Author's Note: Thanks again to super-beta crashcmb for her suggestions, comments, corrections and the basic cleaning up and making sense out of the jumbled mess that I passed along. And for making the process fun, too!
Disclaimer: See Chapter One. Nothing's changed in two days.
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Just Another DayChapter Two
Dawn and AJ were standing on opposite sides of the cabinets that separated the kitchen from the dining room, an open bottle of Double Eagle and a couple of glasses set out between them. They appeared to be mid-conversation, leaning toward each other, elbows on the counter, but both fell silent and their eyes turned simultaneously in his direction when Ryan entered the house.
"Hey," he finally offered, when it became obvious that the conversation wasn't going to spontaneously continue.
"You're back late," his mother noted.
He stole a quick glance at the clock on the dining room wall. It was a little after one o'clock.
"Yeah, I--uh--I heard you talking about coffee, earlier. I stopped for some." As he offered the handles of the plastic bag to his mother, AJ moved his body sideways, letting Ryan approach the counter.
"Aw, that's sweet. Thank you, honey. Isn't that sweet, AJ?" Dawn took the bag from Ryan and dumped the small, vacuum-packed container into her hand.
"Like cotton fucking candy." AJ muttered.
Ryan backed slowly away from the counter, and from AJ.
"I--uh--I'm just going to go to my room for a while." He backed up a couple more steps, but hadn't gotten very far--just about as far as the leather chair that AJ normally occupied--before AJ started in on him.
"So--what--it take you three hours to buy coffee?" Ryan stopped and ducked his head, but didn't answer. After the silence stretched for a few seconds, he finally shrugged his response. He reached out and absent-mindedly picked up the large leather flap that had come loose from the back of the chair--smoothed it to where it had once been attached to the left side--watched as it fell back to its original position. He listened to the sounds of whatever college bowl game was on and waited for AJ and his mother to resume their conversation, or for some other sign that he would be ignored and could continue to his room. It didn't come.
"So, here's how it works, Ryan--I ask you a question and you answer the fucking question. Got it?" AJ had a way of stretching the syllables and spitting out Ryan's name like it was a dirty word.
"C'mon, AJ, not today," Dawn pleaded from inside the kitchen.
"Hey, I'm not the one who started this. If your kid can mouth off to me all the fucking time, he can answer a simple fucking question."
Ryan stole a glance, and was surprised to see that AJ was still focused on him. Their eyes locked and he froze for a few seconds before he finally offered a response.
"I dunno. Just riding around, I guess."
"So, that's it? That's all you did? Just rode around?"
He shrugged again. "Yeah."
"You didn't stop anywhere?"
"Not really."
Ryan backed up a couple of quick paces when AJ made a sudden move toward him. In doing so, he banged his head on the planter that was suspended from the ceiling, hanging in front of the window that overlooked the front yard.
"What--you nervous, there, hotshot?"
As Ryan shrugged and tried his best to appear nonchalant, AJ reached out and cuffed him on the left side of his head with the heel of his right hand.
"AJ!"
"Yeah--well--you oughtta be fucking nervous." AJ continued to focus completely on Ryan, ignoring the plea contained in Dawn's plaintive voice. "Where the fuck were you?"
Ryan caught himself before he automatically lifted his shoulders in response. "I dunno. I rode around for a while. I went to that Korean grocery on Allegheny. I rode around some more. I came home."
AJ cuffed him again. Although it probably wasn't any harder than the first time, it felt that way to Ryan, since it was the second blow to the same ear. His left ear stung, but he willed himself not to reach up and touch it--he wouldn't give the prick the satisfaction.
"Turn rabbit ears, you little bitch."
Ryan reached into his jeans and turned the pockets inside out. He opened his hands, revealing some lint and the sixteen dollars and change that he'd pulled from his right pocket.
AJ took it from him.
"Where'd you get the money, hotshot?"
"I went to see my brother--all right? I don't see what the big fucking deal is." Ryan did nothing to keep the anger or the frustration from his voice.
"You don't see what the big fucking deal is?" AJ lifted his hand again, and let out a short laugh when Ryan couldn't help but flinch away from him. He then slowly and deliberately reached over Ryan's head and steadied the plant, which was still swinging wildly, although in increasingly smaller arcs.
"You fucking lie to me one more time and we'll see what fucking happens."
