Chapter 4
A bureau drawer slammed shut. Sandy's voice rose in anger and was met by Kirsten's. Ryan turned over onto his back, listening carefully, but couldn't make out the words to their muffled exchanges. Footsteps stomped across the upstairs room, and then it was quiet. Ryan held his breath, waiting. The quiet did nothing to relieve the tension.
Ryan looked at his clock, almost 9 am. It was late to be in bed even on a Saturday; there were things to do.
He heard Kirsten make her way quickly down the stairs and through the house, slamming the front door.
Ryan scrambled out of bed. He met Seth, sleepy and confused, at the door. Together they found Kirsten on the porch, an arm leaning against a banister, taking in shaky breaths of air. She turned to them looking sad and tired.
Sandy ran up to the group a moment later, unshaven and haggard. He put a hand out to Kirsten, but she closed her eyes and turned away slightly. Sandy gasped, and seemed bewildered. Realizing Ryan and Seth were witnessing the scene he said, "Your mom and I are going out, but we'll be back by noon when the buyer comes. Will you have time to change the oil, Ryan?" Sandy asked apologetically.
Ryan nodded solemnly. "I'll take care of it."
"Mom?" Seth said ignoring Sandy and Ryan.
Kirsten managed a fragile smile before nodding reassuringly and walking to the car.
Sandy took a deep breath. "Your mom and I need to talk. The house is lacks privacy."
"Lacks privacy, haha," Seth laughed sullenly.
"You're upset over lots of things. Let's talk later."
"You are the talking guy. Got it." Seth looked beyond Sandy to Kirsten who was sitting in the car with her head lowered.
Sandy sighed, shaking his head, and followed Kirsten. Ryan and Seth stood on the porch, watching Sandy back out the Rover and drive away.
Ryan opened his mouth to say something comforting to an ashen Seth. Seth raised his hand to stop him. He turned and went back into his room without a word.
Ryan considered going after him, but didn't know what he would say if he did. Words were never his specialty.
Putting on clothes in his room, a rhythmic thumping began; Seth was throwing a ball against their common wall again. Ignoring it, he went down the hall to take a leak, but on the way back he passed his room to enter Seth's.
Seth was sitting up in middle of his bed, his back against a wall, Captain Oats perched in his lap.
"So, about what happened …"
Seth threw the rubber ball against the wall. It bounced in the only patch of cleared floor before being caught. "No," Seth interrupted.
"Should I close the door and give you and the Captain some privacy then?" Ryan asked, making his way around neat stacks of books and CDs spread over the floor. He sat at the foot of Seth's bed.
Seth smirked. "Can't a guy brood in private?"
"You thumped," Ryan protested.
"And keep the door open. I barely get enough air in this cell as it is."
"Claustrophobic? The room has two windows you can open and step outside from." But Ryan went and opened the door wider.
"My breakout has to be planned just so." The comment drew a blank on Ryan's face. "Steve McQueen in the Great Escape, or the reasonable update in Chicken Run." He threw the ball again.
"Escape? The door is open. Wanna get some pizza and go Chrismukkah shopping at the nearby mall later?"
"Chrismukkah has been ruined; stolen by the grinch in the D.A.'s office."
"It won't be expensive but we can still celebrate."
"No, better to cancel than have a pale façade. Next year will be beyond ridonckulous when everything is back to normal – and it will be, Ryan. It will be," Seth said with conviction.
Ryan lifted his hands up to show he didn't protest the idea. He was still getting used to the idea that the Cohens had taken him in for the long haul, and he wouldn't have to worry about food and a warm bed anymore. Seth would need time to get used to things here, too.
"Besides, aren't you too busy doing something else?" Seth sulked.
"Seth, I don't get to choose my work hours, and your parents need help around here. Don't be a bitch. I promised we'd hang and this is my first day free."
"I dunno, my first foray into the 'hood since the wax incident with the two Bloods. Or were they Crips?" Seth moved the plastic horse up and down. "The Captain wonders if I shouldn't just continue to be a famous conqueror of the great indoors."
