latin music blared and the clerk glanced up from his skin magazine just long enough to acknowledge their presence. They headed to the coolers in the back of the store and picked out their beverages then popped a pair of frozen burritos into the tiny microwave. As they waited for the timer to ring, Summer leafed through a magazine and Ryan approached the clerk.
Summer watched curiously as Ryan flipped a photograph onto the counter in front of the guy. "Hey, man. Have you seen her around?"
Again the clerk barely glanced up. "Naw."
"Are you sure?" Ryan laid a ten next to the photo and the clerk picked up the money and the picture and this time studied Dawn's image more closely.
"I don't know, man," he shrugged. "A lot of people come through here. Maybe." He put the picture back down. Ryan retrieved it and stuffed it in his wallet with a muttered 'thanks.'
The microwave timer went off and Summer pulled out their food. Ryan paid for the sodas and burritos. As the clerk handed over the change, he said, "Missing, huh? You might want to talk to the ho's on Bowman. They see everybody that comes and goes." He added, "But most of 'em won't be out this early."
Ryan nodded and turned to leave. Summer bestowed a radiant smile on the clerk who was helpless not to smile back. "Thank you very much," she said, gracious as Martha Stewart on a good day.
"Uh. No problemo. Good luck," he stammered.
Summer snapped her fingers. "Idea! If you remember anything at all, you can call my cell phone." Ryan opened his mouth to protest, but she rattled it off, making sure that the clerk wrote down the digits correctly.
Outside the store Ryan gave her a skeptical look as he accepted his burrito and Coke. "That guy was totally useless, and now he has your cell phone number," he complained. "And what was with the Miss Newport treatment?"
Summer shrugged and bit into her spicy, calorie-laden snack. "You catch more flies with honey. It never hurts to be polite when you want a favor from someone."
"I'll remember that," Ryan said dryly, draining half his soda in one thirsty slurp.
After they ate and wiped the grease from their hands as best they could, Ryan took a long look around. Summer smiled and dabbed at the hot sauce decorating the corner of his mouth. "Where next, jeffe?" she asked.
He looked down at her and for a moment the chronic worried look, which had occupied his face ever since the phone call, disappeared. A genuine smile curved his lips and he bent to kiss her salsa-flavored mouth. She snaked her hands around the back of his neck and held him there for a moment, reminding him with her kiss about the good things in life.
He pulled away and whispered, "Glad you're here," while favoring her with that half-mast, sexy gaze that always drove her wild.
"Yeah? Me too," she answered. "Even though it's hotter than frigging hell itself."
"Gonna get hotter," he warned. "We're leaving the jeep here where it's less likely to get stolen and walking."
"Oh." Summer glanced down at her platform heeled sandals and cursed her vanity, which always made her want to appear taller than she really was. But she'd be damned if Ryan would hear one word of complaint from her this afternoon, even if they had to walk twenty blocks.
***********
A couple of hours later Summer was limping like a distance runner with shin splints. Sweat stuck the fabric of her top to her back and ran in rivulets from under her breasts. They had talked to and shown Dawn's picture to vagrants, shopkeepers, kids, old folks, probable drug dealers, whores, a cop, anyone they could find within a two block radius of the convenience store where Theresa and Eddie had spotted maybe-Dawn in the parking lot several weeks ago. Summer figured that about a third of Chino's lowlifes had her cell phone number despite Ryan's continued protests against giving it out.
"You gonna be okay?" Ryan asked as Summer stopped and leaned against a building, pulling off one of her sandals and massaging her aching toes.
"Peachy," she said shortly.
Ryan gave her skeptical-face again. He knelt and took her foot in his hands, examining the blisters. "You should go back. I can take a bus home later."
"No," Summer replied. "I'm cool. I've just got to lose these stupid sandals is all. Come on." She slipped her foot back in her shoe and led him into the nearest Dollar Tree. When they emerged five minutes later, she was wearing old lady slippers with cushy soles and pink faux fur trim. Her own shoes swung from her hand in a Dollar Tree plastic bag.
"If you ever tell anyone you saw these abominations on my feet, you won't have a tongue left to talk with. Understood?" she demanded.
