"He's an idiot. A great fucking idiot." She folded her arms, now safely ensconced in Eddie's Oakland A's sweatshirt, and glared out the window of Eddie's car as they drove down her street. The houses looked lonely in the streetlights, dark windows and quiet yards. The party at Trey Atwood's place seemed worlds away. Maybe it was.

Eddie shook his head. "He's a smart kid, Theresa. You know that. Just rash sometimes is all."

"Don't take his side! Why are you taking his side?"

"I'm not! Look-" Eddie sighed. "He means well. And I just don't think he's the one you should be mad at, is all."

"Oh, so you think it was my fault, too?" She turned to face him, aghast. "Nice."

He shook his head frantically. "No! No – just, he was trying to help. In his own way. That's all."

"His way is not what I had in mind." She huffed as she threw herself back into the seat for emphasis.

The car idled to a stop in front of her house, and Theresa reached for the door. She couldn't wait to collapse into bed, underneath her own comforter, in the semi-darkness of her own room.

"You sure you're okay?" Eddie asked with obvious concern.

"Yeah." She blinked. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Why wouldn't you?" he echoed, confused.

But she shook her head. "Naw. Fine. Really." Course she was fine. She was strong. She was a survivor. She wasn't scared, it took more than that to scare her...

"You want, I'll walk you in?" he offered.

She shook her head. "No, but... Eddie. Thanks for everything tonight. I mean it."

"Yeah, well." He offered her a small smile.

"No, I'm sorry I ruined your night. Really." She released the door and let her hands slide into her lap as she stared down at them.

"Ruined?" he asked. He stared at her in amazement, shaking his head. "No. You're a special girl, y'know? I'd do – hell, any one of us would do anything for you. Anything. You know that."

"Yeah..." She trailed off.

"I don't want to see you get hurt," he said softly, avoiding her eyes. "By... anyone."

She cocked her head at him, but said nothing.

Anyone.

The word hung in the air.

Eddie cleared his throat. "Take it easy," he said as she climbed out of the car.

"You, too, sweetie." She made her way around the car to lean through his open window, where she laid a quick, soft kiss on his cheek. He smiled back at her ruefully before glancing down at his lap.

She walked up the walkway to her house, and could still hear the sound of Eddie's idling car behind her. He was waiting until she got in the door. He was a sweetie. She smiled to herself as she walked towards the house. But only for a moment.

Theresa dug her keys out quietly. Eva would be sound asleep, and even though Theresa was in fact home on the early side, there was no need to press the issue. She keyed the lock open and turned to wave Eddie off.

The hall light was on – no surprise, Mama always left the light on when she and Arturo were out. The surprise was rounding the corner to see her mother wide awake, in the living room, reaching for her purse.

"Mama?"

She felt the hairs on the back of her spine prickling. Whatever this was, she didn't need it. Not now. Something was wrong, or Eva had heard, or...

"You're home!"

"It's 1:30, what are you doing up?"

Eva waved her hands as she spoke. She was in a hurry. "An emergency. Brandon Medena pulled a china shelf down."

Theresa clasped her hand to her mouth, horrified. "The china shelf? You're kidding. Oh, god. Is he okay?"

"He's fine. A miracle. His mama thinks she might have broken her arm, she has to go to the hospital. I'm going over to keep an eye on the little ones, Dora is driving her in."

"Oh," Theresa said hesitantly. "Oh, I can do it, Ma, you have to work first thing in the morning."

"And you!" Eva put her hands on her hips and glared at Theresa.

"Not until the afternoon. And I know where all the stuff is, I know what to do. Just drop me off, I'll do it. It's okay, really," she pleaded.

"She's not paying," Eva warned. "This is a favor."

"It's fine," Theresa insisted. "Really. I'll do a favor." She took a deep shuddering breath and tried to smile. "They need help, it'll... I'm maybe kind of in the mood to help somebody out."

Eva shrugged and reached for her keys. She was never one to argue too hard. "Let's go, then."

Eva turned the car off in front of the Medena house and reached for the door. Theresa leaned over and touched her mother's arm.

"I'm okay to go in by myself, Ma, thanks for the ride." She was more than ready to be alone.

But Eva shook her head. "With Juana hurt? Oh, no."

