"The Air of Finality" – chapter 2
Thank you for all of your kind reviews. I originally intended to follow up The Words with a completely fun farce about a camping trip gone awry and only after that delve into this angst-a-thon about Trey's death. But this plot bunny carjacked my brain and wouldn't let go. I'll return to the camping trip idea another time.
Thanks to storymom for her invaluable aid in explaining the difference in the functions of a Medical Examiner versus Coroner and how the whole process would go.
Also, to clarify and for those who haven't read "Summer Time," my Summer back story, written before we knew anything about her family on the show, has her mother running off with a tennis instructor and never looking back – staying almost completely out of contact with Summer. And I didn't give her the doting father of canon but a self involved, absentee father who spends a lot of time jetting around the world with his new wife.
Warning: This chapter earns its 'R' rating.
Saturday.
Summer awoke midmorning feeling anxious and depressed and unable to remember why she felt that way. Then she remembered.
It was weird that the death of a person she had never met could affect her so deeply simply because his death hurt someone she loved.
Loved. She rolled the word around for a moment in her brain. It was still a novel enough concept, "I love Ryan. Ryan loves me," that she had to take it out and examine it every now and then. She felt a perverse joy despite the sad circumstance of Trey's death because she finally had someone she cared for enough to share his pain.
After rising, showering and dressing, Summer was at loose ends. Her phone showed no incoming calls and she couldn't decide if calling Ryan right now would be supportive or intrusive so she phoned Seth instead to find out how things were going.
"Hi," she said when he picked up.
"Hey, Summer."
"What's happening?"
"I'm at The Lighthouse covering Ryan's shift. Dad took him to the Coroner's where the Medical Examiner is doing the autopsy. He wanted to see Trey before they started ... you know, cutting into him. God, it's just so.... I can't even imagine what he's feeling right now."
"I know." Summer confided, "I've never even known anyone who died before. It's bizarre."
"My Grandma Nichol died right after we moved to Newport," Seth said. "Actually that's kind of why we moved here, because she was so sick and mom wanted to be with her. I was still pretty young but I remember the funeral. I couldn't feel anything about grandma, couldn't really believe in it, you know? But when mom started crying I totally lost it, too. I'd never seen my mom cry before and it scared the hell out of me."
"Mm," Summer made an affirming noise. She pictured a little mini-Seth all dressed up in a suit and bawling his eyes out.
"Shit, Nikki's giving me the evil eye. I'd better get back to work. I'd tell you to come over to the house later but I'm going to be here for both Ryan's shift and my own so I won't be home 'til, like, midnight. I don't know how long dad and Ryan are going to be at the Coroner's." Seth paused. "You should call him later – even if he doesn't call you."
Usually Summer hated being told what to do but in that moment she was grateful to Seth for understanding her dilemma and giving her some direction. "I will," she promised. "Have a good day at work."
After she hung up, Summer realized that she had absolutely nothing to do today and she knew that just sitting around waiting to hear from Ryan was going to drive her crazy so she decided to do the only useful thing one could do on a day like this – go shopping. She owned several black dresses but they were all strapless or slit up the side or cut to show way too much cleavage for a funeral. She decided to go find the perfect, conservative outfit to wear for the occasion and of course, a new pair of shoes to go with.
Ryan stared up at the institutional façade of the San Bernardino County Coroner's Office. The building was landscaped with trees, shrubs and flowers like any other public building and you might think it was a library or post office if you didn't read the small sign planted in front next to the flagpole. He and Sandy walked from the bright, sunny California morning into the cool, hushed lobby.
Ryan stood off to the side waiting while Sandy talked to the receptionist and signed the appropriate paperwork that would allow them to view Trey's body. Then they sat down in a pair of hard chairs in the sparely furnished waiting area. By now Ryan's heart was beating too fast and the coffee he had drunk earlier churned in his sour stomach. He would not throw up, he told himself, no matter what. It was simply not an option.
He settled in his seat, prepared to wait a while to be called, but almost immediately a white lab-coated attendant came to usher them back to the morgue. When he stood up, Ryan felt a momentary wave of dizziness and blackness began to creep in at the edge of his vision. He took a deep breath and blinked his eyes then followed the man in the white coat. Sandy walked by his side with a guiding hand at the small of his back.
