"The Air of Finality" – chapter 5
I was so touched by the reviews of the last chapter. Thank you.
Thanks to storymom, who steered me right concerning Summer's reaction, and Walter for forcing me a step deeper into Ryan's tangled psyche.
We've probably all lost someone or at least been to a funeral and we all know how incredibly weird and surreal and uncomfortable it is. My dad died last winter and maybe this fic is sort of a way to explore what that was like for me, my sisters, people outside the family circle and, of course, my mom, who was married to the man for 56 years.
Tuesday.
Kirsten watched Ryan roam aimlessly about the kitchen. He looked out the window, filled a glass with water from the tap and drank it, and then wandered across to the center island and picked up a knife Seth had laid down after spreading cream cheese on his bagel that morning. He carried it to the sink to rinse it then he stared out the window again. The ambient light reflected off his eyes making them even bluer than normal.
Kirsten walked over to his side and he turned to face her. She adjusted his tie before looking up to meet his eyes with a smile. She wanted to say something encouraging but anything she could offer would sound trite so she left it at the smile and a pat on his chest after she had straightened the tie.
"Ready to go?" she asked and he nodded. Kirsten took his arm and walked with him to the car.
They arrived at the funeral home quite early and there was nothing to do but wait. Glen Atwood was supposed to arrive at least a half-hour prior to when guests might be expected to come. After a visitation period followed by a very brief service performed by the chaplain on staff, the casket would be sealed and removed from the chapel for cremation. A light buffet would then be served at The Lighthouse, which was closed for the afternoon.
The Cohen family and Ryan were ushered into a side room to wait while Trey's casket was wheeled into the chapel and the flowers ordered from the local florist were arranged around it. Kirsten watched from the doorway as delivery people carried the brightly colored flowers in. She was pleased to see that the arrangement Jimmy and Sandy had sent on behalf of The Lighthouse staff and the one from the Cohen family would not be the only ones to grace the room. She didn't know why this detail was so important to her, Ryan probably wouldn't even notice, but something about having only two lonely bouquets seemed indescribably sad to Kirsten.
Inevitably her mind went back to the day of her mother's funeral. With Caleb's prominence in the community and her mom's leadership in their social circle it wasn't surprising that flowers filled the room and the overflow bouquets had to be placed around the lobby. The intense scent of hundreds of flowers was one of the most vivid impressions Kirsten had of that day. Sometimes even now if she caught an unexpected whiff of someone's freesia perfume she felt her stomach turn.
Kirsten shook her head and turned to walk back into the waiting room, wondering why in the world she was obsessing over flowers.
Ryan, Sandy and Seth were standing clustered near Mr. Linderman, Jr., who was running things today in place of his father. Kirsten thought about what it would be like to be born into an undertaker's family and to know that in all likelihood you would be dealing with death for a living for the rest of your life. She was very glad her dad was in real estate development. If you had to get sucked into your parent's family business, land was certainly preferable to death as a theme.
Linderman was explaining how the afternoon would go and offering words of condolence. Kirsten walked over to join the group, to give the appropriate nods and murmurs of agreement in all the right places. She glanced at Ryan and his eyes already seemed glazed over. It was going to be a long, hard day for someone who hated to be the center of attention, and she wished there was something she could do to alleviate some of the pressure.
Kirsten's attention was caught by a movement in the doorway. It was Summer dressed as Jackie Kennedy complete with a pillbox hat and little white gloves. Kirsten smiled. Trust Summer to dress for the occasion in an attention grabbing way. She was beautiful, as slick and glossy as a magazine cover, but Kirsten noticed that the girl seemed nervous and hesitant to enter the room so she went over to her.
"Hi, Summer." They hugged and exchanged pecks on the cheek and then Kirsten took her by the arm and led her over to the rest of the family.
"And this is...?" Linderman, Jr. asked, as he extended his hand to take Summer's in his firm grip.
"My girlfriend, Summer," Ryan said and Kirsten realized that was the first time she'd ever heard him refer to her that way. A shadow of a smile crossed his lips as he regarded the girl. Their eyes met and held and Summer smiled back.
"Pleased to meet you," Linderman said politely. "Well, I'll leave you alone for a while," he added, addressing the Cohens and Ryan. "I'll be in the other room if there's anything you need, and I'll let you know as soon as Mr. Atwood arrives."