They discovered Juana sitting in the living room, clearly in pain, as Dora tried to temporarily set her arm. Dora, some cousin of Juana's who lived nearby, was a registered nurse or something, Theresa was pretty sure. It paid to have good friends. Like any good woman in a crisis, Dora's face was set, expressionless as she tended to her friend. Juana, similarly, looked staunch and resolute.

See, Theresa told herself, feeling increasingly worthless, this is how you behave in a crisis. Not with tears. Not with fights... crying...

"Theresa will stay with the little ones instead," Eva was saying, and Theresa found herself nodding obediently.

"The bus comes for Brandon at 7:15," Juana managed to say.

Theresa continued to nod, feeling drained, numb, weak... The words echoed loudly in her head as she tried to process them, tried to focus, tried to listen.

"Get him up at 6:30, he eats dry cereal, and Angel's sitter will be here at 7:30." Was she still talking? Her mouth was still moving...

Theresa bobbed her head again. "We'll be fine," she promised.

She stood at the door watching as Dora and Eva ushered Juana into the car. As the two cars drove off, she closed and latched the front door.

Alone.

She felt the tears rush in. For over an hour now she'd been fighting them, and now, alone, she could finally let go.

She slid down the wall of the Medena's living room, her chest shaking rhythmically, wiping frantically at the tears pouring forth.

Images flashed in her head. Mike. Ryan. Ryan on Mike. Mike on her. Forcing her down... She shook her head, trying to force the images away. Why was she crying so hard?

All she'd done was make things worse. Trying to make Ryan jealous. What was the point? He didn't do jealous – he did angry, and hurtful, and vindictive, and even clueless. But not jealous. No, the only person she'd hurt was herself.

And now he was mad at her, angry with her, and she was furious with him, and she was shaking harder than before, and Theresa was crouched on the floor of the house AJ had abandoned, shivering, bawling like a baby.

She had a feeling that maybe it wasn't going to be a very good summer after all.

...On the beach, her back pressed up against the rough bark of a tree. She could almost taste the salt water. But the beach was littered with trees, blocking out the sun, sand blowing over their roots.

She felt her loins tingling as he moved in close – and then he leapt, going over her head, far above...

"Ryan?"

Her voice echoed loudly in her head as he disappeared effortlessly into the thick cover of branches and leaves.

She had to bring him back. He would fall and hurt himself if she didn't save him. He didn't know how to climb trees. He only knew sand, and water, and the safety below.

She grappled for the tree trunk but it was rough and hard, and her palms hurt. How had he jumped so easily? He was scared of heights. It didn't make any sense. The sand shifted beneath her feet, upsetting her balance. If she didn't follow him she would sink beneath it, it was quicksand, it was pulling at her...

She bent down and leapt up, desperately attaching herself to the tree. She fought her way up, above the tree cover, and looked around at the bright, blinding sky.

"Ryan...?"

Her voice was so thick and far away...

She saw him. Perched in a nest at the top of a tree, crouching, that look of fury on his face again. Looking like he was ready to kill, ready to strike.

Before she could call out to him loud enough for him to hear, he rose up suddenly. His feet left the nest and she wanted to scream, but as the nest crashed to the ground, crumbling and breaking apart in its descent, Ryan flew up, up into the sky. High. Far away. And Ryan was scared of heights.

She wanted to call to him. Come back... wait... I'm here, I'll catch you... but the words didn't come. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. Instead, Ryan grew smaller and smaller until he was a speck against the sun, too far for her to rescue.

Too far to rescue her.

Knock... knock...

Theresa rolled over in her sleep.

Knock...

Why was her bed so hard? Where was her headboard? Where...?

Ding! Dong!

She bolted upright. She'd fallen asleep on the Medenas' living room floor. She brushed the hair from her face and checked her watch. 4:38 a.m. Was Juana home already? Was the sitter here? No, too early... and Juana had a key. So...

She pushed to her feet and peeped out the keyhole. She stared in shock at the rumpled, light hair she saw there. What was...?

She pulled the door open a crack. "What are you doing here?"

"Your mom told me you were here."

"You woke up my mom?" She felt light-headed, the blood rushing from her sudden changes in consciousness and elevation.

"I had to talk to you!"

She sighed and shifted her weight, tilting her head to glare at him.

"Please... just let me in?"

"What makes you think I'd let you in right now?" She fought back a yawn.

"Five years of friendship? Come on, Theresa."

Theresa rolled her eyes and opened the door, her adrenaline pumping. Ryan slouched inside and she locked the door before turning to lean against it, her arms folded.

