Chapter 9
The technicians from the electronic monitoring company arrived at the house before Sandy had come home, and Kirsten leaned against the kitchen counter, watching while they installed the device that would keep track of Ryan. She wanted a glass of wine but suspected they wouldn't approve, not that the technicians had any say over this situation. Still, she already felt like she was being judged. So Kirsten gripped the kitchen counter until the edges dug into her palms and her fingers hurt.
Sandy came home just as the technicians were packing up, and Kirsten could tell by his rounded shoulders and rumpled suit—he'd loosened the tie around his neck already and unbuttoned the top of his shirt—that he wasn't in a good mood. He set his briefcase on the counter and studied Kristen for a moment before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
"You guys are already done?" he asked the technicians.
The larger of the two technicians—Kirsten hadn't asked for either of their names—nodded and closed his toolbox. He pulled a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans and set it on the counter in front of Sandy.
"Just need you to sign here," he said, taking out a pen from another pocket and tapping on a line at the bottom of the paper.
Sandy scanned the document and Kirsten crossed her arms. The second technician, who looked like he couldn't have been older than 19 and wore his hair in a ponytail, had drifted into the eating area and was checking out the backyard. Kirsten imagined that it wasn't often they installed these devices in homes with ocean views and infinity pools.
"You didn't have any problems?" Sandy asked, and Kirsten leaned forward to glance at the document he was preparing to sign. It was just a work order.
"Nope. You're all set," the large technician said. "You guys know you have six separate phone lines coming into this house? Most people, we have to get another line for them. Takes a few days to get it all done."
Kirsten wished, just a little bit, that she had a few more days to adjust to all of this, to Ryan coming home. It all felt so sudden. She couldn't believe it had been 10 days since she'd last seen him.
Sandy signed the work order and walked the technicians to the front door. Kirsten reached into the cabinet behind her for a glass, thought better of it, and went to the refrigerator for a beer instead. When Sandy got back to the kitchen she was rifling through a drawer for the bottle opener. He found it first and opened the bottle for her, taking a quick drink before handing it back to her.
She'd been visiting a construction site when Sandy had called on her cell phone the first time. He'd been full of excitement then, his words rushed and so loud that she'd had to hold the phone away from her ear. He'd told her about the plea agreement, about getting Ryan out of juvie the next day. She'd felt immediately anxious and had skipped lunch and returned to the office to bury herself in work. His second call had come in the afternoon, and she'd known from his clipped greeting—"It's me, can you talk now?"—that something had gone wrong. He'd told her only the basics: that Ryan would be home tomorrow, that he would be under electronic monitoring. He'd said he would answer her questions later.
But it was later now, and Kirsten didn't have any questions. None that she could ask him, anyway.
"Are you okay with this?" Sandy asked, resting his hands on the counter and watching her carefully.
Kirsten opened her mouth, not at all sure how to answer that question. Then Seth walked in and she was saved, and she took a long drink from her beer.
"What's for dinner?" Seth asked, opening the refrigerator.
Sandy flashed a quick look at Kirsten, something like a warning.
"I've got some good news," Sandy said. "Ryan's coming home."
Seth jumped back from the refrigerator and let the door swing shut.
"You're kidding," he said. "When?"
"Tomorrow," Sandy said with a smile.
"Dad, that's awesome," Seth said. He quickly crossed to Sandy and the two embraced easily, patting each other on the back before letting go. "How'd you do it?"
"We worked out a plea agreement with Ryan's probation officer and the judge. Ryan's not too happy with the conditions, but he's coming home."
"You're like a superhero," Seth said, leaning against the counter and nodding appreciatively.
Sandy's smile faded at that, and Kirsten remembered how disappointed he'd sounded on the phone that afternoon. He hadn't told her or Seth that he was even working on a plea agreement, and she imagined he'd been looking forward to surprising them with the good news of Ryan's release. Or looking forward to surprising Seth.