"I don't think you'd like me without my tongue," he teased, running the appendage up her sweat-salty neck and tickling the back of her ear with it.
"Off." Summer pushed him away. "I'm hot, sticky, smelly and gross and in no mood for your sexiness so cut it out."
Ryan smiled as he obliged her, keeping a safe three feet between them as they walked down the sidewalk.
After talking to a half dozen more strangers with no positive results, Summer was wondering why she'd pressed to keep on with the search when Ryan had offered an easy out. Finding Dawn was as impossible as finding a truthful politician.
They were passing a strip club when a leggy African American and a chesty redhead exited the building, practically tripping over Summer who had stooped to get a pebble out of her nifty new slippers.
"Sorry, hon," exclaimed the tall woman reaching out a hand to grab Summer's arm and keep her from falling. "I didn't see you."
"It's okay," Summer assured her. "My bad." She beckoned Ryan. "Show them the picture."
Wordlessly he held out the photo and the buxom redhead took it.
"Have you seen her?" Summer asked.
The other woman crowded her friend, peering over her shoulder at Dawn's image. "Who's asking?" she questioned, looking up curiously at the young couple.
"I'm her son," Ryan answered.
"She looks familiar," the shorter woman said.
Suddenly Summer hoped that neither stripper would identify Dawn. It would be embarrassing for Ryan to find out she had worked at this club.
"I know," her friend said. "That waitress. At Bud's, remember?" She looked at Ryan and Summer. "I never forget a face, and I eat there all the time. She was nice. Friendly."
"But she's not there anymore?" Ryan surmised.
"Uh-uh. Haven't seen her for months. But you should talk to the girls at Bud's. Prob'ly somebody can tell you what happened to her."
The redhead chimed in with directions to Bud's Diner, which was only a block away. Armed with the first positive clue they'd had all day, Ryan and Summer thanked the ladies and hurried around the corner to the restaurant.
Summer's sweaty legs stuck to the vinyl as she slid into a booth. Ryan sat across from her looking anxiously around the restaurant as if his mom might suddenly, miraculously appear. A waitress soon approached them, slapping menus down on the table. "What can I get ya?"
"Sprite. The largest you've got," Summer answered promptly.
Ryan held out the picture of his mother. "She used to work here?"
The waitress glanced at it. "I don't know. I'm new."
"Could you...." He looked up at her beseechingly.
"Yeah. I'll ask the cook. He's been here since God grew mountains." She took the photo in her long, red talons. "Look, could you place your order? We're short handed today and I got six other tables waiting for me."
"Uh, sure. Coke."
"And two glasses of water," Summer added. "We're dehydrated."
The waitress was back with their drinks in a minute. "You're in luck." She jerked her thumb toward an older waitress clad in the orange polyester uniform who was serving plates of food to a party of eight in the corner. "Lucy's the one you want. She was her best friend for a while. Said she'll come talk to you when she goes on break."
Summer ordered burgers for both of them since Ryan was too agitated to function and the young waitress swept away again.
"Breathe," Summer ordered, as she watched Ryan toy with his fork and follow Lucy's every move with his eyes. "Hey!" She snapped her fingers to get his focus on her.
"You remember how I freaked out when my mom called and how I practically fell apart the day I had to go to lunch with her?" Summer asked. "Well, you're doing that. Looking back, I can tell you I let myself get ridiculously worked up for nothing. Nothing changes." She searched for words that wouldn't sound harsh, but there was no pleasant way to put it. "Whatever you find out, you have to remember it's your mom's life and stop letting her mess with your head. You're not responsible for her. She left you, remember?"
"If she's in trouble...." Ryan began.
"You might not be able to help her." Summer paused, wishing she'd had this conversation with him before they'd started searching Chino for Dawn. "I mean, you might be able to do something but you might not, so you have to go into it ... detached."
"Detached," he repeated. "I don't know if I can do that."
"What happened to Mr. 'I didn't feel anything when my mom left?' You're such a sham, Atwood. Under that Mr. Cool act you have more emotions simmering away than anyone I ever met."