After he left there was a few moments of complete silence, during which they all stood and stared at each other, then Sandy cleared his throat and asked Ryan, "Do you know how many of your friends from Chino will be able to make it today?"
As Ryan answered, Summer tugged on Kirsten's arm and leaned over to hiss in her ear, "The hat's a little over the top isn't it?"
Kirsten smiled again. "Just a tad," she said, spreading her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart to illustrate.
"That's what I thought. Excuse me," Summer left the room, presumably to go to the ladies' room and remove the little hat without destroying her hairstyle.
Ryan's phone rang, interrupting his answer to Sandy, and Kirsten heard him giving directions to someone.
Seth was beginning to fidget with impatience, pacing the room, picking up a bible and leafing through it before putting it down again. Kirsten went over to talk to him.
"God, mom, this is so weird," he whispered to her as she approached. "I hate it! It's so unnatural. Trey probably would have hated it too. I want you to promise me that if I die before you, you'll throw a big wake where everybody gets smashed and has a good time and nobody wears black or formal clothes at all. Maybe a Hawaiian luau theme would be good. Tiki torches and leis."
"I promise," Kirsten said giving him a brief hug. She was surprised when Seth clung to her for a few extra moments. He hadn't voluntarily submitted to a hug since he was about twelve and tended to wiggle away from every gesture of affection she tried to bestow on him. She held him tight as long as he would let her.
Fifteen minutes later, the family was sitting in a circle of chairs, still waiting. Sandy was explaining one of his more interesting cases to Seth, who was actually listening. Summer was kind of listening, too, but also messing with her shoe, which seemed to be bothering her foot. And Ryan was surreptitiously pulling back the cuff of his white shirt to check the time on his watch. Kirsten was just wondering if she should go with him to the chapel so he could spend some alone time with Trey before his father got there, when Ryan's cell phone rang. He took it from the pocket of his jacket and flipped it open.
"Hello? ... Yes." Ryan rose to his feet and walked toward the back of the room to take the call. The diffuse light from the window illuminated his face as he stood carrying on a low, intense conversation. Kirsten felt a growing trepidation as he bent his head slightly, listening, and stillness came over him. She saw his jaw tighten and his eyes narrow as he spoke rapidly to the caller. There was a long pause while he listened again. She couldn't decide if his face was really that pale or if it was simply the light filtered through the shears on the window casting a colorless hue on his skin.
Kirsten glanced at the others in the room. Seth and Sandy were facing the other way and hadn't noticed Ryan's reaction to this phone call. They were deep in conversation. But Summer looked just as concerned as Kirsten felt. A frown creased her forehead and her toe tapped impatiently. She made eye contact with Kirsten then looked back at Ryan.
He said something else into the phone then pulled it away from his ear, staring at it a moment before he flipped it shut. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a long, deep breath. His head bowed a little and his eyes closed.
By this time Kirsten was pretty damn sure she knew what the phone call was about. She wanted to cross the room and take the boy in her arms, but Ryan's natural reserve and her own stopped her from following that inclination. She simply waited to see what he would say.
After a moment, Ryan pulled himself up straight, squaring his shoulders and walking back toward the family group. He saw Kirsten watching him and she tried to offer sympathy with her eyes if not her hugs. He returned her look with a shrug and an ironic grimace of a smile.
Seth and Sandy had just finished their conversation and in the ensuing silence Ryan's words sounded overly loud. "He's not coming."
"Your father?" Sandy asked, rising to his feet in concern. "What happened? Someone messed up the paperwork? I'll take care of it," he finished angrily.
"No." Ryan shook his head. "It's not the furlough." And even though Kirsten had suspected they were coming her heart wrenched at his next words. "He doesn't want to come." Ryan's mouth twisted in derision, "He doesn't feel like he can 'deal' with it."
His jaw clenched in a knot that thrust his chin forward. He emitted a harsh bark of laughter.
"Jesus," Kirsten heard Seth whisper.
"Oh, Ryan." Summer stood up and stepped toward him, reaching out to touch his arm, but he waved her off. "Don't," he snapped roughly.
Her hand dropped to her side.
Ryan looked at Summer and murmured, "I'm sorry," then he quickly walked past Summer and the Cohens and out of the room.
Ryan halted in the lobby, his heart pounding against his chest as if he'd run a marathon and his pulse throbbing in his temples. His breath tore jaggedly in an out of his lungs as he tried to slow it, to calm himself. What people said about seeing red when you're enraged was true. There seemed to be a ruby haze over his vision and he blinked his eyes to clear them but it didn't help.