"I wouldn't go that far," Sandy said. "Ryan's going to be under a lot tighter restrictions. He'll have to come home immediately after school's out. He'll have weekly meetings with his probation officer. Random drug and alcohol tests. Daily curfews. He's basically going to have to keep his nose clean, and I mean really clean, 24 hours a day."
"Okay, that's not so bad, we can do that," Seth said. Kirsten smiled thinly at her son's protective streak, at his determination to help Ryan and keep him out of trouble. It made her heart hurt for both of them.
"Well, that's not all," Sandy said. "The judge insisted on electronic monitoring."
"You mean, like, a tracking device?" Seth asked.
Sandy nodded. "Sort of. Well, yeah. He basically wears this device all the time, around his ankle, and it allows the probation department to know where he is. Or, rather, where he isn't."
Kirsten had already known the basics, but listening to Sandy spell it out for Seth, it hit her for the first time: Ryan would be a prisoner in her home.
"He's under house arrest," Kirsten said.
Sandy shot her a disapproving frown but didn't reject her comment. Kirsten looked down at the floor, imagining her house as a jail. She pictured bars on the windows, armed guards, blue jumpsuits, and she wanted to laugh because it was ridiculous. But they'd already installed a monitoring device in her home. What else was going to change?
"What is our role in all of this?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" Sandy said.
"Are we cops? Are we prison guards?" Kirsten said. "We can't watch him constantly, Sandy. What happens if he gets in trouble again? What happens if he gets in a fight at school, or comes home late? Do we lock him in the pool house? Handcuff him to his bed?"
Sandy stared hard at her, his mouth open. The kitchen seemed very quiet and Kirsten realized she'd been nearly shouting. She leaned back against the counter and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She wasn't sure she was up to this new task, this intense responsibility, and the doubt made her feel weak. They had failed Ryan once. What happened if they failed him again?
"We're his parents," Sandy said finally. "We look out for him, just like we do with Seth."
Kirsten shook her head slightly but didn't say anything. It wasn't just like Seth. She'd had to learn to trust Ryan, to believe in him—that trust hadn't come naturally to her. And just when their new family had been starting to come together, everything had fallen apart. She couldn't afford to make another mistake with Ryan. It would hurt both of them too much.
Kirsten glanced at Seth and felt sick at the horror she saw on his face. Like his father, Seth's mouth was open, his eyes wide. He looked away from her. She wanted to go to him and hug him, reassure him. Reassure herself.
"I'm going to my room," Seth said. "What time will Ryan be home, Dad?"
Sandy shook his head, seemed to clear his mind. "I'll probably get him sometime after noon. He should be home by the time you get out of school."
"Great," Seth said, and without another word or another look at Kirsten, he left the kitchen.
Sandy paced for a moment on the other side of the kitchen island, his hands buried in his pockets. When he stopped, he placed both palms on the counter and leaned toward Kirsten.
"This isn't going to work if we aren't behind him as a family," Sandy said, his eyes locked onto her face. "Ryan's going to need both of us. Are you going to be able to do this?"
Kirsten took a deep breath and considered how she could answer that. Sandy was so confident. She wasn't.
"I'll try," she said.
"Is that going to be good enough?"
"It's the best I can do," she said.
Sandy seemed to consider her words, then nodded briefly. He picked up his briefcase and walked away. Kirsten finished her beer alone in the kitchen, then called for Chinese delivery. She tried not to look at the monitoring device beside her phone.
The night of Ryan's sentencing, a 13-year-old kid tried to hang himself with his own bed sheets. Ryan could hear the commotion even from the isolation unit; people banging on the walls and shouting, running footsteps in the halls. He wasn't entirely surprised when, an hour or so after the sounds died down, two guards came to his cell and told him to pack up his books. One of them held out a plastic bag and Ryan dropped the books in. That guard carried the books away while the other guard hustled Ryan down the hall in the opposite direction. As they went through the door that led back to intake Ryan saw him: a little twig of a kid wrapped in a blanket, shivering between two guards. The kid lifted his head as they passed, and their eyes met. He looked wild, like he might lunge and bite. Ryan felt his skin crawl and was glad when the guard pulled at his arm and led him away.