Ryan fought the urge to argue that where he went and what he did was none of AJ's business. Instead, he just swallowed hard and nodded. When AJ's face registered his disapproval, he quickly added a verbal answer, his tone noticeably resigned.
"Yeah--I got it."
Ryan ducked his head down low again. If he could just avoid AJ's eyes--avoid having AJ see the hatred that he knew was there--then--just maybe then--he could get out of this confrontation without any more damage done.
"C'mon, AJ. This is supposed to be a nice day. Here, why don't you take this and let Ryan go to his room. Let's all settle down for a while--just this one day--for just this one day, I'd like my two guys to get along."
Dawn was holding out a rock glass that contained a few ice cubes swimming in some amber liquid. Ryan stood, motionless, waiting for AJ to decide what to do.
"Get the fuck outta my face," he finally spat, sending Ryan scurrying toward his bedroom.
"Hey, dumbfuck." Ryan stopped short, just in front of the bathroom, secure in the knowledge that he could easily reach the safety of his bedroom before AJ could cover the distance. "Next time you decide to lie about where you've been--don't come home wearing somebody else's fucking jacket."
Ryan crossed the final couple of feet to his room. Once inside, he threw the deadbolt and started pacing across the narrow space between his bed and his bureau, his breathing rapid and heavy. He was pissed off. Angry at AJ--his mom. Hell, he was angry with himself. He took off the jacket and threw it on his bed. How could he be so stupid, not to remember that he'd come home in Trey's jacket?
And why the hell didn't he just tell AJ where he'd been to begin with?
So, AJ and Trey didn't get along--which was maybe the understatement of the year--but, Trey was still his brother and there was no reason why he shouldn't be allowed to spend time with him. Especially today. His whole stupid fucked-up tactic had been to avoid getting into an altercation with AJ by omitting any mention of his brother's name--and all he'd managed to do with that brilliant maneuver was to escalate the situation.
Ryan pulled open the bottom drawer of his dresser, reached into the back corner and extracted the pack of Marlboros and the ashtray he kept there. He cracked open his window, set the ashtray on the sill and removed the matchbook from the plastic that surrounded the pack. He noticed with frustration that his hands were shaking--it took him three matches to light the cigarette. But, like always, after a couple of deep drags, he could feel the nicotine overtake him and his whole body begin to relax.
For a few minutes he just sat on the edge of the bed, head lowered, staring at the carpet between his feet and trying not to think about much of anything. He didn't want to think about his mother, AJ, Trey or his dad.
Merry fucking Christmas.
But, even as he was trying to chase the thoughts out of his head, he couldn't help but wonder what his dad was doing that very minute. Was he sitting on his bed, smoking a cigarette, living in fear of the unknown that was lying just beyond his locked cell? Did he live his life in a constant state of unwavering vigilance? Was he never able to let down his guard? Was he continuously aware of the capricious and volatile nature of his environment and of those who controlled it?
Or, did he have freedoms that were even greater than those of his younger son?
Did he even think of Ryan, or Trey at all? Would he be disappointed in what Trey had become? Would he be disappointed in Ryan?
The sounds of raised voices in the other room penetrated the walls of his bedroom, and his thoughts. He flipped on the television--briefly noted that Tulane was playing Hawaii in some insignificant bowl game on ESPN--didn't care. He flipped the stations and found a basketball game. He turned the volume up high enough to drown out his mother and her boyfriend, lay down on the bed, stared at the ceiling and continued to smoke.
The whole visit to Trey's had left a bad taste in his mouth. Worse than usual. Not that he ever expected much from his brother. He was even more of a fucking train wreck than their mother was. But, maybe that was just it. Because today--with the talk of going to Corcoran--the talk of seeing their father--even the little bit of remorse that Trey had expressed about selling weed to kids and crack to their mothers, it wasn't like his brother. And that disturbed Ryan in a way that he couldn't even begin to explain to himself.
It was almost like he'd caught a glimmer of something still living in Trey that he thought had died out long ago. Hope--self-awareness--regret--hell, something. There was something still there--some semblance of his brother left in that fucked-up, crazy-assed thug who'd been masquerading as Trey for years now--and that did nothing to lighten Ryan's mood.
