Chapter Six: The Music Box
A/N Oops, I was wrong in my first entry. The song is actually by Meredith Willson. Don't know where the 'y' came from. And thanks especially to the fb'ers on FF.net for some of the funniest feedback I've ever gotten on a story. Ryan's a sixteen-year-old boy, of course he'll do anything to get some ass! –Kate Monster
Theresa scanned the list on the glossy pages of her Cosmo and then flipped the page, squinting at the fashion spread. All the girls in these pages were crazy thin. Like Lily. Unhealthy. Disgusting, really. But then, some guys seemed to go for that. Imagine.
She slammed the magazine shut in disgust and started to think about maybe having a bedtime snack.
"Theresa?"
"In here, Mama!" She shoved the Cosmo under her pillow. Eva hated the magazine with a passion, ever since Theresa had accidentally left one on the coffee table once. Big mistake. Her mother actually read it. Never again. Eva and Cosmopolitan Magazine were not of the same persuasion.
Eva opened the door, leaning in the doorframe. "I'm looking at a house tomorrow. Over on the west side."
"Oh…" Eva had been looking at lots of houses. She was picky. It seemed like there was a new one every couple of days.
"Do you want to come?"
She never brought Arturo or Theresa along. Theresa licked her lips. "Okay, why?"
Eva shrugged and tilted her head. "I don't know, I thought you might like this one."
"I get off work at three."
"Okay," she said, nodding. "Okay, I'll call the agent back, try to get a time after that."
"Sure," Theresa said with a weak smile as her mother pulled the door closed behind her.
She would have her driver's license in another month, it was okay. Really. No need to be upset about moving. And Eva couldn't find anything she liked anyway. They were all too small, too ugly, in a bad neighborhood, too smelly, too old. Theresa doubted she'd find anything she liked. The truth was that they couldn't afford what she wanted. But Theresa wouldn't be the one to tell her that-
She was startled from her thoughts by a tapping on the window, and she threw her legs over the side of the bed. She tiptoed carefully across the carpet. It was drizzling rain outside, but the sound was too loud to be rain. And too familiar. She knew that sound.
She opened the window. There, on the other side of the screen, Ryan was pressed up against the house, trying to stay dry beneath the eaves.
"It's raining, you fool," Theresa said with a sharp laugh.
"I see that," he said, irritated.
Her fingers scrabbled to unlatch the screen. Ryan caught it as she lowered it out, and set it on the ground. He took a step back to get his momentum up before charging at the window with a great leap.
She caught his arm. "Oof!"
"Hey!" He slipped a little, halfway in. "Ow." His fingers fumbled on the windowsill.
"Watch-"
The better part of his weight came through the window in a great boost, and both of them collapsed to the carpet in a fit of hushed giggles and snorts. Her shoulder brushed his chest and she felt the incessant pounding of his heart, so much louder and stronger than normal.
She pried herself up, tossing his leg aside. "Oh, no, now look at this," she groaned, looking at the mud smears on her windowsill and floor. "You gonna clean this up?" She slid the window back down, cutting off the rain.
"Yeah, later." She sensed his damp presence behind her, and then his arms turned her around, pulling her in for a deep kiss. She wanted to protest, argue, but she couldn't, not when he-
"Mmm." She broke off the kiss. "Okay, you are sopping wet."
"Really, I hadn't noticed." He tried to pull her back in, but she pushed away. He was breathing heavily, as if he was in a hurry.
"Hold on, I'll get you some clothes from Turo's room."
Ryan brushed water droplets from his arms and looked up at her, trying for innocent. He did almost have a wet puppy look to him. "Yeah? You don't have to do that."
She stared at him. "Nice try."
"What?" he protested, keeping his expression blank. Oh, but he was good.
"Uh huh. I'm on to you. And hey. My mom's still up." She pointed to the closet.
Ryan groaned, slumping down. "Are you kidding me?"
"No. Get."
He reluctantly arranged himself in the closet and she closed the door on him, smirking as she did.
Arturo's bedroom door was closed. She knocked softly.
