"Summer in Chino" – chapter 4
Thanks again for all the feedback. No matter how long I write, I never outgrow the need for approbation to encourage me to keep on, like a child on a diving board crying, "Look at me! See what I can do!" It's humiliating really.
I was very curious about how a completely new character like Charles would be received. I'm glad everyone found him interesting. There really is this old guy in our town who lives above one of the stores and spends his days sitting in front of the News Agency with his cat on a leash. I'm a bad person. I've never talked to him.
************
"Hi. It's me again," Summer said into the phone.
"Me who?" a light, boyish voice answered.
"Ryan?" she asked.
"No."
"Who the hell is this?"
"Miguel. Who the hell is this?"
"None of your business. Where's Ryan and what are you doing with his phone?"
"He left it on the table. He's up in the bathroom with his mom. Getting cleaned up."
"What?! What the hell is going on? Who are you?"
"Oh, you missed it, chica. A huge fight. Huge! See there was this guy and.... Hey!!"
There was a long pause and Summer heard muffled voices arguing.
"Hello?" an old man's querulous voice said. "May I help you?"
"Yes, you may help me." Summer's tone was edging toward hysteria. "Who are you and what's happened to Ryan?"
"I'm Mr. Murchison," he enunciated carefully and spoke loudly as if doubting the power of the tiny cell phone to amplify his voice. "Mr. Charles Murchison."
"Where's Ryan?"
"He's up in the bathroom with his mother getting cle...."
"Yeah. I caught that. I mean where in Chino is Ryan and who the hell are you people and what's wrong with my boyfriend!!" Her stressful evening had driven Summer to a towering fury.
"Please calm down Miss...?"
"Summer. My name is Summer."
"Your friend is going to be all right, Miss Summers. He was involved in ... a little tussle, but there weren't any serious injuries."
"Serious injuries! A fight? Damn him. He didn't tell me about any of this when he called." Summer took a moment to breath then using her sweetest candy striper voice began again. "Okay, Mr., um, Murchison, I want you to please give me your address now."
"Oh. I'm not sure that's a good idea," he began, "Your friend Ryan should be leaving soon and.... Don't touch that you'll break it!"
"What?"
"Pardon me," the old man continued. "There are already so many people here and I don't know if...."
"People? Who else is there?"
There was another long pause and arguing voices again.
"....me that, you stupid old man. Hello? Chica?"
"Yeah?"
"So are you like my boy's girlfriend or something?"
"Who is this?"
"Miguel! Remember? I just talked to you. What's your name?"
"Ask Mr. Murchison," she said dryly. "Look! I've had enough. I want you to take the phone to Ryan right now."
"Chill, bitch! I can do that but I don't know if he's up for talking, see what I'm sayin'?"
"Who the hell ARE you? An old friend? What?" She shook her head. "Never mind. Here's what we're gonna do. You're going to give me the address of where you're at and I'm going to come there. And I want you to tell Ryan Atwood to sit tight and not move 'til I get there. You got it?"
"Yeeow, feisty! I like that."
There was another pause.
"Miss Summers? This is Charles Murchison again. Hello."
"Yeah. Hello, Mr. Murchison. You mind please giving me your address? Now. Please."
"4235 Mariposa Street. But I really wouldn't advise..."
"Yeah. Okay. Bu-bye now." Summer hung up and quickly pushed the number of the cab company. Fifteen minutes after her earlier conversation with Ryan she had decided that she had waited in this stupid motel room long enough, called the front desk and gotten the number. Whatever the hell was going on at Mariposa Street, Summer was about to crash it.
She turned her phone to vibrate and smiled. Let Ryan just try to call her back, he'd see how it felt to have his calls unanswered.
***************
The cab driver did not want to take her to Mariposa, but when she said, "Fine. Leave me at the nearest intersection and I'll walk," he tsked and complained but caved.
He drove slowly up the street as Summer searched for a house number on the hovels they passed. When they found 4253, it was obvious even before reading the number that this was the place. It was the only house that looked remotely habitable.
Summer paid the driver, tipping him well for the extra trouble, then stepped from the cab with some trepidation. She walked quickly to the front door and rang the bell and then knocked for good measure.
There was a twitch of blinds as someone peered out at her then she heard footsteps approaching the door and the same young voice from the phone say, "I got it, viejo." After a pause and the metallic sound of unfastening locks, the door opened to reveal a short, skinny latino boy who looked Summer up and down like she was a particularly nice side of beef he was considering buying.
"Heeello!" he drawled with a leer. Summer didn't dignify him with a reply but pushed past him into the house.