He spent a restless night in the top bunk of an unfamiliar cell, a guy he'd never seen before snoring in the bunk beneath him. He couldn't stop thinking about the fact that he was probably in that little kid's bed, in the same cell where he had tried to kill himself. The anger Ryan had carried all day was slipping away, replaced by a dizzying combination of panic and relief. He was getting out. Some kids never did. He might not be free, exactly, but he'd be safe. And there was a lot to be said for that.
He didn't know how he was going to face Sandy.
The following day Ryan sat next to Sandy on a bench in the jail services building. A part of him wished he could apologize, but the words stuck in his throat and silenced him. He couldn't even look Sandy in the eye. Sandy had greeted him quietly and then lapsed into silence, too. He was uncharacteristically subdued, sitting with his hands in his lap and only tapping his foot every now and then. He sat a couple of feet away and didn't reach out the way he normally did. Ryan had gotten accustomed to the one-armed hugs and shoulder pats Sandy normally doled out, and he kind of missed them. He didn't really miss Sandy trying to make him talk, but the silence was worse.
When the jail services officer—who pleasantly introduced himself as Andrew—called them into his office, Sandy practically jumped out of his seat and went into the office ahead of Ryan. Which meant he had felt the awkwardness, too.
"Have a seat, Ryan," Andrew said. "We're just going to do a brief orientation session, to make sure you understand how this all works. Please stop me at any time if you have questions. It's very important that you understand what you're getting into."
Ryan nodded. His throat felt tight.
"There are a couple of pieces of equipment you're going to be working with," Andrew said. "First there's the home monitoring receiving unit, which looks like this."
He held up a white box about the size of a toaster. "We've already installed one of these in your residence. It contains a receiver that's connected to your home phone line. The transmitter is here, in this little guy."
Andrew held up the ankle bracelet and then slid it across the table to Ryan.
"Go ahead, pick it up," he said, nodding. "Take a look."
Ryan took the bracelet reluctantly. It was made of black rubber and plastic. The band looked kind of like a watch band, only thicker. The transmitter was a little smaller than a cassette tape. It was going to be pretty hard to hide. Ryan put it back on the table and pushed it away, just slightly.
"Yeah, you'll get used to it," Andrew said. "You'll be wearing the bracelet 24 hours a day, even when you're sleeping. It's waterproof and safe to wear in the shower or swimming, so you don't ever have to take it off."
He tapped first the black square on the bracelet, then the white box.
"The transmitter emits a constant radio signal to this box, the receiver. You're going to have a range of about 100 feet from the receiver. If you move out of bounds, the signal is interrupted and folks at the electronic monitoring center will know you're not where you're supposed to be. Same thing happens if you tamper with the bracelet or try to remove it. In either case they'll send someone, either police or EM staff, to track you down."
Ryan glanced at Sandy, who was nodding and frowning a little. He'd probably done this before with his clients, but Ryan knew it was different this time, that his actions had probably reflected badly on Sandy.
"Violations are taken very seriously," Andrew continued. "Just a couple of minor violations could extend your sentence or land you back in detention to serve the rest of it. You've got, what, 90 days?"
"Yeah, 90," Sandy said, before Ryan could answer.
Andrew nodded. "Well, you're going to want to be careful."
"I know," Ryan said, more softly than he'd intended. He felt Sandy looking at him.
"You getting all this, kid?" Sandy asked. He touched Ryan's shoulder, and Ryan looked him full in the face for the first time since the day before. Sandy's face was soft, and Ryan knew he'd been forgiven for his anger, without having to say or do anything. Ryan nodded at Sandy and looked away. Sometimes forgiveness hurt worse than anger. Sometimes it hurt worse than anything.
