Protection, chapter 2
Ryan sat on the porch in the warm summer evening and longed vaguely for a cigarette. It was a perfect night to sit outside and smoke, but a lingering sense of loyalty to Kirsten kept him from indulging. Tilting his head back against the house, he listened to the sounds of the neighborhood – dogs barking, kids shrieking, the incessant sound of traffic hurtling down the interstate 10 blocks away. The sun was just going down, and the air around the house seemed blue as he gazed lazily out toward the street through hooded eyes.
He was tired after a long shift. It was a good tired, though, he thought. He liked his job; liked the physicality of working construction, liked the easy camaraderie with the men, who seemed to accept him unreservedly in spite of his youth. Ryan worked hard, determined to do well. The pay was good, and he was hoping to stay on part time in the fall.
Ryan knew that Kirsten had pulled some strings to get him hired. After a week of getting doors slammed in his face, desperate to start making some money, he'd called to ask about possible construction sites where he might apply.
xxxx
The initial silence that had greeted his request had been heavy, and Ryan had started to backpedal immediately, suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment and horror that he'd actually asked for help and Kirsten was refusing. He'd only managed to stutter out the beginnings of a retraction when her soft voice cut him off.
"This is just for the summer, right, Ryan?" He heard the hesitation in her voice. "You aren't dropping out of school?"
He felt the humiliated hammering of his heart start to subside. "No. Just for the summer."
"Do you promise me, Ryan? I don't want to do this if it means you're giving up school. We can work something out."
"Just for the summer. I promise." The words were out and he was committed. The truth was, though, that he and Theresa hadn't talked about school yet. He chewed on his lip. "But I'm not sure ..." He stopped.
"I know you're not sure about anything right now, sweetie." She was so gentle. "Just please don't make any decisions about school without talking to Sandy and me, OK? We want to help, if you'll let us."
Ryan had felt the prickle of tears in his eyes and the sharp ache of loneliness and missing her and Sandy and Seth and home. It had been a long day of rejection and the dawning realization that he was in way over his head. He'd nodded into the phone and said, "I know," with only the slightest waver in his voice.
"Let me call around and see what I can find out."
"Thanks, Kirsten. I really appreciate it."
"I know you do, sweetheart." She paused. "How are you? Is everything OK? We miss you."
Ryan swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat at her words. He hadn't expected it to be this hard. He hadn't expected the Cohens to be so persistent in pursuing him, even to Chino. When Sandy had said he wasn't going to let Ryan go, Ryan had heard him and believed him. He always believed Sandy. But he hadn't really thought it would translate into anything tangible. He hadn't thought it would mean calls every day, just to check in. He hadn't thought it would mean invitations to dinner or gifts for Theresa and the baby. He was overwhelmed, again, by the Cohens' ability to love so unconditionally and was unsure how to respond. He hated always being the taker of their support, but he didn't feel like he had much to give in return.
"Everything's fine." Ryan heard the sigh from the other end of the line, and tried again. "I guess... I guess today was kind of hard." He knew he could give her this, but years of silent protectiveness were difficult to get past. "No one wants to hire a kid with a record."
Kirsten heard the shame and bitterness in his admission, and her heart broke a little for him. Again.
"I'm sorry, Ryan. That sucks." Ryan couldn't help but smile.
"Don't say 'sucks,' Kirsten."
Her laughter rang out unexpectedly and Ryan's smile turned into a grin. He loved it when he made Kirsten laugh. Her real laugh made only rare appearances, and the man and two boys who lived with her thrilled to the sound of it, especially whichever one was responsible for it.
"I'm so proud of you, sweetie; that you keep trying, that you don't give up."
An abashed silence was the only response she got. Ryan cleared his throat.
"How's Seth?"
Seth was a different matter altogether. Since he'd been returned, under protest, by the Coast Guard two days into his trip, he'd reverted to "pre-Ryan" Seth with a vengeance. He was sullen and sarcastic, isolating himself, and refusing to talk to his parents or to Ryan. Kirsten wavered between a sort of grief for him in his hurt and absolute fury over his selfishness. He wasn't the only one who was hurting, and his refusal to see beyond himself disappointed both of his parents.
"About the same." She huffed out a breath of frustration. After last night's mostly silent, overwhelmingly seething dinner, Kirsten had moved beyond "let's give him some time" to "he's not too old for a spanking." But she hadn't been about to share that information with Ryan.
"I'm sorry."