She stormed through the foyer to the living room. Ryan was half reclining on the couch, propped against a couple of pillows. His mother was in a chair by his side and the old man, Mr. Murchison, was rising from an armchair and coming toward Summer, hand extended in greeting. She breezed past him as well, marching straight over to Ryan.
"Oh my god, look at you!" she exclaimed. Her righteous indignation and the carefully worded rant she had planned on her way here disappeared. She dropped to her knees beside the couch.
One side of Ryan's face was swollen and marred with abrasions. It looked like it would turn all shades of bruise before long. The eye on the injured side was almost sealed shut. His lip was split. He was shirtless and an ace bandage was wrapped around his ribs. There were more marks and scrapes on one shoulder and both arms. The knuckles of his hand, holding a steaming mug, were also swollen and red.
Glaring, Summer turned to Dawn, who looked pretty messed up herself. "Why didn't you take him to the emergency?" she demanded. "Something might be broken!"
"I...." Dawn trailed off. Fresh tears began to course down her cheeks and she put a hand to her mouth.
"It's all right. Nothing's broken," Ryan assured. "It looks worse than it is."
"How do you know? You could have internal bleeding ... or a concussion. You should be checked out. Did anyone even THINK of calling 911?" Summer continued vehemently.
"And where are the police?" She whirled toward the old man. "Did you even call them? We should be at a hospital or a police station right now, not having a tea party with Mr. Rogers."
"Stop it," Ryan snapped irritably. "You're not helping."
There was a pause then he softened his words by reaching out and taking her hand in his. He regained his usual calm, even tone. "I'm going to be all right. Don't worry."
Summer bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. After an evening of waiting anxiously and helplessly, she had really needed to vent about something - anything. But she'd be damned if she'd let her nerves get the better of her and break down crying. She glanced over at Dawn sitting in her chair looking like the poster woman for domestic violence or perhaps an anti-drug campaign. Her eyes were red-rimmed and dull, her skin pale and blotchy, her hair lank and shaggy. Yet Summer didn't pity her one bit.
One of the first things Summer had learned when she was in therapy the summer after her mom left was that 'assigning blame' helped no one. She'd never really been sold on that tenet. Right now she would like nothing better than to kick that stupid cow, Dawn, to the curb for creating a situation, which not only put Ryan in danger but also ripped his heart out. Hell, for that matter the witch had a whole lifetime of damaging behavior to account for.
Summer's eyes skewered Dawn like twin lasers, causing the woman to shift uncomfortably in her chair and drop her gaze to the floor. The girl took a deep breath and turned to Ryan again. "All right." She smiled and squeezed his hand, gently so she wouldn't hurt it. "Chilling out now. I promise."
"Miss Summers?" a tentative voice broke in. "May I get you something to drink?"
Summer looked up and actually registered the old man this time. Her eyes widened in surprise as the image of the man with his cat on the street flashed in her mind. Just then, confirming her recognition, a striped tabby strolled through the living room, totally ignoring all the strangers who had invaded her space.
"Uh, yeah. I mean, yes, please," Summer stammered.
"I have coffee, hot cocoa or ... tea."
"Hot cocoa, please," she answered formally, feeling like she'd stepped into the Twilight Zone.
The old gentleman turned and shuffled slowly toward the kitchen, kitty bumping up against his legs and weaving around him, hopeful of a late night treat.
"Okay. Does anyone want to tell me what exactly happened tonight," Summer began in her most reasonable tone as she turned to face Ryan and his mom again.
"I will!" The street kid, who had been circling the room, picking things up, examining them then putting them down again, came over and perched on the arm of the couch behind Ryan. "It was fuckin' amazing, chica. You shoulda seen your boy here. One second I was talkin' to him, the next he was charging this dude like he's crazy. He knocked the guy back and kneed him in the face. But then the guy...."
"Why are you even still here?" Ryan interrupted, twisting his head around to cast an icy glare at the boy.
"I'm still waiting for my money, esse. Figure you owe me at least twenty bucks," he replied calmly.
"For what?!"
"Finding your madre." The kid gestured at Dawn. "There she is, right?"
"You didn't find her," Ryan started to protest then gave up with a shrug. "You know what? Doesn't matter. Fine." He thrust his mug at Miguel, who took it and began to drink. Ryan let go of Summer's hand and, wincing, shifted so that he could reach into his jeans pocket. He pulled out a few bills. "Here you go. This is what I have left," he said, handing it to the boy.
Miguel took it and quickly counted. "Thirteen bucks! I spend my whole night helpin' you out and all you got for me is thirteen bucks?" he said in disgust.
"Summer?" Ryan asked. "You got anything?"
She rummaged in her purse and found another forty but only showed the boy a five-dollar bill. "That's all I've got," she announced.
