Chapter 10

Seth had left a present for Ryan in the middle of his bed. Or rather several presents, wrapped, stacked in a pyramid and tied in a bright red bow. On top was a scribbled note that labeled the gifts a "Ryan Atwood Welcome Back Pack". Ryan allowed a half-smile and dropped the plastic bag from juvie onto the bed beside the presents.

He'd expected the relief at returning to the Cohens' house to be immediate and intense, but instead all he felt was a familiar rush of claustrophobia, the same sense of being closed in and slightly out of control that he'd experienced so often in his house in Chino. It was home, and it was comfortable, but at any moment that could change. He'd hoped that feeling would never again invade his life in Newport. But something close to panic had clutched at him as soon as he'd opened his eyes and found himself in Sandy's car in front of the house.

Now, still groggy from his unplanned nap, Ryan walked the perimeter of the pool house closing the curtains. It was as much to keep himself from looking out as to keep any of the Cohens from seeing in. He didn't need to torment himself with views of the ocean and the beach below, places he wasn't allowed to go.

The bracelet was heavy around his ankle as he walked, and the band caught on the hairs of his lower calf. He thought he might even be limping a little, so he focused on walking steady, on looking natural. He had a lot of experience at hiding what he didn't want anyone else to know. He'd put it to good use now, because Seth would be home from school soon, and he was going to have to see Kirsten again, and Sandy wouldn't let him hide in here forever, or even for the next 90 days.

He knew he should be grateful, and he was, more grateful than he'd ever be able to explain. But he already hated this confinement. He'd lost so much of his freedom in the past few months—for every gift of security that the Cohens had handed to him, he'd given up an ounce of privacy and independence. There were people to watch him, ask him questions, tell him no. And now he was completely reliant on them.

But he had a comfortable bed and good food and he was safe. That was enough. It would have to be.

When he'd reached the opposite side of the room, Ryan turned around and surveyed the pool house. Even with the drapes closed, the room was washed in light from the afternoon sun that stole through the white curtains. He was fine with that. He liked the natural light, and it calmed him. Ryan slipped off his jacket and hung it beside the door.

He approached the bed again and sat down slowly, then leaned back until his back was flat on the mattress and he was staring at the ceiling. The mattress was firm and the duvet over his down comforter was soft under his fingers. He traced a slow circle on the material and closed his eyes. It felt good to relax again, just a little. To know that the worst was behind him.

Ryan opened his eyes and rolled onto his side, propping his head in his left hand. He was facing Seth's present and debated whether he should open it now or wait. It would be another hour until Seth got back from school, and Ryan didn't have anything better to do, so he tugged at the red bow and untied it. He sat up and unwrapped the gifts one at a time, tearing at the bright blue and red paper. When he was done, he spread the gifts on the bed, lining them up from smallest to largest: two '80s compilation CDs; a paperback copy of Stranger in a Strange Land; a DVD of Rebel Without a Cause; a stack of three recent Hustlers; and a box of Frosted Mini Wheats. Other than the Hustlers, it was all stuff that Ryan knew Seth wouldn't touch. In fact, even the Hustlers weren't really Seth's style; he preferred Playboy.

Ryan stacked the gifts and set them on the floor, then crumpled the wrapping paper and ribbon into a tight ball and threw it away. He dumped the clothes he'd been wearing when he was arrested in the laundry pile in his closet. He tucked his watch into a drawer in his bedside table. Then he was done. He was home.

And he had no idea what to do next.

Kirsten had never been prone to emotional breakdowns, and the very fact that Sandy hadn't made a big deal out of finding her alone and close to tears in the middle of the afternoon proved that he knew what was up. He'd turned his back to her and pretended to look for something on his dresser while she'd composed herself and checked her makeup in the mirror.

She hadn't slept more than a couple hours the night before, and what little sleep she'd managed had been filled with anxious dreams that she couldn't remember, but left her feeling tense and gritty in the morning. Sandy had gone to the office for a few hours before picking up Ryan. Kirsten had intended to flee to the Newport Group offices for the day and, perhaps, well into the evening, but finally decided she'd be better off facing Ryan early, before Seth got home. Kirsten hated confrontations, but she knew this one was inevitable.