"This couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

He stared at her, his face still solemn, but somehow calmer. His eyes landed briefly on Eddie's Oakland A's sweatshirt, then flickered away. Those puppy dog eyes of his... "It couldn't." He licked his lips, glancing around. "So..."

"I'm sorry," they both said at once, in a rush.

"You first," she motioned.

"No, you."

"No way. I'm second." They faced off for a moment before the two of them cracked up, together. Theresa laughed and choked at the same time, feeling tears stinging her eyes once more.

"I hate being mad at you," she blurted out, her voice cracking. "Why can't I stay mad at you?"

"I'm sorry," he said, looking down. "You were right, I was – it was stupid. You were upset, I didn't have any right to pick a fight with you." He hesitated. "And I didn't tell Arturo, if you were... wondering, you know..."

She glanced down. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"Ryan-" Her eyes were finally clearing up.

"No, really, I mean it, don't mention it."

"I'm sorry. I should know better, and I know you were only trying to help me. And I was upset, and you were there, and I guess it was just easier to be mad at you than..." She rattled off the words as if she was practicing a line. Then she hesitated. "If he hadn't attacked me, if we'd just made out, would... would you still have been as upset?" She was afraid to look at him directly.

"Naw," he said, looking down as well. "No, it's no business of mine. You're right, you can go with anyone you want, as long as they're okay guys, you know?"

"Not... Mike."

"Not Mike." His face offered a small smile, which she returned.

It wasn't the answer she'd wanted. That was okay, though. Really. It was.

"But are you okay?" he pressed.

"Course. Why wouldn't I be?" she asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

He squinted at her. "Why wouldn't you be?" he echoed, sounding just like Eddie for a moment. Sometimes they were so much alike it scared her.

But she brushed the thought away. "So what'd you follow me for, anyway? What if we had just been making out? Were you gonna watch?"

"I was gonna make sure I didn't have to kick his ass," Ryan said seriously. "You can go out with whoever you want, but they damn well better treat you right."

"Ryan," she sighed, deciding not to press the stalker issue. "You know it – it scares me. When you go off like that."

"Like what?" He looked genuinely confused.

"Like in the field. Back there. On... on Mike." She licked her lips.

"He pissed me off." So matter-of-fact. So casual. Mike pissed him off, and that was that.

"I know."

"Somebody had to teach him a lesson."

"I know." Yet somehow, still, it didn't feel right. And Theresa didn't feel reassured in the least. In fact, she felt distinctly unsettled.

Ryan glanced around, striding further into the house. "Wow. I haven't been here since-"

"February," she said.

He pointed at her. "That night we-"

"-Got high?"

Ryan grinned. "In the backyard. Yeah."

In retrospect it was a fun memory. It hadn't been at the time. "Oh, yeah. When Juana came home early I thought I'd never be invited back."

She moved to the couch and sank into it, twisting her back to work out the creaks from her nap on the floor. After a moment, he joined her, perching stiffly on the corner of the couch, as if he was afraid to even lean back.

Ryan pressed his lips together, staring around. "So. A.J.'s old house, huh?"

"How... is he? Are you?" she amended, anxious.

He shrugged. "Eh."

"'Eh'?" She waited for the clarification.

"This house, it's better than ours," Ryan remarked. "Looks nicer."

Theresa dropped her jaw. "Yeah, sure, now. Wait till the rugrats get up. Oh..." She trailed off, distracted. "The china shelf..." She leapt up from the couch and darted into the dining room, Ryan right behind her.

Sure enough, the remnants of the accident were still all over the floor. She clapped a hand to her forehead and shook her head at the disaster.

Pieces of the Medena family history had been smashed to the ground, chips and shards of their life together scattered here in the heart of their house. And only Theresa and Ryan were left to pick up the pieces, strangers in their home to clean up the mess. Somehow it made sense to her.

"What the hell happened in here?" Ryan asked in amazement.

"Yeah, Brandon pulled the shelf down and broke his mama's arm, that's where she had to go," she explained. "This is just great. Look at this. How does a three year old get ahold of a shelf that high?" She pointed to where the shelf had ripped out of the wall.

Ryan glanced around. "Chair?" She looked to where he was pointing, and sure enough, the out-of-place dining room chair looked like the culprit. "Yeah, okay then, so where do they keep the garbage bags?"

"Kitchen. C'mon."

