Author's Note: Thanks for your continued patience and support. This chapter's pretty short and lacking in detail, and I apologize in advance. Next chapter should be along by the end of the week, sometime Sunday. Hope this doesn't disappoint...
"Theresa, take out the trash," Dolores shrills from the kitchen.
"Yes, Ma." Theresa quickly changes into jean cutoffs and an old t-shirt before entering the kitchen. She opens the garbage can and begins to extract the heavy-duty black garbage bag.
"Theresa, watch out!" Dolores lifts a pot off the stove and carries it past Theresa. She bumps up against Theresa, who, in the process of tying the trash bag, knocks it over, spilling trash all over the floor. "Theresa!" Dolores clucks her tongue disapprovingly, "Now look what you've done."
"I'm sorry, Ma. I'll clean it up right away." She sighs and kneels on the floor to gather the garbage. A dog-eared card catches her attention and she picks it up, gently pulling it apart and realizing that there's a piece of gum stuck to it. After discarding the gum, her eyes pore over the card, not quite understanding what the words mean but excited nonetheless.
"Theresa, what are you doing? Cleaning up the trash or what?" Dolores puts a hand on her curvaceous aproned hip.
"Yes, Ma." Theresa puts the card to the side, careful not to throw it back in the trash bag. Once she's finished, she picks it up and starts to walk towards her bedroom.
"What's that, Theresa?"
"Just something of Ryan's, Ma. I'm going to put it in my memory box." She heads into her room and places it on top of her bedspread, bending down and reaching under the bed. She vaguely remembers stowing the box in the corner, and soon enough her fingers grasp something...
Sitting down on the bed, Theresa examines the piece of paper. It's connected to the card somehow, it must be, but it is much more helpful.
For on the card are phone numbers and names, clear-cut, defined plans.
And before she knows it, tears are rolling down her face. Not because she's upset – no, there will be no more unhappy tears. Or so Theresa would like to hope. Because these papers – these clues as to Ryan's whereabouts – are so uplifting that she is inclined to cry tears of happiness.
Dolores pokes her head in the door. "Theresa, are you alright?"
Theresa sighs. Must her mother always interrupt her quiet moments? She dismisses her with a wave of her hand. "Ma, not now." And then – "Can you get me the business card that's in the pocket of my blue jacket?"
Dolores nods but Theresa can hear her muttering under her breath in Spanish as she leaves the bedroom in search of the blue coat. Returning but a moment later, her mother hands her the card.
"Thanks, Ma." Theresa stares evenly at her mother, trying to give her the hint to leave.
She nods, and for once, takes a hint and shuts Theresa's door on her way out.
Theresa picks up the telephone on her desk and dials the number without hesitation. She knows that the Cohens will probably want to hear from her themselves, but she wants to surprise them, in a way.
Maybe then she won't feel as though she's to blame for Ryan's leaving.
Just maybe.
"Hi, Mr. Corrigan? This is Theresa..."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"We've got a lead, Sandy," says Petey.
Sandy sighs. "Another one?" Petey's just doing his job but Sandy doesn't want to get his hopes up. He's been optimistic about each and every lead up until now. But, as daylight fades to night, time after time, and there's still no Ryan, Sandy knows that his spirits are sinking.
"Sandy, this one's pretty promising. Look, Cohen, we've found some directions and numbers for a place in Arizona, in Yuma...actually, Theresa found them at her house."
Sandy's ears perk up. Theresa's involved with this? But why didn't she call him? He makes a mental note to call her later and wring the details from her. "Go on," he says slowly.
"Now, I'm going to send someone out there...if it would make you happier, I'll go out there myself."
"I'll go," Sandy volunteers immediately, "Just in case he's really there."
"But Sandy, you don't know what you're doing," Petey protests. "You – you haven't the slightest idea where to start!"
"I know damn well what I'm doing. Looking for my son. In Arizona."
Petey sighs. Sandy is a paying client, and, unfortunately, he must accede with his wishes. "Fine. I won't send anyone. We're going to keep investigating though, just in case. And I want weekly reports – daily, if you find anything promising, okay?" It doesn't mean that Petey can't enlist Sandy. He's become quite immersed in Ryan's case himself and wants to know what the outcome is.
"Thanks, Corrigan. This means a lot to me. Kirsten also."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Kirsten hands Sandy a brown paper bag. He eyes it suspiciously. Laughing nervously, she explains, "Don't worry, I ordered the sub from Pirelli's and the fruit I just bought yesterday. So there's no chance of you being poisoned, okay?"
Sandy pulls her in close to his body and kisses her smack on the lips. "I love you, you know that?"
Kirsten shrugs, tears beginning to well in her eyes. "Be careful. And call me every day, okay Sandy?" She breathes in his signature scent – the ridiculously expensive cologne she bought him for his birthday, that he complained was too expensive but kept it, just because it was her gift to him.
He nods dutifully, though the both know how engrossed in the whole search project Sandy will inevitably become.
"I love you," whispers Kirsten. Sandy kisses her one last time and salutes, beginning to march out of the kitchen. He hears Kirsten laugh after him and smiles.
"If you hear anything from Seth..." Sandy shouts.
"I'll call you," Kirsten promises, her voice shaking.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Upon his arrival at the hotel, Sandy checks into his room. He dials one of the numbers Petey gave him. He's to call a Raul's Auto Shop and ask for Sean. From there, it's all up to him.
"'Lo?" The gruff voice reeks of impatience and disinterest.
"Hi, this is Sandy Cohen calling. I was wonderin—"
"Whaddya need? Oil change?"
"Sean there?" So much for being polite.
"Huh, I'll go get him."
"Thanks," says Sandy, in a last attempt at displaying his manners. There's no one on the line as of now, though, and he hears the phone crackle after a minute – the result of it being passed from one grease-stained pair of gloves to another.