"This place isn't bad – there isn't any gang activity here. You watch too many movies."
"Well, I've been busy – cataloging." He waved at the ordered stacks. "I wasn't scared or anything like that," he scoffed.
"Good."
"Really? You think it's safe, huh." He nodded his head in growing agreement. "I knew that." Seth swung his feet onto the floor. "Watch out, numbered streets, Seth Cohen is in the house. I'm going back to the park." He pretended to ride a skateboard, his hands waved the air to balance himself.
"Wait, Seth, let me go with you. But first I need help changing the Beemer's oil for your dad. I already bought the oil and filter." Seth frowned at the suggestion, and Ryan quickly added, "It's something a numbered street guys would know."
"Hmm, appealing to my masculine insecurities. Not as good as Jewish guilt, but it works." He got up and opened a drawer to find it empty. "Damn, I'm out."
"You might try doing some laundry. It's been a week since we moved here – you've got to learn sometime."
Seth sighed melodramatically, and went to his closet and pulled on jeans out of a laundry basket heaped full of dirty clothes. "Do you think Rosa misses us?"
"Oh, yeah. Who won't want to go through rich peoples' dirty underwear?"
"Upper middle class," Seth murmured.
Seth went into Ryan's room and opened a drawer of perfectly folded tee-shirts and wife beaters. Seth stripped off his shirt, tossed it into the basket, and put on one of Ryan's wife beaters. "I can't grease up the vintage wear."
"Why not a tee-shirt?"
Seth sneered. "I'm keeping it real."
Ryan rolled his eyes, but didn't comment. Some battles weren't worth fighting. He led the way through the kitchen to a room that was used as a shed and laundry room. It was an ugly addition in the back of the house to the otherwise lovely home, but Ryan had to admit the added space was needed for all of the Cohens' things. Surfboards, golf clubs, gym mats, and tool chests were piled next to boxes of clothes and household goods.
Ryan talked Seth through the intricacies of laundering clothes; the water temperature, soap amount, sorting colors, and load capacity.
"Yeah, yeah. I got it; it's not brain surgery. Pedantic much?"
"You've never washed clothes before and I don't want you to break the machines."
"No, Ryan. And I don't do power tools or cars either. But in defense of my manliness, I point out that last spring I had two girls, sailed part of the way to the Pacific Northwest, and was scion to the man who built Newport," Seth said. "I can still grill but I'm a shadow of my former self…"
"I liked selfish Seth better than pitiful Seth." Ryan ignored Seth's twisted face and walked over to the automotive tool chest, a 5-foot wide, heavy duty, stamped steel, tool cart on 4-inch caster wheels.
Ryan smiled like a kid in a candy shop. "Check this out, man. I still can't believe it - brand new top-of-the-line everything. Allen wrenches, pliers, vice Grips, extra short combination wrenches," Ryan said opening each drawer and listing its contents, "feeler gauges, sparkplug gapers, screw drivers, drive sockets, ratchets, extensions, torque wrenches and breaker bars, and even some power tools. A few things I don't recognize."
Barely looking at the goods, Seth said, "I can take criticism. Nobody ever said Seth couldn't take criticism. Pitiful, huh? Good of you to call me on that, bro. No, really."
"What are you guys doing with this stuff if you never worked on your own cars?" There were also unused woodworking tools in another chest.
Seth shrugged. "Pitiful Seth wouldn't attract Alex, but Numbered Street Seth will."
They went to the kitchen. It was a galley style kitchen with rows of cabinet against both sides of the walls ending in a refrigerator in one corner. The door to the addition was awkwardly set at the end of the galley. Ryan began to make coffee. He turned to get the cream out of the refrigerator. Seth was in the way.
"Oh, sorry." Seth stepped aside.
"You gonna ask her out?"
