"The Air of Finality" – chapter 4
Thank you to all reviewers of chapter 3, your comments and critiques mean a lot to me. And thanks to storymom for giving the once over to this chapter prior to posting.
Note the shoutout to AKA's "Bacon" story. I love that little gem. Thanks to elzed for pointing out that Nana Cohen wouldn't have served bacon. Oops! I kept it in anyway 'cause it's funny.
Monday.
Sandy could tell that Ryan was getting more upset by the second as the funeral director, Mr. Linderman, quoted exorbitant prices on even the most basic caskets and added in the cost of transporting the body, embalming and various other fees. He didn't even want to see how Ryan was going to react when they began to discuss the cost of cemetery plots. Coming from a lower income bracket himself, Sandy totally understood how these figures would seem astronomical to a boy like Ryan, but having lived the Newport lifestyle with Kirsten all these years, Sandy had also become desensitized to what things cost.
He remembered how much it used to bother him when they were first together and she showered her riches upon him. Sandy was a struggling scholarship student barely able to make rent and still have enough to keep his car running and a little food in his fridge. Kirsten was a wealthy socialite, who liked to play at being bohemian but really had no clue what it was to go without. They were such a cliche star-crossed couple it had actually amused Sandy when he wasn't pissed off by it. Learning to accept Kirsten's generosity had been damn near insurmountable for him at the beginning and had caused endless arguments and battles.
He remembered a particular evening when Kirsten pointed out to him how double standard his views were. "If our situations were reversed," she had said, "if you were the one with money and I was struggling financially wouldn't you want to help me out? And wouldn't you think I was being pig- headed and proud if I refused to let you pay for dinner when we went out on dates? I have money. So what? You're going to punish me for this?"
"You have your father's money," Sandy had noted sulkily, causing Kirsten to stand up from the table and storm out of the restaurant. Neither of them ordered nor ate that evening, but, man, did they have scorching make up sex a few days later.
Sandy was suddenly aware that he was grinning at the memory, and he quickly wiped the smile off his face and went back to nodding gravely as Mr. Linderman droned on.
"I'll take the least expensive one," Ryan interrupted. "The least expensive of everything," he added.
Sandy didn't argue or try to convince him otherwise. Yes, he understood how much it burned to be financially dependent on others. There were days when he still chafed at subtle and not so subtle reminders that his life was at least partially subsidized by Caleb Nichol.
By the time they finally left the tastefully somber undertaker's office with a final shake of Mr. Linderman's hand and emerged into yet another bright, cloudless California day, Sandy could tell that Ryan had moved from upset to seriously pissed off. The boy's jaw was clenched so tightly his neck muscles strained as he stalked silently beside Sandy toward the car.
"Want to talk about it," Sandy finally ventured after they had gotten into the vehicle and driven several miles in continued silence.
"Trey wanted to be cremated. He didn't want a viewing," Ryan finally admitted, his voice taut and angry. "I'm only doing it this way because of my dad."
Sandy nodded. He wished Ryan had shared this with him sooner. It explained why he had chosen the option of having the body cremated only after the traditional viewing at the funeral home. He was trying to conform to the conflicting wishes of his father and his brother.
"And what difference does it make? Either way he's just as dead," Ryan burst out bitterly. "I should have saved you a lot of money and let the state take care of it; a pine box and potter's field."
"Kirsten and I are happy to help you by taking care of the funeral expenses," Sandy assured him. "It's not a problem. We don't mind at all."
"I mind," Ryan snapped, turning to stare out the side window, his posture stiff and unapproachable.
Sandy tapped the steering wheel with his thumb and thought a moment before he spoke.
"Ryan, I know you don't want to accept it, no matter how many times or how many ways Kirsten and I tell you that we're glad to pay for this or anything else you need. I understand where you're coming from, believe me." Sandy chose his words carefully, "But I'd like for you to try to understand our point of view. You seem to think you've done nothing but take from us and that you owe some big debt that gets deeper every day. What you don't realize is what you're bringing to the table."