The men's room was down a side hall and Ryan headed for it before Sandy could come after him with his face full of pitying concern. Just the thought of all of them, the Cohens and Summer, feeling sorry for him and being outraged on his behalf made him want to throw up. This couldn't be more humiliating. How many times must these people bear witness to how extremely fucked up his family was?
He wrenched open the handle of the restroom door. As it fell shut behind him, he was already pacing the small room, full of fury with no place to release it.
God, he'd been so naive! In all his visualizations, and there had been some despite his attempts to block out pictures of a reunion, he had never imagined this ultimate rejection of both him and Trey. In his daydreams his father, dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit or in one of Sandy's loaned suits, would come through a vaguely imagined door and he and Ryan would stand looking at one another.
From this point every fantasy was different. Sometimes Ryan had pictured his dad breaking down in tears and apologizing for every wrong he had ever done his family, every failure that had caused them pain. Ryan would nod and gently smile and graciously forgive him. Sometimes there was even a hug involved. Then Ryan would introduce his chastened father to the Cohens and his beautiful girlfriend, Summer and show him how fine things had turned out for him despite everything.
When he was feeling more realistic, Ryan had pictured the handcuffs, the prison guard vigilant in the background, and the awkward greeting between father and son, both nodding their heads at one another and barely speaking. That was closer to the truth. It was the Atwood way.
But he had never imagined this. Dad, true to form, pulling a no show.
"Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!!" Ryan kicked over the trashcan in the corner of the room then suddenly turned and drove his fist into the wall of the toilet stall a dozen times. The muscles of his shoulder bunched, the fancy suit constricted his arm, as he pulled back and drove his hand hard against the unresisting surface again and again. It hurt like hell. It felt wonderful.
Why did he let this happen? Why did he fall for it over and over? You'd think by seventeen he would have developed some sense. But no, he still trusted, still believed that his father's words carried more weight than a wisp of down.
God, he felt like such an idiot.
He shook out his aching hand then examined the knuckles to find the skin broken and blood oozing from the abrasions. Damn! Walking over to the sink, he turned on the tap to rinse off his hand and when he glanced up into the mirror was ashamed to see his face. His complexion was red and mottled. His eyes were slits, the skin beneath them swollen. There were tear tracks down his cheeks although he didn't think he'd been crying.
Ryan put his hands under the running faucet and watched the pinkish mix of blood and water swirl toward the drain. He rubbed a wet hand over his eyes and heaved a sigh. His breathing was returning to normal now that he'd let off a little steam.
"You son of a bitch," he whispered to his reflection before turning away from the mirror.
Ryan went into one of the stalls and sat down on the toilet seat. He shut the door and locked it then he just sat there and practiced breathing slowly.
Sheltered by the four close walls, Ryan thought that maybe he would stay there for the next several hours. He rubbed the knuckles of his already swelling right hand, and hoped it wouldn't show too much. Maybe he could shake peoples' hands with his left or get by with his well-practiced nod.
He wished he had a cigarette and a fifth of something – anything, and a couple of joints to top it off. Enough substances to totally numb him until this ordeal was over.
Fuck, he was pissed! And disappointed. And hurt. And, surprisingly enough, relieved. It was shameful to admit it even to himself but he had been afraid to see his father again, afraid to actually speak to him and hear what he might say ... or not say. If there was any redeeming aspect to his dad blowing off this funeral, it was that Glen Atwood's act of cowardice had saved Ryan from having to face his own fears.
He thought about the pivotal moment in his life when he had first realized that his dad's string of excuses and broken promises actually formed an endless pattern and that this pattern was not going to be broken – not next time – not the time after that – probably not ever.
He was eight. It was his first year playing baseball. He was finally old enough and big enough to be on a team. The practice season was over and tonight was the very first real game. Ryan was excited, elated even, but nervous too because he knew he wasn't the best player. He was still a little short and slow compared to the others. But the coach had told him he had 'tenacity' and that he should be proud of that. Whatever it meant, it sounded good when Coach said it.
Ryan stood in the dugout, too wired to sit down, and watched the other team warming up. Then he stepped out of the dugout and took another look at the stands to see if his dad was there yet. His mom waved at him, almost spilling her soda, and he smiled and waved back.