A thin brown hand quickly snatched it from hers. Miguel gave her an evil look as if he knew she was holding back, but he didn't protest.
"So are you gonna go now or what?" Ryan asked.
"Just a minute, bro. I'm drinkin' my cocoa."
Suddenly Dawn roused from her stupor and began talking. "Why'd you come here, Ry? Why'd you look for me?" She managed to sound weary, sad and angry simultaneously. "What were you expecting to find?"
"I don't know."
"I left you with the Cohens for a reason, you know, so this kind of shit wouldn't happen. You were supposed to be safe."
Ryan looked down and picked at the ace bandage.
"Who told you where I was anyway?" Dawn continued petulantly.
"Theresa," Summer fielded the question. "She was under the mistaken impression that you could, I don't know, use some help. Shame on her for caring!"
A spark of anger livened Dawn's tired, drawn features. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm Summer," she answered in a challenging tone. "Ryan's girlfriend."
"Well, listen little girl. This is family business so why don't you just keep your mouth shut, okay?"
"Mom!" Ryan glared at her.
"Hey, I don't need some spoiled Newport princess interfering in my life or giving me advice," Dawn shot back.
"You from Newport? Well that explains a lot," Miguel interrupted. He was watching the participants in the unfolding argument like a fan at a three- way tennis match.
"Explains what?" Summer asked defensively.
"Why you such a high-powered bee-yach!" he laughed.
Without looking, Ryan reached over his shoulder and delivered a hard rap to the boy's chest. "Watch it."
Miguel moved from his perch on the arm of the couch, rubbing his chest and sulking. "I'm just sayin'."
"It seems to me," Summer turned her attention back to Dawn, "that you should be grateful that your son cares enough to search all over Chino for you and you should be apologizing for putting him through all this drama."
"Shut up," Dawn snapped.
"Who was this guy Ryan was fighting, anyway?" Summer asked acidly. "Another of your 'boyfriends.'"
"It was her pimp, Jose," Miguel supplied, grinning with delight at the cat spat.
"He's not my pimp," Dawn said, frowning.
"No. Your dealer," Ryan interjected. His mouth was a thin line of disapproval and he stared at her until she couldn't hold his gaze and looked away.
"Nice," Summer said. She stood up from kneeling on the floor by Ryan's side and sat down on the couch next to his legs.
Just then Mr. Murchison returned with a hot mug, which Summer accepted gratefully. She sipped at what turned out to be hot water with not nearly enough cocoa mix in it. She smiled at the old man who was hovering anxiously. "Mm, delicious. Thank you."
"You're welcome." He returned her smile then went over to his armchair and lowered himself onto it.
Dawn was perched on the edge of her seat now, one leg jiggling either from nerves or withdrawal. "All right. So I screwed up," she resumed the conversation. "And I already apologized to Ryan," she directed to Summer.
"Oh, was that while you were bandaging him up after he was nearly killed because of you?" Summer replied, smooth as butter.
"Stop it," Ryan urged her quietly. He gave her one of his puppydog 'please' looks and Summer subsided. She decided she would literally bite her tongue if any more sarcastic comments to Dawn tried to pass her lips.
"Honey," Dawn began again, facing Ryan and reaching out a hand as if to take his then dropping it when he didn't respond. "I'm ... messed up." She laughed bitterly. "That's an understatement. But ... I don't want you to try to help me. You should go back to Newport. You belong there now."
Finally something Summer could agree with. She took another sip of her sad little cup of hot chocolate and waited to see what Ryan would say.
He shook his head. "Mom, I can't just leave you like this." He looked at her beseechingly. "I can't."
"Yes," she said tiredly. "You can. You have to. It's not your life to figure out."
"At least let us give you a ride someplace, another town maybe, where that guy won't find you."
Dawn shrugged. "We'll see. Maybe." She tossed back her hair and straightened her shoulders. "But right now you should get some sleep. We can talk more in the morning."
"I'll call a taxi and we can go back to the motel," Summer said, reaching into her purse for her phone.
Miguel laughed. "Ain't no taxi gonna come here this time of night," he scoffed.
Summer looked at Ryan's pale, tense face. "Well we can't walk to the jeep. You're in no condition."
"I'm fine." He moved to get off the couch, winced again and clutched his ribs.
"Like I said, no condition."
Charles cleared his throat. "You.... I suppose you could sleep here. There are several bedrooms. Of course, they haven't been used in years. They may be rather dusty...."
"Can't be any worse than that fleabag motel," Summer asserted. "That would be wonderful, Mr. Murchison. Thank you."
"No. We should go. You've done too much already," Ryan said. "I feel bad enough that you're in trouble with this Jose guy because of us."