He put out the cigarette and tapped the ashtray against the outside wall of the house to get rid of the butts and the ash. He returned the ashtray and the cigarettes to the back of his drawer, grabbed his knapsack and pulled out a book. Mr. van Pelt had given it to him a few days ago and he'd completely forgotten about it until just now. He'd been almost asleep in van Pelt's English class and was sure that he was going to get bawled out when his teacher had called him over, just short of the door. But, instead of the anticipated lecture, van Pelt had handed Ryan a book. A hardback. He'd told him that he'd seen Ryan reading books, from time to time, that were not part of the assigned syllabus--that he thought Ryan might enjoy the book over the holiday break--told him to return it to him--whenever. Ryan'd shoved the book into his backpack with a murmured thanks and hadn't thought of it again. Until now.
He looked at the cover--"The Corrections"--and read the book's front flap. He propped himself up on his bed, opened it to page one and began reading.
It was hours later when Ryan jumped in response to the tentative knock on the door. He'd been deep into the book and wasn't even aware that time had passed at an astonishing rate.
"Ryan."
"Yeah, Mom."
"Dinner's ready, hon."
"Okay, I'll be there in a sec."
He stood up and reached over to the television. It was still tuned to basketball, but two other teams were playing--the Lakers and the Kings. When he turned it off, he noticed that AJ must be watching the same thing in the other room, because he could still hear the faint sounds of the game. He unbolted the door and went straight to the bathroom.
As he washed his hands and his face, he looked at himself in the mirror and tried to brace himself for the night ahead. He knew that his mother and AJ had been drinking non-stop since he'd come back from Trey's. He also had no idea how much they'd had to drink while he'd been out. But, he swore to himself that he'd do his best to be conciliatory. He'd eat dinner, stay quiet and get the hell back into his room as quickly as possible.
As he left the bathroom, he could see that AJ was sitting in the leather chair, a nearly empty drink on the glass-topped table beside him. His feet were up and he was watching the game, the volume turned high. Ryan quickly passed between AJ and the television and walked the short distance to the dining room. AJ ignored him.
Dawn was holding a match, lighting the second of two candles that were on the table. There were two place settings on the far side of the table and there was an opened bottle of beer in front of the setting that was on the side closest to the living room. Platters of food were already on the table.
"It looks really good, Mom."
"Thanks, kiddo." Dawn offered what Ryan couldn't help but think was a boozy smile.
"Can I do anything to help?"
"Nope. Just have a seat. What do you want to drink?"
"Milk's fine."
His mother went back into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door.
"Oh, I think we're all out of milk, honey. You can have a beer if you want. It's a special occasion."
"No, thanks, Mom. Water's okay."
Ryan took the seat on the far side of the table that wasn't across from AJ's beer. Dawn came back with his glass of water. On the way, she tripped slightly and spilled a little on the floor.
"Oops, sorry, honey, I'm just so clumsy today."
Ryan took the glass she handed to him and set it on the table without comment.
"AJ, you gonna come eat?" Dawn stood by her seat and waited until AJ finally extracted himself from the chair. He left the television on as he crossed the small space to the table.
"Can't we turn that thing off--you know--just while we eat?" Dawn asked. "I'd like to have a nice dinner for once."
Instead of answering her, AJ just hooked his thumb in Ryan's direction.
"Move it, hotshot. I'd like to see the game." Ryan quickly rose and leaned over the table, switching his water glass with the beer that had marked AJ's spot. As he walked around the table, AJ gave him a little shove and Ryan stumbled into the side of his chair. The impact of the chair against the table caused some gravy to splash from its bowl and onto the otherwise pristine, white tablecloth.
"Sorry, Mom." Ryan's apology was automatic as he took his new seat.
"That's okay, honey." Dawn's goofy grin was still plastered to her face.
Platters were passed around, food was heaped onto plates and dinner was started in silence, broken only by the sound of the basketball game and AJ's intermittent comments of "Shit!" "Shoot the damn ball!" and "Why don't you take a fucking bus the next time you're gonna travel that far?"
"So, you saw Trey, today?" Dawn finally asked, once it was apparent that AJ's focus was going to remain on the game.
"Yeah." Ryan noticed how AJ twitched at the mere mention of his brother's name.
"How is he?"
"Trey?" Ryan shrugged indifferently. "He's Trey. He had a party last night. He was pretty hung-over. I dunno. I didn't stay long."
"Is he still living in that apartment with that Pablo guy? The one over by the senior center?"
"Paulo--and, yeah."
"And he's doing all right? He looked okay?"
"He's fine, Mom." When she looked at him skeptically, Ryan continued, "He's got an eyebrow ring now."
"A what?"