They walked through a door, down a short hallway then through another door into a room with a wall full of metal doors. Ryan looked at them and wondered how many of the vaults behind them were occupied. Then his attention was caught by the white shrouded figure laying on a gurney in the center of the room. He stopped walking.
His ears began to ring and the blackness began to steal back into his sight but he blinked it away. He would not pass out. Throwing up or passing out – both not options. Ryan could feel Sandy's hand on his back, pressing firm and warm through his T-shirt. He took another slow, deep breath and walked on.
The attendant murmured some kind of stock apology as if the whole thing were somehow his fault, and then he pulled the sheet away to uncover the head, neck, shoulders, chest of the corpse.
People who viewed a dead body and said, "He looks like he's only sleeping," were full of shit, Ryan thought. The dead man's face and limbs were white and bloodless with an almost blue tinge. Even his lips were white and barely marked the thin line of his mouth. His eyelashes and hair looked black and painted on against the canvas of his skin. The dead man was not his brother Trey, who could never lie so still – not even in sleep.
Ryan had thought that seeing the body would finally bring home to him the truth that his brother was gone, but it still didn't feel real. This stiff, pale corpse seemed small and diminished by the lack of that fire which always drove Trey. This was not his loud, aggressive brother.
A jumble of memories flooded him.Trey holds the broken remnants of his remote controlled four-wheeler. "You touch my shit again, I'll break your arm!" he screams, red-faced.
Standing together at the jewelry counter of Kmart looking at the display of gaudy earrings, Trey says, "Mom would love those for her birthday. You distract the lady and I'll get them."Amputee G.I. Joes, decrepit Power Ranger action figures and headless or legless Barbies gathered from all over the neighborhood are lined up against the fence in the vacant lot awaiting execution. Trey steadies the B.B. gun against Ryan's shoulder and shows him how to hold his aim as he squeezes the trigger. "Yeah. Like that. Nice and easy.""Christ, Ryan, don't be such a wuss. Just jump!" Ryan stares down from the scaffolding, which seems a lot higher now than when they were climbing it. He jumps."Here. Quick. Stick it down your pants." Trey shoves a baggy of grass at Ryan as the cop who pulled them over for speeding walks up to the window."You and Theresa doin' it now, man? All right!" He tosses a foil wrapped square at Ryan. "Just don't knock her up."Shaking Ryan's hand off his arm as he stalks angrily out the front door, Trey snaps, "Don't ask questions. This is me and Turo's business. Just stay the fuck out of it."Ryan asks, "Why do you talk back to him? Why don't you just shut the hell up so we can have some peace?" Trey answers, "Because, fuck him! That's why. It's our house. He's just living here."A head shorter than the angry man but still up in his face, Trey bellows, "Touch my brother again and I'll kill you!"
Ryan started as Sandy touched his elbow. He looked up to see his guardian's heavy eyebrows knitted in concern. "You all right?"
"Yeah," Ryan answered. His eyes moved from Sandy's worried face back to his brother's dead body like a compass needle returning to north. He wondered how long they had been standing there and glanced down at his watch to find almost ten minutes had passed. "We can go now," he added.
"You're sure?" Sandy asked. "I wasn't trying to hurry you."
"No. It's fine," Ryan assured him. "We should go." He turned his back on Trey and began to walk toward the door. It felt wrong, like he was abandoning him somehow. Like the day he had said goodbye and walked away from him in the visitor's court at the prison.
Ryan's stomach gave another roll. The taste of bile and bitter coffee rose from his belly to his throat. He swallowed it down.
Suddenly Sandy's hand was at his elbow again, steadying him under the pretense of guiding him out the door.
When they were finally back outside in the balmy air and bright sunshine, Ryan put his head back and breathed deeply. His head felt clearer and his stomach began to settle.
Now Sandy's arm was around his shoulders giving him a quick, hard squeeze. "You're gonna make it through this, kid," he affirmed. "I know it's hard."
Ryan nodded. He was grateful Sandy didn't offer the traditional, "It will get better." He didn't think he could stand hearing that right now.