Ryan was irritated now and opened his mouth to respond, when Lucy approached their table, pulling a chair over so she could sit down. She put the photograph of Dawn on the table and held out her hand to Ryan. "So you're her kid, huh?" she said, smiling slightly as she took his hand. "She talked about you all the time. How she was going to get herself straightened out and make a real home for you." She shook her head and her smile disappeared. She took out a pack of cigarettes, shook one out and lit up.
"What happened?" Ryan asked dully.
"Ah, you know." Lucy shrugged, blowing out a long stream of smoke through her nose. "She started partying pretty hard, first on weekends then just about every night. One thing led to another...."
Ryan nodded and Summer could almost see the walls go up as all expression drained from his face. He stared down at the table and listened impassively to the waitress's story.
"Booze and coke led to harder stuff. She came to work fucked up one too many times and lost her job here. Lost her apartment. Owed all kinds of money to her dealer. I let her crash at my place for a while until she got too dangerous to be around." Lucy took a deep drag on her cigarette. "I hated to kick her out. She was a real sweetie, but...."
She shrugged again and studied Ryan a moment before she went on. "I'm sorry to have to tell you all this."
"You know where she is." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yeah." Lucy paused. "I seen her panhandling outside the Fetzer Center one day. She was wrecked. Wasted, of course, and beat up. I almost ... went the other way, pretended I didn't see her, but ... I just couldn't do it. We were pretty close for a while there, Dawn and me. So, I gave her a twenty and a sandwich so she'd eat something ... and I told her if she was ever ready to get straightened out I'd help her any way I could."
"Crack?" Ryan asked.
"I guess. Probably whatever she could get her hands on."
He nodded, jaw clenched so tight now that Summer was afraid his bones would pop through the skin.
"Where can I find her?"
"You sure you want to, honey?" Lucy asked, reaching out a hand to touch Ryan's shoulder.
He finally looked up from the table with hard eyes and Lucy's hand fell away.
"Okay," she agreed. "I get it. She's your mom. But I don't know if there's anything you can do to help her." She took another drag on her cigarette. "Dawn told me she was crashing in a house on Mariposa Street. I don't know which one."
Lucy looked at Ryan and then at Summer. "But you better think twice before you go looking for her there." Her eyes returned to Ryan. "Don't take your pretty girlfriend. She's got no business a place like that."
"I won't," he answered shortly.
"Well," Lucy shifted uncomfortably in her seat, "good luck." She stood and hovered by the table for an awkward moment. "Really. Good luck," she repeated earnestly, catching Ryan's eyes and beaming concern and sympathy at him. "I ... had a sister with problems like Dawn's and I know how bad you want to help ... but there's only so much you can do, you know?"
Ryan nodded slowly. "I ... have to see her," he explained.
"I know." Lucy smiled sadly at both of them and turned to go back to the kitchen.
Summer was saved from having to think of something to say to Ryan because the waitress arrived with their food. She stared at her burger. The rich, beefy smell was making her salivate and actually feel light-headed with hunger, but it seemed terribly inappropriate to chow down while her boyfriend was in the middle of a personal crisis.
Ryan slumped against the back of the booth, staring across the restaurant at nothing. He didn't seem to notice the plate, which had been placed in front of him.
"Um, Ryan ... sweetie," Summer said softly. The endearment felt strange. They weren't a 'sweetheart, baby, honey' kind of couple. "You should probably try to eat something even if you're not hungry," she prompted.
His gaze swung slowly to her then down to his food. He picked up the burger and bit into it. Summer was glad to do the same. She wolfed down the hamburger and fries in less than five minutes then watched as Ryan continued to mechanically chew and swallow. He made it through half the burger before setting it down and pushing the plate away.
Summer sucked on an ice cube and thought about what the waitress had told them. She realized now that Ryan had probably guessed all along what he was going to find out about his mother. The area they had spent the afternoon canvassing was not the dangerous, evil place from which he had wanted to protect Summer. This other neighborhood of homeless squats and drug houses was where he needed to go, and she knew he couldn't be budged this time. He would not take her there.
"Okay," Ryan said suddenly, as if coming to an agreement with himself. He sat up and glanced at his watch. "It's after seven. I've got to check in with the Cohens and you probably want to call home."