"An eyebrow ring. A hoop through one of his eyebrows--his left one, I think."
"Now, why would he go and do that?"
"I dunno." Ryan shrugged again. "You know Trey--he probably just let someone do it with an ice cube and a safety pin."
"Crazy motherfucker," AJ muttered.
"Do you know what he's doing today? How he's spending Christmas?"
"Not really." Ryan shrugged again, now painfully aware that AJ's focus had completely shifted from the game. "Honestly, Mom, we didn't really talk that much."
"Well, he'd better not come around here," AJ muttered. "I'll wring his scrawny little motherfucking neck."
"Oh, c'mon, AJ, give him a break. He hasn't been around in months."
"Bullshit. I've seen him around here a bunch of times in the last few weeks. Motherfucker's lucky I didn't come after his ass with a fucking crowbar."
AJ was staring at Ryan, who found that he couldn't quite keep his eyes from jumping around in a manner that he knew was a dead giveaway. He tried to focus on the plate in front of him--stabbed a piece of turkey with his fork that he knew he'd never get the chance to eat.
"He wouldn't do that, AJ. He knows better."
"Maybe we oughtta ask Ryan about that?"
"Trey hasn't been around, has he, Ryan?"
Ryan shrugged and tried his best to appear casual. "He came by to borrow your car, once. I told him it wasn't working. He left."
He froze as he saw AJ begin to rise. Suddenly, he was finding it increasingly difficult to swallow--to breathe.
"AJ, don't." Dawn pleaded. "C'mon now. You can't get mad at Ryan for something his brother did."
"This has nothing to do with Trey." AJ's voice was quiet and surprisingly in control. Which, for some reason, only elevated the level of Ryan's anxiety.
As AJ made his way to his side of the table, Ryan continued to stare at his fork--refused to look up--bargained with God.
"Stand up, hotshot. You're done eating."
As Ryan pushed back from the table and slowly rose to his feet, he realized that he needed to move away from where he was standing. If AJ was going to hit him, he didn't want to go crashing into the table and create a mess that his mother would have to clean up later. He took a couple of steps backwards, toward the living room and the kitchen.
"What'd I tell you--like not even more than a few fucking hours ago?" AJ asked, matching him, step for step.
Ryan felt trapped. He wasn't sure what to do. If he gave AJ the answer he was looking for, he would be admitting that he lied about Trey. If he didn't, AJ was going to kick his ass. Ryan ran through his meager list of choices and made the conscious decision to stay quiet. Fuck it. AJ was going to kick his ass either way. His eyes were still lowered, but he was looking at the older man's hands--he noted how they were both already balled into angry fists.
One problem with AJ was that he was pretty indiscriminate in choosing which fist he used to throw a punch, so Ryan could never predict from which side the blow would come. His fucking luck. Not only had his mother let a fucking brute of an asshole move into their house and take it over. She'd picked an ambidextrous one at that.
AJ punched him with his right fist right when Ryan was mid-shrug. It stung, but it didn't knock him down.
"I know you can talk, man. You use that fucking pie-hole to mouth off to me all the fucking time."
"You said not to lie." Ryan spoke through gritted teeth.
"Close--but, not quite, hotshot. I think I said that if you lied to me again, you'd see what fucking happens. We're at that part now where you're about to see what fucking happens."
Ryan's stomach tightened. He was surprised that his mother had remained silent and he wondered if she was continuing on with her nice dinner, pretending that none of this was happening. He had a strange, but brief vision of her as Miss Haversham, sitting in her rotten wedding dress, pretending that her well-planned evening was coming off without a hitch. He was unaware that the sides of his mouth twitched upwards until AJ punched him again, leaving him sprawled on the ground.
"Maybe you'd like to tell me what's so fucking funny, man?" AJ asked, standing over Ryan's prone form. Ryan was pretty sure he wasn't smiling anymore. Christ, his cheek hurt. He briefly wondered if AJ had broken it and how AJ could hit him like that and not feel it in his own hand. He hoped that it was the booze and that the son of a bitch would wake up in the morning with a broken knuckle or two.
"Get the fuck up." As Ryan slowly stood, he considered rushing AJ--if he could catch him off guard--push by him--he just might be able to make it to his room. The house was small. It was only a matter of a few feet. But, AJ must have seen something in the quick glance Ryan stole toward the living room, because he hit him again, from the same side, and with enough force to knock him down once more.
"I'll tell you what--the first thing that fucking happens is that deadbolt comes off your door."
