Chapter 5

The minute hand on the grandfather clock trembled, ready to lock into place and mark another hour's passing. It was Sunday night, and Sandy would be home soon. He should have been home an hour ago.

Kirsten was on her second glass of wine, sitting at the dining room table with her blueprints still scattered around, a pen in her left hand tapping in time to the ticking of the clock. She was well aware of the time, and still she jumped slightly in her chair when the chimes rang in nine o'clock. She finished the last third of her wine in one greedy swallow.

Her dinner, leftover Chinese that she had ordered the night before, sat untouched on a plate at her side. Seth had eaten earlier, alone in the den. They had hardly spoken at all over the weekend. Seth had mostly avoided her, and she'd let him, sticking to her work in the dining room. With Sandy gone and Seth not speaking to her, it had been one of the quietest—and least productive—weekends of her life.

She didn't feel guilty. She felt bad for Ryan, and she worried for his safety. But she didn't feel guilty.

A car pulled up the driveway and Kirsten glanced at the clock again. It was just a few minutes after nine. She stood and carried her dinner into the kitchen, where she poured herself another glass of wine and waited for Sandy. She'd left several messages for him since Seth and Ryan had been arrested, but he'd never called, and so she assumed he knew nothing of what had happened.

"Hey. I miss anything?" Sandy said cheerfully as he walked into the kitchen.

He stopped in front of Kirsten and kissed her once before drawing her into a quick hug.

"What a great weekend," he said, pulling away and turning toward the refrigerator. "Brad hasn't changed at all. I haven't seen the guy in what, five years? And I swear he's just as careless as he was at Boalt. You'll never believe-"

"Your son got arrested," she said, the words spilling out. That was not how she'd planned to tell him. Kirsten reached for the glass of wine on the counter next to her, then thought better of it and poured it into the sink instead.

"What?"

Sandy, standing before the open refrigerator, swung around to face her.

"Seth was arrested."

"What for? Where is he?"

"Drinking and trespassing. He's upstairs."

"Seth got arrested," Sandy repeated, slowly. He let the refrigerator door swing closed and rested his palms on the island counter. "When? Why didn't you call me?"

"Your cell phone wasn't working. I left messages."

"I don't…Seth?"

Sandy shook his head, his hair flopping over his forehead. Kirsten had been bugging him to get it cut for weeks, but he teased that he was growing it out, a rebellion against the corporate culture that now trapped him.

"What about Ryan? Where was he when this happened?"

"Ryan was arrested too," Kirsten said. "They were having a Chino night."

"Chino night?"

"That's what I said," Kirsten said. "Hanging out, drinking. They got picked up Friday night at a construction site. Seth was let off with a warning."

Sandy frowned, and Kirsten watched as first disappointment, then anger flashed across his face.

"What the hell were they thinking? Ryan's on probation. He knows better than that. They both know better than that."

Sandy sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair, brushing it back from his face.

"So I take it they're both grounded, right?" Sandy asked. "Have you talked to Ryan's probation officer? Does Child Services know about it yet? Damn it, what a mess. I don't know how to get through to that kid just how precarious his situation is."

Sandy walked around the counter and toward the back door, toward the dark pool house.

"Sandy," Kirsten said, "Ryan isn't here."

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and looked at Kirsten.

"He's in juvenile hall."

"What?"

"The police sent him back there," she said. "He attacked a cop. They arrested him for assault."

"Assault? Why would he do that?"

"I don't know, Sandy. Ask Seth. He seemed to think it was justified."

"You didn't ask Ryan?"

"I barely had a chance to talk to him," Kirsten said. "The police told me he was being sent back to juvenile hall and then they took him away."

"And you let them?" Sandy said. "Did you mention my name? Did you tell the cops that I'm his lawyer? His legal guardian?"

"No, but-"

"Kirsten, those cops, they're friends of mine. You know that," Sandy said, his voice rising as he stepped around the counter toward her. "They wouldn't put Ryan away if they didn't absolutely have to. Hell, they're usually looking for any excuse to not lock kids up."

"They didn't give me a choice," Kirsten said. She paused and tugged at her wedding ring. "Sandy, you weren't there. They had Seth in handcuffs. Our son was chained to a bench."

"And so you let them take Ryan away because you were upset? Because you were mad at him?"

"No, of course not," she said, shaking her head. Kirsten crossed her arms, her hands balled into fists, and felt the muscles in her shoulders tense. "I'm not the one you should be yelling at, Sandy."

"I'm not yelling," he grumbled, his voice notably softer. Kirsten ignored the interruption.

"I'm not the one who got arrested," she said. "I get a phone call in the middle of the night that the boys have been taken to jail, and then I find out that Ryan has attacked a police officer. What was I supposed to do?"

"Talk them out of it. Call one of my partners at the firm. Bribe the cops if you have to. Fight for him."