"Hold on – who is it?" A scuffling sound from inside. Theresa blinked as she leaned in closer. Was he, too…?
"It's me."
"Oh. Come in."
She opened the door just in time to see him shoving something that looked like a bag of sugar under his pillow. She narrowed her eyes.
"What do you want, Theresa?" His voice was impatient.
She blinked away from the pillow. "Oh. Want. Yeah. Can I borrow a shirt, some pants?"
"Why?" he asked suspiciously.
She angled her head towards her room, giving him a helpless look.
"Oh! Right. Yeah." He threw his legs over the side of the bed and ambled for the dresser, where he started to root around in the drawer.
She folded her arms, watching him dig. "What were you doing just now?"
He stopped for a moment. "Nothing." He resumed his search.
"Turo." She glanced past him at his bed again.
He shoved the clothes at her. "Hey, glass houses, okay? Get the hell out of here!" He pushed her gently out the door before closing it on her face.
In the hallway, Theresa briefly cocked her head as she reflected on the brief exchange, then shrugged and flounced back to her room. It was like Ryan and Trey at the mall. Better not to know. Better not to think too much. It was what her mother always said. And her mother was always right.
She pulled the door to her room shut before releasing Ryan from the closet.
"Okay, it was getting a little stuffy in there," he complained, fanning his face with his hand.
"Yeah, well. Here."
He took the clothes and held them for a moment before raising his eyebrows at her.
"What? Oh." She turned around, rolling her eyes as she did. "Like I haven't seen you naked before."
"What, a little decorum never hurt anybody?" His husky voice cracked just a little.
"Oh, like you came over here for decorum..." Theresa laughed gently, then stopped. She could see him in the mirror. Taut muscles, all nicely lined, well-maintained… what was that on his upper arm? Some kind of mark, fresh...
His eyes met hers in the mirror. "Hey! Quit peekin', why don't you?" He struggled to pull the shirt over his head.
She beamed and turned around. "You're right, you know. You're nothing to write home about."
From his expression, it looked as if he actually believed her for a moment. "I'm kidding! Jesus."
"Ryan, actually," he said, grinning and moving in.
She grinned back at him, feeling her defenses quickly melting away. "You are on a mission to erase that word from my vocabulary, aren't you?"
"Well," he said, considering, "Bet your mom would be happy if I did."
"Yeah," Theresa said, "but you and I do a lot of things that don't make my mom happy, right?" She fell back onto the bed with a bounce, taking his wrist as she fell and snapping him forward.
She closed her eyes as their mouths made contact, nipping, seeking-
Hard. Hungry. Hot.
Hunting.
Something was different, something was not right.
She pushed him back. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah," he mumbled into her mouth, craning to reach. "Why?"
Theresa giggled and squirmed as his hands moved under her shirt. Did it really matter when he was touching her like that? It most certainly did not. "…Never mind."
They didn't really need a label. Boyfriend, girlfriend, naming things like that would be so typical for Becca, or for Lily. Not for Theresa. She could enjoy this for what it was, she and Ryan, alone, together, moving quietly on top of her bedspread, building, accelerating, nothing outside this room mattered-
"Theresa, the realtor – oh!"
Ryan jumped off of her like a shot from a cannon, springing to attention. Startled, Theresa scrambled away from him to a seated position at the edge of the bed. She hung her head as she glanced at Eva with shame.
"Hi… Ryan," Eva said haltingly, putting her hands together and trying to wring them without being too obvious about it.
He waved, avoiding her eyes, glancing out the window, guilty.
For a moment, there was silence. Theresa straightened her pajama top. She tugged at the bottom to make sure it covered all of her stomach. She heard Ryan take a deep breath of air. Eva paused in the door, waiting.
"Theresa," she finally said, "the realtor will meet us at four."
"Great," Theresa said, sounding far more enthusiastic than she felt.
Eva stared at them. Theresa was afraid to look up until her mother finally spoke again.
"Does anyone... need anything? Food?"
"No, we're great," Theresa said again, still staring into her lap.
