A BAD MONDAY
11:30 pm
The worst of the storm passed over Newport after Ryan and Kirsten's conversation. Later, after her call, Ryan watched the storm's light show until its trailing edge moved inland toward the mountains. Now all that remained of the storm was a fine mist falling from rapidly thinning clouds. Already stars were starting to appear in the western sky. Ryan didn't know how long he stood staring into the night before he became conscious of the mess the storm had made of the pool area. Overturned furniture, tree branches, and leaves littered the patio and the surface of the pool was covered with floating debris.
With Seth in the hospital, he should do cleanup detail tomorrow even though he was supposed to be resting. It would, he realized, also give him a plausible excuse to stay home if he wanted one. Doing something physical, something to exercise his aching body, something that would keep his mind occupied, appealed to him. Pushing a broom and handling the pool skimmer would provide an excuse that Kirsten and Sandy might buy for at least one day. He knew Seth wouldn't question his absence tomorrow. He was the last person Seth wanted to see.
Ryan turned away from the door and peered morosely into his empty glass. One drink in two hours – this is going to be a long night. As he made his way to the little kitchen for another drink, the light went out in the master suite across the patio. He gave thanks to the storm and whatever emergency had delayed Sandy at The Lighthouse. They had saved him from one of Sandy's lengthy Parent/Teen conversations. Ryan tried to limit those to one a day and he'd already spent the morning ride to school with Sandy and lunch with Kirsten. Both adults had been in dialogue mode.
Without the storm Sandy would never have settled for a simple telephone call. Nothing less than the normally temperate California skies staging a Hollywood special effects version of Calcutta in the monsoon season had kept him out of the poolhouse. Anxious to find out how things were with Ryan, Sandy would have been in Ryan's space as soon he got home. To get rid of him, Ryan would have had to lie.
He had answered honestly the one direct question Sandy asked him on the telephone: "How are you feeling tonight?" He did feel better – physically – tonight. The chills he'd experienced earlier in the day had passed; and his body no longer felt like that of a stranger. It was recognizably his own again. The pain he felt was familiar stuff – the aching muscles and battered body after a hard, physical soccer game or the loser's lot after a "rumble in the hood," Seth's preferred way of characterizing Ryan's fights.
A pained smile crossed Ryan's face before he turned serious again. More probing questions from Sandy would have required outright, deliberate lies. He'd lied to, or at least misled, Kirsten already tonight. In this area he thought it best to follow Seth's maxim: "Lie to only one parental unit a day." Kirsten's request that he ask Sandy to call her had provided Ryan just the distraction he needed. Sandy had lost all interest in pursuing a conversation with him about anything after he relayed that message.
Ryan set the empty glass on the counter. He tossed in a couple of ice cubes, poured a healthy slug of liquor, but skipped the mix this time. His first sip produced a small frown but his second larger drink went down more smoothly. He stared at the bottle considering possible hiding places for it in case of roaming adults or conscientious housekeepers. If the alcohol ever did its job he should have the bottle stashed away in case he crashed for the night.
Ryan was opening cabinet doors and drawers in the kitchen looking for just the right place when the telephone rang. The sound startled Ryan and caused him to bang his head against one of the open cabinet doors as he stood up. A string of oaths burned through the night as he gingerly touched his scalp and checked his fingertips for blood. After four rings the phone went silent as the call switched to his voicemail but almost immediately it began to ring once again. Not again! What do you have to do to get a little peace in this asylum?
The phone repeated its cycle again as Ryan considered how satisfying it would be to unplug it from the wall and heave it into the swimming pool. He'd considered at least unplugging the phone after Sandy's call but hadn't touched it. Surely there's no-one left to call tonight. But, as long as Seth was still in the hospital, he wouldn't touch it.
He didn't even have a buzz on from the alcohol and he already had a headache. Ryan rubbed his temple, took a gulp of his drink, and walked down the three steps to the sleeping area. He could see the red numbers on his digital clock. Monday would soon be over. Ryan set his glass down and slowly picked up the phone.