Sandy enumerated, ticking the items off on the fingers of one hand while he drove with the other. He figured keeping it emotion free and logical was the only way to reach Ryan.
"Number one, companionship for Seth. Do you know what it's like to realize that your only son has literally no friends, no peers to hang out with, to know that he's lonely and miserable and there's not a damn thing you can do about it? Your friendship to our son alone counterbalances any debt you think you owe us."
Ryan was staring fixedly at the dashboard now but Sandy was pretty sure he'd gotten his attention.
He continued, "Number two, the helpful things you do around the house. Do you know I haven't had to take out the garbage once since you've gotten here? It may seem like a small thing to you," he lowered his voice confidentially, "but I really hated taking out the garbage."
He caught a small smile tipping the corner of Ryan's mouth.
"Not to mention grocery carrying, pool skimming and the time you fixed the pipe under the kitchen sink and saved us a plumber's bill. You're a useful person to have around."
"Number three, the sports. Now you know I love Seth, but athletics is not his forte. I appreciate having someone to cheer for on the soccer field or to watch a basketball game with. This is something neither Kirsten nor Seth can do for me. I rely on you to fill that gap."
Ryan was tapping his fingers on the armrest and Sandy thought he was probably squirming with embarrassment inside right about now, but that was okay, at least he was listening.
"Number four, the breakfasts. Every once in a while I wake up to the smell of bacon cooking – cooking not burning, mind you – and I think, 'Ah, Ryan's in the kitchen again.' I haven't had Sunday breakfasts like that without going to a restaurant since leaving my mom's house." Sandy nodded. "Love the bacon."
Ryan shot him a sideways look with a skeptically raised eyebrow.
"Number five," Sandy plowed on, "what you've done for Kirsten."
The boy was still again, staring straight ahead out of the windshield, obviously uncertain about what that could possibly be.
"My wife is not the most overtly emotional person. Some might even call her reserved or cool, but underneath...." Sandy laughed and shook his head, "a bundle of nerves and repressed worries and self esteem issues. And then there's Seth and me, hearts on our sleeves, bulldozing our way through life with no finesse whatsoever. It's quite the family dichotomy."
He turned to look at Ryan's profile. "But you, Ryan, balance things out. You're more like Kirsten than you know; quiet, introverted, thoughtful. You don't realize how much it means to her when you ask her questions about her work and are actually interested in the answers. That's something neither Seth nor I are good at. Feigning interest, maybe, but...." Sandy chuckled. "Kirsten has found a kindred spirit in you."
"You might think, 'Well, all those things are intangible, how do they weigh against school tuition or food or a roof over my head?' Believe me," Sandy gave a practiced, pregnant pause as though delivering a summation at court, "these qualities of yours are without price and they far outweigh any financial support that we give you
Sandy resisted the impulse to dart another glance over at Ryan. He kept his eyes forward and gave the boy time to collect himself if he was feeling emotional.
After a moment, Ryan's voice broke the silence. "You're just going to keep talking until I give in and agree with you, aren't you?" he said dryly.
The unexpected teasing made Sandy blink and pause for a second. Who stole intense Ryan and replaced him with a humorous model?
"That's what lawyers do, son," Sandy kidded back.
Ryan laughed. Actually laughed.
"Fine," he said, "I'll try not to mind spending your money." Sandy looked over to see him smiling slyly.
"Well, don't get carried away," Sandy cautioned. "No gold plated sports cars or jetting off to Morocco, okay?"
"I think I can restrain myself."
The easy atmosphere continued for several blocks and then Ryan asked, "About my dad, how does the furlough work exactly?"
Sandy had informed him yesterday evening that Glen Atwood's pass was granted, and when they made the funeral arrangements today Sandy had approved them with the assistant warden by phone.
"The prison will assign a guard to escort your father here tomorrow. He's been given ten hours, which includes sufficient travel time and time for him to come back to the house after the funeral so you can visit with him. He'll be under the guard's supervision at all times."
Ryan nodded.