Kirsten wanted to tell him that was easy to say now, two days later, when their son was safe at home and they were on their own turf, in their own kitchen, with time to talk and plan. She wanted to tell him it wasn't that simple, fighting for Ryan when he wouldn't fight for himself. But she couldn't find the words to define her anger and disappointment.

"I couldn't do anything for him," she said.

"Did you even try?"

Kirsten pinched her lips together and stared out the kitchen window into their dark backyard. She could barely make out their reflections in the glass.

"I didn't have a choice, Sandy," she said quietly.

"Yeah, you said that." In the window, Kirsten saw Sandy rub a hand over his face. When she turned to face him again, he shook his head once and then seemed to stand up straighter, throwing his shoulders back. She recognized the resolution on his face.

"Okay, it's too late to do anything about it tonight," he said, not really talking to her at all. "First thing tomorrow, I'll call a few of my contacts and see if we can't get a hearing lined up for the afternoon, get him out of there as fast as possible. He's been there since yesterday?"

He didn't wait for Kirsten to answer.

Sandy left his wife standing alone and miserable in the kitchen. He was furious at his family: at Seth for doing something so incredibly stupid, at Ryan for yet again refusing to take care of himself, and at Kirsten for letting all this happen in the first place. Maybe that wasn't quite fair, but Sandy couldn't help but presume that if he'd been around this weekend none of this would have happened. Ryan wouldn't be back in juvie, anyway. He knew that. He was certain of it.

Sandy's steps were heavy on the stairs up to the second floor. He'd been exhausted after the drive from Santa Barbara and a long weekend of drinking and not much sleep, but he was wired now, his head spinning as he thought about the next day. He made a mental list of all the people he would need to call first thing in the morning. He had a lot of work ahead of him if he was going to get Ryan out of juvie as fast as possible—ideally by the end of the day.

Seth was sitting at his computer when Sandy stepped into his bedroom without even a knock to announce himself.

"Turn that computer off and get over here," Sandy said.

"Dad-"

"Do it."

Seth took a few seconds to finish typing then shut off his computer and slowly stood. Sandy pointed at the bed.

"Sit down." Seth did as he was told and Sandy paced back and forth, trying to collect his thoughts. "I don't know where to start with you. Were you even thinking at all?"

"I know, I'm a moron, Dad. It was stupid and I am so sorry."

"Damn right it was stupid. After everything this family's been through in the past few months, I expected a lot more from you, Seth. You let me down, and you let your mom down."

"I know," Seth whispered.

"So why'd you do it?" he asked.

Seth shrugged and ducked his head, studying his hands in his lap.

"We were bored, or I was bored, and we thought it'd be fun to just go hang out somewhere. It was totally stupid. I never thought this would happen."

Sandy sighed and sat down next to Seth. He'd been having such a great weekend until he got home. He'd been looking forward to a late dinner with Kirsten and checking in with the boys. Both of them.

"What exactly happened Friday night?" he asked.

Seth glanced at him once then looked back down, plucking at a hole in his T-shirt. Sandy was a little surprised Kirsten, or Rosa, hadn't thrown out the shirt by now.

"We got some guy to buy us beer, and then we went down to the Cove, where they're building those new mansions Grandpa's always complaining about," Seth said. "We went inside one of the homes, and we were just hanging out, not, like, starting fires or tagging the walls or anything like that, when these cops showed up. So we ran, and they caught us."

"You ran from the police?" Sandy shook his head slowly. "Seth, you know that's just dumb."

Seth sighed and nodded before starting again. "When they caught up to us, one of the cops tried to grab me, and he pushed me up against a wall and I think maybe Ryan thought he'd hurt me or something, because he sort of shoved the cop away."

Sandy ran a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. That explained the assault. Both Seth and Ryan had made just about the worst possible decisions over and over again that night. Sandy figured he was better off not dwelling on what that said about him as a parent. Better to focus on the present and what he could do now to set things straight.

"You're not a kid anymore, Seth," he said. "You're growing up and you've got to start taking responsibility for your actions. You can't afford to make these kinds of bad choices and then deal with the consequences later. You have to think first."

Seth nodded again but kept his eyes focused on his lap. Sandy knew the kid was feeling awful—guilty and scared and embarrassed by what he'd done. That was good, and Sandy would let him agonize over it all for a while. He patted Seth on the knee and stood.

"What about Ryan?" Seth asked.

"We'll figure that out tomorrow," Sandy said. He wanted to reassure Seth, tell him that they'd bring Ryan home soon, but he didn't want to make any promises. And Sandy was scared, and he didn't want Seth catching onto that.

"It was my fault," Seth said. "Ryan was just protecting me. That's why he pushed that cop."

"I get that, Seth, but Ryan still shouldn't have done it. He gets in trouble because he makes impulsive decisions. Whether or not his heart was in the right place doesn't really matter in this case."

"You're starting to sound like Mom now," Seth grumbled, his tone no longer contrite, just bitter.