"Nonsense. It was my decision," the old man said, a little more assertively. "I've kept my mouth shut and my head down for too many years. It was past time I took some action."
"You was like Vin Diesel openin' a can of whup-ass," Miguel chortled. "All 'don't fuck with me, fucker.' Funniest thing I ever seen!" He turned to Summer to explain, "See, this old guy pulled a gun and started shooting up the street, and Jose's like divin' for cover and peein' his pants tryin' to get away. Fuckin' hilarious!"
"Really. I insist." Charles ignored the interruption. "Sleep a few hours at least."
"That would be great." Summer overrode any other protests Ryan might make. She rose from the couch saying, "Just lead the way."
"Thank you," Dawn added politely. "For letting us into your home."
"So everybody's spendin' the night?" Miguel asked. "What about me?"
"Don't you have someplace to go?" Mr. Murchison asked dryly.
"No, man. Do I look like I got someplace to go?"
Charles sighed heavily. "All right. You can sleep on the couch."
"Oh, that's right. Give all the white folks the beds and let the minority sleep on the couch."
**********
When Mr. Murchison opened the door to his parents' old bedroom, Summer felt like she had stumbled onto a set from "That 70's Show." The bedspread was sprigged with green and gold leaves and maybe some acorns, she wasn't quite sure. The curtains were also a shade of green, which wasn't lime or avocado or olive but some weird hybrid of the three. And the carpet was gold and shaggy.
Mr. M. was right, a layer of dust covered everything, and Summer felt a tickle in her nose. The room was stifling hot. The old man moved slowly to the window, drew back the curtains and opened it. A faint, warm breeze gusted through the room.
"I'm sorry it's so hot. I don't have air conditioning," he said apologetically.
'Duh. No kidding,' Summer though uncharitably but said, "That's all right. This will be just fine for us."
"Oh!" There was a long pause. "Miss Summers, I, uh, thought you could sleep in my sisters' room with...." he gestured at Dawn, who stood in the doorway.
"No. I'll stay here with Ryan, thanks," Summer said. Then, realizing that she was talking to Grandpa McGrampy, who might have a problem with an unmarried couple sleeping together, she added, "In case he needs anything."
Ryan stood in the center of the room, pale and sweating from his exertion climbing the stairs. He looked like he was going to pass out if he didn't lie down soon. Summer quickly threw back the covers from the double bed. Ryan sat carefully on the edge and then eased himself back onto the mattress, groaning softly. Summer fussed about, removing his shoes and spreading the sheet over him. It was far too hot for any more covers than that.
Dawn crossed the room and lingered by Ryan's side for a moment. She smoothed his hair back then bent to kiss his forehead. "I'm so sorry, kiddo," she whispered. "About everything." Ryan's eyes were already drifting shut and he didn't acknowledge her.
Dawn straightened. From opposite sides of the bed, she and Summer locked gazes for several seconds, and then Ryan's mother turned and left the room with Mr. Murchison.
Summer turned off the light, walked to the window and breathed in deeply. She couldn't believe the old man didn't at least dig up a fan to help circulate the air a little. She pulled off her shirt and shorts and slipped into bed dressed in the no-longer-new-and-actually-pretty-sweaty, silver and blue bikini.
Looking around the bedroom, she thought about Mr. Murchison's parents spending their entire married life in this house, sleeping in this bed, moving about in this room, and actually choosing that hideous green and gold wallpaper on purpose. She glanced over at Ryan and it looked like he was already asleep, but just then his one good eye flickered open and he looked back at her.
Summer reached out nd gently touched the side of his swollen face then she scooched close and leaned in to place a butterfly soft kiss on his split lip. Drawing back she smiled and said, "Ryan Atwood, you have got to take an anger management course."
He tried to smile back. She could tell because his lips twitched.
"I'm glad you're here," he murmured.
"I don't take well to being left behind," she answered flippantly. She gave him another careful peck on the lips before relaxing back onto her own pillow. Ryan lay flat on his back, one hand resting on Summer's hip. She lay on her side facing him, with her left hand splayed on his warm chest. As she listened to his breathing slow and deepen, her eyes closed.
Then Ryan whispered sleepily, "Love you," and Summer's eyes flew open.
She stared at him but he appeared totally unconscious. She wondered if he was even aware of what he'd said. Probably not. Mr. Murchison had dosed him with some of his arthritis painkillers, which she hoped the old man had had sense enough to hide from the two addicts in the house.
His words didn't mean anything. No. It was just exhaustion and good meds.
Although exhausted from her day in Chino, Summer laid wide awake for a long time watching Ryan sleep.