Dad was supposed to stop by the playing field after work. There was plenty of time for him to make it before the start of the game ... if he didn't stop by the bar with his buddies first.
Before he knew it the game began and, caught up in excitement, Ryan forgot to look toward the stands for a long time. It wasn't until after he'd caught an amazing flyball to make a third out in the fourth inning and the team was cheering him and the coach was patting him on the back, that Ryan looked for his dad again.
There was his mom, jumping up and yelling her pride, but no dad. Ryan swallowed his disappointment, returned his mom's smile then went back into the dugout to sit down. Right away his mind began manufacturing excuses for his dad, 'He's busy,' 'He was probably doing important things and had to work late,' 'It's just one game – he'll come another time.' But for the first time there was another, older, more pragmatic voice inside telling him to stop believing those lies, to stop expecting a different ending.
And even then, he still allowed himself to be fooled and disappointed on other occasions.
It wasn't until a couple of years later, when he was a little older that he looked outside of himself enough to notice that he wasn't the only one who had been repeatedly betrayed.
Ryan was dressed up, going over his presentation notes one last time and occasionally looking out the front window to see if his dad was home yet. His mom was working an evening shift and couldn't make it to the Science Fair. He understood that. But his dad was supposed to give him a ride. He had absolutely promised to be on time. Ryan's project was one of the six finalists and he had to give a presentation and demonstration of the experiment in front of the panel of judges. He couldn't be late.
"Fuck, Ryan, you moron," Trey said belligerently as he walked into the living room, a bag of chips in one hand and a glass in the other. "When are you going to grow a brain? He's not coming. Go ask Mrs. Campbell for a ride before you're late."
Ryan ignored his brother, flipped his next notecard and snuck another peek out the window.
Trey flung himself down on the couch and flipped on the TV. "Asshole," he grunted, and Ryan didn't know if he meant Ryan or their father.
Another long minute oozed by and he had just decided that Trey was right and he'd better go next door to the Campbells, when his brother spoke again.
"You gotta quit believing in him so much," he said. "In both of them. The sooner you figure it out, the better off you'll be." Ryan looked at Trey, whose eyes didn't leave the television screen and whose voice sounded leaden and emotionless, and he finally understood.
With the self involvement of a child, Ryan had never looked farther than himself and his own relationship with dad and mom, but now he was old enough to see that Trey was a real person too - not just a loud, abusive mouth attached to a fist that could punch hard enough to make your shoulder numb. Trey was somebody who had been hurt and disappointed just like him. But Trey had learned the knack of not letting it reach him. Ryan didn't know if he could ever do that.
Ryan got up to go to the neighbor's house and beg a ride. "You want to come see my project?" he asked his brother after a brief hesitation.
"Shit, no! Are you crazy? I'd rather stick a hot poker up my ass," Trey snorted. "Besides, Dave's coming over pretty soon to hang out."
Ryan headed toward the door without another word, tucking his notes in the pocket of his good pants. He was almost outside when he heard Trey call after him, "Hey. Good luck with your science thing, man. Make us proud."
"Okay," Ryan said, half to himself as he closed the door behind him.
Back in the present in the john of a funeral home, Ryan rubbed his sore hand across his eyes, brushed his hair back and stood up from the toilet stool with a sigh. He pushed open the door and walked over to the sink to splash cold water on his face and dry it with the fancy hand towel folded to the right of the sink.
He looked in the mirror again. He could pass for normal. His face was no longer the mottled red it had been when he first entered the restroom and his eyes were no longer swollen. He practiced turning the corners of his mouth up in a half smile that said, 'Bereaved but brave brother of the deceased.'
He could do this.
He could gather some shred of dignity and face his foster family, his girlfriend, and appear composed and view his brother's corpse and look suitably somber and greet visitors politely and thank them for coming and accept their condolences with a head dip and a half smile and say his final goodbye and watch the casket be closed and turn his back, leaving his brother behind and walk out of the room and go to The Lighthouse and fill a plate with buffet food that he would never touch and stand around making small talk with well meaning people and not break down nor show his rage at the injustice of having a brother dead at twenty-one and a dad too fucked up to even show for the funeral.
He could do it.
Ryan pushed open the door and went back to the waiting room to find the Cohens and Summer standing in a huddled cluster, talking quietly. They all looked up with concern when he entered. He put on the smile he had been practicing.