So she'd stayed home, working in the dining room where her papers were again spread over the table. She'd tried not to think about how nervous she was about Ryan's homecoming.

When she'd heard Sandy's car pull up their driveway a little after noon, she'd lost what little courage she'd been trying to build all day, and escaped to their bedroom, where Rosa was putting away clean laundry. With a quick wave and a nod Kirsten had dismissed Rosa from the room, and in desperate need of distraction she'd started to fold the laundry herself. But her hands had been shaking and Sandy's socks wouldn't roll into the tight bundles that Rosa always managed, and Kirsten had finally thrown a pair of socks on the bed and fallen into the chair at her dresser, her shoulders slumped as she buried her face in her hands.

That was when Sandy had come in, and she'd recovered quickly. She'd asked where Ryan was, and Sandy had nodded toward the pool house.

"He needs a little space," Sandy had said. "They don't get much of that in juvie."

Kirsten had nodded and returned to the dining room to work.

An hour had passed, and she had yet to see Ryan. Kirsten glanced at the clock and saw that Seth would be home soon. Sandy was working in his home office. If she was going to face Ryan, it would have to be now. She pushed back from the table and went to the kitchen. From the window, she could see all the curtains were closed in the pool house.

Kirsten opened the refrigerator and took out everything she'd need for sandwiches. She wasn't sure if lunch was a delay tactic, but she couldn't knock on the pool house door empty-handed, and Ryan probably hadn't eaten. Then again, neither had Kirsten, and she wasn't at all hungry.

Her musings turned out not to matter at all, because she had just pulled out eight slices of bread when she heard the back door open behind her. Kirsten started and glanced over her shoulder. Ryan stood in the open door. He looked nervous, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to cross the threshold into the kitchen. Kirsten tried to smile at him.

"Hi, Ryan, welcome home," she said, struggling to sound casual, which even she could tell wasn't working. "Come in."

He wavered for a moment, then walked in, turning to carefully close the door. He stopped again and rubbed his wrist, and she noticed he wasn't wearing his watch. Kirsten forced herself not to look down at his ankles and seek out the outline of the bracelet. Instead she turned back to the sandwiches.

"How are you doing?" she asked. "Are you okay?"

When he didn't answer right away, Kirsten looked over at him again. He stood in the same spot, jaw clenched and shoulders rigid. Every part of him seemed tense, ready to spring. She wondered how he'd even worked up the courage to come into the house.

He finally nodded, just slightly. He didn't match her smile and he wouldn't look at her. Kirsten bit her lip.

"I bet you're hungry."

"Not really."

Kirsten closed her eyes briefly before dunking a knife into an economy-sized jar of mustard and raising it toward Ryan with a nervous smile.

"I'm making lunch for everyone," she said. "You like salami and cheese, right?"

Ryan stood very still, and she realized he hadn't walked more than a foot into the kitchen. He seemed to nod his head just slightly, and she began smothering a slice of bread with mustard.

"No," he said, and then added quietly, "But, thanks."

Kirsten swallowed her disappointment and didn't say anything. She knew he was hungry, and she knew he liked salami and cheese just fine. And now she knew that he wasn't going to make this easy, not for any of them. He was going to resist their kindness, just as he had when he'd first arrived at their home, and she couldn't really blame him.

"I'm thirsty. Can I…" She glanced at him and he motioned a hand toward the refrigerator. Asking permission. Kirsten felt the tears threatening again.

"Of course," she said, forcing the informality into her voice. "Please, help yourself."

Ryan shuffled to the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of juice, and backed toward the far end of the room again. He didn't sit, and he didn't leave, and Kirsten suspected he had no idea what to do. She didn't think she could tell him what to do either. It felt like a stalemate, and part of her wished he would just go back to the pool house, so they could finish this when they weren't alone.

The bottle of juice made a soft popping sound when Ryan took off the lid, and Kirsten, suddenly ashamed, found a new determination. She was the adult here. She was the one in charge.