Together, they retrieved the bags, a broom, a dustpan and a pair of heavy-duty rubber gloves that they divided, Ryan with the right glove and Theresa with the left. Ryan rolled his jacket up and deposited it on the kitchen counter.

"Better double bag it," Ryan suggested. "The pieces might puncture the plastic."

She nodded. Nothing ever broke at her home. Eva wouldn't have it. Even Arturo, who was otherwise a lumbering elephant, was graceful as a bird in their house because he feared the consequences if he wasn't.

"Thanks," she said. "You don't have to do this."

"Course I do. I owe it to you. After tonight."

"No, I owe you."

"No..."

She dropped another shard into her bag. Clink. "Call it even?"

He nodded. "Deal – ow!" He clapped a hand to his right arm.

Her head shot up. "You okay?"

"Just a little bleeding." He held it away.

"Let me see." She reached out.

"No."

"Ryan!" Again, she tried to grab for the injury.

"I'm fine!"

She sighed and clucked her tongue. "Ryan, don't be a baby. C'mon." Grudgingly, he held his arm out to her. A piece had sliced straight up his forearm, leaving a red trail of droplets in its wake.

"Ouch," she said in sympathy. "We need to get something on it, Bactin, or-"

But he was shaking his head. "I can't use their stuff, it's like stealing."

"Don't be ridiculous, you were helping to clean Juana's dining room. Besides, aren't you guys practically family now, anyway?" She meant the last part as a joke, but then she glanced at his expression and regretted it right away.

"Not really," he said, strained. "You know what? I shouldn't be here." He reached for the table and started to pull himself up.

"So you're just gonna leave me with all this? Come on." She gestured at the disarray.

He hesitated, looking torn.

"I know where she keeps the First Aid stuff. Come on." She pressed her hands on her knees to stand up, and led him to the bathroom where she took out the antibacterial gel and a band-aid that looked large enough to cover the scratch.

"Ow!" he snapped as she applied the gel.

"Oh, you know you've had worse. At least this time we're not resorting to vegetables."

He snorted, shaking his head.

She grinned as she applied the bandage. "Such a surly patient he is." She leaned back against the counter to study her work, pleased. "All this time spent with you and I'm learning to be a terrific nurse. This is good career training, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, and your beside manner needs work. But glad to know I'm good for something," Ryan deadpanned as he shook his arm out.

"Damn right, worthless bum," she muttered, teasing, and was shocked to see a brief expression of pain cross his face. "I'm kidding!"

"I know you are."

She stared at him suspiciously. "Just checking?"

"You know," he said, drawing back, looking unbearably awkward again, "I really should get going. I don't want to be here when Juana comes home."

Theresa put the last of the medical supplies away and closed the cabinet door. "Is this about A.J.?"

He studied the doorframe closely, avoiding her eyes. "Well, I mean, Juana... and there's me, and... I mean, think about it."

"It's not your fault, though."

He shrugged, looking particularly pathetic. "Yeah, I'm still Dawn Atwood's kid, you know?" He snorted a little.

"I know." She licked her lips. "Just help me finish first. Please?"

He took a deep breath. "If we hurry."

Back in the dining room, she found herself matching pieces of china together, remembering what went with what only hours before. It pained Theresa to throw away so much of Juana's good china, but it really wasn't salvageable. All gone to waste. Cause of a stupid kid...

"Look at this." Ryan was studying the holes in the wall where the shelf had been attached. "It's shitty work. No wonder this thing fell." He shook his head at the mess, disgusted. "Bet you anything A.J. put that thing up."

Theresa shook her head back at him. "I know better than to bet with you."

"This wall is concrete, and bad concrete. You can't just stick a screw in it. What was he thinking? In a house with kids, too." Ryan rubbed at the hole angrily, chips and dust scattering to the floor from his fingertips. "You know something? This was gonna happen whether or not the kid touched the thing. Bet he didn't even have to pull hard. It's just stupid. And putting breakables on a shelf like this?" He paused for breath. He was ranting now. "He just wasn't thinking. Maybe he can't think, maybe he's just that dumb. And look! The walls are crumbling-" He broke off with a sharp laugh. "This whole place is worthless!"

"And now it's all Juana's," Theresa added. "You know a lot about this stuff. We should take you to see some of these houses with us. Mom's all concerned about location, and layout. She doesn't know how to look at whether a house is built well."

Ryan was still facing the wall, his voice strangely quiet. "You really gonna move?"