"Ryan. We've had this conversation before. It isn't your fault. Seth's a big boy. I know he was hurt and disappointed by your decision to leave," neither Kirsten nor Sandy would sugar-coat that for Ryan, even if they could, "but that doesn't excuse him." In her frustration, she went further than she probably should have. "He's acting like a spoiled brat, and, while I love him dearly, I don't like him much at all right now."
The shocked silence on the other end of the phone alerted Kirsten to the fact that she'd said too much.
"Sweetheart, I'm just frustrated and sad and not sure what to do, so I'm a little grouchy. OK?"
"I..." Ryan didn't know what to say. He knew another "I'm sorry" would not go over well, but he couldn't think of anything else, and it was the only thing that expressed how he felt.
"I know you don't want me to say I'm sorry any more, but I am." There was exhaustion and the faintest hint of tears in his voice. "I feel like I made this decision and all it's done is hurt you and Sandy and Seth. I thought it was the right thing to do – I think it's the right thing to do – but I've made you all so unhappy. And you've done so much for me. I just...." He trailed off. "I don't know how to fix it. At least, not without breaking something else. And even then...."
It was the first time he'd verbalized that struggle to Kirsten, and she considered her words carefully.
"Ryan. Listen to me, OK? You made a difficult decision, and one you believe is the right one, and I – Sandy and I – respect that, and we're proud of you for it." She hesitated slightly, unsure about how honest she should be. "But the truth is any choice we make has consequences, and sometimes those consequences are hard and sometimes they affect other people in ways that are painful. But that doesn't mean we should take the easy way out. If Sandy and Seth and I find that your going back to Chino hurts in some ways – in spite of your good intentions – we have choices, too. We can choose to try to understand why you made the decision you did and support you in it. Or we can choose to reject the choice you made and, in effect, you." He could hear the sadness in her voice. "Seth is making his own choice right now that hurts us and you."
Kirsten rubbed her eyes. She was so tired of how hard this all was. "Seth loves you and he has a good heart, but he's refusing to see beyond his own pain right now."
She gave him some time to hear what she'd said.
"Does that make sense, Ryan?"
"Yes."
She smiled, "Do you believe it?"
"I don't know."
"Well, you're honest." Kirsten purposefully lightened her tone. "Whether you believe it or not, it's the truth. I'm willing to give you time to come around."
Now Ryan smiled. "Thanks."
There was a comfortable silence.
"I better let you go. Thanks for checking about a job for me."
"You're welcome. I'm glad that you called. I'll check in with you tomorrow, OK? Let you know what I found out?"
"OK. Thanks."
"Bye, sweetie. We love you."
"Bye." Ryan hesitated. "Me, too."
xxxx
Kirsten had called the next day with a name, and he'd started work two days later.
xxxx
Ryan dropped his hard hat and lunch box on the kitchen table when he walked into the house. It was quiet, dark.
"Theresa?" Ryan wandered through the house, exhausted after a long, hard day.
The light was on in the bathroom, and he rapped softly on the door before he swung it open.
"Theresa?"
No one. Blood on the floor.
Heart pounding in his ears, Ryan backed out of the room. "Theresa!" Even as his head was telling him she wasn't there, he ran frantically through the house, calling out to her. "Theresa!" It wasn't a big place, and he ended up in the bedroom. More blood – on the floor, the bed.
Ryan stood in the middle of the room. He couldn't get his brain to work. What... Where... He couldn't form a coherent thought. His phone. Maybe....
Dashing back to the kitchen, he threw open the lid to his lunch box, rooting around for the phone the Cohens had insisted he have when he moved back. Hands shaking, he fumbled for it, flipped it open. Nothing. He dialed Theresa's cell number, left a desperate message.
He looked around. No note. No message on the machine.
xxxx
Sifting through files on his way into the office, Sandy cursed when his phone rang. Struggling to hold on to the stack of paper in one arm, Sandy fished in his pocket with his other hand, pulling out the chiming, vibrating piece of technology.
"Yeah," he snapped.
Dead air.
"Hello?" Sandy pressed the phone harder against his head. "Is there anyone there?" He was having a hard time keeping the annoyance out of his voice.
"Sandy." He could barely hear it, and Sandy pulled the phone away to check the caller ID. "Ryan?"
"Sandy."
"Ryan, what...?"
"There's blood." Sandy felt his entire body go cold. "She's not... . I don't ...."