"Why don't you sit down, keep me company until Seth gets home," she said. She kept her eyes on the sandwiches, not waiting to see if Ryan would listen. "He didn't want to go to school today. He wanted to be here when you got back. He's been worried about you."

Kirsten glanced at Ryan and saw that his gaze was directed toward the den. She wondered what was going through his head, if he was picturing Seth sitting in there, or the two of them playing video games. He must have felt her watching him, because his eyes twitched in her direction. He looked away and took a long swallow of juice, then screwed the cap back on the bottle.

"We've all been worried," Kirsten said. She set the knife on the counter, rested her palms on the surface. "I know it's pretty bad in there, Ryan. I'm glad…"

She paused, not sure what to say next. Was she glad to have him back in her house? Glad that he was with her family? Glad that he was their responsibility again?

"I'm glad you're safe," she finally finished.

Ryan studied her from the corners of his eyes, and again she couldn't quite tell if he nodded. He was so still, so quiet. So not the boy who had left their house on a Friday night more than a week ago.

"Well, there's nothing to worry about now, right?"

Kirsten was struck by the bitterness in his voice. An image flashed in her mind of his mom, and that awful dinner so long ago. It was the first time she'd seen him angry, and she'd felt useless to him that night, unable to do anything other than watch him fall apart. She didn't feel much better now. Certainly a salami sandwich and a bottle of cranberry juice wasn't going to be enough.

The front door banged shut and seconds later Seth appeared in the kitchen doorway. Kirsten felt an immediate rush of relief, and then shame. Without looking at Kirsten, Seth crossed the kitchen in several long strides and pulled Ryan into an aggressive embrace. Ryan didn't react immediately, but when Seth didn't let go right away Ryan thumped him on the back several times. The boys parted and Seth smiled awkwardly.

"I'm so glad you're home, buddy," Seth said. "And I'm so, so sorry. About everything."

Ryan offered a weak smile and ducked his head.

"Yeah, so, okay, we're cool, right?" Seth said. "I mean, you're good? You're okay?"

"Yeah," Ryan said.

"Yeah, good." Seth rocked on his feet, and it hurt to see him so uncomfortable, trying so hard. "So, what do you want to do? A little PlayStation?"

"Seth," Kirsten said. "You're grounded."

"Mom," Seth started, but Kirsten shook her head. Seth stared at her in disbelief, clearly stunned that she wasn't going to give in. He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Let's just go to my room. We can talk. Or, you know, I can talk. You can listen."

"Are you hungry?" Kirsten asked. "I'm making sandwiches. We're eating late tonight."

"I had a big lunch," Seth said, although she knew he really just wanted to get away from her. Seth nudged Ryan with his shoulder, and the boys left for his bedroom.

Kirsten took a deep breath when they were gone. She slowly put away all of the food, tucking the salami into the crisp white butcher paper, scraping the knife against the jar to swipe off the excess mustard. She didn't know how to fix any of this. She didn't even know where to begin.

After dinner, Ryan was dozing in the darkened pool house when the door opened suddenly. He drew in a sharp breath and sat up before he was fully awake, blinking in the dim light. For a second he had no idea where he was, but it all came back to him quickly enough when he saw Marissa standing over by the door.

He leaned over to turn on the bedside lamp, and she raised a hand to her eyes.

"Hey," he said. "You scared me."

She perched on the end of the bed, hunching a little and crossing her arms.

"You didn't call me. I didn't even know you were home."

Ryan drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. How to explain that he hadn't even considered calling? That she had only entered his mind fleetingly in the hours since he had returned? It was better not to explain any of that.

"I'm sorry, I – I'm just really tired," he said. That was the truth, at least.

Marissa bit her lip and looked down at the floor.

"I don't even know if I'm allowed to call anybody," he said. "I guess I'm grounded. I mean, more than grounded, I–"

"I know," she said softly. "Seth called me last night."

That made him feel even worse, that Seth had thought to call and he hadn't.

"I'm sorry," he said again. He had to force the words out. He hoped she wouldn't ask for explanations or justifications. He didn't really want to talk. About anything.

