Theresa prays that one of the Cohens will pick up as the phone rings once, twice, three times.

"Theresa?" asks Mr. Cohen, picking up just before the answering machine. Kirsten was out getting a massage. He'd managed to convince her that it would be good for her, that he'd wait patiently by the phone for Seth or Theresa's call or even Ryan's unlikely call.

"Hi, Mr. Cohen," Theresa breathes. "I-uh…well…"

"Yes, yes, go on," Sandy prods even though Theresa doesn't sound like she's going to be passing out good news today.

"I asked around, Mr. Cohen. Really, I did. But no one could help me. And Eddie…" Theresa stops to catch her breath, tears spring to her eyes and she vainly tries to wipe them away. They keep coming and battering her cheeks and reddening her nose with an air of defeat.

"Eddie what, Theresa?" Sandy racks his brain for Eddie…oh yes, the one who crashed that party where Ryan ended up in the pool. He's the one Theresa was going to marry, before… Okay. He has to take this one step at a time and not get ahead of himself. He has to let the girl talk and hope she'll tell the truth.

"He was…well, actually he tried to get back together with me…saying…Ryan's out of the picture…like he knew something…but then he said…he doesn't know anything…" Theresa said. She wasn't sure how much sense she'd just made, but she'd gotten everything out the only way she knew how. She breathes in a futile attempt to steady her nerves, stop or at least slow down the tears.

"Theresa, calm down," says Sandy, although he himself is having trouble breathing. Theresa knows what he must be thinking…that it was Eddie who did this. He's probably got the police on the other line, telling them to arrest Eddie for being involved in Ryan's absconding.

"Mr. Cohen," Theresa wails, "It wasn't Eddie, I know it wasn't…I don't think he knows…honestly, Mr. Cohen, I think he was just leading me on…" And a fresh batch of tears has just cooked in her tear ducts and she pops them out of the oven. For Theresa cannot be sure of this; she led Eddie on as well. Although, hers was for a useful purpose: locate Ryan, whereas his was for a selfish purpose: re-claiming her.

"Okay Theresa, I believe you," Mr. Cohen tries to reassure the girl, but it's hopeless. She's bawling without end and she doesn't believe him, doesn't believe his assurance that he believes her. It's hard to, when Sandy's unenthusiastic, lackluster voice betrays his real beliefs to Theresa.

"Mr. Cohen, I just don't know what to do…" Theresa says, her voice lowered quite some bit and he can tell that the worst of her crying is over. For now.

Theresa doesn't know why she's telling this to Mr. Cohen, who is probably thinking the same thoughts as she and is, if possible, even more distraught than she is. Maybe it's because he made Ryan happy, took him in and gave him hope. Maybe it's because she wants Mr. Cohen to do the same for her.

"Well." Sandy sighs. He has no idea what he's going to do and Kirsten was supposed to be home from her relaxing day thirty minutes ago. He has to stay strong. For Theresa, for Kirsten. For Ryan. Sandy has to be the rock in this situation, for Ryan is gone and someone must fill the gaping hole he's left. He has to pretend that he's unaffected, because that's what Ryan would do. "Why don't you come over? Are you in any condition to drive?"

Theresa nods, and then realizes that Mr. Cohen is on the phone, not sitting across from her sharing a cup of tea and a bit of gossip. "Yeah, I think so." She sniffles. She's going to the Cohens, from there she can figure it all out. Yes, that sounds about right. It sounds rational and damn it, time consuming. Theresa wants to be out on the field searching for Ryan but she knows it's irrational.

Besides, with the help of Kirsten and Sandy she's sure they'll be able to find Ryan. They will find Ryan. They have to. To Theresa, it's not a matter of 'if we find him' but rather, 'when we find him', for without Ryan Theresa is done. Not finding him is not an option.

Her already crippled life cannot be paralyzed too.

Theresa scribbles a note to her mother on the rough, raw wooden desk. She leaves it on the counter in the kitchen and grabs a banana. She'll need the small boost of energy the potassium will give her, that, and Theresa knows Dolores will be on her case when she finds out that she's gone to Newport.

She drives to Newport and her nerves are acting up. Her car is all over the place and she's seen her fair share of the finger and most of the cars she's zoomed by have honked angrily at her.

Theresa is concentrating just enough to get her to Newport in one piece. She doesn't think she'd be able to search for Ryan if she was broken. She's already cracked at the surface; she realizes just how much she needs Ryan now that she's gone. She shouldn't have bugged him ceaselessly about that damned screen door. In fact, Theresa thinks she'll fix it herself. If Ryan comes home. No, definitely not. When Ryan comes home. Because he's going to come home and they are going to live…ever after. He has to.

So wrapped up in the voices of her mind, Theresa is at the Cohens house and ringing the doorbell before she can collect her thoughts to form rational sentences when they greet her.

Sandy answers the door. He's in dire need of a haircut, and his graying eyebrows (yes, he's begun to gray in a matter of a few weeks!) are more unruly than ever. And, although Ryan had fine, fair eyebrows Theresa can't help but think of him when she sees Sandy's.