Sandy had reached his office, and he shut the door, dropped the files on the floor, and pushing the phone into his ear as far as he could, covered his other ear with a hand, hoping that the stuttering, broken voice on the other end of the phone would become clearer.
"Ryan. Slow down, kid. Take some deep breaths, OK? What blood? Whose blood?"
Ryan was sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, phone clutched in his hand. Unconsciously, he was rocking back and forth.
"Ryan, whose blood is it?"
"I don't know. There's no one here. Theresa's not here. Her mom's not here." Sandy, tell me what to do. I don't know what to do.
"Is there a note?"
"No."
Sandy was pacing around his office, when he suddenly snapped around and headed toward the door. Kicking the files out of his way, he hurried out of his office and down the hall.
"Are there signs of a struggle, do you think someone broke in? Have you called the police?"
Ryan didn't respond. He forced himself to look around the house, to ask the questions that Sandy was hurling at him.
"Ryan." Sandy's voice was sharp with concern.
"No. No. I... I don't think anyone's broken in. I thought... What about the baby?"
Sandy unlocked the BMW and slid into the car.
"Who's her doctor? Do you have the number?"
"I don't. I... Theresa always made the appointments. I never..."
"OK, OK. Let's think about this." Sandy pulled into traffic. "What about an emergency clinic? Would they have taken her there?"
xxxx
Ryan held Theresa's hand, and listened to the swish, swish, swish of the baby's heartbeat through the speakers. He watched with awe as the fuzzy black and white image of the sonogram, shifted and pulsated on the monitor. There was a little person in there.
xxxx
Sandy pulled into the parking lot of the clinic, wincing as his tires squealed in protest. He'd just hung up with Kirsten, letting her know where he was, what was happening. Throwing the door to the car open, he ran through the doors of the building, up to the admitting desk.
"I'm looking for Theresa...," Sandy started.
"Sandy."
Twisting away from the nurse, Sandy almost ran into Ryan, who had come up behind him.
"Is she OK?" Sandy pulled Ryan into a tight hug. He felt the shake of Ryan's head against his shoulder.
Sandy closed his eyes. "Oh, Ryan."
Ryan stepped back, out of Sandy's embrace. "She lost the baby."
"Ryan, I'm so sorry." Sandy reached out to touch Ryan, but dropped his hand before he made contact, sensitive to the Don't vibe that suddenly seemed to radiate off his foster son. He put his hands in his pockets. "Have you seen her?"
Shaking his head, Ryan wrapped his arms around his midriff. "They won't let me."
"Who won't let you?"
Ryan indicated the nursing staff with stiff motion of his head.
"We'll see about that."
Sandy marched back to the admitting desk.
"My name is Sandy Cohen. Why won't you let my son see Theresa Martinez?"
"This is your son?" Ryan had trailed after Sandy, and stood anxiously to the side.
"Yes."
"I thought he said his name was Ryan Atwood."
"It is." Sandy voice was hard.
"Oh. Well." She looked somewhat apologetically at Ryan. "I'm afraid that Ms. Martinez said specifically she didn't want to see Mr. Atwood."
Sandy turned sharply.
"Ryan?"
But Ryan was clearly stunned. His mouth opened and closed and he started shaking his head. "I..."
"Have you guys been fighting?"
"No, Sandy. I don't..."
The devastated look on Ryan's face tore at Sandy, and he tried again.
"There's no way you can let him in?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Cohen."
Sandy sighed. "Will she see me, do you think?"
Taking pity on them both, the nurse said, "Let me ask." She left the waiting area.
They stood in silence.
"Mr. Cohen, she said she'd see you."
Sandy heard Ryan take a sharp breath. He put a careful hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'll talk to her OK?"
Ryan couldn't bring himself to look at Sandy. "OK," he whispered. And Sandy walked through the doors to Theresa.
xxxx
Later that night, Ryan put a gentle hand on the soft swelling of Theresa's abdomen, as she lay on her bed. In his head he heard the sound of the baby's heartbeat again. He leaned down and put his ear to her belly.
He felt a hand on his head, and heard her soft laughter.
"Can you hear it?"
Shaking his head, Ryan smiled at her as he sat upright, his hand still resting on her stomach.
"No."
The door to Theresa's room swung open a little wider, and Ryan pulled his hand away quickly. Mrs. Martinez stuck her head into the room.
"I want this door all the way open when the two of you are in here."
Theresa rolled her eyes at Ryan. "Yes, Mama."
