A/N- Thanks for all the wonderful reviews. To those that pulled meaning from that brainteaser, congrats to you! For those that still don't know ... I'm sorry!
Being the risk takers that we are, we chose not to disclaim in the prologue…. Okay, we forgot, but here it goes:
Disclaimer: We bow down to those who do actually own these characters, and we thank them for letting our humble selves play with them as we see fit. We DO, however, own that porch, and NO ONE can take that away from us.
The Chino
Chapter One
Sandy is glad to see Kirsten sleeping. His wife hasn't had a restful sleep in far too long. Even if it's on the patio and she's still wearing the clothes from the day before, she's asleep and that's all that matters.
It's been a harsh few weeks for Kirsten, even by Newport's soap-operaish standards. Her son, her only offspring, is missing at sea.
At least they think he's at sea.
They hope that he's tanning on a tourist beach somewhere, babbling mindlessly to an attractive girl. They hope he's camped out at a comic-con waiting anxiously to get a new issue signed. They hope he's sleeping in a posh hotel and ordering room service.
They hope he's anywhere but in the middle of the ocean.
Her other son, the one she'd grown to love as one of her own, has left her, too. Sandy thinks that Ryan's leaving hurts her more because he's not really gone, he's just out of reach.
They hope he's eating right and taking care of himself. They hope that he's sleeping and working a job that will use his mind instead of his body. They hope that he's not throwing his life away.
They hope that he'll realize that he belongs with them and come home. They hope he'll call.
Sandy settles into the chair beside Kirsten and glances over to the pool. Summer, his son's abandoned girlfriend, is lying on Seth's bright green float in the blue water. Beside her, Marissa is lounging on Ryan's orphaned float. The girls are frequent visitors here. It's been four weeks - a whole month - but the girls still come.
They come, hoping that one day their boys will come home to them. The girls share the same dream as Sandy and Kirsten. They also share the same fears.
Summer's fear is written all over her face. She thinks that Seth's left her, just like her mother did. She thinks that he's dead. She thinks that he's stupid for leaving. His parents need him, Ryan needs him and, God, she fucking needs him, too. Her best friend is a wreck, alternating between crying and laughing and she doesn't seem to do anything but sit by her phone and wait for Ryan to call.
Summer needs Seth. She needs him now more than ever. She's never needed anything before, but the lack of Cohen in her life is killing her. She can feel herself fading without him. He made her good. He made her beautiful, but she wasn't enough to make him stay.
She wants to beat the hell out of Chino for making Seth think he had to leave. But it's not Chino's fault. She wasn't enough to make him stay.
Marissa's fear is hidden behind her eyes. She thinks Ryan's left her for another woman. It could be true, if the baby is a girl. She wants to hate him; she wants to pelt him with her fists to make him feel the pain that she feels from losing him. He made her think that he'd always be there for her, that he'd take care of her. He'd never let her down before, but now he's gone. He's just gone. He's gone without her and she can't make it on her own. Her best friend's just lost her boyfriend, too, but Summer's strong. She can handle it. Marissa can't, and Ryan should know that. She needs him. She needs him to come back and save her. She needs him to come back.
Kirsten mumbles in her sleep and Sandy reaches over and takes her hand. She slowly blinks the sleep from her eyes and smiles sadly. At least it's a smile. He realized weeks ago that he can't take away the sadness. She's lost two sons.
In a way, she's lost her father, too. Caleb's in jail awaiting trial, his bankruptcy keeping him from making the bail he needs to be free until his court date. She can't help him and she won't. She didn't know about his transgressions; she always thought he was good at heart. She loves her father, but she won't help him. She visits him almost every day and seeing him is enough for her. She regrets a lot, but she doesn't regret visiting him. She doesn't regret his mistakes, only her own.
Even if he's a bad person, he's still her father and she loves him.
She loves her boys, too. No matter what they do or how much trouble they get into, she'll always love them. Nothing that they could ever say or do would change that.