Sandy wondered how nervous he was about seeing this man he hadn't had contact with for years. If he was nervous, he didn't show it or reveal it in his voice.
"Will he be in his prison uniform?"
It was a detail Sandy hadn't considered. When Glen was admitted to the penitentiary he would have been wearing street clothes and he might be allowed to wear those for the occasion, but it wasn't like a suit would magically appear among his possessions.
"I'll bring one of my suits along and he can wear that," Sandy said with more assurance than he felt. The guard would hardly want to take responsibility for unauthorized changing of clothes. God knows there could be files in the lining of the coat or boxcutters in the hems of the pants. From what Sandy had seen in his extensive career, prison guards did not like to color outside the lines of direct orders and protocol.
But Ryan accepted his word, nodding again.
There was silence again but for the steady drone of the air conditioning and the car engine.
"Thanks again," Ryan said after a few minutes, "for helping me with the funeral arrangements and pushing for my dad to get this furlough."
"Glad to do it," Sandy said warmly. "If there's anything else you want or need me or Kirsten to take care of, just let us know."
Ryan didn't answer and when Sandy glanced at him, he was looking out the side window again, showing only his profile. His eye glistened.
After Ryan had left a message on Mrs. Martinez' answering machine and called Eddie at work to ask him to spread the information about Trey's funeral on Tuesday, he decided he would go to school to make up the exam he'd missed that morning. He would rather be at school taking a test than sitting around at home thinking too much. And maybe he and Seth and Summer could stop at the coffee shop on the way home from school as if it were any normal afternoon.
Ryan went into the school office to turn in his late note. As the secretary, Mrs. Manning, took it she squeezed his hand and gave him a sympathetic smile.
"Mrs. Cohen called the office earlier this morning, dear, to let us know what was happening. I'm so sorry for your loss." Behind her thick glasses, her concerned eyes were a light, watery blue.
"Oh." Ryan was taken by surprise. Old Mrs. Manning hadn't acknowledged his presence at this school in any way since he'd arrived at Harbor, except the time he was called to the office after rifling through Oliver's records. That had earned him a brief curl of her lip signaling her disdain and disapproval. "Um, thank you," he said uncertainly.
Evidently this was another of those 'perks' for having a death in the family. Nasty old office workers suddenly treated you like a person.
He took his pass and started down the hall to Mr. Farron's room. The fifth period bell rang and the classroom doors burst open to emit a flood of students into the hallways. Ryan was jostled by the milling throng of chattering teens.
"Atwood! What are you doing in today?" Bayles' booming voice stopped Ryan's forward progress.
"Hey," he said, turning to face Carl Bayles, the least annoying of his soccer teammates. The guy was huge, should've been a football player, and he lumbered down the soccer field like a freight train with no skill or speed but a lot of heart. If there was anyone on the team Ryan could stand it would be Bayles.
"I heard about your brother. I'm sorry, man," Carl said, slapping Ryan on the shoulder with one beefy paw.
"Thanks." Ryan thought he was getting the hang of accepting people's condolences. A lowering of the eyes, nod of the head and a quick thank you and you were off the hook.
"When is the funeral?" Bayles asked.
"Tomorrow at 2:00."
"I'll be there," Carl said, his normally open, genial face drawn into an appropriate frown. It was so uncharacteristic, Ryan felt like laughing.
"Thanks, man. I appreciate it." The proper responses fell from his mouth without him even having to search for the words this time. He supposed he'd be doing a lot of thanking and appreciating tomorrow as well.
Ryan walked another couple of yards down the hall before he was intercepted again, this time by Summer's pseudo friends, Amber and Whitney. They bracketed him on either side and cooed over him in stereo.
"Ryan, we heard what happened," Amber began, resting her red tipped talons on his arm.
"It's so awful," Whitney chimed in, taking his elbow and escorting him down the corridor.
"Why are you even here today? You must be devastated," Amber said, clicking along on her high heels at his right.