"Everything okay?" Sandy asked, carefully casual.
"Fine," Ryan confirmed shortly. "I'm ready to go in now."
"Of course," Kirsten said, walking toward him. "Do you want me to come with you or do you want some time alone?"
"No. I don't need that," Ryan said. "You can all come if you want." He caught a glimpse of Summer's slightly freaked out expression. "Or not, if you don't want to. It doesn't matter."
Before he knew it Ryan was flanked by Kirsten on his right and Summer on his left. Kirsten's hand rested at the small of his back like Sandy's had that day at the morgue, gently guiding him forward. Summer had abandoned the white gloves and her hot, moist palm pressed firmly against his. Seth and Sandy followed behind.
As they entered the chapel and walked past the rows of empty chairs toward the casket, Ryan felt Summer's hand gripping his harder and harder. He leaned over and whispered into her soft, scented hair, "Don't be afraid. It's not too bad."
By the time he stood in front of the coffin, looking down at Trey's pale face with the falsely blushed cheeks, Ryan was more concerned with Summer than with how fake and stiff Trey's crossed hands appeared. He glanced down to see her trembling a little, her eyes wide and glassy. She caught his look and tried to compose herself.
After darting a quick glance at Trey, she looked away toward the sunny yellow flowers to the left of the casket.
It made Ryan sad. He wished he could have introduced her to his real brother instead of a scary dead body.
Tears began to trickle down Summer's cheeks and she wiped at them furiously. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be like this," she whispered urgently. Ryan let go of her hand and slipped his arm around her back. She turned her face into his chest and held on tight to his shirtfront, sniffling softly. He was glad. It kept his hands occupied stroking her back and distracted him from the whole shitty situation. He pressed his mouth against the top of Summer's head and cuddled her close against him.
There were few signs of the autopsy beside the oddness of the hair on one side of Trey's head. Mr. Linderman had explained that although part of the head was shaved and the scalp incised in order to do the autopsy, it had been performed quite neatly and the scalp was sewn up again and covered with a patch of wig hair by the mortician. Linderman had proclaimed almost proudly that one wouldn't be able to tell the difference, which wasn't exactly true but close enough.
Another burst of rage seized Ryan; at his father for putting the 'dys' in dysfunction, at the whole bizarre and ridiculously expensive funeral process and at Trey for being dead in the first place.
It suddenly occurred to him that since his dad wasn't going to be here, he could have the casket closed and screw what the people from Chino expected. He had only Trey to please now. Not that he'd notice – Ryan thought with a mental chuckle.
Sandy and Seth came up on his left and Ryan noted their grim expressions. He pictured Trey's friends looking at the corpse with a mixture of revulsion and pity and Ryan knew that his decision was definitely made.
Seth sat and watched Ryan from across the room, composedly greeting each visitor who came up to him in his place off to the left of the casket. He would politely smile, lean in to listen to whatever the person was saying and give a slight nod. God, talk about your stiff upper lip! Seth knew that if he had suffered a blow like Ryan had today, he'd be blubbering like a baby or spewing acidic hyperbole at anyone within striking distance.
He was continually impressed and awed by the way Ryan maintained his inner center despite the horrible parenting he'd endured. Seth wondered if situations had been reversed, if Seth had been raised by Atwoods and Ryan had grown up in Kirsten and Sandy's care, would their personalities have been reversed too? Would Ryan be irrepressible, outspoken and charmingly witty while Seth was stoic, self-contained and prone to brooding? Somehow Seth doubted it. He was afraid that if he had grown up in that awful household he would have slit his wrists by now.
The callous, self-centered behavior displayed by Glen Atwood in refusing to attend his son's funeral was beyond Seth's comprehension. Yes, he had realized before that Ryan's family life was crappy, he'd witnessed it first hand with Dawn's abandonment, but Seth hadn't known Ryan all that well back then. This latest illustration of parental neglect hit home for Seth in a much more personal way.
He admired Ryan more than ever today. No wonder Summer had passed Seth over for him. Seth would have too!
He watched as Ryan greeted the woman Seth remembered from Teresa and Eddie's wedding as the mother of the bride, Mrs. Martinez. She hugged Ryan then pulled something from her purse and handed it to him. Ryan stared at what she gave him for a long moment and then leaned over to kiss her cheek. She spoke to him a few moments longer before moving on. Ryan took the paper she had given him and walked over to the now closed casket. He leaned the paper up against the side of the coffin and Seth could see even from across the room that it was a snapshot, a picture of Trey and someone else.