But Seth left her. She doesn't know if she can forgive him for that. A year ago, she wouldn't have considered losing Seth like this. He would have talked to her; he would have come to her and told her that he was unhappy. But instead, he left a note. A Goddamn note. A note telling her that he couldn't stay in Newport for the summer without Ryan. That if Ryan had to leave to take care of his issues, then he had to go, too.
If she could find Seth, she'd hug him until he couldn't breathe and then she'd slap the hell out of him for leaving her. She'd tell him that just because Ryan had to go, they're still a family and they need to stick together.
A year ago, there was no Ryan. He had burst into their life and turned their family into … something more. She has no regrets. Not about Ryan. He belongs with them. He's a Cohen in every way except name. She has no regrets.
Ryan left because he thinks he has to save the world, or at least, Theresa. God, she wishes that he would act like a normal kid and realize that he can't do this by himself. He's so smart; he's worth so much more than having to be a parent at seventeen with a girl that he doesn't love. But she knows that he will do whatever he sets his mind to. He will raise this child, even if it's not his, and he will love it with all his heart and become the father that he never had. She knows that he gives his all to everything and everyone. She just wishes he could do it here.
Kirsten turns her face away from her husband. He's seen her cry too often recently, but she misses her boys. She needs them. She wants to make this all better for them … but they're gone. How can she live her life without her family?
Sandy sits down in the chair with her and pulls her close to him. She quietly cries into his shoulder.
--------------/---------------------/-------------------/----------------------/------------------/--------------------
God, I'm so fucking tired that I can't see straight anymore. I think I pulled something in my back yesterday when I was helping Theresa get her mother from the bathroom to the bed.
Eva. God, could this happen at a worse time? Theresa had come home a few days earlier and found her mother unconscious on the bathroom floor. I know exactly how she felt seeing her mother incapacitated like that. I'd found my own mother passed out enough times to know the fear it provokes.
And Theresa loves her mother so damned much, I don't know if she's going to be able to handle this. The doctors told us that Eva had a stroke. Her left side's paralyzed.
It's so tragic to hear her talk, her words slurred because half of her body has given up. She can't walk. She can't get out of bed without me or Theresa helping her. She's an invalid.
Theresa's freaking out. She's always crying and I know she's moody because of the pregnancy, but it's more than that. I'm working my ass off, she's working her ass off, but shit still keeps falling apart around us. Her mother's sickness has done something to her. I don't know if she's going to be able to hold it together.
I walk toward the house. Eva's car has broken down again and I'm just too damned tired to try my hand at fixing it right now. I left it on the curb a couple of blocks from the factory. I'll settle for taking the bus. Gas costs too much anyway. It's in such shitty shape that I know it won't get stolen. Fuck, if someone can get it running, they can have the damn thing.
There's still no word from Seth. I can't physically keep up my schedule of searching for him now that Eva's so sick.
We can't afford a nurse. Theresa won't put her in a nursing home, not that we can afford that either. So we're rolling with the punches. We brought her home from the hospital a few days ago and we're doing our best to take care of her. When I'm at work, Theresa does the best she can. When she's at work, I do what I can.
Eva deserves better, but there's nothing we can do about it. Arturo's going to be in jail for years and Theresa's all she has. I'm all Theresa has.
I can finally see the house.
I sit on the porch to smoke what remains of my cigarette.
Theresa's car is still in the driveway. She must be running late again. Seems like we're always running late. We're stuck on pause until we get this situation figured out. I have my doubts. I don't think we're going to figure this out anytime soon.
I wince involuntarily as the screen door squeaks. Theresa.
"I thought you were going to pay the electric bill, Ryan. You know I don't have time for this; you know that I don't have the money," Theresa starts from behind me.
I won't get angry. I paid the bill two days ago - online so I could see the payment accepted immediately. She doesn't mean to be this way but she needs to vent so I let her.
"I can't believe that you would forget something like this. I mean, we need power! What's Ma going to do if there's no power?"