"When my grandma died, I couldn't stop crying until they gave me a sedative." Whitney's eyes were suddenly wide and shiny with unshed tears.
Amber nodded. "It's true. She was a mess. God, remember freshman year when Brooke Collier died in that car accident?" she asked Whitney, then explained to Ryan. "She was a girl in our class."
Whitney added, "That was so tragic. Her poor mother." She brushed a tear from her cheek. "I had to walk out of the funeral I was crying so hard."
"Someone our age! It was heartbreaking," Amber said, "even if we didn't know her very well."
"I think she was in my pre-algebra class," Whitney added. "She sat in the back by the window."
"Her death really brought our class together," Amber said gravely.
Whitney nodded. "Definitely. They brought grief counselors into school and we all had a sharing session."
"I have to...." Ryan stopped walking and gestured to Mr. Farron's room, "...take a test now."
"If there's anything we can do for you...." Amber said, patting his arm.
"Yes, anything you need," Whitney continued, pressing his elbow.
"We're here for you," Amber concluded, her brow furrowed in concern.
"Good to know," Ryan answered faintly. He disengaged himself from the girls and went into the classroom.
Twenty minutes later he was in the middle of his test, wrapped up in the eternal verities of mathematical equations. Solving problems took all of his concentration and he found the reliability of numbers soothing. He sat in Mr. Farron's office taking the test and when he finished well before the forty minute class period was up, he reviewed all of his answers carefully a second time.
When the bell rang, he went up to Mr. Farron to hand in his work.
"I'm sorry to hear about your loss," the math teacher said as he accepted the paper.
"Thank you," Ryan murmured with the proper head dip.
"You didn't have to come in today, you know," Mr. Farron reiterated what he had said when he gave Ryan the test at the start of class. "You could have made this up any time."
"I wanted to," Ryan said. "I needed to ... get my mind off things."
Mr. Farron bit his bottom lip and nodded thoughtfully. "I know. Sometimes you just need to keep busy." He paused, looking down at Ryan's test in his hand and then added, "I lost my fiance two years ago. Only a month before the wedding actually."
He shrugged and repeated, "Sometimes all you can do is keep moving."
He looked back up at Ryan and their eyes met and held for a beat then Ryan nodded. Mr. Farron got up from the corner of his desk where he was leaning and Ryan turned to leave.
School was over and Ryan wanted to locate Summer and Seth before they took off. He pulled out his cell phone, which he had turned off during his test and flipped it back on. There was one voicemail message. Ryan played it back.
"Hey buddy." It was Luke Ward's familiar voice, sounding a little tinny and distorted on the cell. "Summer called and told me about your brother. I'm sorry. Give me a call, okay? And I'll probably be home to visit my mom next weekend so I'll catch up with you then."
There was a pause then he added, "Makes me think about my own brothers, you know? I love 'em even though they're little shits. I've gotta try and see them more." Another brief pause and Luke said, "Well, you take care. Call me."
Ryan smiled as he deleted the message then punched in Summer's number. He would never have imagined when he first met and fought with Luke that the guy would turn out to be a friend. It was a strange world.
"Hi. What's up?" Summer asked when she picked up.
"I'm here at school. Came in to take a Calc test. Where are you?"
"The south parking lot. Where are you?"
"Front of the building. Pick me up?"
"Yeah. I'm just waiting for Seth. He's trying to talk Mrs. Snyder into giving him an extension on his paper. He should be here in a minute." She hesitated. "How did it go today?"
"It went," Ryan said. "We made all the arrangements. The funeral will be at two tomorrow."
"No cremation then?" Summer asked.
"Yes, but after the viewing." Ryan paused. "My dad's going to be coming and some people from Chino and ... it just didn't seem right not to have Trey ... there, you know?"
"Sure. I understand," she said simply. "That makes sense. ... Oh, here comes Seth. We'll pick you up in a minute."
While Ryan was waiting in front of the school for his ride, two more of his soccer teammates, Chad and Mike came out of the building. They were the male counterparts of Amber and Whitney and Ryan wished he could be still enough to melt into the brick wall like a chameleon. He was tired of condolences and long faces.