"It's kind of like closing the barn door after the horse is already out, isn't it?" he whispered to her with his sly grin, after her mother had left.
Theresa sighed. "Yeah." She put her own hand on her stomach. "It's not like I can get knocked up again."
Ryan watched her thoughtfully. "Well. I guess that's not the whole point for her."
"No," she said looking at him. "It's not."
Nodding, Ryan put his hand back on her stomach, slipping his hand just under her t-shirt. He couldn't get over the idea of a baby in there. A child. A child that would be his.
He rubbed his thumb absently over the skin under his palm.
"Will you marry me?"
"Ryan..." Theresa's eyes were wide, and her voice just a whisper.
He met her gaze steadily.
"Will you?"
She nodded. "Yes."
xxxx
"Theresa." Sandy leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry."
"Thank you." She wiped a tear off her cheek, biting back a sob. "I'm sorry. I can't seem to stop."
"It's OK." He perched on the side of the bed, turning to look at Theresa's mother. "How are you, Eva?"
She smiled, wiping at her own eyes, and shrugged. Sandy nodded.
"Ryan's outside. He'd like to see you."
Theresa started shaking her head, tears flowing more freely, "I can't."
"Why? Honey, he's desperate to see you."
"No."
"Theresa, please. He's...."
"No." She cut him off.
"Why not? I don't understand. Are you angry at him?"
"I just... can't."
"Honey..." Sandy was pleading.
"No! Mr. Cohen, I won't see him." She was still crying, but she was firm. "Tell him to go away."
"Why?" Sandy stood up. "Theresa, he loves you. Please, don't do this to him." His voice broke. "Don't do this to him."
Theresa was sobbing now. "Take him back to Newport, Mr. Cohen." She turned on her side, away from Sandy. "I don't want him at our house when I get home. Please."
Astonished, Sandy stared at her back. What the hell had just happened? He turned to Eva, looking for help, but she was crying, too, her face in her hands, refusing to meet his gaze.
Sandy left.
xxxx
Ryan stood as Sandy approached, and Sandy watched as the flicker of hope that had flashed onto the boy's face fled. In its place was the expression Sandy had come to dread, the blank look he'd worn when Sandy had met him in juvie, that had come back too many times over the course of his time in Newport when he'd been disappointed or let down again.
"I'm sorry, kid."
Ryan nodded. Theresa had lost the baby. And she wouldn't see him. Not even for Sandy. He didn't know what to do.
The numbness crept over him and he almost welcomed the relief. He stood there, helplessly, staring at Sandy, trying to make his brain function.
Sandy watched as Ryan shut down in front of him, and he saw, for the first time, the grief, the uncertainty, and the desperate need that lurked just under the surface of Ryan's careful façade. Has that always been there? Sandy wondered. And with a pain that caught his breath in his throat, in a startling moment of clarity, he realized it had been. Beneath the mask, buried deep, but shining out of Ryan's eyes. Always there.
Sandy stepped forward and put a careful arm around Ryan's shoulders. "Let's go get your stuff," he said gently. Ryan turned, eyes lost. "You're coming home." Ryan let Sandy lead him out of the clinic.
xxxx
Kirsten called as they were on their way to Theresa's. Sandy spoke softly, conscious of Ryan sitting in the seat next to him, leaning against the door, head against the window. Kirsten seemed to understand that this was not the time to ask question, accepting the change in plans, asking for directions to the house.
"My room's in the back." Ryan picked up his lunchbox and hat as he walked past the kitchen table. Sandy followed, and almost ran into him when the boy stopped abruptly in front of the bloody bathroom.
Ryan dropped the armload he'd been carrying, and went in. "I should clean this up." He reached under the bathroom sink for the cleaning supplies. "This shouldn't be here when she gets back."
"Ryan..." Sandy moved forward.
"She shouldn't have to clean it up." Eyes on the task in front of him, Ryan ignored Sandy's sounds of protest, wetting a rag, and starting to scrub the floor.
Flustered, Sandy started again. "Sweetheart, you shouldn't have to..."
"Hello?" Kirsten's voice drifted back from the kitchen.
Distracted, and relieved that backup had arrived, Sandy left Ryan, hurrying to the front of the house.
"Hey." They embraced.
"Sandy, is he...?"
"He's cleaning up the... the...." Sandy stumbled over his explanation and Kirsten raised a confused eyebrow at him. "Theresa had bled. He... he's cleaning. I can't..."