"What about school?" Ryan asked, more to distract himself than because he really cared about the answer.
Andrew shuffled some papers. "You'll resume classes at your high school. Since you don't have a job, school is the only place you're allowed to go, other than your own residence. And you'll go straight there and come straight home. No detours to the grocery store. No visiting friends' houses. If you're not where you're supposed to be, we'll know. Okay?"
"Yeah," Ryan said. "I get it."
Andrew set some papers on the desk in front of Ryan.
"Here we go. Your guardians have written a schedule of your weekly movements and indicated that they will be transporting you to and from school. They'll bring you back here once a week so we can fill out a weekly report and inspect the equipment. You'll also be required to submit to drug and alcohol screenings at these meetings. On the weekends you'll be in lockdown, and won't leave your home except for emergencies. Do you have any questions?"
Ryan shook his head and frowned at the schedule in front of him. It was all pretty straightforward. And maybe he deserved it—he knew he did, at least partly. But it was invasive and it sucked, and he didn't have to like it.
Sandy was watching him again.
"Ryan, how are you doing?" he said. "Are you okay with all of this?"
"Does it matter?" Ryan said, and immediately wished he could take back the words. He knew what Sandy had saved him from, and besides, he was just starting to realize what a burden this was going to be for Sandy and Kirsten. It wasn't just the awkwardness of having a juvenile delinquent under house arrest in the pool house. It was going to be huge hassle for everyone. They'd probably have to take time off work, and rearrange their schedules for him.
"I mean – I'm sorry," Ryan said to Sandy. "But I can't ask you to do all this. You and Kirsten."
Sandy shook his head.
"We talked about it," he said. "Look, I've already signed the contract. Kirsten, too. And Seth is so excited for you to come back, he's willing to help out in any way he can. We all want you home."
Sandy handed Ryan a piece of carbon paper with "Offender Contract" printed at the top. He skimmed through the rules and regulations until he came to the bottom of the page and saw the loopy script of Sandy's signature, right above Kirsten's small, neat one.
"Why?" he said to Sandy.
"Because you're worth all this," Sandy said impatiently. "All right? Whether you believe it or not. We can make some adjustments for a while, and then in 90 days it'll be over."
Ryan stared at the contract in his hands so he wouldn't have to meet Sandy's eyes. It was ironic, he thought, that Sandy was the person who always tried to get him to talk. Because Sandy had a knack for saying things that were impossible to respond to.
"Okay, kid?"
"Okay," Ryan said, but he didn't look up until Andrew cleared his throat. And even then he couldn't look at Sandy. Andrew looked from Ryan to Sandy, his eyebrows raised.
"If you're ready. . ." he said, and Ryan and Sandy both nodded.
"Then Ryan, please read through the contract carefully. Then we'll need your signature before we can get you fitted for the bracelet. And Sandy, now is a good time to set up a payment plan. We do require a payment of $120 for the first two weeks before we can release Ryan to your custody."
"Of course," Sandy said, and reached for his wallet. Ryan watched with a sinking feeling.
"You didn't tell me this was costing you money," he said.
"We'll talk about it later," Sandy told him.
Andrew was studying them, looking from one to the other.
"Actually," he said, "electronic monitoring is cheaper than what it cost them to keep you in juvenile hall. Less than half the cost."
Sandy frowned and shook his head.
"You had to pay for me there, too?" Ryan said. He hadn't known. He had never thought.
"I said, we'll talk about it later," Sandy said. "I don't want you to worry about it right now. Just read the contract, please."
Ryan sighed and bent over the contract. He already owed the Cohens so much. He read through the contract, trying not to notice as Sandy handed over what looked like a cashier's check. When Ryan was finished reading he scribbled his name above Sandy's and pushed the contract across the desk.
"All right," he said. "I'm ready."