To be continued....
Thanks again for all the feedback. No matter how long I write, I never outgrow the need for approbation to encourage me to keep on, like a child on a diving board crying, "Look at me! See what I can do!" It's humiliating really.
I was very curious about how a completely new character like Charles would be received. I'm glad everyone found him interesting. There really is this old guy in our town who lives above one of the stores and spends his days sitting in front of the News Agency with his cat on a leash. I'm a bad person. I've never talked to him.
************
"Hi. It's me again," Summer said into the phone.
"Me who?" a light, boyish voice answered.
"Ryan?" she asked.
"No."
"Who the hell is this?"
"Miguel. Who the hell is this?"
"None of your business. Where's Ryan and what are you doing with his phone?"
"He left it on the table. He's up in the bathroom with his mom. Getting cleaned up."
"What?! What the hell is going on? Who are you?"
"Oh, you missed it, chica. A huge fight. Huge! See there was this guy and.... Hey!!"
There was a long pause and Summer heard muffled voices arguing.
"Hello?" an old man's querulous voice said. "May I help you?"
"Yes, you may help me." Summer's tone was edging toward hysteria. "Who are you and what's happened to Ryan?"
"I'm Mr. Murchison," he enunciated carefully and spoke loudly as if doubting the power of the tiny cell phone to amplify his voice. "Mr. Charles Murchison."
"Where's Ryan?"
"He's up in the bathroom with his mother getting cle...."
"Yeah. I caught that. I mean where in Chino is Ryan and who the hell are you people and what's wrong with my boyfriend!!" Her stressful evening had driven Summer to a towering fury.
"Please calm down Miss...?"
"Summer. My name is Summer."
"Your friend is going to be all right, Miss Summers. He was involved in ... a little tussle, but there weren't any serious injuries."
"Serious injuries! A fight? Damn him. He didn't tell me about any of this when he called." Summer took a moment to breath then using her sweetest candy striper voice began again. "Okay, Mr., um, Murchison, I want you to please give me your address now."
"Oh. I'm not sure that's a good idea," he began, "Your friend Ryan should be leaving soon and.... Don't touch that you'll break it!"
"What?"
"Pardon me," the old man continued. "There are already so many people here and I don't know if...."
"People? Who else is there?"
There was another long pause and arguing voices again.
"....me that, you stupid old man. Hello? Chica?"
"Yeah?"
"So are you like my boy's girlfriend or something?"
"Who is this?"
"Miguel! Remember? I just talked to you. What's your name?"
"Ask Mr. Murchison," she said dryly. "Look! I've had enough. I want you to take the phone to Ryan right now."
"Chill, bitch! I can do that but I don't know if he's up for talking, see what I'm sayin'?"
"Who the hell ARE you? An old friend? What?" She shook her head. "Never mind. Here's what we're gonna do. You're going to give me the address of where you're at and I'm going to come there. And I want you to tell Ryan Atwood to sit tight and not move 'til I get there. You got it?"
"Yeeow, feisty! I like that."
There was another pause.
"Miss Summers? This is Charles Murchison again. Hello."
"Yeah. Hello, Mr. Murchison. You mind please giving me your address? Now. Please."
"4235 Mariposa Street. But I really wouldn't advise..."
"Yeah. Okay. Bu-bye now." Summer hung up and quickly pushed the number of the cab company. Fifteen minutes after her earlier conversation with Ryan she had decided that she had waited in this stupid motel room long enough, called the front desk and gotten the number. Whatever the hell was going on at Mariposa Street, Summer was about to crash it.
She turned her phone to vibrate and smiled. Let Ryan just try to call her back, he'd see how it felt to have his calls unanswered.
***************
The cab driver did not want to take her to Mariposa, but when she said, "Fine. Leave me at the nearest intersection and I'll walk," he tsked and complained but caved.
He drove slowly up the street as Summer searched for a house number on the hovels they passed. When they found 4253, it was obvious even before reading the number that this was the place. It was the only house that looked remotely habitable.
Summer paid the driver, tipping him well for the extra trouble, then stepped from the cab with some trepidation. She walked quickly to the front door and rang the bell and then knocked for good measure.
There was a twitch of blinds as someone peered out at her then she heard footsteps approaching the door and the same young voice from the phone say, "I got it, viejo." After a pause and the metallic sound of unfastening locks, the door opened to reveal a short, skinny latino boy who looked Summer up and down like she was a particularly nice side of beef he was considering buying.
"Heeello!" he drawled with a leer. Summer didn't dignify him with a reply but pushed past him into the house.