Sandy's arm dropped away from him and they walked toward the car but part of Ryan's mind was back in that room, picturing the attendant recovering the body with a sheet, sliding the tray back into the chamber and closing the door, leaving Trey in pitch blackness.
Summer was pleased with her purchases. The jacket and skirt set were very vintage, very Jackie Kennedy. They made her want to buy a pillbox hat and a clutch purse too and tease her hair into a bouffant style. Maybe a pair of little white gloves would be appropriate. The shoes she had bought were simple black pumps but with a certain elegant arch to them that really pleased her. It had been a very successful shopping trip and Summer was basking in the afterglow.
She walked into the house, tossed her keys and purse on the hall table, set her bags on the floor and kicked off her shoes with a contented sigh. She padded into the kitchen and got her favorite kiwi-strawberry juice from the fridge and a glass from the cupboard. Then, even though it had been welded to her hand practically all day and there was no way she could have missed any calls, she obsessively checked her cell phone to see if Ryan had called.
He hadn't.
She figured he had to be back home by now, but there were probably a thousand other things he was thinking about and dealing with. She would give him another hour before she called him.
Summer took her glass and wandered out onto the veranda. She sat down on a lounge chair and gazed out at the gorgeous view of the ocean. Sunlight shimmered off the tops of the waves, seagulls swooped across the blue sky, fluffy white clouds seemed frozen in place there was so little air movement and the cell phone on her lap sat silent and beckoning.
Two seconds later she picked it up and dialed.
Ryan's phone rang five times before someone answered it. It was Kirsten and she sounded breathless. "Hello?"
"Kirsten?"
"Oh, hi, Summer. Ryan's on the other phone talking with his dad right now."
"Oh." Summer was taken aback. She had realized from what Sandy said last night that Ryan would be in contact with his father but the casual way Kirsten said it, as if they chatted together all the time, threw her. Summer knew for a fact that Ryan hadn't spoken to his father in several years. So this phone call was not a casual thing. It was a very big deal.
"Will you tell him I called?" she asked.
"Of course." Kirsten's voice was warm and sweet and Summer had a quick flashback to her hug last night and how good it felt to have a mom type person try to comfort you.
"How is he doing?" Summer asked next, her voice lowering confidentially as though talking about a patient in critical condition.
"Overwhelmed about covers it." Kirsten sighed. "It's hard enough to have a family member die but with Ryan's family situation already so fragmented it makes it that much worse."
Summer murmured an agreement.
"How are you?" Kirsten asked. "It's all a little scary, huh?"
"Yeah," she agreed. "I've never even been to a funeral. I bought a dress today. I wish...." she paused, looking for the right words. "I wish there was more I could do to help Ryan. Something I could say that would be the right thing, you know?"
"You don't have to say or do anything, Summer. Just be there. Just be you. That's all you have to do." Kirsten's words were comforting but Summer didn't know if they were true.
"Thanks," she said.
"I'll tell him you called," Kirsten confirmed. "Goodbye, Summer."
"Bye, Mrs. Cohen."
Sitting in her chair watching the sun sink slowly toward the ocean, Summer thought about what Ryan must be feeling right now talking to his father. She knew how she had felt when her mom called out of the blue last spring after being incommunicado for almost two years. She had been stunned, angry, hurt, happy, relieved, nervous and overwhelmingly scared.
It had been easy to hate the woman long distance for walking out like she did, to make up scenarios in which she came to the door begging for help and Summer slammed it in her face, but confronted by her actual voice on the phone ... Summer was reduced to her ten-year-old self, pitifully grateful to hear her mommy's voice.
"Hi, mom. How have you been? .... Me? I'm good. .... (laugh) Yes, dad's new wife is a trip. .... Yeah, I'm doing well in school. .... No boyfriend right now. What about you? .... Oh, that's great. You must be really happy. .... Sure, I'd love to meet you for lunch. .... Yes, that'd be great. .... Next Saturday is fine. .... Oh yeah. I have to go, too. Lot of homework you know. (laugh) .... See you then. Two o'clock, right. .... Bye, mom."