"Okay then," Andrew said. "Sandy, why don't you wait in the hall while I take Ryan next door to get fitted and change his clothes?"
"That reminds me," Sandy said. "Kirsten sent these."
He reached into the plastic bag next to him and handed Ryan a stack of clothes. Ryan took them quickly and shifted them around so his boxer briefs weren't right on top. He was pretty sure he was blushing a little, even though it was stupid. He tucked them under his arm and took the boots Sandy offered.
"These were with the rest of your stuff from juvie," Sandy said. "You don't have very many shoes at home, do you?"
Ryan shrugged. He liked his boots.
Sandy went out to the hall while Ryan followed Andrew to the next room, which looked like some sort of supply closet. He sat down in the chair that Andrew indicated, while Andrew opened a box and took out a bracelet identical to the one he had shown Ryan earlier.
"Which ankle?" he said. "You can choose."
"I don't care," Ryan said.
"Which side do you sleep on?" Andrew said.
"I mostly sleep on my back," Ryan said. "But I guess – sometimes my right side."
"Left ankle it is, then. Why don't you take off your shoe and sock and prop your foot up there?"
Ryan slipped off his left shoe and peeled off the white sock. He'd be glad to get rid of his juvie clothes. He didn't like thinking about how many people had worn them before. There was a little round footstool in front of him, like the kind they had at shoe stores, and he put his bare foot on that. Andrew showed him how there were little wires running all through the band, so that the signal would be disrupted if he tried to cut it off.
"I'm not going to cut it off," Ryan said. "I'm not stupid."
Andrew looked amused. "No, you're not."
At Andrew's request, Ryan hiked up the leg of his jumpsuit. Andrew strapped the bracelet around Ryan's ankle and adjusted it so it fit snugly. Ryan didn't want to watch, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't take his eyes off the bracelet, which, whether he liked it or not, was going to be with him for the next three months. He wiggled his foot, testing it out.
"Stand up," Andrew said. "Walk around. How does it feel?"
Ryan got up and walked around, and just for a second he thought of his mom, and the way he used to clomp around the shoe store in a new pair of sneakers while she watched and then pressed on the toes to make sure they fit.
"It feels heavy," he said.
Andrew nodded. "You'll have that at first. You get used to it."
"I guess it's okay," Ryan said, looking at the floor. "It's not too tight or anything."
"Good," Andrew said. He sat on the edge of a desk and crossed his arms. "Look, Ryan, you do seem like a smart kid. Just keep out of trouble for the next few months and your life can go back to normal, all right?"
Ryan shrugged, but then he nodded.
"You'll be seeing me once a week," Andrew said. "You can let me know if you have problems or concerns. And somebody from the juvenile probation department will be checking up on you a few times a week, to make sure you're where you're supposed to be and that you're doing okay."
Ryan nodded again. He'd read all that in the contract.
"They might come while you're in class, or while you're sleeping," Andrew said. "You should be ready."
"Okay."
"My point is, the probation staff and the EM staff are here to help you if you need it. And your guardians seem like they care a lot about you."
Ryan looked up at Andrew, because he couldn't figure out where this was going.
"You're not alone, Ryan," Andrew said.
"I know," Ryan said automatically. And yeah, of course he wasn't. They were going to be watching him all the time. He couldn't escape it. But when he thought about it, he knew Andrew was wrong. It had been a long time since he had felt so alone.
There was one moment when Sandy thought things might be all right. When Ryan stepped out of the jail services office with Andrew, he was blinking like he'd just been shaken from a deep sleep. He had already changed into the gray T-shirt and jeans Kirsten had sent from the pool house, and he clutched a clear plastic bag that held the rest of the stuff they'd taken away from him at juvie. Sandy was so relieved to see Ryan wearing something besides a jumpsuit that he forgot his resolve to give the kid some space, and swept forward to pull Ryan into a hug. He was surprised when Ryan leaned into the hug without hesitation, gripping the back of Sandy's suit coat in his fingers, holding on a fraction longer than Sandy would have expected. Ryan smelled like metal and cheap soap and his heart was beating in a furious rhythm that Sandy could feel against his own chest. Then Ryan breathed in, a sharp little inhalation that wasn't quite a gasp, and pulled back, looking embarrassed. His lips were folded and his eyes were on the floor, and he immediately folded his arms over his chest.