"Ryan, how is your mother?"
"Good, she's good," he said, clearly puzzled.
"Send her," Eva said, "my regards."
She pulled the door closed.
Theresa turned to Ryan and saw her own amazement mirrored in his expression. "Did that just happen?"
"I don't know, but I think maybe I'll use the front door next time?"
"Yeah. Do that." They broke out into a relieved giggle. She took his arm and placed it on top of her breast, but he pulled away.
"What?" she asked, irritated.
"Your mom..." His voice trailed off.
Theresa snorted. "Loves you. Please. Did you just see that?"
He sighed. "It just doesn't... feel right."
"What? Once she says it's okay for you to be here you lose interest?" Theresa pulled back and stared at him.
"Theresa. Come on. You know she's not telling us to, I mean, you know, she's still your mom and all, you know what she thinks, and the church thing, and maybe it never mattered before-" Ryan stared at her, looking lost. Helpless. "What did she mean, realtor?"
"Oh..." Theresa tucked her hair behind her ear and glanced away. She tried to think of an excuse, but she couldn't. "She's been looking. At houses. To buy."
"Wait..." Again with the smile that didn't meet his eyes. "You mean you might be moving?"
"No – I mean, she wants to, but she'll never find anything." She scooted closer to him. "And even if she does, it doesn't matter. We won't be far away."
"Yeah..." He didn't sound convinced.
She scooted her hand across the blanket, inching for his thigh.
He pulled his legs to his chest, just out of reach. "Look, I'm not having a good day – d'you think we could just... I dunno, sleep?"
She closed her eyes, curling her fingers into a loose fist on the blanket. "Ryan..."
"I really want to sleep here tonight. Please?" He looked lost. Sad and lost. Which only made her wonder... "Just sleep. Really."
"Is it A.J.?" she asked, quietly.
"Naw, naw," he said, looking away. "Kind of – not really. No."
She sighed and scooted up to the pillows, wriggling under the covers. She held them out, offering him a spot beneath them and he crawled under obligingly. And then promptly turned away from her.
She wanted to touch him, pull him close to her, cuddle him, warm him, not let him go. But there was something – his stiffness, the tension in his shoulders, in his jaw, that made her pause.
She reached over to flip the lamp off, and found herself in the darkness, listening to the light rain outside her window, listening to Ryan breathing against the silence.
"Now that we know my mom loves you," Theresa mused, "we can probably do this more often."
He snorted. "Yeah, little does she know... Theresa?"
She bit her lip, settling against the pillow, studying his closely cropped hair, smushed into the pillow from the back. "Yeah?"
"...Thanks."
Uh huh. "You're welcome."
Maybe he'd get the courage to say it. Maybe it would happen. Theresa held her breath. Even though she knew better. She released it.
Because she knew. This was only convenience, after all. It wasn't love. Friendship. Loyalty. Habit. Not love. Love was something else.
She rolled over and turned off the bedside lamp, then rolled back over to stare at him in the flickering sodium glow from the street lamp outside. Ryan's shoulders slowly rose up and down off the sheet, the comforter pushed down. The knot of his choker had slipped to the side and hung just off his shoulder. It was right that they should be able to do this – wasn't it?
He rolled over to face her and opened his eyes. "I can feel you, you know."
"What?"
"Watching!"
She sighed. "I can't sleep..."
He propped himself up on an elbow, glaring down at her. She could see the red marks on his arm now, short stripes. "Well, how'm I supposed to sleep? I gotta work in the morning." He noticed her staring and moved his arm away, shifting his weight. The bedframe creaked beneath him.
"Yeah, me, too," she said, returning his glare with one of his own. "But you don't see me tumbling into your room all muddy and wet and jumping in your bed."
Ryan closed his eyes. "Theresa…"
"No, no," she said, feeling morally superior all of a sudden, "you just do your thing, and I'll… I'll try and sleep." She faked a smile.
He smirked at her. "You are such a martyr, you know that?"
"I do." She flopped onto her back. "I guess I'll just have to try and get what rest I can, then."