Kirsten put a hand to her mouth and pushed past her husband.
"Ryan? Sweetie?" She dropped to her knees beside him on the bathroom floor, putting a hand on his head.
Ryan only slowed his frantic scrubbing. "I have to clean this up." He said it fiercely, focused desperately on the movement of his hands. "She shouldn't have to come back to this. She shouldn't."
Kirsten stayed crouched beside him, running her fingers through his hair. Ryan wouldn't look at her. He continued to clean.
"OK," she said softly. She turned and met Sandy's eyes. He nodded. "Let me help."
"No!" Ryan said it sharply, still not looking at her. "I..."
"Ryan," Kirsten said firmly, taking his chin in her hand and forcing his face toward hers. "Let me help." Ryan's eyes met hers momentarily. And in them he saw reflected her love and her grief for him. There was a brief flicker in his eyes, and he shifted slightly, allowing her in.
xxxx
"You're what?" Sandy's voice was a yelp.
"We're getting married."
Ryan and Theresa had talked to Mrs. Martinez the night before. She'd been thrilled. Ryan had not been sure that the Cohens' response would be the same, so he'd come on his own.
"Ryan." Sandy's tone of voice told Ryan he was struggling to sound "reasonable." And not angry. Or exasperated.
"I love her."
Sandy raised his eyebrows at that.
"Five months ago you loved Marissa."
Ryan felt an angry flush suffuse him. He concentrated on the counter top in front of him, jaw clenched. He didn't know what made him angrier – the fact that Sandy was right, or that he'd decided to throw the fact in Ryan's face. Ryan took a deep breath.
"I thought I did." He raised his gaze to Sandy, who just stared back at him. Ryan didn't look away. "I know now that I didn't."
Sandy shook his head and snorted softly. "And now you think you love Theresa. And you want to marry her." He pushed away from the island and paced away. "Ryan, you're seventeen."
Ryan's eyes followed Sandy's movement. "I know I love her. We're having a baby." He risked a glance at Kirsten, who was leaning against the kitchen counter, watching silently. "This is the right thing to do."
"'The right thing to do'?!" Sandy burst out. "Ryan you're seventeen years old! You think it's the right thing to do to get married before you're even out of high school? You have no idea what you're talking about. What you're getting into. You can be involved in this child's life without marrying Theresa."
"Not like I want to be. Not like I should be; like a father should be."
"Ryan..."
"No." Ryan stood up. "We're getting married. You can't stop us."
"You think I can't?" Sandy's voice was hard. "I sure as hell can. I'm your guardian. I didn't stop you from going back to Chino, which was clearly a mistake. But I will not let you throw your life away like this. You're underage and you can't marry without our permission."
Ryan shoved away from the island counter, backing away from Sandy, knocking over the stool he'd been sitting on. He was suddenly enraged – furious that Sandy was refusing to listen to him. His self-control had been shaky from the moment the conversation had started, and it now slipped completely out of his grasp.
Kirsten watched Ryan go deadly pale and then flush crimson. "It's my life!" Ryan's voice rose to a shout. Kirsten jumped. She'd never heard him raise his voice before, especially not to Sandy. "You can't tell me what to do!" All the bottled up emotion of the past 5 months seemed to be pouring out of him as he stood, fists clenched. He found himself screaming, "You're not my father!"
Sandy flinched at the words, and stumbling back, Ryan tripped over the school as he turned, aiming for the door into the living room. But, Sandy, recovering quickly, was too fast, and he caught Ryan as he staggered.
"Sit down."
Ryan twisted away, ignoring Sandy completely. He headed toward the back door.
"Ryan." Kirsten finally spoke. She moved to the French door. Extending a hand toward him, she said softly, "Honey, please."
Ryan stopped abruptly. Kirsten could see the anguish on his face – the anger and fear and disappointment. He wrapped his arms around himself as he took a couple of steps back, away from her.
"You can't tell me what to do." He wasn't yelling at her, but she could hear the grim defiance in his voice.
Kirsten heard Sandy take a breath to respond, and spoke quickly.
"Ryan, please, let's discuss this." He'd already started shaking his head.
"It's not a discussion if you're just telling me what to do."
She turned her head to Sandy, catching his eyes.
"You're right." She took a careful step forward. "Just don't leave, OK?"
His head was down, but he watched Kirsten through his bangs. He needs a haircut again, she thought, apropos of nothing. His eyes flicked to Sandy and back to her.