"Not particularly," Summer interjected.
"I'm going to spend the night in Chino," Ryan continued. "But you ..." he fixed Summer with that stupid paternal look she hated, "should go back to Newport."
"I...." she paused, mimicking his delivery, "am going nowhere. We've already had this conversation – twice!"
"I'm not taking you down to Mariposa. Hell, even the cops don't go there if they don't have to." His eyes were fierce. "Please, don't argue with me!"
"If it's that dangerous," Summer said, "then I don't want you going there either." She added, "You should talk to Sandy about all this."
"He'd tell me to give it up and come home," Ryan argued. "And I can't do that."
"Then neither can I." Summer was beginning to feel like a hamster running a wheel of argument with Ryan over and over. "Okay!" She held up her hand. "Compromise. We get a motel. Check in. Get cleaned up. Take a rest. Then you can go and check out this crack house street and I'll wait in the motel. Deal?"
Ryan finally dipped his head, conceding. "All right."
"But, you have to maintain phone contact with me at all times," Summer added quickly.
***********
Summer sat on top of the slippery bedcover at the SleepTite Inn where she and Ryan had booked a room for the night. She leaned against a pair of limp pillows, staring blindly at MTV and brushing her hair. She could hear Ryan moving around in the bathroom. The water turned off and after a moment he emerged, face scrubbed, the tendrils of hair around it spiky and damp. He stood in the doorway looking a little lost and uncertain of what to do next.
Summer put down the brush and patted the bed. "Come here. You should rest before you go," she adjured.
She realized how tired he must be when he didn't argue but crawled up the bed and threw himself across her lap. His arms banded around her waist tightly and his face pressed against her thigh. Summer gently stroked his back with one hand while the other ran slowly up his arm, riding over the smooth bicep and the cotton of his T-shirt sleeve and stopping at his shoulder where she massaged little circles. Looking down at him, she could only see a portion of his face; the strong jaw, dominant nose and thick eyelashes resting against his cheek. In that quiet, intimate moment an unexpected surge of emotion coursed through her and for the first time Summer felt the words 'I love you' poised on her tongue, aching to be released.
But they weren't the kind of couple who said that either, so she swallowed hard and moved her hand from his shoulder, threading her fingers through his hair to cradle the back of his head and pull him even tighter against her belly. He imperceptibly sighed and turned his face deeper into her denim-clad torso.
Summer gave what comfort she could. She held him close and waited to see what would happen next.
To be continued....
Reader participation time.
I stopped at this quiet moment because I'm not sure what happens next either. My original plan called for Summer to accompany Ryan every step of the way so she could be witness to what he goes through as he finds Dawn in the nastiest area of town and tries to figure out a way to help her. But the more I wrote, the more my conviction grew that there's no way in hell Ryan would ever endanger someone he cares about by taking them to a crack house. I could simply not create a believable scenario in which he would do that.
So, what to do? Have Summer follow him anyway much as Marissa did in the Thanksgiving ep? Don't like it. Have her wait in the motel as promised, missing out on the angst-ridden reunion of Dawn and Ryan but then have him bring his mom back to the motel and....the idea trails off here. Change POV to Ryan's so we can see what happens? Or get really radical and write it from some random third person POV – maybe a half crazy homeless person or something – that would be unique. But I hate to change POV, because this is Summer's story.
Another problem is that all I know of drug houses is from watching "Trainspotting" and a lot of TV. There's nothing worse than someone who knows absolutely nothing about the reality of a place trying to believably write about it. I'd like nothing better than to gloss right over the "meeting in the ghetto" scene but it seems like cheating somehow. People want to witness Ryan confronting his mama again.
The ultimate point of this story is not "Ryan saves Dawn" but "Ryan learns how to let go when a situation is beyond his control even if someone he loves is hurting." This whole White Night complex has got to end and with Summer's practical approach to girlfriending, I think he can get past it.
Anyway, I'm open to all suggestions or plot ideas – not saying I won't end up going my own route anyway, but I'd like to hear some feedback. Maybe to my email address. Thanks y'all. And thanks for your kind reviews for "Summer Time" and the first chapter of "Summer in Chino."