It was the single most surrealistic conversation she'd ever had in her life. Her mother's voice was light and cheerful and full of laughter, delighted to be talking to Summer as if they were old friends who'd fallen out of touch and had suddenly discovered each other again. No big deal here. Nothing to indicate that the woman had abandoned daughter and walked away without a backward glance and only one other phone call in two years' time.
Inside Summer had been screaming her rage and anguish but none of that reached her lips. As ready as she usually was to say anything to anybody at any time, she could express none of her feelings to her mom. And the civilized luncheon at Del Tosi's had been more of the same. When her mother had seen her she squealed with delight and scooped Summer into her arms, pressing kisses on both of her cheeks. Her familiar scent, Ambrosia, suffused Summer's senses and brought tears to her eyes. She remembered when her mom used to get dressed to go out and spritzed a little of the expensive perfume on Summer as well.
They sat outdoors at a table in the sun. Her mom slipped the sunglasses from her hair down over her eyes and wore them throughout the meal as they talked about every shallow subject two women could possibly talk about and never mentioned the huge iceberg of anger and recrimination lurking just below the surface of their chatter.
Until after lunch when they were saying goodbye in front of the restaurant. Her mom hugged her and stepped back. Summer saw that her eyes were glistening with tears.
"Sweetheart," she paused and sniffed delicately before continuing, "I just wanted to say how proud I am of how you've grown up." She brushed a stray tear from her cheek with one beautifully manicured fingertip and gave a sharp little laugh. "No thanks to me." She shook her head once at her own folly then looked deeply into Summer's eyes and said, "I'm sorry I put you through so much pain and that I missed watching you grow into the beautiful young woman you've become."
Summer's throat seized up. Part of her wanted to laugh at the Hallmark words that sounded like her mom had memorized them from a made for TV movie but a deeper part desperately wanted to believe that her mother meant every one of them. Caught between cynicism and naiveté she croaked out, "Okay," realized that made no sense at all and said, "Thank you," realized that she was still really angry with her mother and that the woman didn't deserve a thank you and added, "Call me," before turning around and clicking rapidly away down the sidewalk.
Her mother hadn't called again.
Yes, Summer thought, there was nothing weirder than trying to communicate with a long estranged parent, and she figured between seeing his dead brother and talking to his father, Ryan would have been through the emotional ringer by the end of today.
She stood up, took a last deep breath of the ocean breeze, picked up her empty glass and went inside to work on some homework for Monday.
An hour later Ryan finally called.
"Can I come over?" His husky voice raised gooseflesh on her skin. God, how did he do that?
"Sure," she said and before she could add anything else he had hung up.
He must have jumped straight into the Explorer and broken speed limits to get there because he arrived in under ten minutes.
The doorbell rang and Summer opened it to find Ryan on her front step, grim- faced and pale. She stepped back to let him in.
"Bad?" she asked, shutting the door behind him.
"Yeah," he answered.
She opened her arms and he walked into her embrace, clinging to her so tightly she thought he might crack one of her ribs. She ran a soothing hand up and down his back and he buried his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder.
"It sucks," she said, since that seemed to sum up pretty much everything. She continued to hold him for several more minutes, his body warm and solid in her arms. Then he pulled away and began to kiss her.
His mouth moved against hers hard and hungry and open wide. His tongue sought hers and finding it wove sinuously around it. He grasped her head on either side, fingers twisted in her hair and hands cupping her jaw to hold her even closer. It was as if he were trying to taste her very essence with his tongue – or at least her tonsils. Summer was completely breathless when he finally stopped.
"Parents still in Martinique, right?" he asked, also gasping for breath a little. His eyes were heavy lidded and dark with desire. Summer had read the expression 'dark with desire' in just about every romance novel she ever read, but until she met Ryan didn't really know what it looked like.
"Yeah." She ran her hands up under his T-shirt, reveling in the smooth skin stretched over his abs. He grabbed her and kissed her again; more deep, hungry kisses as he moved her backwards toward the living room that was never lived in.