"Maybe. I don't know." Theresa took a deep breath. "Mom didn't like the last place, either."

"So you're not." He looked hopeful.

"Well. Not soon."

"Good," he said firmly.

She shook her head and gestured at the rest of the mess. "Hey, Atwood? Are you helping here, or not?"

"Oh! Right." Ryan scrambled to her side. He began gathering the last of the pieces. "Sure I'd be willing to help your mom. Just let me know when is all."

"Okay." Theresa nodded. "I'll tell her."

"Good."

"Great." They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence for a moment.

He licked his lips as he picked at the mess. "You can date whoever you want, you know."

She blinked. She wasn't sure she'd heard right. In fact, she was quite sure she hadn't. She was tired, it was the middle of the night. "Wait – what?"

"You heard me."

"I know, but non sequitur much?" From house-hunting to boy-hunting... maybe there was a logical connection in Ryan's mind, but Theresa was at a loss.

The pained expression was back. "I just want you to know is all."

"Oh..."

He shrugged, too quickly, as he tied off the last bag. He started to hoist it, but it slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor with a loud crash.

Theresa's hands flew to her mouth in horror as she stared at him, wide-eyed. They stared at each other in a frozen moment until the telltale screeching started up.

"Ohhh, Angelita," Theresa groaned, pulling at her hair.

Ryan tensed, his face white as a sheet. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

She put a finger to his lips to silence him. "Hey. You finish up here. I'll get the little monster."

She made her way to the bedroom, where Angel was screaming bloody murder. Brandon was stirring in his mattress on the floor in a set of threadbare firetruck pajamas, but he seemed to be falling asleep again, thank god.

Theresa bounced Angel on her hip as she returned to the dining room where Ryan was carefully hoisting the last bag. "Hey, can I put this on the sidewalk out front?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I think their trash day is tomorrow," Theresa said. She turned back to the baby. "Angel, baby, honey, shut up, please?" Unfortunately, Angel's language skills hadn't quite gotten there yet, and she let out another scream, ignoring the words Theresa was chattering to her.

She made her way to the sofa with the baby clinging to her sweatshirt as Ryan set to lugging the bag outside. Was this night ever going to end? Stolen cars, lecherous Los Serranos residents, fights and accidents and now a screaming tot. This was ranking somewhere on Theresa's Worst Night Ever list; she just wasn't quite sure yet how high it was going to end up. There were still a few hours left to go.

Angel quieted as they sank onto the sofa, much to Theresa's relief. "That's a girl," she cooed. "Mamacita Angelita, quiet girl." She lay back on the couch, cuddling Angel Medena to her chest. She fully understood matricide. She did. Why did people even bother to have the little trolls?

She closed her eyes. Such a long day. She took a deep breath. Angel continued to whimper and whine her unhappiness in a quieter voice. Theresa felt the urge to whimper with her. She wished she could still cry and scream and kick the way Angel was allowed to. Maybe then she would feel better and this awful, sick feeling would finally go away.

Theresa opened her eyes to find Ryan staring at her, peeking out from behind the door. "Take a picture, it'll last longer," she grumbled, and at the sound Angel opened her mouth and let out another piercing shriek. Theresa rolled her eyes back. "Oh, brother. Hey Ryan, wanna fix me a bottle?"

His eyes went wide. "Uh-" he stammered.

"Fine. Fine! Just – here. Take the kid, then." She stood and offered him the child.

He looked uncomfortable but accepted the high-volume, squirming bundle into his outstretched arms. "What do I do? Do I have to hold her head, or...?"

"No." Theresa shook her head, enjoying his discomfort. "She's old enough. It stays up on its own now. Just – try and calm her down."

"How-?" She'd rarely seen him look so helpless, so lost.

She shook her head. "Don't shake her too hard. Gentle."

He looked pale and tired, but nodded obediently. Theresa whisked into the kitchen and checked to see if Juana had left any prepared bottles in the fridge. She hadn't, but Theresa knew where the formula was, and once she'd prepared and heated the bottle, she carried it to the living room, which was now... oddly quiet.

She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight in front of her. Ryan was sprawled out on the couch, baby Angel snoozing soundly on his chest, secured in place casually by one of Ryan's arms. The other arm was propped on the armrest, where he was resting his chin on his fist. He glanced up at her and she could only shake her head at him, trying to fight back the smile that was forming in the corners of her cheeks.