She pursed her lips, but then she nodded and he saw her deciding to accept it. She crawled up on the bed next to him and laid her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair absently, working out the tangles with his fingers.

"I missed you," she said, and leaned in to kiss him. That was good, because he didn't have to answer. He closed his eyes and kissed her back. She tasted like mint and cherry lip gloss. It was one of the things he had always loved about her, that she seemed so clean, the way flowers and fruit were clean. She never tasted like cigarettes or smelled of cheap foundation like other girls he had known. Sometimes he dropped light kisses down her bare shoulders and thought of plums and nectarines and cherries: smooth-skinned fruits that smelled sweet. Sometimes it made him sad, because flowers and fruit never lasted. Something would happen that she couldn't pretend away, something she couldn't forget no matter how much she drank and no matter how far she ran.

"Ryan?" Marissa whispered. It was funny; if they were in public and just talking, she never noticed when he forgot to listen to her bright chatter and just watched her. But when they were alone, or touching, she always knew when he slipped away.

"Yeah?"

"What are you thinking?"

"About you," he said, because it was true and because it would please her.

She bit down on the corner of her lip. She was trying not to smile.

"What about me?"

"You smell like flowers," he said, and it was close enough.

He lay back on the pillows and she crawled on top of him. She kissed his mouth and his jaw and the space where his jaw met his ear, and he slid his hands under her shirt and felt a little bit of happiness creeping back in. He remembered a time when he and Trey had gotten drunk on cheap whiskey, sitting at the kitchen table after their mom had gone to sleep, and talking about girls. Trey had raised his glass and announced, "We fuck to forget!" which made them laugh hysterically at the time, putting their heads on the down on the table. But maybe it was true. The events of the last 11 days were slipping to the back of his mind instead of crowding at the front, and that was good.

Then Marissa's foot brushed over his ankle and she jerked as though she'd been burned and sat up. He sat up, too, pulling his knees to his chest again. She was looking at him nervously.

"Was that the–" she said.

"Yeah," he said.

Her eyes drifted to his ankle and she took his hand, squeezing a little too hard.

"Can I see it? The . . .bracelet?"

Ryan looked down at the bed, at the rumpled sheets, then back at her.

"Why?"

Her shoulders twitched up in a tiny shrug, and she met his eyes.

"You don't have to hide it from me," she said. "I thought we didn't keep secrets from each other."

He sighed and patted her hand. He had no idea how she could think that was true.

"Okay," he said. "But then you should go, because you're not even supposed to be in here, I don't think. Sandy and Kirsten are supposed to screen my visitors."

"Even me?"

"Yeah," he said. "Everybody."

Marissa nodded, and he pulled up the leg of his sweatpants. She stared at his ankle, and he watched her face, watched the expressions flickering across it: trepidation and curiosity and repulsion. She ran her fingers lightly over the transmitter and skimmed his leg hairs, making him shiver.

"Don't," he said, jerking his ankle away.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking down. "I'll go."

She kissed him on the cheek and slid off the bed, gathering her purse and her jacket from the chair near the door.

"You'll be in school tomorrow?" she said.

He nodded.

"Bye," she said, her voice faint, and closed the door before he could even answer.

Marissa wasn't stupid, he realized. She knew he guarded his secrets, knew there were a thousand tiny things he had never told her. She just wasn't very good at figuring them out. He was better at guessing hers, or parts of them. He knew which parts of her body she hated by the way she stiffened when he ran his hands over them. He didn't know who had made her feel that way. He knew all of Marissa's underwear came in matched sets. He knew he'd never seen her wear the same ones twice. She had pink stripes and bright blue and plain black, cotton and silk and lace. He imagined it was some kind of secret goal of hers, to never wear the same set twice in front of him. He didn't know why.

He knew, now, that she wished that she had never asked to see the bracelet. That was a secret she couldn't keep from him, how scared she was, disgusted, even. He didn't know if she'd be able to move beyond it, if they'd last the three months or if she would decide it was too much. He didn't have much hope, not after seeing her face.

He lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes. All he wanted to do was sleep.