"Out of Season"
Part 10
By Sister Rose
Standard disclaimer applies
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"Nothing's wrong," Ryan Atwood said. He rustled the cellophane on the pack of cheese crackers he had gotten for himself, unwrapping them.
"What did Chip say to you?" Summer said obstinately.
"He was just looking out for you," Ryan said.
"Whatevs," she said. "Why would he think he had to follow us?"
Ryan pulled out a cracker and bit it, stalling. Crumbs went everywhere, and he killed more time with the business of brushing them away. By the time he finished, he hadn't come up with a good answer, so he tried the truth.
He shrugged.
Summer looked dissatisfied with that response.
"Look," she said. "I've known Chip since high school. He's an ass. What did he say?"
It was Ryan's turn to frown.
"He said you had been dating since high school and have an understanding."
"Sort of," Summer said dubiously. "I mean, whenever I need an escort and can't come up with a better one, I give him a call. Like for tomorrow night. But that's not dating, that's just convenient."
Ryan ate more of his crackers and Summer sipped on her Slurpee. The silence stretched between them.
The policeman's flashlight in Ryan's eyes startled him and Summer, too. She jumped and squeaked a little.
"Sir, could you step out of the car?" It wasn't really a question. Ryan reached for the door handle slowly, feeling his gut sink two feet. The cracker package fell to the floorboard unnoticed.
Ryan kept his hands open, unfisted, sliding his boots to the asphalt parking lot. He hoped he was moving normally. It felt as if he were in slow motion. From what seemed a great distance, he could hear Summer say, "What's wrong, Officer?"
Ryan put his eyes on his boots and kept them there. He waited for the next instruction.
"Sir, I need to see your license and registration."
Ryan reached slowly with one hand toward his back pocket. Using just two fingers, he snagged his wallet and brought it around.
He dug his license out, using both hands, slowly, slowly, no sudden moves, before handing it to the officer.
"Registration? Proof of insurance?" the officer said.
"The car belongs to Miss Roberts," Ryan mumbled around dry lips and a thick tongue. He hoped his words were intelligible.
"Uh-huh," the officer said. Ryan could feel the officer's gaze on him. It was a Newport-trained gaze that could add up the cost of Ryan's pants and shirt and come up with a number that didn't match the cost of Summer's red convertible. Police officers wouldn't like incongruity. Ryan waited for the accusations.
"Sir, could you step into our car?"
"Yes, sir," Ryan said. He clamped down on his sudden need to urinate.
From the back seat of the cop car, Ryan watched as the officer and his partner interrogated Summer. He hoped she would keep her cool, but as he saw her gesturing wildly with her cast he knew that wasn't going to happen.
He also knew what the officers had smelled on him: the stench of the guilty. He could spot cops blocks away, even off-duty, just by the way they walked and carried themselves. He knew they could spot him, too: a former offender, scared of them and probably in trouble.
It wasn't the first time he had been questioned by the police since he got out of juvie. It was just the first time he had been with Summer when it happened.
The first officer came back to the car. After he ran Ryan's license and it came back clean, he turned to Ryan and said, "So, you want to tell me what you were doing with a pricey lady in a pricey car like that?"
"I work for her."
Again the gaze raked over Ryan's homemade haircut, scarred face and knuckles, and secondhand clothes.
"Doing what?" At least the tone wasn't mocking.
"I work for her dad. I was at a bar tonight. Miss Roberts saw me and asked me to drive her home."
"Was she drinking?"
"No," Ryan said sharply, meeting the officer's eyes for the first time. Then he remembered himself and looked at the floorboard. "She told me she's on pain medicine, and shouldn't drink or drive."
"What was she doing in a bar if she can't drink?"
"I don't know."
"Were you surprised she asked you to drive?"
"I've been her driver a couple of times before."
"Did she make arrangements beforehand with you to drive her tonight?"
"No."
"She just shows up while you're out drinking and says drive' and you do it?" Now the tone was turning derisive. But Ryan couldn't answer back.
"Yes, sir." He chanced a glance upward and saw Summer was still waving her cast around. He hoped she didn't hit the other officer.
"Why would you do that?"
"I work for her dad. I'd like to keep my job."
"Were you drinking?"
"Half a beer and some orange juice."
"Would you take a Breathalyzer?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why were you stopped here?" the officer said.
"Miss Roberts wanted a Slurpee," Ryan told him.