"Sean. What do you need?"
This time, Sandy wisely decides to cut to the chase. "You know a Ryan Atwood?"
Sean pauses, and Sandy can hear his heavy breathing on the other end of the phone. "Who wants to know?" he asks carefully.
"His legal—" And there Sandy catches himself, clears his throat. "A friend."
Sean sighs and tells him, "He works here, yeah, but if you wanna talk to him, he hangs around that diner on Byway Street."
Sandy reaches for a pen and scribbles the relative address of the diner on a piece of hotel stationary.
"Kid's got a thing for that one waitress...hey, listen man, don't tell him I sent you, kay?"
"Sure, thanks Sean." Sandy hangs up the phone and clutches the paper in his hand with a renewed hope.
Diner.
Byway Street.
Ryan works at Raul's Auto Shop.
Who is Sean and how does Ryan know him?
Sandy knows he should call Kirsten. He knows he should. But a part of his heart tells him to keep it all to himself, for now. It's his special treat, finding Ryan. His private mission, and when he finds Ryan, he'll have a personal reward. Then he'll tell Kirsten.
She's going to be upset when he doesn't call. But when he does, with news of Ryan's whereabouts, or, better yet, that he's coming home, she'll forget all about not being in the know.
Or so Sandy hopes.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Sandy takes a deep breath and checks the address on the read-to-shreds hotel stationary. This is the diner. There's no doubt about it. The diner is all windows and bordered by a shiny aluminum silver.
Not sure of what to expect, Sandy hears the welcoming bells jingle and the door shut behind him. There's a sign that reads Please Seat Yourself. Guided by some inner MapQuest, Sandy walks towards a booth and sits down slowly. The shiny red cushion contrasts with Sandy's pallor. He's nervous.
So unbelievably nervous.
Will Ryan be here? Will that waitress Sean mentioned be here? Will he himself be here in another second because he's about to turn around and leave this place before he makes a mistake and...
Wait. What was – no, it couldn't be. Sandy turns away from the window and tries to reassure himself that he's only seeing things. He picks up the menu, determined to order and be done with it, but hears the bells jingle and can't resist peeking over his shoulder...
It's Ryan. Sandy stares him down, hoping to see a flicker of recognition in his son's eyes.
Nothing.
The boy's hair is longer, thicker, but those blue eyes are still razor sharp. Upon seeing Sandy – although it hasn't appeared to register in his mind – Ryan's body stiffens, eyes cloud.
He walks up to the counter and orders a coffee. To go. Sandy watches him, transfixed. This is a feast for his eyes. His Ryan, here in the flesh.
He's here. Alive.
And he surely recognizes him.
Sandy stands up, menu in hands, debating whether or not he should walk over to Ryan. His feet move mechanically a few steps towards Ryan, then halt.
Ryan steals a quick glance at Sandy and turns away.
Yet while the boy's body is obviously screaming run, run, run, he stays. Sandy's hopes rise a notch. He takes his seat.
This is not the Ryan Sandy once knew. The Ryan he knew and loved would run like the wind to avoid a confrontation like this. He's different, and Sandy wants to believe, desperately needs to believe that Ryan's change is for the better.
Ryan reaches into his pocket and pulls out some change, slapping it down on the counter. The waitress, who has curly auburn hair– ah, so this must be the waitress, notes Sandy – smiles, exchanges a few words with Ryan. She takes a Styrofoam cup, looks at Sandy (or does she?) and fill sit up from a pot of coffee most likely not decaffeinated. As the waitress is handing the cup to Ryan, Sandy does not miss his fingers brushing over hers, nor does he miss the extra few seconds Ryan holds them in place.
He then takes his Styrofoam cup, looks blankly at Sandy, and walks out of the diner. The bell son the door jangle with the news of his departure.
One hand in his pocket, the other holding his coffee, Ryan walks past the window Sandy is staring out of. His eyes dart like poison frogs from the window, to Sandy, to the sidewalk, which is stained with dried gum and shards of broken glass that will glitter dangerously in the afternoon sun.
In an attempt to do the Ryan – that is, display a plethora of emotions and words with one look – Sandy fails miserably. He knows that his face must be twisted and contorted in a laughable way, and even thinks he sees the corners of Ryan's mouth curve slightly. But he could be wrong.
The mind often plays tricks on those with active imaginations and a yearning to see.
Ryan shakes his head and continues walking down the street. Sandy sits, frozen to the spot, blown away by what has just happened. Has he really just had a Ryan encounter? He laughs. The way his mind puts it, Sandy's just had a shark encounter and Ryan is the shark. Weird.
A waitress, not the waitress, taps Sandy on the shoulder. "You ready to order, mister? I don't have all day."
Sandy is thankful that this isn't Ryan's waitress, because Ryan deserves so much better than this.
"I'll have the Canyon Crepes with a side order of bacon." Sandy's got to keep Kirsten in his heart, or in this case, his stomach. "Oh, and a cup of decaf coffee, no cream, no sugar." Sandy tells himself he won't load up on the caffeine. His 'encounter' with Ryan has left him feeling drained, and he wants nothing more than to eat breakfast and go back to the hotel and crawl into bed.
The waitress laughs and points to the Half-and-Half and sugar already on the table. "What do you think this is, a four star restaurant? You add whatever it is you want into your own coffee, mister." She shakes her head and walks away, muttering, "He must be rich, or something...thinking we'll customize his coffee for him."
Sandy wonders what he's going to do about Ryan. The kid is ignoring him, whether or not he recognizes him. Oh, of course he recognizes Sandy. Ryan hasn't been gone for that long, and Sandy's not that daft.
But what is it going to take to get Ryan to acknowledge him?
And where to from there?
