They found the strangely modern courtroom with very little trouble. Summer thought it would look like something out of Law & Order, with lots of mahogany and pictures of Washington crossing the Delaware. Instead, it looked like a cross between a community center and the DMV. Everything was brightly lit with fluorescent lights, and the "gallery" was just made up of rows of chrome seats with mauve covers; the carpet was an industrial grey, and the judge's bench was sort of a drywall partition with an office chair perched on top of it.
They were waved off from sitting in the first few rows by a couple of scowling sheriff's deputies, but they took a seat as close to the front as they could, Ryan slumped down, his hands diving in and out of the pockets of his hoodie as he fingered what was left of his crumpled pack of cigarettes. Summer wondered if it was possible to re-addict yourself in under twelve hours -- he certainly looked like he was badly in need of a fix.
Mr. Rafferty briskly made his way down the aisle towards the defendant's table, stopping briefly next to them to introduce himself to Ryan and tell him that the prosecutor had agreed to Dawn's stint in rehab.
Ryan had stood up to shake Rafferty's hand, and now scowled above Summer's head at the lawyer.
"Where's she going to go?" he asked, and Rafferty gestured with his bundle of manila folders.
"I've got the information somewhere in here. But the important part is that there's a facility with an open bed that can take her immediately," he said, with a significant look at Summer. If Ryan had been less tired, or less distracted, she knew that there was no way he would have missed it, but as it was, she thought they were in the clear, and she smiled brightly at Ryan as Mr. Rafferty hustled off to take his seat.
"See. Sometimes stuff just, you know, works out," she said.
Ryan sat back beside her with a huff, and glanced at her sideways.
"Summer, what did you do?" he asked again, but it was too late. The judge had entered the courtroom, and they all had to stand.
If the courtroom looked nothing like what Summer had imagined, the court proceedings were even worse. There were no dramatic speeches, no sarcastic remarks from the judge -- everything was dull, everybody murmured, and the courtroom itself managed to be both freezing cold and stuffy at the same time.
Summer had thought that Atwood, Dawn would have come up first in the alphabetical scheme of things, but the court didn't seem to be following the alphabetical rules. So -- they sat -- through half a dozen DUI's, and a couple of drunk and disorderlies, the judge disposing of each them in a methodical, if not particularly swift manner. She could sense Ryan stiffen —holding his breath in anticipation -- only to let it out in short grunts of frustration as the prosecutor moved from Logan to Marshall to Green, with no apparent rhyme or reason.
Finally, just before she thought that Ryan was going to bolt for the doors, and a cigarette -- so tense was he beside her -- they called Dawn Atwood's case.
She came through a side door escorted by a bailiff, and if anything, looked worse under the fluorescent lights than she had at the sheriff's office. Her eyes were glazed, her make-up even more smeared than before, and her whole body was beset by fine tremors.
She didn't glance over at them, but Summer felt Ryan tense even more -- as if that was possible -- beside her. Dawn was escorted to the defendant's table, where she appeared to be nodding off, even as Mr. Rafferty spoke to her rapidly, waving the file with what Summer assumed were the rehab details in front of her.
After a minute or two, the judge called them to order and asked for a plea. Once again, the incomprehensible ballet began, as the two lawyers started to explain the deal they had worked out behind the scenes. Summer still didn't understand a word of what was going on, but Ryan had straightened up in his seat, and started to pay close attention.
Summer thought that a plea bargain was a done deal, but the judge asked several kind of rude questions about, among other things, Dawn's fitness as a parent, which had Ryan practically hyperventilating beside her. At one point, he nearly jumped to his feet, but Summer restrained him lightly, and he seemed to collect himself.
Throughout the proceedings, Dawn seemed barely aware, but she still managed to take offense at the judge's tone. For a moment, Summer was afraid that everything would fall apart, but in the end, the judge merely agreed that he'd sign off on the plea agreement, and stated that "for the sake of her children" he hoped Dawn would take advantage of the help she'd been offered.
In the end, it was easier than Summer had thought. They sat through the rest of the court proceedings after Dawn was taken out of the courtroom, up until the next recess, when Rafferty came to find them again.
"Okay, you're all set," he said cheerfully, waving a sheaf of papers at them as he jogged back down the aisle. "We don't have a whole lot of time, so let's see if we can take care of this right now," he added, with another significant look at Summer.
Ryan reached out for the papers in Rafferty's hand and skimmed the top page.
"Do I need to post a bond for her?" he asked, without looking up, "Or pay a fine -- or -- or something?"
"Yes. You can see the county clerk. Your mother's being processed right now, so as soon as you're done, you can pick her up," Rafferty added.
At that, both Ryan and Summer's heads snapped to attention.
"Wait," Ryan said forcefully, "I thought that you got her a bed in a rehab facility. What am I supposed to do with her?"
Although, the lawyer seemed fairly startled by his question, Summer thought that it was the first sensible thing Ryan'd said in quite awhile.