"Did you force Miss Roberts to get in the car with you?"
"No, sir."
"Were you and Miss Roberts arguing?"
"No, sir," Ryan said.
He looked up again and saw the officer was writing down his responses in a notebook. Ryan's stomach had been loosening, but it screwed tighter around his backbone. If this had turned into some kind of investigation, he was going to be spending some time back ... Ryan couldn't even think the words.
He tried to focus on how Summer was going to get home, but he couldn't stop selfishly worrying about how he was going to bail himself out. He had nothing of value, not even his pickup, really. He had no one to ask for money. Without bail, he was going to be sitting in ..... back there, a long time.
Ryan couldn't even prepare his mind for his body's destination. It was all he could do to keep from panting at having a police officer so close to him. He could smell the dry-cleaned and pressed uniform, the oil from the gun, the leather of the belt and holster.
Ryan puffed obediently into the breath-tester when it was offered then sat quietly, awaiting the results. Summer was sitting on the curb of the convenience store sidewalk, shoulders slumped. She was rubbing her forehead with the fingers of her good hand,the other cradled in her lap. Her drugs had worn off.
He watched customers walk in and out of the convenience store, gawking at Summer and the officers and him in the back seat. His throat burned at the thought of Summer on display like that. He wanted to take care of her, but he hadn't been doing too well. He had no doubt Mr. Saunders would have done better. Hell, Josh would have done better. Just more evidence that Ryan was a loser from Chino and always would be.
His officer got out of the car into the night and went to confer with the other one.
Ryan wrapped his arms around himself. He was so cold. Fear did that to him. He had been cold all the time in juvie. The numb feeling reminded him of everything he had to lose. He saw Summer looking at him, seeing him in the back seat of a police car. Probably she was regretting her blue-collar sex adventure now. It wasn't quite so exciting when the police were involved.
Summer was wearing a thoughtful expression. He wondered how long it was going to take her to give him the boot, assuming he didn't spend the night in ... his mind shied away from the word again.
The officer came back to the car and opened the back door beside Ryan.
"Sir, you're free to go," the officer said.
Ryan looked at him in disbelief, trying to make sense of the nonsensical words, then decided not to ask questions. He took back his license.
"Thanks," he said, not really meaning it but unsure of what else to say.
He watched the officers drive away before joining Summer on the sidewalk.
They sat in silence, arms on their knees, feet in the parking lot. The silence grew.
"I'm really, really sorry," Ryan finally said. He didn't know what else to say and he couldn't bring himself to look at her.
"It's not your fault," Summer said.
"What now?" Ryan said, unwilling to discuss blame in the parking lot of a convenience store.
"I guess you drive me home," she said dejectedly.
Ryan helped Summer up and inside her convertible. He took the Slurpee cup and tossed it in the bin by the store's door. Then he cleaned up the cracker crumbs and wrapper, kneeling on the parking lot to pick them out of the driver's side floorboard.
His stomach muscles twisted. He didn't think he would ever eat again. He said, "excuse me," and got up and ran to the side of the building. One hand on the rough red bricks, he threw up until the crackers and orange juice and beer were on the asphalt instead of inside him.
He breathed heavily and finally wiped the sweat off his forehead and the drool off his mouth. He forced himself to straighten up.
He turned in place, looking for something, anything, any way, any place to get rid of his anger and fear. He stumbled into a Dumpster and kicked it. It felt good, almost like hitting someone, not quite as satisfying, but good. He kicked it again and again and again, adding his fists to the fury.
Ryan slowly regained his composure, leaning against the red-brick building, breathing deeply. He wiped his mouth one more time and slowly went around the corner to where Summer was still waiting in the car.
"Are you all right?" Summer said. "I heard some noises."
"I'm fine," he said. "I should be asking you. Do you need some water so you can take more pills?"
"That would be nice," she said limply.
The sad tone in her voice hustled Ryan into the store for a bottle of water for her and one for him.
She gulped down a couple of pills with her bottle. Ryan rinsed his own mouth and spat onto the asphalt a couple of times. He got in and started the car, rubbing his hands compulsively back and forth down the sides of the steering wheel. He wanted to apologize again but knew it was pointless. He fastened his seat belt, waiting silently for her to blame him.
"I don't want to go home," Summer said suddenly. "Do you mind if I crash at your place tonight?"
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AN: Chapter dedicated to Brandywine421 in thanks for many terrific stories.