I turn and look up at her as I take a long drag off the cigarette. Smoke drifts from my mouth as I speak. "I paid it."
"You did?" Her face immediately falls with regret. I accept that as an apology.
"Sit down, Theresa."
"I don't have time, I'm late…."
I reach up to grab her hand and she pauses. "Sit down. Just for a minute."
She reluctantly takes a seat beside me on the porch. I put my arm around her. Her face is streaked with tears again.
"We're going to get through this." I hope she believes me. I have to say it; there's nothing else that I can say right now.
"How?" She's crying. She turns into me and wraps her arms around my chest. I let her cling tightly as I rock her gently.
"You can't keep getting stressed like this. It's not good for you or the baby."
"I can't even think about that right now. Ma's so sick…."
"You have to take care of yourself first. You're taking care of two now, you can't forget that. Let me worry about everything else," I whisper into her ear.
"She's not your problem…."
"She's not a problem, she's your mother. And we're a team now, right?" I put my hands on the back of her head and pull her away to look at me. "We're in this together, okay?"
She nods and wipes the tears from her face. I never imagined that a woman could cry as much as Theresa has in the past few weeks. Hormones, I guess. She must be dehydrated from the water that's been constantly streaming down her face in recent days.
"I need you to take care of yourself, okay? Relax. We'll get through this."
"You promise?"
I'm not sure I heard her so I don't answer. After a moment, she stands and offers me a hand. I accept it and rise to my feet.
"God, Ryan, I never pictured us like this." She smiles suddenly.
"Like what?" I'm confused. She hasn't smiled in days. Must be the hormones again.
She kisses me impulsively and squeezes my ass. If I wasn't so damned tired, I might have been able to respond.
"I used to picture us as the ultimate married couple … living in a place like Newport, making lots of money and never having to work. You used to be so damned sexy …." She grins.
"Used to?" I quietly tease. I'm not totally comfortable with the 'couply' vibe that she's been giving me lately, but at least she's not crying. I mean, she knows that I'm here for her and that I'm not going anywhere, but I'm still not ready to be with her like that.
I don't know what we're doing. We're sleeping together, but that's something we've always done. Sex isn't about love with us. Sex is just something we do well together. Stress relief. And God knows we've needed it lately. Fuck the mixed messages, I just don't have the energy to worry about what's happening between us.
"That's not what I mean," she replies. She kisses me again and I return it automatically. She lets the kiss fade into a hug. "I miss what we were. This isn't what I wanted. I mean, I always wanted you … but not like this."
"Hey, stop, okay?" I don't need to hear this right now. I can only focus on one thing at a time. I've gotten her calm, I'm in control. Things are level right now. I can do this, but I need to be able to focus.
"I just want you to know … how much this means to me … that you … that you'd give up so much to help me."
I hold her close and feel her let out a sigh. "I didn't give up anything, Theresa. I chose to be here. This is my baby, too."
"But we're not sure."
"It's mine. I'm going to be the father whether it's mine or not." I mean what I said. It doesn't matter. Not now. It's too late for anything else.
She sighs again.
"Better?"
"Much."
"Go to work. I'll make sure you have something for dinner, okay?"
"Don't forget to check Ma's blood sugar. It was a little low earlier but nothing serious."
We separate and she holds my hand.
"I won't forget."
"I know. But it makes me feel better to remind you." She takes a couple of steps down but doesn't release my hand until she's out of reach.
"I know." I smile at her. I wait until she gets into her car before I step into the house.
It's hot inside. The place is sweltering. I'd grown accustomed to the air condition back in Newport and now that I'm living without, I feel the heat ten-fold. I open the window above the kitchen sink to help get a cross-breeze flowing. I can feel beads of sweat already forming across my forehead.
Despite the heat, I place the kettle on the stove and grab a tea bag from the cupboard. Eva likes her tea in the morning. If that's all it takes to make her happy, I'll make sure she gets it.