He rubbed his fingers together. "Yeah, uh huh. You know what this is?"
"The world's smallest violin," she said in unison with him. "Yeah, yeah." She shook her head ruefully and closed her eyes, trying to tune out Ryan and his presence and the damp, salty scent of his warm body in the bed beside her, and all the strange, frightening, exciting thoughts that it stirred in her.
She could sense his motion in the darkness, felt the mattress shifting, bouncing softly, as he turned around; she could hear him leaning over the side of the bed. She could feel everything about him in the dark bedroom. She felt like she could sense his very soul, even though she knew it was ridiculous. Nobody could really see inside Ryan, not even her.
He settled back into the bed, leaning up against the headboard, sitting upright. She heard a familiar soft, creaking noise, and then the quiet tinkling.
"Ryan…" she groaned.
"It's your music box," he offered. She could hear the smile in his voice.
"I know. Put it back."
"Won't it help you sleep?"
She struggled to sit up, brushing the hair back off her forehead. "You'll break it."
"I won't."
"You will. Knowing you. That's special, too, my mom got it for me as an opening night gift when we did Music Man last year."
Sleep tight, my love.
"I remember," he said, irritated. "I was there when she gave it to you."
But he hadn't been in the show. Theresa had been onstage, all by herself, because Ryan had decided he was too old to do musicals. She was onstage with a cast of thirty-three, most of whom were older than Ryan, but she was still alone. Playing Zaneeta Shinn opposite a Tommy Djilas who she could have cared less about. Ryan kept insisting he couldn't dance, but he would have made a decent Tommy. He could have faked it. And he didn't.
"Turn it off."
"I can't! Can I?" he asked, his voice desperate.
"No. You have to wait it out. Don't-" Theresa sighed. "Just don't… break it."
"It's a lullaby, isn't it?" he asked quietly. "It's supposed to put you to sleep?"
She paused. "That was my favorite song in the show."
The lullaby sung to a distant lover, the unknown presence from the future. She bit her lip. It wasn't the song she wanted to hear right now.
"I remember…" he started, and then stopped.
"I remember the words to this," Ryan said.
Theresa licked her lips, and then opened them to softly sing along. "I wish they may, and I wish they might, so good night, my love, good night…"
His voice rose sharply above the tinny sound in the darkness.
"The show was stupid. Sorry. I liked Charlie Brown better. And not just because I was in it."
"The show was not stupid," Theresa said. "And why are we arguing about this now?"
"But this song was good," Ryan added defensively. "Or… it was okay."
But I must depend on a wish and a star
As long as my heart doesn't know who you are
"Okay? That's great," she snorted. "God, I loved this song. I couldn't believe Mama found it in a music box. She must have looked everywhere for it, so don't you dare break it."
"How did this go again?" Ryan asked. "I remember, okay?" He began to softly sing along. "Sweet dreams, be yours dear, if dreams there be…"
Theresa joined him, singing above him in her alto voice, gently seeking out the harmony. "Sweet dreams to carry you close to me…"
Their voices fell silent together, trailing off as the music box slowed, fading, dying.
I wish… they may… and…
I wish…
They…
might…
The music stopped. All she could hear was her own soft breath and Ryan's breath, fading off into sleep, unable to finish the song or the thought.
She inched up off the bed to look over. The music box was still sitting on his chest, slowly rising up and down. He really was gonna break it. Gently, she reached over and removed it, and watched as his hands slipped loosely to the sides.
She stared at the music box in her hands, at the two plastic lovers that spun around to the music. The music box had it all wrong. The song wasn't about lovers together. It was about lovers apart. Lovers who don't know each other. Lovers who might never meet. Who designed this thing? Did they even know what they were designing?
She hummed the last notes of the song to herself in a soft tone, slowly letting the notes drift out of her throat.
"Good night, Ryan," she whispered, but the only sound that she heard was his thick breathing. Ryan was asleep.
She set the music box on her bedside table and turned over, facing away from Ryan, waiting for the soft, welcoming feeling of sleep to settle over her.
Good night...