She stormed through the foyer to the living room. Ryan was half reclining on the couch, propped against a couple of pillows. His mother was in a chair by his side and the old man, Mr. Murchison, was rising from an armchair and coming toward Summer, hand extended in greeting. She breezed past him as well, marching straight over to Ryan.
"Oh my god, look at you!" she exclaimed. Her righteous indignation and the carefully worded rant she had planned on her way here disappeared. She dropped to her knees beside the couch.
One side of Ryan's face was swollen and marred with abrasions. It looked like it would turn all shades of bruise before long. The eye on the injured side was almost sealed shut. His lip was split. He was shirtless and an ace bandage was wrapped around his ribs. There were more marks and scrapes on one shoulder and both arms. The knuckles of his hand, holding a steaming mug, were also swollen and red.
Glaring, Summer turned to Dawn, who looked pretty messed up herself. "Why didn't you take him to the emergency?" she demanded. "Something might be broken!"
"I...." Dawn trailed off. Fresh tears began to course down her cheeks and she put a hand to her mouth.
"It's all right. Nothing's broken," Ryan assured. "It looks worse than it is."
"How do you know? You could have internal bleeding ... or a concussion. You should be checked out. Did anyone even THINK of calling 911?" Summer continued vehemently.
"And where are the police?" She whirled toward the old man. "Did you even call them? We should be at a hospital or a police station right now, not having a tea party with Mr. Rogers."
"Stop it," Ryan snapped irritably. "You're not helping."
There was a pause then he softened his words by reaching out and taking her hand in his. He regained his usual calm, even tone. "I'm going to be all right. Don't worry."
Summer bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. After an evening of waiting anxiously and helplessly, she had really needed to vent about something - anything. But she'd be damned if she'd let her nerves get the better of her and break down crying. She glanced over at Dawn sitting in her chair looking like the poster woman for domestic violence or perhaps an anti-drug campaign. Her eyes were red-rimmed and dull, her skin pale and blotchy, her hair lank and shaggy. Yet Summer didn't pity her one bit.
One of the first things Summer had learned when she was in therapy the summer after her mom left was that 'assigning blame' helped no one. She'd never really been sold on that tenet. Right now she would like nothing better than to kick that stupid cow, Dawn, to the curb for creating a situation, which not only put Ryan in danger but also ripped his heart out. Hell, for that matter the witch had a whole lifetime of damaging behavior to account for.
Summer's eyes skewered Dawn like twin lasers, causing the woman to shift uncomfortably in her chair and drop her gaze to the floor. The girl took a deep breath and turned to Ryan again. "All right." She smiled and squeezed his hand, gently so she wouldn't hurt it. "Chilling out now. I promise."
"Miss Summers?" a tentative voice broke in. "May I get you something to drink?"
Summer looked up and actually registered the old man this time. Her eyes widened in surprise as the image of the man with his cat on the street flashed in her mind. Just then, confirming her recognition, a striped tabby strolled through the living room, totally ignoring all the strangers who had invaded her space.
"Uh, yeah. I mean, yes, please," Summer stammered.
"I have coffee, hot cocoa or ... tea."
"Hot cocoa, please," she answered formally, feeling like she'd stepped into the Twilight Zone.
The old gentleman turned and shuffled slowly toward the kitchen, kitty bumping up against his legs and weaving around him, hopeful of a late night treat.
"Okay. Does anyone want to tell me what exactly happened tonight," Summer began in her most reasonable tone as she turned to face Ryan and his mom again.
"I will!" The street kid, who had been circling the room, picking things up, examining them then putting them down again, came over and perched on the arm of the couch behind Ryan. "It was fuckin' amazing, chica. You shoulda seen your boy here. One second I was talkin' to him, the next he was charging this dude like he's crazy. He knocked the guy back and kneed him in the face. But then the guy...."
"Why are you even still here?" Ryan interrupted, twisting his head around to cast an icy glare at the boy.
"I'm still waiting for my money, esse. Figure you owe me at least twenty bucks," he replied calmly.
"For what?!"
"Finding your madre." The kid gestured at Dawn. "There she is, right?"
"You didn't find her," Ryan started to protest then gave up with a shrug. "You know what? Doesn't matter. Fine." He thrust his mug at Miguel, who took it and began to drink. Ryan let go of Summer's hand and, wincing, shifted so that he could reach into his jeans pocket. He pulled out a few bills. "Here you go. This is what I have left," he said, handing it to the boy.
Miguel took it and quickly counted. "Thirteen bucks! I spend my whole night helpin' you out and all you got for me is thirteen bucks?" he said in disgust.
"Summer?" Ryan asked. "You got anything?"
She rummaged in her purse and found another forty but only showed the boy a five-dollar bill. "That's all I've got," she announced.