He nibbled her lips while they both sank to their knees in the pristine, cream-colored carpet, and he sucked on her tongue while he laid her on her back. He stopped kissing only long enough to quickly pull his shirt off in one deft move. As always, Summer was infinitely aroused by the sight of his chest and stomach muscles moving. She simply lay there watching the muscles work as he cast the shirt aside and impatiently shed his socks and shoes. Then she reached for the button on his jeans.
He was straddling her prone body now, his eyes avidly watching her hands unfasten the button, unzip the zipper and push down the top of his underwear to release his hard cock. It bobbed slightly, the shaft thick and pulsating with life, the tip already dripping with pre-cum. Summer ran her hand down the smooth length of it and breathed the air of proud ownership, like her dad when he had bought his coveted '65 Corvette. This was hers. All hers. All the time. She wouldn't trade it in for anything.
Ryan shuddered and groaned quietly at her touch then leaned down to kiss her some more and incidentally to reach behind her neck and undo her halter- top. He pulled it down to reveal the round globes of flesh, each topped with a pebble-hard nipple like a pair of ice cream sundaes garnished with cherries. He moved his mouth from lips to breasts and began to lick and suck.
Usually he would spend a long time worshiping at the mammary altar but after a perfunctory suckle at each breast he stopped and moved back to kissing her mouth. His left hand was at work underneath her skirt, pulling down panties and massaging her clit. Summer bucked a little at the contact and moaned her appreciation.
Ryan suddenly pulled back from her mouth and whispered urgently, "I can't wait."
"Okay." Summer's hands were already grabbing his ass inside his jeans so she began to slide the offending article of clothing down over his hips.
Ryan sat up, cursed as he fought to get out of his jeans then almost tore Summer's lace panties in his hurry to get them down her legs. He ignored her skirt simply bunching it up around her waist, positioned his dick at the entrance of her cunt and began to push in.
Summer wasn't quite ready so it was a little dry at first but after he had moved in and out carefully a couple of times she had loosened up and was ready to accept all of him. Ryan began to thrust.
She watched him suspended above her, biceps bulging with the strain of holding up his weight, face contorted and eyes closed, and she thought she had never seen anything more beautiful. His need was raw and desperate and obvious as he plunged into her again and again, actually driving her back across the floor a little with each push. She was glad the carpet was plush and thick or she would have had some major rug burns on her ass.
Then she stopped watching him and closed her eyes too, riding on waves of sensation as she arched up to meet him on each thrust. Usually Ryan was slow, considerate and chockfull of finesse in his lovemaking and never failed to bring her to orgasm, but tonight he was all CaveRyan and that was sexy too. Summer went with it.
He pumped into her maybe twenty more times, driving faster and faster, then suddenly froze and let out a guttural cry as he came. Summer's eyes flickered open again to watch his enraptured face. She smiled with satisfaction.
When he was finished, he collapsed on top of her, weighing her down like a bearskin rug. His head rested on her shoulder and she could feel his panting breath blowing hot across her chest.
He was so sweaty his damp hair clung to his skin. Summer brushed it back with one hand and blew lightly across his forehead to cool him. Her other arm was wrapped around his back and her hand rested on his shoulder. She began to rub it gently.
"Sorry," he muttered, turning his head to kiss her collarbone. "Do you want me to...?"
"No. It's okay." She knew Ryan wasn't happy if she didn't achieve her 'O' but honestly, sometimes she just didn't care. "I'm fine." She kissed his sweaty hair. "Just rest now."
He was still for a long while but she could tell from his light breathing that he hadn't drifted off to sleep. She looked around the room at the beautiful House and Garden décor that her stepmother's decorator had created and she thought, "I will remember this moment, this place, this time." She marked it as special and filed it away in her brain.
Suddenly Ryan spoke his voice vibrating against her skin, tickling her. "He might come, you know ... to the funeral."
Summer took a moment to process and decipher this. "Your dad?" she asked.
She felt him nod.
"Wow," she replied lamely.
"I don't know what to do," he admitted after another long pause.
Summer suppressed the urge to say, 'About what?' and instead kept stroking his shoulder soothingly.
He continued slowly, thoughtfully, "One time Trey and I were wasted and got to talking about death like you do, you know?"