"Oh my god, that is so sweet," Summer murmured as she dropped into the unoccupied chair next to Seth. "That must be the famous Arturo," she said. "He sort of looks like Teresa."
"Or not," Seth said, squinting at the picture. It was hard to see details from a distance but it looked like Arturo had a moustache and Teresa definitely didn't. He glanced over to where Mrs. Martinez was seating herself next to Eddie and Teresa.
"I feel like such an idiot for breaking down earlier," Summer confided, leaning toward Seth. "It was so much more intense than I expected, and Ryan's just so damn stoic and brave it wrenches your heart. I could happily murder his father. He makes mine look like Superdad."
Seth had already been achingly grateful today to have the parents he had. He watched Sandy and Kirsten talking to Jimmy Cooper and Aunt Hailey and he smiled. Then he turned his gaze back to Ryan, who was now greeting Big Carl from the soccer team. Carl suddenly drew Ryan into a bear hug and it looked like he might crush a few ribs. Seth grinned at Ryan's somewhat shocked face when Carl stepped back after releasing him. So, it was possible to shake Ryan's cool.
"Do you think he's really okay?" he abruptly asked Summer. "I mean, under the surface?"
"No," she replied. "I don't think he's okay at all, but you know Ryan, he'll hold it all in until he's ready to let it go."
Seth nodded.
"I keep thinking about Marissa," Summer said out of the blue. "I keep remembering summer before last in Mexico. The way she looked when she was unconscious; I thought she was dead at first. And seeing Ryan's brother today ... all I could think of is how I would have felt at Marissa's funeral." She looked sideways at Seth to gauge his reaction. "I know it doesn't seem like she and I are very close any more, but ... she's still the closest thing I have to a sister."
Seth had a quick mental flash of Ryan lying in that box, all still and creepy, and what it would be like to lose the only approximation of a brother Seth had ever had. He totally understood what Summer was saying. He nodded again and reached out his hand to take hers and hold it as they sat side by side listening to the hushed voices that disturbed the quiet room.
Kirsten snapped her cell phone shut with enough force to break the plastic. She toyed with the idea of throwing it across the room, watching it bounce off the wall and shatter into pieces. She would like to crack her father's selfish head up against that wall as well. She couldn't believe he was blowing off this funeral.
At twenty minutes to 2:00 when Caleb and Julie still hadn't arrived, Kirsten had stepped out into the lobby to call them. Caleb had answered his cell with a hearty, "Kiki!"
"Dad," she replied. "Where are you?"
"I'm still in L.A. My meeting took much longer than expected. There were some complications and...."
"You know what today is, right?" Kirsten said, clenching her jaw to keep her composure.
"Yes, I know. The boy's brother's funeral. I'm sorry. I simply won't be able to make it," he said. "Julie sent the flowers, didn't she?"
Kirsten swallowed and counted to ten. "Dad, this was your chance to show Ryan that you acknowledge him as part of this family, that what matters to him matters to you." He gave no response and she added, "Couldn't you at least have sent Julie to represent you?"
"Now, Kiki, you know that Julie is hardly the boy's biggest fan. I couldn't ask her to do that."
Kirsten was close to screaming in his ear, a long, hard, cleansing, primal howl. Instead she delivered a lame line, "Thanks SO much for your support, dad," and cut off the connection with the punch of a button.
She ran a hand through her hair and took a shaky breath. Looking over her shoulder, through the open door of the chapel, she could see Sandy smiling at something Hailey had said and she thanked god for her husband. He was a caring, nurturing, devoted father and a supportive, adoring if argumentative spouse. The day she had had the temerity to finally cross her father and say, "Screw you! I'm marrying Sandy Cohen," had been the finest day of her life and the best decision she had ever made.
She thought about fathers and sons, fathers and daughters and wondered why relationships had to be so hard. Ward Cleaver and Mike Brady made it look effortless. Why wasn't it that easy in real life?
Kirsten shook her head and smiled ruefully. She slipped the phone into her purse and walked back into the chapel for Trey's funeral service.
To be continued....
To those who were expecting a scene between Ryan and his father, this no-show was my plan from the beginning, and the disappointment you might feel is intentional as a reflection of that 'robbed' feeling Ryan would be going through.