A thin brown hand quickly snatched it from hers. Miguel gave her an evil look as if he knew she was holding back, but he didn't protest.
"So are you gonna go now or what?" Ryan asked.
"Just a minute, bro. I'm drinkin' my cocoa."
Suddenly Dawn roused from her stupor and began talking. "Why'd you come here, Ry? Why'd you look for me?" She managed to sound weary, sad and angry simultaneously. "What were you expecting to find?"
"I don't know."
"I left you with the Cohens for a reason, you know, so this kind of shit wouldn't happen. You were supposed to be safe."
Ryan looked down and picked at the ace bandage.
"Who told you where I was anyway?" Dawn continued petulantly.
"Theresa," Summer fielded the question. "She was under the mistaken impression that you could, I don't know, use some help. Shame on her for caring!"
A spark of anger livened Dawn's tired, drawn features. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm Summer," she answered in a challenging tone. "Ryan's girlfriend."
"Well, listen little girl. This is family business so why don't you just keep your mouth shut, okay?"
"Mom!" Ryan glared at her.
"Hey, I don't need some spoiled Newport princess interfering in my life or giving me advice," Dawn shot back.
"You from Newport? Well that explains a lot," Miguel interrupted. He was watching the participants in the unfolding argument like a fan at a three- way tennis match.
"Explains what?" Summer asked defensively.
"Why you such a high-powered bee-yach!" he laughed.
Without looking, Ryan reached over his shoulder and delivered a hard rap to the boy's chest. "Watch it."
Miguel moved from his perch on the arm of the couch, rubbing his chest and sulking. "I'm just sayin'."
"It seems to me," Summer turned her attention back to Dawn, "that you should be grateful that your son cares enough to search all over Chino for you and you should be apologizing for putting him through all this drama."
"Shut up," Dawn snapped.
"Who was this guy Ryan was fighting, anyway?" Summer asked acidly. "Another of your 'boyfriends.'"
"It was her pimp, Jose," Miguel supplied, grinning with delight at the cat spat.
"He's not my pimp," Dawn said, frowning.
"No. Your dealer," Ryan interjected. His mouth was a thin line of disapproval and he stared at her until she couldn't hold his gaze and looked away.
"Nice," Summer said. She stood up from kneeling on the floor by Ryan's side and sat down on the couch next to his legs.
Just then Mr. Murchison returned with a hot mug, which Summer accepted gratefully. She sipped at what turned out to be hot water with not nearly enough cocoa mix in it. She smiled at the old man who was hovering anxiously. "Mm, delicious. Thank you."
"You're welcome." He returned her smile then went over to his armchair and lowered himself onto it.
Dawn was perched on the edge of her seat now, one leg jiggling either from nerves or withdrawal. "All right. So I screwed up," she resumed the conversation. "And I already apologized to Ryan," she directed to Summer.
"Oh, was that while you were bandaging him up after he was nearly killed because of you?" Summer replied, smooth as butter.
"Stop it," Ryan urged her quietly. He gave her one of his puppydog 'please' looks and Summer subsided. She decided she would literally bite her tongue if any more sarcastic comments to Dawn tried to pass her lips.
"Honey," Dawn began again, facing Ryan and reaching out a hand as if to take his then dropping it when he didn't respond. "I'm ... messed up." She laughed bitterly. "That's an understatement. But ... I don't want you to try to help me. You should go back to Newport. You belong there now."
Finally something Summer could agree with. She took another sip of her sad little cup of hot chocolate and waited to see what Ryan would say.
He shook his head. "Mom, I can't just leave you like this." He looked at her beseechingly. "I can't."
"Yes," she said tiredly. "You can. You have to. It's not your life to figure out."
"At least let us give you a ride someplace, another town maybe, where that guy won't find you."
Dawn shrugged. "We'll see. Maybe." She tossed back her hair and straightened her shoulders. "But right now you should get some sleep. We can talk more in the morning."
"I'll call a taxi and we can go back to the motel," Summer said, reaching into her purse for her phone.
Miguel laughed. "Ain't no taxi gonna come here this time of night," he scoffed.
Summer looked at Ryan's pale, tense face. "Well we can't walk to the jeep. You're in no condition."
"I'm fine." He moved to get off the couch, winced again and clutched his ribs.
"Like I said, no condition."
Charles cleared his throat. "You.... I suppose you could sleep here. There are several bedrooms. Of course, they haven't been used in years. They may be rather dusty...."
"Can't be any worse than that fleabag motel," Summer asserted. "That would be wonderful, Mr. Murchison. Thank you."
"No. We should go. You've done too much already," Ryan said. "I feel bad enough that you're in trouble with this Jose guy because of us."