"Let's go home," Sandy said, clapping Ryan on the shoulder, trying not to be hurt when Ryan flinched away. This was how he had imagined it, after all: Ryan skittish and silent and determined to keep every part of himself under strict control. The hug had lulled Sandy into a false sense of security, but he had to face facts and realize that nothing about Ryan's homecoming was going to be easy.
"I should have brought you a jacket," Sandy said when they got to the doors.
Ryan shrugged and rummaged through the plastic bag, coming up with the jacket he'd worn the night of his arrest. He slipped it on without ever setting down the plastic bag.
In the car, Ryan looked out the window while Sandy kept his eyes on the road and formed sentences in his head. He wanted, somehow, to let Ryan know that everything was going to work out, that they could be a family again, that his sentence with the bracelet was going to fly by. But everything that came to his mind sounded empty and false. He knew better than to make false promises to Ryan. He knew Seth would make this kind of conversation easy for him, that he'd fidget and make bitter jokes and ask rapid-fire questions to which Sandy could deliver rapid-fire answers. But Ryan was comfortable with silence and stillness and – Sandy glanced at the passenger seat. Ryan was asleep, with his chin on his chest and both arms folded over the plastic bag in his lap.
When Sandy pulled into the driveway, Ryan's arms jerked and his eyes opened wide before he ever raised his head. He stayed perfectly still for a second, then glanced at Sandy and swallowed hard.
"Hey," Sandy said softly. "We made it."
Ryan looked up at the house. He made no motion to remove his seatbelt.
"Can I–" Ryan began, his voice so hoarse that he cleared his throat and started again. "Can I go to the pool house first? Unpack?"
"If that's what you want," Sandy said. "But, Ryan–"
"Please," Ryan said, quietly and quickly like the word was a possession he could barely bring himself to surrender.
"Sure," Sandy said. "Sure, if you need a minute."
Ryan got out of the car before Sandy could say anything else, and disappeared around the side of the house. As Sandy let himself in the front door, he was grateful that Seth was still in school, so he didn't have to go hold him at bay while Ryan collected himself. Seth had been lonely for so long that he didn't seem to understand that solitude was necessary for some people, as tangible and demanding as the needs for food, for water, for sex. If Sandy was being honest, he didn't understand the impulse for solitude, either, though he was familiar with it from years of marriage to Kirsten. He had an impatient respect for it, the way she had an impatient respect for his tendencies to eavesdrop and pry and demand. She never said it, but Sandy knew she thought he loved too much and fell too hard, too quickly. Kirsten knew better. She knew how to protect her heart. She was like Ryan that way.
Kirsten wasn't in the kitchen, or the den, or the dining room. As Sandy climbed the half-flight of stairs to their bedroom, he thought how he'd lost all hope of self-protection where Ryan was concerned. He'd lost it months ago. Definitely by Thanksgiving, when it took all his resolve to let Ryan go back to Chino, even though it was only for a visit. Or, who was he kidding, he'd lost it long before that. He'd lost it when he saw Ryan's self-conscious bow and clumsy, careful dance steps at cotillion. Or when Ryan slumped next to Seth on the couch after his mother left for the second time, and the word "brothers" first flashed in Sandy's mind, even though it was far too soon to think that way. Or maybe it was the moment when Ryan crumpled his mother's note in his fist and turned to face Sandy.
When Sandy entered the master bedroom, he knew that this time Kirsten had failed to guard her heart. Her head was down on the dresser and she was perfectly still, and Sandy realized that it was too late for Kirsten, that she loved Ryan, too.