"Theresa, come in," Sandy says dully. She dutifully follows him into the kitchen, a sudden bout of anger flaring in her. If only Ryan could see Sandy now…he's not the same. He's not he same at all. Theresa is angry at Ryan now. He did this. If Ryan was here, Sandy wouldn't be…empty.

Sandy puts a plate of cookies in front of Theresa. "Nestlé Tollhouse," he explains when she stares curiously at him. Mr. Cohen has an interesting approach to dealing with worry.

"I was thinking, waiting for you to get here," Sandy starts, while Theresa hesitantly grabs a cookie and nibbles on it. She doesn't feel like eating, although she feels empty too. Empty is good. It helps her forget the task at hand and focus on…nothing. That's about all Theresa can handle just yet, she's reached full capacity and if she's on emotional overload she knows she'll have a nervous breakdown. "And I think we need to take this matter out of our own hands."

"The police?" asks Theresa, although she's concentrating more on the cookie than Mr. Cohen. It's easier to do it like this.

Sandy shakes his head. "Ryan doesn't like police. There's no need to involve them yet." Theresa laughs. It's not exactly up to Ryan anymore, is it? But truthfully, Theresa would rather not get the police involved. Ever since the cops stormed into her small house, carelessly knocking down the door, she'd held a grudge against them. They'd taken her brother Arturo away, beating viciously at him even when he didn't resist. That was not right. The police were corrupted, Theresa was sure. It was best to deal with them later.

"So, what were you thinking?" Theresa picks up another cookie and bites into it. Mm…sinfully delicious. She bets her baby is in heaven right about now. The baby. The baby. The baby Ryan wanted to raise even if it wasn't his. Theresa sighs and knows that she can only hope Ryan will be returned to her before the birth. She can hope all she wants but it doesn't lift the anchor slowly sinking to the bottom of her stomach.

"Private investigator." Sandy munches loudly on a Granny Smith apple. "I've got some knowledge of the field; we've used P.I.'s to track down parents before, runaways too."

A private investigator. A P.I. It sounds…dangerous to Theresa. But Ryan's in danger, so she guesses it's the nature of the field. Still, she's not so sure about this investigator. What if the P.I.'s are corrupted, just like the police? Will they be rough; will they be careless and vindictive?

Sandy seems to sense Theresa's troubled thoughts. "Don't worry, Theresa," says he, comfortingly patting her back, "I've got connections. I'll get us the best damn investigator there is, god damn it!" He's raised his voice to almost a squeak, and then, looking up at the ceiling, he begins to whisper so quietly that Theresa knows he must be talking to God.

He squeezes his eyes shut and Theresa spots a tiny salted tear trickle desperately down his face, vacillating on the very edge of his jaw before plunging onto the counter with a splat!

Theresa's moved to tears. Sandy cares about Ryan so damn much. He really fucking cares. Theresa's not half-witted. She knows that Ryan though the Cohens didn't care, that they were glad even, to have to him out of the house. She knows how incredibly fucking wrong he was, too, and wishes he could see the scene that is unraveling right now.

So it is that when Kirsten returns home with her arms full of groceries, she finds Sandy and Theresa crying in the kitchen she's practically forbidden to cook in. Feeling a little despondent herself, Kirsten cries for the second time in an hour. For at the supermarket she cried when she couldn't find the cereal Ryan and Seth loved to eat, couldn't remember the name of the damn sugary mess.

Pathetic, Kirsten knows, and decides to save the story for a laugh later. Because, as she sits down next to Theresa and holds the girl close, she knows they're all going to need a little sunshine in their dreary day.


"You'll start today? That's great. Thank you so much…you don't know how much this means to my family and me." Sandy hangs up the phone and looks at two expectant red-eyed women. They've finished their cry, but only because their tear ducts have reached their quota for the day, the hour, or the minute, Sandy's not quite certain.

Kirsten's told Theresa and Sandy the supermarket incident, and even she laughed at her own wretched state. And then, after finishing off the first batch of cookies—Sandy baked two—Sandy dialed up his office and got the number of Petey Corrigan, one of the best P.I.'s and Sandy's personal friend.

"What now?" Kirsten asks, and Sandy hugs her. She looks like she's ready to turn on the waterworks again.

"Um…" Theresa starts timidly, "Where's Seth?" She's been wondering about the lack of curly hair and sarcasm and witty banter. Of course, this is no time for witty banter, as Ryan is missing. "With Summer?"

Sandy and Kirsten exchange a disconsolate glance and Kirsten begins to bawl inconsolably. Sandy rubs small circles on her back, tucks her hair behind her ear and whispers in it. Kirsten nods and walks up the stairs.

Theresa is quite taken aback. "Was it something I said?" she asks worriedly.

Sandy shakes his head. "You didn't know…couldn't have known. Theresa, Seth's gone. He went on a sailing trip right after Ryan left and left us with just a note."

"Jesus…" Theresa starts, and then remembers her mother. She silently asks Jesus—and her mother—to forgive her. "I had no idea," she says. "Ryan never mentioned—"

"That's because Ryan didn't know," interrupts Sandy. After the initial wave of shock has passed over Theresa, she has to ask.