"Please sit down, Ryan." Sandy's voice was soft
Ryan turned his head
"I'll listen, OK? I will."
Arms still crossed over his chest, Ryan shrugged his assent; but he didn't move toward a chair.
Sandy pulled one out for him. Sullenly, Ryan dropped into it. Head still down, he radiated affronted anger.
"What are you thinking?" Ryan flinched at the question, almost coming out of the chair.
"Wait." Sandy raised a hand. "That came out harsher than I intended." He ran a hand over his face.
"I just mean, tell me what you're thinking. Tell me what your thought process has been. What makes you so sure this is the right thing to do?"
Kirsten had drawn up a chair for herself, and she sat down next to Ryan.
Ryan had already exhausted his prepared speech for the evening. It had pretty much been, "So. Theresa and I? We're getting married." He wasn't sure where to go from there. He started picking at the knee of his jeans.
Kirsten leaned over, trying to make him look at her.
"Honey, we just want to understand." She put a gentle hand over his, stilling the jerking movement of his fingers.
Ryan pulled his hand out from under Kirsten's and she withdrew her own, slightly stung. Ryan crossed his arms over his chest again. The silence stretched out.
Kirsten could feel Sandy practically vibrating with impatience beside her. But to his credit, Sandy held his peace.
"I do love her."
Kirsten spared a glance for Sandy.
"I love her and I want to be there for her. I want to be a father for this child. And being a father to a kid means being a husband to its mother."
"Ryan...."
"It does, Sandy. Being the boyfriend isn't the same. It isn't."
Ryan finally looked up. "Whatever kind of screwed up mess my parents' marriage ended up being, they cared enough to try and be a family. At least for awhile." He took a deep breath. "I'm not saying it was perfect. But I know my dad was around until I was ten. I know he didn't choose to leave. And I know that while he was around, I didn't get my ass kicked. By anyone."
Ryan got up from his chair and moved away; away from Kirsten and Sandy. But he didn't try to leave.
"I had friends growing up; friends whose parents weren't married, friends who got girls pregnant and didn't get married. None of them hung around. None of them protected their kids. It's too easy to leave when you're not married. And when you leave, other boyfriends move in."
His voice dropped to a whisper. "And that's when things get bad." His breathing had finally steadied after his outburst, and he drew in a calming breath. "I won't let that happen to another kid. Not when I can do something about it."
"Ryan." Kirsten looked at Sandy for guidance, but he could only stare helplessly back at her. "I know that you want to protect this child, and I love that about who you are." She stopped. "But you need to understand that Sandy and I want to protect you. It's our job to protect you." Ryan was still refusing to meet her eyes. She paused again. "And being married, so young, is going to be hard. It's going to be so hard for you and Theresa. We want to spare you that."
"You and Sandy were young."
Sandy stepped forward and Kirsten watched Ryan tense slightly.
"We were out of high school." Sandy's voice was tinged with frustration. "Kirsten was in college. I was in law school. It isn't the same."
"Why not? You got married for the same reason, didn't you?" His head came up and he looked defiantly at Sandy. He was studiously avoiding Kirsten's gaze, and she watched the pink in his cheeks turn to crimson. Kirsten felt her own face warm in response. "You decided that you loved each other and it was worth the sacrifice, right? You didn't have to get married, either. But you did."
"You're saying it will be hard. You think I don't know that? You think I don't know what a hard life is like? That this will be any more difficult than a mom who's a drunk, with boyfriends who beat you up and sell drugs out of your house?" Ryan's voice was incredulous.
"I know it's going to be hard. I do. I know that I haven't finished high school; that we'll have to work; that it isn't going to be easy. But I am going to finish high school. Maybe even go to college. It just..." He paused and took a steadying breath. "It just won't be like you thought it would be."
"Like I thought it would be," he whispered.
Not sure how to respond, neither Sandy nor Kirsten spoke.
He looked at them both, pleadingly, and Kirsten thought she'd never thought seen him look so young, so vulnerable. He sat down abruptly, like his legs couldn't hold him anymore and bringing his arms up, covered his head, leaning down, until his face was buried in his knees. Suddenly it was too much. He couldn't stand being at odds with them, fighting with the two people who had supported him more than anyone else in his life. "I'm sorry." Kirsten could barely hear him. "I'm so sorry."
She moved forward, crouching in front of him. "Sweetie..."