"Well, since it's a private facility, she can be released on her own signature. I thought we'd made that clear," he said.
Summer hoped that Ryan was too agitated to notice the look of pity that crossed the older man's face briefly.
"We thought you'd want to see your mother before she went away," he added gently.
Ryan bobbed his head and dropped his eyes back to the sheaf of paper.
"I do," he muttered, "But, um, when does she . . . when will she, uh, be admitted. And where is she going?"
The last was said with a sideways glare at Summer, but she refused to look him full in the face. Whatever. His mother wasn't going to jail, which had been the whole object of this exercise, hadn't it?
The lawyer reached out and awkwardly patted Ryan on the shoulder. Summer expected him to shy away from it, much as he had at the sheriff's office, but he seemed transfixed by the papers in front of him.
"It's a place called Sagewinds Lifeskills Center. It's in the desert, about an hour away. According to the terms of the plea agreement she just signed, it's her responsibility to get herself there. That's why the bond figure may seem a bit on the high side. Incentive for her to actually make it there -- and to stay once she gets herself checked in. Make sure you get her there by the time indicated on the order. If you miss the deadline--a warrant will be issued for her arrest -- and you'll forfeit the bond."
In a softer voice, after noticing that Ryan was flipping through the endless supply of papers in his hand, Rafferty spoke to Summer.
"They'll, uh, talk to you about the arrangements when you get there," he added. "The director said that it's not as unusual as you might think, to have a third party involved."
Summer rolled her eyes. Thank God this guy wasn't planning on joining the Homeland Security Team anytime soon. Nice stealth. Not.
"Thanks," she said shortly.
Rafferty glanced over at the empty bench, and then down at his watch. She understood the universal symbol for Here's your hat, what's your hurry, and nudged Ryan in the shoulder.
"Hey, Chino," she said, "We should probably figure out where to go."
Rafferty nodded at her gratefully, as Ryan finally looked up. Folding the papers carefully in his left hand, he caught the lawyer's eye and held out his right hand.
"Thanks, man," he said sincerely," I . . . I really appreciate this. She's kind of messed up right now, but my mom, she's not like this, not usually."
Rafferty smiled at him, and returned his handshake with a firm grip. Summer wanted to kiss him for keeping a straight face.
"I hope everything works out for you both," he said before releasing Ryan's hand and turning to go. "I hope this is what she needs."
He left with what Summer was coming to believe was his customary jog, and she nudged Ryan again.
"Hey," she said softly, "We should probably find your mom."
It took them a few minutes to find the County Clerk's office, and Summer could see that the events of the past twenty hours or so were starting to catch up with Ryan. He seemed dazed as they waited patiently in line behind a small group, his hands thrust into his jacket pockets and his eyes on the floor.
"Thanks," he said without looking at her, "I don't know what you did, but you obviously did something. I'll, uh, I'll find a way to pay you back."
Summer snorted, and hit him lightly on the arm.
"Please. If Seth can't pay me, like, the million dollars he owes me in lattes, I'm not exactly going to hunt you down."
He still wouldn't look at her, studying his shoes intently instead. She realized with a start that he was wearing the heavy, steel-toed boots she'd seen only once before, the boots he had worn all summer on the construction site in Chino.
"It's not the same thing, and you know it," he whispered fiercely.
"I do know," she said, her voice rising slightly, "Because this is important. Really important. It's . . . hey, look, we're friends, right, Chino?"
He finally looked up at her improbable segue, his eyes widened.
"Yeah -- I mean -- yeah, of course we are," he said, bewildered.
"I mean, outside of the fact that you're sort of Seth's foster-brother and Marissa's whatever and -- well, everything else. You and me, we're friends?"
He nodded again, as they shuffled forward one more place in line.
"You're not the only one who likes to make sure his friends are okay, okay? Maybe I thought someone should have your back for a change," she said, and then, before he could protest, "I mean, at least while Cohen's off being his Cohen-y self. I know I'm no Captain Oats, but I'll do in a pinch, right?"
A momentary smile flashed across his face, and she felt something inside of herself relax. Maybe he was a stupid boy, with stupid boy pride, but he, of all people, could understand that impulse to protect a friend.
"Well, you know, no one really measures up to the Captain . . . " he started, but they were interrupted by the clerk.
"Atwood, Dawn? You're up next."
He started for the window, but Summer reached out and grabbed him by the sleeve.
"Uh, about the, um, fine or whatever? Can you. . . . how are you, um . . ."
She wasn't sure how to keep the fragile balance they had achieved and still ask the question, but Ryan solved the problem for her with another sad smile.
"I've got this covered," he said. "Construction money. From the summer. It was for Theresa and the -- the baby, but she was gone before I could give it to her."
For the first time since the beginning of their trip, she heard his voice waver at the mention of the vanished Chino bambino. Funny, she never thought of the loss of the baby as something Ryan would mourn.