"Ryan!" Chad said. "We heard about what happened. How are you doing?"
"Okay." Ryan glanced toward the south side of the building, praying to see Summer's blue jeep coming to rescue him.
"Sucks, man," Mike chimed in. His hands were stuffed in his pockets and he looked away from Ryan as he spoke, obviously nervous.
"If there's anything we can do...." Chad added and Ryan wondered why people felt compelled to say that.
"Thanks." Ryan hoped the single word would dismiss them, release them from their perceived social obligation and send them on their way.
"Can I give you a ride?" Chad offered.
"No. I'm just waiting for Summer," Ryan said.
"Okay. Well ... take care." Chad clapped a hand to Ryan's shoulder like Carl had done earlier then the two boys walked toward Chad's car in the parking lot.
Ryan breathed a sigh of relief. He knew they were only trying to be kind and supportive, but it made him uncomfortable. He hated being the focus of attention.
Just then Summer's jeep, going way too fast, came tearing around the corner of the building. She pulled up in front of him with a screech of brakes. Summer always drove like that. Ryan couldn't imagine how often she must have to have her brake pads changed.
"We don't usually pick up hitchhikers," she announced, sliding her sunglasses down her nose and peering at him over the tops. "But you look harmless enough."
"I don't know. It's the quiet ones you have to watch out for," Seth said from his seat in the back. "The neighbors always say, 'He was such a polite young man. Kept to himself. I never would've guessed.'"
Ryan threw his bag in the back where it hit Seth's leg, and he walked around to the passenger side of the jeep.
"Oh, see! Suppressed violence," Seth clamored, moving the backpack off his leg and setting it next to him. "I don't know if you should let him in, Summer."
Ryan reached for the door handle and Summer let the jeep glide forward a foot. He reached again and she pressed the accelerator a little. She stopped several yards ahead of him and he folded his arms, refusing to trot alongside while she played her little game.
"Come on, Ryan. I won't do it again," she promised sweetly.
He waited a moment then uncrossed his arms and walked toward the vehicle again.
Summer inched the jeep forward.
Seth grinned. "Quit messing around and get in," he ordered. "We've got places to go."
"Funny." Ryan squinted at the pair of them as they both giggled then he suddenly lunged for the car door, wrenched it open and threw himself inside.
"Where to?" Summer asked when she had finally stopped laughing.
"I need coffee," Seth said. "Lots of it. I have to fortify myself to write that boring paper for Snyder tonight."
"I can't believe you got an extension, you little brown-noser," Summer complained, tossing her hair back as she moved the gear shift from park to drive.
Ryan sat up straight in his seat, pulled the door shut and fastened his seatbelt just in time. The jeep peeled out of the school drive leaving behind twin streaks of black rubber.
It was late evening and Ryan had just decided to give up on studying since his mind wasn't retaining anything useful, when the phone rang. He checked caller ID and didn't recognize the number.
"Hello?" he answered.
"Hi, Ryan. It's Marissa." Her voice sounded the same yet different than he remembered it.
"Marissa! How are you?" Ryan wondered if he sounded different to her too.
"Getting better," she said then cut to the chase. "I heard about your brother and I just wanted to call and tell you how sorry I am."
"Thank you," he responded then tried to think of something else to say. Absolutely nothing came to him.
There was a long pause on Marissa's end too.
It amazed Ryan that they used to be able to spend hours together. He wondered what it was they used to talk about.
"Summer said the funeral is tomorrow. I'm sorry I won't be able to make it, but you'll be in my prayers," she finally said.
Ryan wondered when she had started praying. Maybe it was part of the whole AA deal – you got clean and sober and suddenly got religion too.
"Thank you," he said again.
The awkwardness was getting ridiculous now. He had to think of something to end it.
"So," he cleared his throat, "do you know when you'll be coming home to Newport?"