I wait until steam billows from the spout. I remove the kettle from the heat before it has a chance to whistle. From experience, I know that's not the best sound to wake up to.
The tea steeps. I scrounge through the cupboards in search of instant coffee. Theresa doesn't want coffee in the house. The smell makes her crave it and she says it's hard enough resisting temptation at the restaurant. I usually pick one up on my way to work at night, but I could really use one now.
I find the container. The plastic measuring spoon rattles inside. It's all but empty.
I toss the tea bag and empty container into the garbage and make my way toward Eva's room. I knock quietly and push the door open when there's no response.
We lock eyes and she tries to smile.
It's so Goddamned hard. My eyes sting and I blink a few times. I've been battling tears for the past week. I write it off to Theresa's rampant emotions rubbing off on me.
But Eva … Eva was always so strong. She made things better. Watching her so helpless – hopeless – is so fucking sad.
I place the steaming mug on the nightstand before helping her into an upright position.
Her meds. I forgot her meds. Theresa takes care of them at night; I'm in charge of the meds during the day.
I move towards the door, but I'm stopped. I turn to see Eva's right hand delicately clinging to my wrist. I look at her. Worried. Something's wrong. She must sense my panic because she tries to smile and gently squeezes her fingers.
"Thank-you." Her words are slurred but her voice is firm.
I nod, and close my eyes for a second. I'm exhausted. I can't take this anymore.
She pulls me closer. I allow myself to sit on the edge of the bed. She continues to squeeze my hand every few seconds.
I keep my eyes closed. I'm so fucking tired.
I feel a pat on the top of my hand before she releases her grasp.
Pulling my eyes open, I rise to my feet. I can hear myself shudder as I inhale deeply.
Focus. Meds.
I return quickly with the meds and a glass of water. She's getting better at drinking and no longer needs help holding the cup. I check her blood sugar. Until last week, I didn't have a clue how to do this. Now it feels like second nature.
Satisfied, I give her a small smile before making my way toward the door.
"Ryan."
I turn to face her.
"Sleep."
I nod and force myself to smile again.
I walk into our well-kept room. Theresa makes the bed every morning; I make it every night. Rarely is it occupied by both of us at the same time.
After making sure the alarm is set for noon - when Eva will need her next dosage - I ditch my jeans and t-shirt in a heap on the floor. Moving the ruffled pillows to the side, I climb onto the inviting mattress.
I pull a single sheet up over my chest. It's too hot to be under anything else. My back starts to cramp immediately but I'm too tired to let it, or the suffocating heat, keep me wake. Sleep comes in an instant.
-----------------/----------------/-------------------/----------------
I turn on my laptop and tap my fingers on the counter as I wait for it to start up.
My stomach growls. I should eat but I hate the thought of going back to the grocery store again. I don't have a car at the moment and that means that I would have to carry the bags on the bus. I think there's some chicken in the freezer that I can cook up for dinner. I'll have to ask Theresa to stop by the store and pick up a few things on her way home.
I check my email. Thirty-two new messages. Marissa, Kirsten, Sandy, Summer. A quick scan shows nothing from Seth. I start another letter.
Please, just send me something. Let me know you're ok.
Your mom and dad … they're scared. I'm scared. Please, Seth.
Send.
Again, my stomach rumbles. I grab the pack of smokes off the counter and head outside. At least there's a breeze out there. We should probably invest in some fans. I know Eva could use one in her room.
The door squeaks loudly. I should really fix that. Later.
I flick the lighter, but the wind extinguishes the flame instantly. I face toward the house and try again. Something catches my eye. A bright green piece of paper is tacked to the door.
I approach slowly, squinting to make out the writing from a distance.
Sandy.
I sigh in relief. At least we're not evicted.
I pull at the paper. The tape removes a few paint chips from the old white door.
Ryan,
I stopped by around 11:00.
No one was answering.
I'll try calling you again later.
I really want to see you, kid.
We miss you.