He stepped away from her, and started filling out the endless paperwork that accompanied the bond.
It seemed, to Summer, that they'd been in this cold, half-deserted courthouse forever. It had taken forever for the arraignment, forever to arrange for Dawn's release, forever to pay the money she owed, forever to wait for Ryan's wayward mother. She alternated between being freezing cold and dropping her head muzzily towards sleep, as they sat on a side bench, waiting again, but Ryan had returned to that strange state of watchful relaxation he'd affected before they met the sheriff's deputy.
When Dawn finally emerged, Summer was tired, cold and starving, but she forgot all that in the face of -- the fact of -- well, there was Dawn Atwood -- standing in front of them.
She thought that Ryan was done with shocks for the day -- the shock of his mother's call, the shock of hearing the charges, the shock of seeing his mother in chains -- but none of that was anything -- not compared to the shock of seeing her in the flesh -- the substantial flesh -- and blood. She had exchanged the orange county jumpsuit for the clothes in which she'd been arrested -- an ill-fitting cotton tank top that bared the stretch marks on her sagging stomach, with an improbable, flaking, iron-on picture of a smiling kitten on the front, and a leopard-print mini-skirt barely wider than a belt that left nothing to the imagination. And, as a topper, or perhaps a bottom-er, what appeared to be plastic platform sneakers.
If the look on Ryan's face hadn't been so stunned, it almost would have been funny.
"Ryan! Kiddo, I'm so glad to see you," she said, sweeping him into a hug, oblivious to the way his whole body tensed as she touched him. After a moment, he stiffly put his arms around her in an awkward response.
"I -- I'm glad to see you, too, Mom," he almost whispered. "Why don't we . . . how about we get out of here?"
Dawn laughed, a brittle, harsh, artificial sound, and Ryan flinched.
"Amen to that. I just . . . I gotta hit the head, first."
Ryan nodded as she released him, and shot a desperate look over to Summer. Right. Operation Watch Dawn Atwood was now in session.
"That sounds great to me, actually," she said brightly, "I've been dying to go for hours. I'll show you where it is."
Dawn looked over to her for the first time, and Summer saw her eyes narrow before she plastered a smile on her still-smeared face.
"You must be Marissa," Dawn cooed in a strange, high-pitched voice. "I've heard so much about you."
"Actually, Ma . . ." Ryan stepped in before she could actually sweep Summer up into another hug, thank God, "This is Summer. Seth's girlfriend. She was nice enough to drive me all the way here."
"Oh, well, good for her," Dawn mumbled, this time in her regular, hoarse voice, "Thanks."
By the time they hit the ladies' room, Summer was regretting it. Dawn was unsteady on her feet, and drew what few eyes were left in the courthouse towards her with every step. She also smelled, a combination of body odor, urine and cheap, cheap perfume that made Summer want to gag.
Dawn banged into a stall, carrying the cheap vinyl purse she'd had slung over her shoulder, and Summer slumped against the sinks, her own bag in hand.
The police would have searched her, right? She couldn't still have drugs on her somewhere. Even up there.
"Everything okay?" she called out after a few silent minutes, punctuated by some ominous banging, but there was no answer. When Dawn finally emerged, Summer realized that she was shaking even worse than she'd been in the courtroom.
"Oh, are you cold?" she asked as Dawn staggered over to her and the sinks. "I've got a sweater in the car . . . "
"No thanks, sweets," Dawn said, with a rueful look in the mirror. "Say, you don't have anything in that bag that could tide me over for a few hours, do you?"
Summer made a show of rummaging through her purse.
"Midol?" she asked, and Dawn shot her a look as her eyes narrowed again.
"Look, toots, I know all you Newport princesses aren't as goody-two-shoes as my Ryan. Can't you just cut me a break, for Christ's sake?"
Summer shook her head slowly, and offered her cosmetics case instead.
"Sorry. Really. Midol's all I have. I've got some wipes, though, if you want to, you know, freshen up?" she said hopefully.
Dawn glared at her for a minute, but after another quick look in the mirror, she decided to take Summer up on her offer. Which meant that by the time they returned to Ryan, the blurry make-up was gone, leaving her looking far cleaner, but also far older, than she had before. And the bruises under her eye and around her mouth now showed up in stark relief on her wan, sweating face.
Ryan was pacing outside the bathroom doors when they emerged, and the look of relief on his face was quickly replaced by anger as he caught his first glimpse of his fresh-faced mother.
"It's fuckin' A.J., isn't it, Mom? He did this to you!" he demanded, and Dawn seemed to shrink back against Summer.
"Now, Ry, c'mon. Don't get all worked up about A.J.," she said, holding out her hands defensively.
Summer saw him take a deep breath, and flex his hands against his sides.
"I'm not pissed at you, Mom," he said softly, and grabbed her hands in his carefully, "I'm not. I'm just pissed for you."
She crumpled, just a little bit, at that and allowed herself to led back out towards the car.