"You know what this means, don't you?"

He shook his head, solemn, as she gently set the bottle on the coffee table beside him. "You can't move now." She felt the corners of her mouth finally turn upwards as she saw his reaction hit.

"Great," he muttered as she sank onto the couch beside him.

"You little sneak. You never told me you were good with kids."

"I'm not, I suck."

She laughed gently, nodding at the silent form on his chest. "Angelita would beg to differ."

"It's not my fault she happened to fall asleep on top of me!" He looked truly lost, but somehow sweet all at the same time. It was hard to believe this boy was the same ferocious animal from only hours before, who had attacked his enemy so savagely, and now looked absolutely forlorn to be holding a sleeping child. She bit her lip as she stared at him, trying to reconcile the images in her mind as he studied the sleeping form on his chest.

They were startled by the sound of a key in the door.

"Oh, sh-" Ryan started, then glanced down at Angelita. "...oot," he amended helpfully.

Theresa didn't know what to do but sit there as the door opened, admitting Dora and Juana, who stopped in their tracks to stare. They were caught. There was no way around it.

"Hi," Ryan said curtly.

"Ryan came over to help me clean up," Theresa blurted out. "He got Angel to sleep. Um, how are you?"

"Fine," Juana said as she pulled the door shut behind them. "One fracture. Not so bad."

Angel stirred at the sound of her mother's familiar voice, much to Ryan's evident relief. As soon as she blinked her eyes open he sprang up, passing her to Juana's good arm.

"We cleaned up the mess," Theresa said again. "Ryan helped." She glanced at him, but he said nothing, glancing around at the walls, avoiding everyone's eyes.

"Theresa," Juana sighed, "It's fine."

"Okay," Theresa said, unconvinced.

"I'll drive them home for you," Dora offered, fishing for her keys.

"That'll be great," Juana agreed. "Do you mind – and Theresa – if I speak to Ryan? Just for a moment."

Dora bowed her head and moved outside the doorway, where the sun was just starting to poke up once more. Theresa hesitated, glancing at Ryan.

He shook his head subtly to indicate that he was fine and she should go. She raised her eyebrows and he raised his right back, mimicking her. After a moment, she trudged outside after Dora, defeated.

"So, she'll be fine, right?" Theresa asked, leaning against the gate, fingering her purse.

"She'll need some help for a little while," Dora countered. "And the bill."

Theresa felt cold even though the night was warm. "She doesn't have insurance?"

"No. And with no man to help..." Dora shook her head.

Theresa glanced back at the house, worried. "Is she... mad? That Ryan Atwood came over?"

Dora made a clicking sound. "Take a lesson from Juana, Theresa. Men? Not worth it."

She glared at the older woman. "He really was here to help me."

"Mmm hmmm."

"He was! Ryan's not like that!"

Dora regarded her with a long stare. "All men are like that. And then all men leave."

Theresa snorted. "I don't think that man's going anywhere." She hesitated. "Do you think – is she gonna-" She glanced at the house yet again. "You know, it's not Ryan's fault her husband hooked up with his mom. He can't help it."

But Dora's attention had wandered, and now she was studying her nails, her hands. She didn't have a wedding ring, either, Theresa noticed. Those were pretty hard to come by around here.

Ryan and Juana emerged from the house, locked in what seemed to Theresa like a meaningful gaze. Ryan waved to her and turned to hop down the stairs and join them by the waiting car.

He rode in the front seat to her frustration, and she had to wait through the silent car ride, until they were finally outside their respective houses with Dora driving away into the rising sun. She turned to him as soon as they were alone.

"What'd she say?"

But he only shrugged. "It's fine. We're fine." He turned and started for his house.

"What's that mean?" she demanded.

Again he shrugged. "I mean, she and my mom aren't-" he glanced at his house, dark in the early morning twilight.

"Yeah?" she prodded.

His shoulders rose and fell once more. "It's my problem now." He reached for the fence to unlock his gate.

"Ryan-" She wanted to kiss him goodbye, but something inside her froze.

"What?"

She shook her head. "Get some rest?"

He looked relieved. Maybe he hadn't wanted a goodbye kiss, either. "You, too."

She watched as he pulled the gate shut behind him and trudged up to his house, his feet dragging, his shoulders slumping. He turned at the door, saw her still standing, and waved his arms, shooing her off. Reluctantly, Theresa turned away before Ryan could open the door, and started off for her own house.