"Mom?" Ryan scrambled to his feet, looking to his mother for help. She was staring down at the table, but met his eye when she heard his plea.
"AJ, is that really necessary?"
"Yes, it's fucking necessary. I think Trey's been in the fucking house and I think Ryan's been letting him in."
Ryan broke his gaze with his mother, looked AJ straight in the eye and told the truth. "I've never let Trey inside the house."
"Yeah, well, the deadbolt comes off tonight anyway."
"Mom?" Ryan tried again. "He can't do this. It's not his house. Don't let him do this, Mom--please, don't let him do this." Dawn just shrugged, helplessly, in response. She lit another cigarette, her trembling hands struggling with the match.
AJ abruptly turned and walked toward Ryan's room. Against his better judgment, Ryan followed, close on his heels.
"C'mon, AJ, please?" He hated to sound like he was begging, but he needed to keep that lock on the door. It was the one thing that he could count on in this house--the one thing that he could consistently rely upon to protect his possessions from AJ's coked-up friends--the one thing that made his room feel safe. AJ ignored him, opened the door and stared at the lock, straddling the doorway.
"Go get me a Phillips-head from the locker in my truck. The keys are on the dresser in your mom's room."
Knowing that there was no way he was going to win the argument, Ryan slowly turned and did as he was told. As he walked back up the hallway with the keys, AJ called out to him.
"Hey, man." Ryan looked up, warily. AJ was holding Trey's jacket by the hood. He tossed it to him. "I wouldn't want you to get cold out there."
Ryan shrugged on the jacket and made his way back to the living room. He shot his mother a glare, but she wouldn't look back at him. She was still sitting at the table, staring deeply into the little bit of amber liquid left in the rock glass she was slowly twirling, a wisp of smoke curling up from the cigarette she held loosely in the same hand. When he got outside, Ryan briefly flirted with the idea of taking off on his bike--or even AJ's truck. He had the keys, and there was always possibility--however slim--that things would be better in the morning.
He rejected the idea almost as quickly as it came to him. He was pretty sure that if he took off now, the next time he saw AJ, there was a very real likelihood that the older man might kill him.
Ryan jumped into the bed of AJ's pickup and made his way through all the crap in the back to the locked toolbox. It took him a couple of tries to find the right key. When he lifted the lid, he grabbed a flashlight and flipped it on, scanning the tools for the one he needed. Just as his hand was closing in around the screwdriver, he heard footsteps behind him.
"Hey, little bro', what the fuck're you doing out here?"
"Shit, Trey, you can't be here." He whispered furiously. Trey was standing on the front walk, inside the gate. He was still holding the bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand--Ryan quickly noted that it was nearly empty.
"Fuck that. This is my fucking house, too." Trey's speech was slurred much worse than their mother's--or AJ's.
"Dude, seriously. This is not a good time. You've got to get out of here." Ryan jumped from the truck and hurried to cut off his brother's path to the house. "AJ is major league, fucked-up crazy right now."
"Fuck AJ," Trey's raised his voice in the direction of the house. It was obvious that he didn't care if he was heard.
"That's fine, Trey, just not tonight," Ryan pleaded. "Please, just get the fuck out of here before he kills us both."
"Why--what'd he do to you?"
"Nothing. He's just all revved up. C'mon, man. I need you to go home--I just need you to go home, now."
Trey lunged suddenly and grabbed the flashlight from Ryan's hand with surprising agility for someone so drunk. He shone the light on Ryan's face, and lifted his hand to his little brother's left cheek--stopping short when he saw how he winced and drew back.
"He punch you?"
Ryan shrugged.
"That prick punched you?"
"It's no big deal," Ryan lied, keeping his tone low. "It's all over with in there. AJ'll pass out in another few minutes. I'm good. But, you've gotta help me out here, man. If he sees you, he's gonna go fucking ape-shit."
"That prick fucking punched you?" Trey wasn't listening to Ryan, anymore. He turned to the house and raised his voice loud enough to be heard down the block. "You know what? Fuck you, AJ!"
Trey hurled the bottle and nodded with satisfaction when it thumped loudly against the side of the house, bounced off the armchair that rested under the roof's overhang and then busted into a million pieces on the cement walkway.
It took less than fifteen seconds for the door to open and AJ to come out.
"That's right--fuck you, AJ," Trey repeated, more quietly this time, swaying slightly and pointing the flashlight at the older man.