"Nonsense. It was my decision," the old man said, a little more assertively. "I've kept my mouth shut and my head down for too many years. It was past time I took some action."
"You was like Vin Diesel openin' a can of whup-ass," Miguel chortled. "All 'don't fuck with me, fucker.' Funniest thing I ever seen!" He turned to Summer to explain, "See, this old guy pulled a gun and started shooting up the street, and Jose's like divin' for cover and peein' his pants tryin' to get away. Fuckin' hilarious!"
"Really. I insist." Charles ignored the interruption. "Sleep a few hours at least."
"That would be great." Summer overrode any other protests Ryan might make. She rose from the couch saying, "Just lead the way."
"Thank you," Dawn added politely. "For letting us into your home."
"So everybody's spendin' the night?" Miguel asked. "What about me?"
"Don't you have someplace to go?" Mr. Murchison asked dryly.
"No, man. Do I look like I got someplace to go?"
Charles sighed heavily. "All right. You can sleep on the couch."
"Oh, that's right. Give all the white folks the beds and let the minority sleep on the couch."
**********
When Mr. Murchison opened the door to his parents' old bedroom, Summer felt like she had stumbled onto a set from "That 70's Show." The bedspread was sprigged with green and gold leaves and maybe some acorns, she wasn't quite sure. The curtains were also a shade of green, which wasn't lime or avocado or olive but some weird hybrid of the three. And the carpet was gold and shaggy.
Mr. M. was right, a layer of dust covered everything, and Summer felt a tickle in her nose. The room was stifling hot. The old man moved slowly to the window, drew back the curtains and opened it. A faint, warm breeze gusted through the room.
"I'm sorry it's so hot. I don't have air conditioning," he said apologetically.
'Duh. No kidding,' Summer though uncharitably but said, "That's all right. This will be just fine for us."
"Oh!" There was a long pause. "Miss Summers, I, uh, thought you could sleep in my sisters' room with...." he gestured at Dawn, who stood in the doorway.
"No. I'll stay here with Ryan, thanks," Summer said. Then, realizing that she was talking to Grandpa McGrampy, who might have a problem with an unmarried couple sleeping together, she added, "In case he needs anything."
Ryan stood in the center of the room, pale and sweating from his exertion climbing the stairs. He looked like he was going to pass out if he didn't lie down soon. Summer quickly threw back the covers from the double bed. Ryan sat carefully on the edge and then eased himself back onto the mattress, groaning softly. Summer fussed about, removing his shoes and spreading the sheet over him. It was far too hot for any more covers than that.
Dawn crossed the room and lingered by Ryan's side for a moment. She smoothed his hair back then bent to kiss his forehead. "I'm so sorry, kiddo," she whispered. "About everything." Ryan's eyes were already drifting shut and he didn't acknowledge her.
Dawn straightened. From opposite sides of the bed, she and Summer locked gazes for several seconds, and then Ryan's mother turned and left the room with Mr. Murchison.
Summer turned off the light, walked to the window and breathed in deeply. She couldn't believe the old man didn't at least dig up a fan to help circulate the air a little. She pulled off her shirt and shorts and slipped into bed dressed in the no-longer-new-and-actually-pretty-sweaty, silver and blue bikini.
Looking around the bedroom, she thought about Mr. Murchison's parents spending their entire married life in this house, sleeping in this bed, moving about in this room, and actually choosing that hideous green and gold wallpaper on purpose. She glanced over at Ryan and it looked like he was already asleep, but just then his one good eye flickered open and he looked back at her.
Summer reached out nd gently touched the side of his swollen face then she scooched close and leaned in to place a butterfly soft kiss on his split lip. Drawing back she smiled and said, "Ryan Atwood, you have got to take an anger management course."
He tried to smile back. She could tell because his lips twitched.
"I'm glad you're here," he murmured.
"I don't take well to being left behind," she answered flippantly. She gave him another careful peck on the lips before relaxing back onto her own pillow. Ryan lay flat on his back, one hand resting on Summer's hip. She lay on her side facing him, with her left hand splayed on his warm chest. As she listened to his breathing slow and deepen, her eyes closed.
Then Ryan whispered sleepily, "Love you," and Summer's eyes flew open.
She stared at him but he appeared totally unconscious. She wondered if he was even aware of what he'd said. Probably not. Mr. Murchison had dosed him with some of his arthritis painkillers, which she hoped the old man had had sense enough to hide from the two addicts in the house.
His words didn't mean anything. No. It was just exhaustion and good meds.
Although exhausted from her day in Chino, Summer laid wide awake for a long time watching Ryan sleep.
To be continued....