Summer nodded although she didn't know. She had never discussed death or the afterlife either drunk or sober. She didn't like to think about it at all.
"Trey said he definitely wanted to be cremated. He didn't want people gawking at him. And he thought that cemeteries were a waste of space and funerals were only designed to make undertakers rich."
"Mm-hm," Summer murmured encouragingly.
"So I know he would want to be cremated, but if my dad is allowed to come for a funeral ... or if mom somehow...." He trailed off and was silent for a moment, idly petting her breast as if it were a kitten, and then he offered the rest of his thought, "If Trey is cremated, my parents will never get to see him one last time."
Summer's heart twisted at the finality of the words. She felt a jolt of pain in her chest at the uncertainty of his tone. Suddenly she was a heartbeat away from crying and was afraid Ryan could hear her breath hitching in her chest as she tried to steady her breathing.
"That's a hard decision," she agreed when she had finally gathered herself enough to speak. She tried to think of how to counsel him when all she wanted to say was 'screw your father and your mother, neither of them deserves to be any part of this decision.'
"Have you talked to Sandy about it," she finally said.
"Not yet. And that's another problem," Ryan said his voice low and worried. "The Cohens said they would pay for Trey's funeral. A burial with the casket and the plot and everything has to be a lot more expensive than cremation. I feel bad enough having them take care of any of it but I should probably try to keep it as cheap as possible and...."
Summer slapped him on the shoulder – hard. "Stop it! You have got to get over this issue about the Cohens helping you out. They want to do it. They're glad to do it. You're not a burden on them. You don't owe them anything but your love and respect, just like Seth. You are like a son to them. Don't you know that by now?" It felt good to be Summer again, absolutely sure of herself and not afraid of saying the wrong thing. "We've had this conversation too many times and you're really starting to piss me off, Ryan. Don't EVEN let money be a factor in making your decision. Do you understand?"
She thought she felt him smile against her shoulder. "Yes, ma'am," he said contritely.
Summer smiled too. Sometimes you just had to whap people upside the head to get them to see reason, especially thickheaded, overly proud boys like Chino.
"I'm serious though," she added, in case he thought she was teasing.
"Point taken," he replied then sighed. "Okay, so ... even if money's no object, I still don't know whether to go by Trey's wishes or my dad's."
Summer remained silent.
After a moment, Ryan squeezed her breast lightly with the hand that was fondling it. "You still awake?" He raised himself onto an elbow, rolling his body off of hers to lay beside her, looking down at her face. "What? You always have an opinion, Summer."
"It's not my family. I can't say," she answered.
"But you do HAVE an opinion."
She shrugged.
"Come on. Tell me."
She shook her head ... frowned ... rolled her eyes and sighed ... then opened her mouth and said, "It's Trey's funeral isn't it? I think you have to go by what he wanted. Besides, I'm with Trey. I wouldn't want people staring at my dead body either." She shut her mouth tight and hoped she wasn't wrong for putting her two cents in.
Ryan looked thoughtful then nodded.
"That's just what I think though. Again, it's not my family. I don't want to, like, influence you or anything."
"I know. You won't. But thanks for giving me your opinion."
"Oh. Okay." Summer was pleased that he valued it.
She brushed her hand across Ryan's cheek, noting how haggard and pale he was. "You need something to eat," she announced. "Have you had anything today?"
"Um, Kirsten made me a sandwich earlier," he said vaguely.
Which she interpreted to mean that Kirsten had set a sandwich next to him, he took two bites and left the rest. Summer jumped up and held out her hand.
"We're going to the kitchen. I'm making you an omelet. And you're going to eat all of it," she ordered.
Ryan took her hand and let her pull him to his feet. He put on his boxers and handed Summer her halter. She wiped between her legs with her underpants, put her top back on, smoothed down her skirt over her naked ass and led Ryan to the kitchen where she cooked for him while giving him a play by play of her shopping excursion earlier that day.
When she looked up from the frying pan, he was watching her with an actual smile on his face.
"Love you," she reminded him, stirring the onions and green peppers and eggs into a scrambled mess that she still liked to call an omelet.
"I know it," he answered simply.
To be continued....