Dawn appeared in the doorway behind AJ. She put a restraining hand on his arm as she called out, "AJ, don't. Trey, get on out of here."
AJ jerked his arm away from Dawn and took a couple of steps toward the boys.
"You really think you can take me, you skinny little punk?" Ryan noted that AJ looked amused, more than anything.
"I don't know, you fucking hobbit-on-steroids--I guess there's only one way to find out." Trey continued to play the flashlight's beam over AJ, stopping when he reached his eyes. AJ raised his hand to block the glare.
"Jesus, AJ--Trey, stop it! Trey, go home. Just go home--please, just go home, now!"
"I'm not a fucking dog, Mom--I ain't going home--I ain't sitting--and I ain't rolling over, either."
Ryan suddenly realized that he was between AJ and Trey, and that he was still holding onto the screwdriver. He briefly wondered if he could use it as a weapon if he needed to--decided that he could.
"What the fuck did you just call me?" AJ took another step toward Trey.
"You heard me, Bilbo Fucking Badass."
When AJ took another step toward them, Ryan lifted the screwdriver and pointed it at him. AJ laughed.
"What're you gonna do with that, hotshot?"
"I'm gonna fucking stick you." Ryan's threat didn't come out sounding nearly as menacing as he had intended.
"Yeah, well I'm fucking shaking in my boots, man--except--not. Now, get out of the fucking way and this can stay between your brother and me. One more fucking word outta you and we're not done. I will fuck you up. You hear me, man? I will--fuck--you--up."
"Is that how you get your rocks off--you stupid midget fuck--beating up on a 15-year-old kid?"
"No, man--I get my rocks off kicking the shit out of his douchebag, fucked-up big brother."
As AJ took another step toward Trey, Ryan was suddenly aware of the sound of sirens, somewhere nearby. Everybody froze and looked to the street--watched as a cruiser stopped in front of the Atwood home. A neighbor must have called the police.
An officer got out of the car with his weapon drawn. He pointed it straight at Ryan, fully stopping his heart for a couple of seconds before sending it beating wildly out of control.
"Put down the weapon, son."
Ryan quickly dropped the screwdriver. Although he was sure that it made a noise when it landed on the walkway at his feet, he could hear nothing over the beating of his own heart. He turned both hands towards the cop, showing him that he held nothing else, that he wasn't a threat. The officer kept his gun drawn and pointed at Ryan, but reached in his car with his other hand and said something into his handset.
"Okay, everybody, show me your hands. Keep them in front of you. All right, you--in the gray sweatshirt--toss the flashlight away--to your right--and walk backwards towards me. Go slowly. Show me your hands--keep your hands out. Do you hear me, man? Keep your hands where I can fucking see them." Ryan watched as Trey tossed the flashlight away and backed through the chain-link gate. He noted how his brother offered his wrists to the officer and they were cuffed behind his back. The officer roughly sat him on the sidewalk.
"Now you, Mr. Screwdriver--same thing. I need you to go really slowly there, sport. Come toward me--walk backwards--keep your hands out where I can see them."
Ryan did as the officer asked, walking backwards and stealing a glance towards his mother--who was still standing in the doorway, swaying slightly. He mimicked how his brother had offered his wrists to the officer, and a few seconds later, he feltthe cold metal of the handcuffs tightly securing his wrists behind his back. The officer sat him on the curb a few feet away from Trey, with a sharp order to both of them not to converse. They had been sitting for less than a minute when the officer's backup came, lights flashing and sirens sounding loudly. He noted that the neighbors' curtains across the way were drawn back. He could see Mrs. Mulrooney's round face, as it was alternately backlit in blue and red. He thought that maybe she had been the one who had called the cops--bizarrely wondered if Hallmark made a "Thank You" card for the occasion.
After AJ was similarly cuffed and situated, one of the officers went into the house to talk with Dawn. It seemed like an eternity before he came back.
"The guy in the cut-off sleeves--cut him loose--and the little kid." He pointed at Ryan with his right boot.
"What about the other one?"
"He's her kid, too, but she says she wants to press charges. She says he doesn't live here. He showed up drunk--started getting into it with his stepdad--she just wants us to get him the hell out of here."
"What'd you tell her?"
Ryan was lifted gruffly to his feet and his handcuffs removed. He absently rubbed at his wrists where they'd left an indentation.