He raised his head, eyes filled with unwanted, unexpected tears. "I know I've let you down." He wiped angrily at his eyes. "And I'm sorry for some of the things I said." He looked brokenly at Sandy. "It's just. I know that this is right for us. And I wanted ... I wanted you to be OK with it." He glanced down at his hands, clasping and unclasping them sporadically. "I have to do what I think is right for us, for the baby."
He looked at Kirsten, eyes exhausted. "Please. Just don't be mad at me," he whispered.
xxxx
Ryan had been home for three weeks, and Kirsten was at a loss. She had her son back, but he wasn't the same boy. She hadn't expected him to be, really, but she didn't know what to do with this shell of Ryan that he'd become. She didn't know how to make him better.
He'd never cried, he'd never broken down. He hadn't displayed an emotion as far as Kirsten knew since he'd been back in Newport. He went through the motions with all of them, playing video games with Seth, smiling mechanically at Sandy's little jokes, dutifully helping Kirsten pick out colors for his new room in the house. But his eyes were empty and his interaction with everyone around him listless.
Kirsten picked up the mail on her way into the kitchen, sorting it as she went. She stopped at a battered envelope addressed to her. The post mark read Atlanta, Georgia. Setting the rest of the mail on the kitchen counter, she slit open the letter.
Dear Kirsten, it began.
xxxx
Kirsten knocked gently on Ryan's door. "Ryan?"
"Come in."
Ryan was propped up on the bed, one knee drawn up, an arm behind his head, reading a book. "Hey."
"Hey." She smiled a brief, uncertain smile at him, and sat gingerly on the edge, of the bed.
He didn't say anything, just watched her, as she fiddled with the letter she held. He'd always been so contained, she thought. But the stillness, the quiet, he'd returned with made her want to weep at the pain and confusion she knew it covered.
"I got a letter today. From Theresa." She watched him pale, and he drew in a sharp, surprised breath. But he didn't say a word.
"She asked me to give you this." Kirsten extended the envelope she'd been toying with. Ryan reached out a hesitant hand. "When I thought you were ready." She put her hand back in her lap. "She told me I could read it, but I want you to know that I didn't."
She stood. "I'll leave you alone. I...I'll be downstairs, if you need me, OK?" Ryan's eyes were on the letter in his hand.
Kirsten smoothed her palms over her slacks, and turned to go.
"Will you stay with me?"
Without a word, she sat back down.
She spent the next several minutes examining the room, while Ryan read. In spite of the way he seemed to be holding himself apart from the Cohens, he'd embraced the new room as his own. She hadn't noticed it before, and it made her smile to see his books and his computer on his desk, soccer balls and weights shoved into a corner, dirty clothes and belts draped over a chair, comics strewn across the bed and floor. He was home.
Her eyes snapped to him when she heard the rustle of paper. He was done, and silently, he held the letter out to her. They stared at each other for a moment.
"You can read it, if you want," he said softly.
Kirsten took it from him, and bent her head to read.
Dear Ryan,
I'm sorry that I wouldn't see you after I lost the baby. I know that I hurt you, but if I saw you then, I wouldn't have been able to do what I knew I needed to do. And that was let you go.
I know that if we had gotten married and had the baby we would have made it work. We would have done what we needed to do. We would have been there for each other – you would have protected me and I would have protected you. Together we would have protected our child and made a life for him. But all that changed when I had the miscarriage. I know it doesn't change the fact that I love you and that you love me. But it changes what we need. If we were going to have a baby, we needed each other. Without the baby, we need different things.
I need to go somewhere I can start over, go back to school, figure out what I want to do with my life. You need to go back to the Cohens, to a home that's safe, to parents who love you, who will protect you. You've never really had that, Ryan, and you deserve it. You need it.
I love you. I love our baby. I wish things could have been different.
Please be safe. Be happy.
Love,
Theresa
Kirsten read the letter one more time, and when she finished, she looked up at Ryan, eyes full of unshed tears.
"Are you OK?" she asked.
Ryan nodded, but she could see the uncertainty in his expression.
"Yeah?"
He nodded again, but unsteadily, and his face started to crumple.
"Oh, sweetie," Kirsten cried, reaching for him, even as he moved forward into her arms.
The storm of tears abated eventually, and Kirsten held Ryan until the sobs had subsided to shuddering breaths and sniffles. When the worst was over she shifted her position gently, easing him onto the bed, so that he was lying down with his head in her lap. Murmuring reassurances to him, she threaded her fingers through his hair until he fell asleep.