"Watch it, Seth."

"I'm sorry, but Dad, you should have seen her there, at the police station. I've never seen her like that before," Seth said. "I mean, she was pissed, I've seen that. But she didn't try to help Ryan at all. When the cops told us Ryan was going back to juvie, she didn't argue with them. And when she went to talk to him, I don't know, I couldn't tell what she was saying, but she wouldn't even look at him or touch him. It was like she just let him go, like she thought he deserved it."

Sandy felt sick at Seth's analysis of what had happened that night, but he wasn't about to take sides on this one.

"Give your mom a break," he said. "You put her in a horrible position. It's every parent's nightmare to have to get a kid out of jail, and it's not like she has much experience with this kind of thing."

"She got him out of juvie before."

"Let it go, Seth," Sandy said.

Seth shook his head, clearly not yet ready to let Kirsten off the hook. Sandy didn't know what else to say. He didn't want to agree with Seth, not out loud.

"I'm assuming your mom grounded you for the foreseeable future."

Seth nodded.

"Good. Then unless you're doing homework, stay off that computer."

Sandy said goodnight and left, closing the door slowly behind him. He'd been home maybe 30 minutes, and it felt like his family was in shambles. He didn't know how to begin putting it back together.

By Monday morning, Ryan was exhausted. He had hardly slept at all during the last two nights. The halls never really quieted—they echoed, instead, with the sounds of the guards' footsteps, the slamming of metal gates, the other kids shouting and banging on the walls. Ryan's comfortable bed in the pool house had spoiled him rotten; the bed in his cell was just a thin foam pad on a metal shelf. Even worse, as the new kid in the cell, he automatically got the top bunk, and he was terrified of falling off and cracking his skull on the concrete floor. When he woke in the morning—assuming he'd gotten to sleep at all—his muscles were sore and stiff from the effort of holding still.

School started on Monday. His unit, the intake unit, was the first to attend the required four hours of classes per day, which meant they started at seven in the morning, right after breakfast. The work was ridiculously easy, and Ryan spent the morning fidgeting with a combination of boredom and nerves. He wondered what school he'd attend once he got out, and where. Even if the Cohens took him back, he held out little hope that Dr. Kim would actually accept him back at the Harbor School. With these new blots on his record, she'd have every right to expel him. She'd probably jump at the chance, because in spite of his straight A's and his (until now) perfect attendance record, she had never really warmed to him.

Ryan was so engrossed in worrying about Dr. Kim that he didn't even notice he was chewing on his pencil until he got yelled at by one of the guards. The guard pointed out that everyone had to share the same pencils, and nobody wanted to use one that was full of some guy's teeth marks. Also, it was a disgusting habit. The other boys all turned to stare at him, and there were quite a few quiet snickers. Ryan slumped down in his chair, silently cursing the guard for blowing his cover. Being noticed was dangerous. Although, come to think of it, the guard had a point. He'd probably gotten hepatitis from chewing on the pencil.

After school there was lunch, and then time for exercise. A couple of guards steered his group down a dim hallway that led outdoors. Even though he knew he'd only be running in circles in a small cement yard surrounded by a chain link fence, Ryan could hardly contain his impatience once they cracked open the door at the end of the hall and he got his first glimpse of sunlight and sky. He kept his hands behind his back and stood in line with the rest of the boys until he heard the shrill report of the whistle and he was free to run. The sun was warm on his back and the air smelled clean, without the stale scent of sweat and cigarettes and bologna that hovered in the air inside. His head was down and his feet pounded on the concrete and finally his body belonged just to him again. He inched ahead of the group, and felt a wave of pleasure at being in the lead. He had never been much of a runner, but then he'd never in his life had so much to run from.

He didn't even register the guard shouting his name until he was grabbed by the elbow and jerked out of line. He leaned against the fence, panting, while he got scolded again.

"Kids who run like you, they're usually the ones who try to run for real," the guard said. "Stay with the crowd. I'll be watching you."

"There's nowhere to run," Ryan protested, gesturing to the fence, at the razor wire looping at the top. His side ached from the running, and he pressed a hand against his ribs.

"You don't want to be talking back," the guard warned him. He grabbed Ryan's shoulder and spun him around, shoving him toward the door. "Inside."

Which meant he'd lost half his exercise time, and gotten noticed again. So Ryan was already in a foul mood when, at the beginning of free time in the rec room, the guard from the schoolroom called his name and told him that he was going out for a while. He didn't say where, but Ryan sighed. It was probably a meeting with his probation officer, and he didn't want to deal with that. He was so tired, and he felt grimy. The boys in his unit had exercise in the early afternoon and showers in the late evening, a combination which no doubt contributed to the overall rank smell. He wanted to stay in the rec room and stare at the TV or read, losing himself in some mindless activity. But it wasn't as though he had a choice. So he just locked his hands behind his back and followed the guard down the hall.