"Maybe next month," she answered. "There are still some ... issues I need to work though first before I'm ready for that. And I'm not sure that I'll be going to Harbor again. I think I need to make a clean start somewhere else, you know? Maybe at Saint Ursula's." She laughed. "Can you see me in knee socks and plaid?"
Ryan pictured Marissa wearing a skirt and blazer and attending an all girls' school. It might be a good place for her. Structured. Disciplined.
"You can carry it off," he teased gently.
He still couldn't think of anything to say to her, but he wanted to offer something, a scrap of small talk or local news.
"So, did Summer tell you about Seth's latest crush?" he asked. "Nikki, one of the waitresses at The Lighthouse."
"Oh yeah?" Marissa laughed again but it sounded more relaxed, more real this time.
Ryan told about Seth's exploits and extravagant schemes to win Nikki's attention.
When he was done, Marissa said through the smile in her voice. "Well, I hope he gets her. Seth's a sweetie. He deserves someone."
Inevitably Ryan felt that old stab of guilt for having taken Seth's special 'someone' and made her his own. He too would be really happy to have Seth hook up with a girl not only for his friend's sake but to alleviate that last bit of guilt that refused to die.
After another brief pause, Marissa abruptly changed the subject. "Summer said your dad was going to be attending the funeral."
"Yeah."
"How do you feel about that?"
She had obviously been in therapy way too long. She was starting to talk the talk.
"Honestly? I've tried not to think about it too much," he replied. "There's enough going on without ... dwelling on that."
"It's got to be kind of a big deal though," she continued. "You haven't seen him since you were, what, ten?"
"Something like that."
When Marissa started prodding, Ryan automatically started pulling back. It was elemental. Something about Marissa made him shut down like a liquor store on Sunday.
Ryan didn't understand why Summer didn't have the same effect on him. Whether she barged in with her 'take no prisoners' approach to exploring his psyche or held back and waited for him to share things with her, Summer always got results. He wasn't blind or stupid. Even he could see how he opened up with her despite himself. Must be love, he decided.
"Thanks for calling," he intercepted Marissa before she could start to poke again. "I've still got some things to take care of tonight, so I have to go now, okay?"
"Of course," she said. "Well ... take care, Ryan. Bye."
"Bye."
He hung up and blew out a long breath. That had to have been one of the most awkward conversations he'd ever had.
He thought about all the people who had expressed their condolences today; Mr. Farron, Mrs. Manning, his soccer teammates, Luke, Marissa and even Amber and Whitney. It had been exhausting to receive their sympathy but heart warming too. He was sure that tomorrow would be more of the same – with the added emotional twist of seeing both his dead brother, made up like a department store mannequin, and his dad.
His dad. That's as far as Ryan wanted to go down that road. He didn't want to think about what it would be like to see him again. He didn't want to dwell on what anger, resentment and blind devotion memories of his father conjured up. If he started removing bricks, he didn't know if he could contain the rush of emotions that might sweep the whole dam away.
Ryan got up, brushed his teeth, undressed, turned out the lights and lay back down to try and sleep. He stared up at his ceiling for almost two hours before finally giving up and reaching for the phone.
He punched in a number and waited for the familiar voice. "Yeah?" Her voice was quiet and a little sleepy.
"Hi, Summer."
"Can't sleep?" she asked, smothering a yawn.
"No."
"I'm watching Pet Rescue. Want to hear about the case?"
"Yeah." He rolled over on his side, one arm under the pillow the other hand cradling the phone to his ear. He closed his eyes and listened.
Summer began to describe the operation in vivid detail while he relaxed, carried on the comforting rise and fall of her voice as if it were ocean waves.
To be continued....
There was a suicide in my daughter's freshman class this past year and although the kids genuinely mourned, there were also those drama queen types that milked it for all they were worth – 'look at me, see my grief!' Amber and Whitney are representative of all those type of girls. Don't they bug the hell out of you?
HAH! Thanks to Joey who caught that I accidentally changed Whitney's name to Tiffany at the end of the story. Goes to show how interchangeable those names are, eh? This is the updated version.