"Why didn't you tell him? He would've helped you look for him…oh, it's my fault, isn't it? If I wasn't having the baby Ryan wouldn't have had to leave and Seth wouldn't have left either." Theresa's eyes cloud over with tears. It's her fault. She knew it. It's all her fault. Not only has she managed to drive one of Sandy's sons away, in doing so she prodded their other son to leave as well. She's a wreck. She's taboo to this family. She's got to leave before she does any more damage.

Theresa stands up and begins to walk out of the kitchen towards the front door. "I'm sorry, Mr. Cohen," she says bleakly, "I think I should go."

"No, Theresa, wait! It's not your fault…not in any way. Come here." Sandy wraps Theresa in a tight hug and she can hardly breathe.

"Um, Mr. Cohen?" she says breathlessly, pushing him away. "I can't breathe."

"Oh. Sorry." Sandy looks embarrassed. "Sorry. Look…just don't go. I—we—we want you here. With us." His eyes beseech her to stay a while. Maybe she can. Maybe he's right…it's not entirely her fault anyways.

"Really?" she asks hopefully. Truth be told, Theresa doesn't know if she has the stamina to drive back to Chino, that, and she doesn't want to face her mother either. She wants to wait here, by the phone, for Petey Corrigan's phone call. Any news, good or bad, will lessen the heavy, guilt-ridden weight that's resting on her heart.

"We'd like nothing more." Sandy manages to smile broadly, a mask, that's all it is. A mask is so useful, notes Theresa. It hides the pain with a shield of flowers and sunshine.


Theresa wakes up in a strange bed. Instinctively she looks over and is quite relieved to see the other side of the bed empty, not slept on. Right. She's at the Cohen home, in the guest bedroom, because, as nicely as the pool house was offered to her, Theresa could not spend the night in there, filled with shadows and lingering memories of Ryan.

She glances over at the clock; it's five-thirty. If she calls her mother now she can probably catch her before work. Theresa picks up the phone, dials, and readies herself for a earful.

"Ma, it's Theresa."

"Theresa! Where are you? You had me scared half to death. I was ready to call the police. Are you hurt? Why didn't you call?" And the bombarding begins.

"Ma, ma, calm down," says Theresa, although she feels like laughing. She's fine, she wants to shout, she's fine but really she's not. She's not fine but no one has to know because she's fine! "I'm at the Cohens' house, Ma. I'm going to stay here for a few days and help out Mr. And Mrs. Cohen in their search for Ryan."

"You could have called!" Dolores screeches, hurt. Her daughter didn't call her. This isn't like Theresa; the Theresa she raised has impeccable manners and always calls to let her know where she is. The Theresa she knows is rational and level-headed.

"I know, Ma. I'm sorry." Theresa sighs. "Do you need anything? Or is it okay if I stay here?"

Dolores is quiet for a moment; the guilt trip. "Look, Ma, I know you don't want me here but it's important to me."

"Fine." Dolores pauses, "But you'd best call me every day."

Theresa is giddy despite herself. "Thank you Ma, I love you. Listen, can you go over to Mr. Gonzalez's tomorrow? I promised him I'd come every few days but if I'm going to be staying here…"

"Consider it done," Dolores cuts in, "I've got to go if I want to catch my bus."

Theresa hangs up the phone and leans back into the goose-down pillows. Her head sinks down gratefully and she realizes she's barely gotten any sleep. Eyes closing rapidly, Theresa sees Kirsten discreetly peek into the room and then quietly shut the door. She'll just drift off for a few minutes…


"Theresa, wake up honey." Kirsten smoothes Theresa's brown hair back; a motherly instinct. "I've got breakfast; Sandy made it, even though it's three-thirty."

Theresa opens her eyes and groggily takes in her surroundings. Kirsten's sitting on the bed and playing with her hair, and she's just told Theresa that it's three-thirty. As in, three-thirty in the afternoon. Theresa's never slept this late; she's never been able to afford to do so.

There's the smell of bacon and eggs next to her…oh God. Theresa gets up and pushes Kirsten out of the way, muttering "I'm sorry," before she reaches the toilet in the guest bathroom.

Kirsten's behind her in a moment, holding her hair back and encouraging Theresa. "It's okay sweetie, this is natural." Theresa doesn't want it to be natural. She doesn't want Kirsten to be holding back her hair; that was a job delegated to Ryan. But Ryan's not here, and Theresa's still going to experience morning sickness. Immediately Theresa feels better after heaving her stomach into the toilet. But she also feels guilty. Kirsten's trying to help Theresa and all Theresa is doing is wishing Ryan were here. She shouldn't do that, but she can't help it.

Kirsten leaves Theresa alone in the bathroom to wash up, and goes to talk with Sandy. She walks downstairs and into the living room, where Sandy's on the phone. That's funny, because Kirsten didn't hear the phone ring. She reckons she was busy with Theresa.

"Petey? So soon?" Sandy is saying. Without further ado Kirsten runs into the kitchen and picks up the other phone, listening in. "So, is it good news or bad news?"

Petey clears his throat and Kirsten's getting anxious. "Mr. Cohen…" he begins.