Sandy
I slept through Sandy's impromptu visit. I look at my watch. 12:45. It took over half an hour to go through Eva's midday care. Folding the paper, I place the note in my pocket. I grab the phone from inside and head back out to the porch. My stomach turns over with nervousness as I dial. Maybe they've heard something.
"Sandy Cohen."
"Sandy. Hey."
"Ryan. How are you?"
"Fine. What's going on?"
"Nothing really." He sounds worn. He must be beside himself. Seth's been gone too long.
There's a long pause before he continues. "I stopped by. Did you get my note?"
"Yeah, sorry. I was out." I don't want them to know about my job. I don't want them to know about Eva. They should only have to worry about finding their son.
"How's it going? Are you working?"
"Sometimes. Not a lot."
"Good. Good…." Sandy seems happy with my answer.
"And Theresa?"
"She's good. Getting bigger."
"Yes, that's what happens."
"Any word?" My voice shakes as I ask the question.
"No. Not yet." Sandy sighs and I can feel his sadness. He can't lose hope. I rely on his optimism.
"We'll find him," I add positively.
"I know. And when we do, he's grounded 'til he turns eighteen."
I want to smile, but I can't. There's a possibility that things aren't all right – that he'll never come home. I wince at the thought.
"When can I see you?"
I think about the question. I don't want him to come here.
"I work all week, but maybe next week sometime?" I won't set a definite date. He shouldn't be here. He should be looking for Seth.
"Sure. I'll call you later in the week to make arrangements. Take care, kid."
"I will. Tell Kirsten I say hi." I wait to hear the dial tone before hanging up.
I try to light my cigarette again; success comes with the third flick of the lighter.
I sit down and the top step creaks under my weight.
I focus solely on the cigarette for a solid minute. The smoke takes a little bit of tension from my body every time I exhale. I arch my back and roll my shoulders from side to side as I try to stretch out my tight muscles.
The kids next door are tossing a Frisbee. I absently observe as they fail to catch it time and time again.
I take another long drag.
Where are their parents? Is it safe to just leave them alone in the front yard like that?
They aren't very old. The boy looks around nine, while the girl must be a year or two younger. I don't see the baby from before.
The boy starts to yell at his little sister. He's pointing upward. I follow his finger to see the bright red Frisbee laying on the black roof.
He continues to rant. She starts to cry.
I glance around again; still no sign of the parents.
The little girl stomps her way inside the house, her displeasure obvious. The boy circles the lot as he appears to be analyzing the best way to retrieve his toy.
I relish the final drag off my smoke and flick the butt onto the lawn with the others.
He stops around the side.
He'll see it soon.
Sure enough, he starts to climb the old, rusted antenna. He cautiously scales his way to the top and once there, he pauses. The jump to the roof looks further than it is. By the time I was twelve, I could do it with my eyes closed.
He leaps with all his might, surely scraping his knees against the rough shingles upon landing.
He crawls across the rest of the distance until he reaches his Frisbee. Then he sits. He looks around. Even though it's just a small bungalow, the view from up there is so different. I used to sit up there for hours, hiding from everyone and everything. They would come looking for me - screaming my name as they stormed around the house. No one ever thought to look up. I was safe there.
"Michael!"
The boy doesn't answer his mother's call.
"Michael?!"
Again, he sits perfectly still. It's like he's invisible.
"Michael!" Panicked, the woman runs back into the house while continuing to call her son's name.
He notices I'm watching at him. Fear sweeps across his face.
"Michael!" The woman walks around the far side of the house. Her anxiety heightens with every passing second.
I should say something. She can't find her child. She's hysterical. But I don't know this kid. I don't know what his life is like. Who am I to judge whether or not he's happy? Whether or not he deserves to have a place to hide?
He hugs his Frisbee tight against his chest and continues to stare at me with worried eyes. He knows he's in trouble if his mother finds him up there.
I look down and rise to my feet. I won't give him away. Everyone needs to be invisible sometimes.