"I told her that I'm not dealing with this tonight. We'll bring him in--throw him in the drunk tank and let him sober up--if she still feels the same way tomorrow, she can go down to the DA's office and press charges."
"He over eighteen?"
"Yeah."
"What about Mr. Screwdriver?"
"He's just a kid. The little brother--he got caught in the middle. She says everything'll be calmed down once the other kid's out of here."
Ryan kept his head ducked low, hoping that it was too dark for anyone to notice the bruise that was beginning to blossom on his cheek. He watched as they patted Trey down, led him to a cruiser and put him in the backseat. He couldn't help but notice that it was just like an episode of "Cops," the way they kept a protective hand on top of his brother's head, making sure that he didn't bang it as he took a seat in the back of the vehicle.
"Hey, can I talk to my brother for a sec?" Trey called out, just as they were about to shut the door. The officer debated for a second, then shrugged and stepped aside.
"Sure, kid, but make it quick."
Ryan walked over to the cruiser. "Hey--you know Mom won't press charges--she won't want to deal with this in the morning--and---and I won't let her. I swear, man, they'll cut you loose." Ryan's words were tripping over each other.
"No--hey--it's not that, man. I just wanted to make sure you've looked in the pocket."
"What pocket?"
"The coat pocket, you 'tard."
"No--why?"
"Make like a Nike ad, dumbass--just do it."
Ryan reached his right hand in the jacket's pocket and his hand felt the familiar shape of a key. He pulled it out.
"What is it?"
"It's the key to Mom's car, Ryan. I finally got it going again."
"No shit? I thought you said there was no way you'd get it running before Christmas."
"Yeah, I know. It took till yesterday, but I got the fucker started. I got it started a bunch of times. Tell her--just tell her she should be good to go."
"Hey, kids. I hate to break this up, but we gotta get rolling." The officer started to shut the door.
"Yeah, okay. Can I just--can I give him his jacket back?" Ryan asked.
"No--hey--it's yours." Trey said before the officer had a chance to respond. "I got another coat, remember?"
"Yeah--okay--sure. Thanks. Take care of yourself, Trey." Ryan lightly tapped the roof of the cruiser a couple of times with his knuckles.
"You, too, man."
As Ryan backed away from the car, Trey called out, just loud enough for him to hear. "Hey, Ryan? This choice--you know--the one where I came over here tonight? This is one choice I made all by my motherfucking lonesome. So--I guess--uh--I dunno, little brother--I guess I gotta work on that one some more, huh?"
Ryan couldn't help but grin--just a little--as he gave Trey a small wave and turned back toward the house.
As he started up the walkway, he heard one of the officers say, "Mr. Screwdriver had a key in his pocket?"
"All of them were cuffed, Charlie, I hadn't patted any of them down, yet. We'd have found it if we were taking him to juvie."
Dawn and AJ were standing in the doorway, the picture of domesticity, their arms locked around each other as the car transporting Trey slowly pulled from the curb and began to drive away.
"Hey, don't forget to pick up the screwdriver there, hotshot. We've still got that lock to take care of," AJ reminded him.
Ryan barely broke stride as he bent down and picked up his erstwhile weapon.
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Later that night, Ryan lay in bed, sporting a new split lip and an eye that had already swollen shut. There was now a hole in his door, where the deadbolt used to sit.
He'd just shrugged and filled the empty space with a sock when his mother promised him a new door--one with a traditional lock on the knob--one that would be useless to keep thugs like AJ and his friends at bay.
Dawn had come back into Ryan's room later that night--after she thought he'd fallen asleep. She sat on the edge of his bed for several minutes, quietly crying, running her hand through his hair and making whispered promises that they both knew she'd never keep.
Finally, she leaned over and gave him a kiss--and then pressed her cheek lightly to his. He could feel that it was wet.
"I'm sorry." She murmured. "I'm so sorry, kiddo. I swear, Ryan--I swear to you that next Christmas will be better."
He felt the bed dip and rise as his mother stood, and reminded himself to give her the key early tomorrow--before she decided what to do about Trey. As she walked from the room, he turned from her and pulled the blanket close in on himself. Then, he closed his eyes and just willed the whole world to go away.
It was just a day--a day like any other day--in Chino.
The End
Additional Author's Note: Sorry if I pushed this too far, but I just felt the need to include all the ingredients that make up the "traditional Atwood Christmas" and Chapter One was missing the drinking, the crying, the cops, and the ass-kicking.