"And do what? On half-rations I'm broke. I can't concentrate on the ladies right now with the way things are at home." Seth sat uncomfortably on the countertop, the wall cabinets hung low so he had to hunch forward. "With what I have I think we should chip in and get something nice for Mom," Seth said seriously, "Not Goonies nice, but maybe chocolates with those nuts she likes. Not for Chrismukkah, but to make things better."
Finding the cream, Ryan turned to the coffee machine on the counter, but Seth was in the way again. Seth hopped off the counter and they shuffled around each other.
"Gawd, this kitchen sucks. How are we supposed to kvetch over kibbles and coffee?"
Ryan frowned. "You mean buy something for her she really wants, and not what you like."
Seth smirked and moved to the doorway of the dining room. "They fought before, but I've never seen her this flipped out, Ryan. This is my hernia operation times a million. Dad's out of it, too, but I think getting chocolates for your dad is minty. Maybe you can pull it off."
"They fought this morning, but they talked right after. That's a new concept - for an Atwood, anyways."
"You really think so, or are you trying to make me feel better?" Seth asked uncertainly. "I'm gonna tell 'em this has got to stop. It's freaking me out."
"Trust me, it doesn't work like that. They're going to do what they're going to do. The best thing you can do is to not add to their troubles."
"Trouble?" Seth scratched his head. "I've never thought of myself as trouble. I mean isn't it their job to make it all better for me?"
"Grow up, Seth," he said handing Seth a mug of coffee and box of cereal. Ryan followed him into the dining room with a jug of milk, bowls, and spoons.
"Self-absorbed Seth was all an act. Deep down I'm all about being trouble-free Seth." Seth shook his head. "I never thought getting my wish to leave Newport's bubble would suck so much. Look at this," he said tapping the cereal box, "generic! No more Captain Crunch. It's Lieutenant Lumpy for us – how sad is that?"
"Beats nothing by a long shot," Ryan mumbled.
Seth looked up into the vague distance. "We're gonna to fix it. You and me, Ryan – an unstoppable pair. We conquered Newport, now it's the Numbered Streets. First we blackmail the D.A., force Gramps to do what Dad wants and not do what Mom doesn't want. Then, we start a comic – about a ultra awesome guy who fights crime in the 'hood getting around on his skateboard." Ryan frowned. "Okay, that may need some work, but it sweeps the nation, and we make enough to move to a normal house."
Ryan held back his thought that this was a normal house. He shook his head and said, "Let's start by changing the car oil this morning."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
An house or so later, Ryan was poking under the hood of the Beemer. It was a little foreign to him; many of its components were electronic. But Ryan enjoyed being under the hood again. He felt a twinge of guilt enjoying himself when the Cohens were having a hard time adjusting.
Ryan put the dipstick back. "Run the car a few minutes, Seth. Warms the oil so it will flow more freely," Ryan explained.
"Uber-fix-it-Seth is on it." He started the car, and tapped the horn. "Sorry, sorry. Just testing," he said as Ryan leaped away and glared at him.
They put the car up on jacks, setting some spare tires under the engine for added protection, and chocking the wheels carefully. Letting Seth use the creeper, Ryan crawled under the car with him and pointed out the oil pan and filter. He talked Seth through unscrewing the drain plug with the socket wrench.
"Hey, Ryan. We have visitors." Seth gestured to two pairs of small feet.
Ryan heard some giggling and whispers.
"Gawd, this can't be healthy," Seth said placing the basin under the plug to catch the spent oil. He and Seth slid out from under the car.
Ryan and Seth stared at the two girls, a young black girl and a light-skinned toddler, who stared back.
"Who you?" the older girl asked curiously.
Ryan stared at the questioner who seemed to be about eight, and dressed in pink hearts. Her tee-shirt had them, her jeans had them, and she carried a heart-shaped purse.
"Ryan. You?"
"I's Yvelise and she be Baby." Baby was no more than a year and a half old, with a beautiful olive complexion. She was dressed in little boys' hand me downs, but there was no mistaking her for a boy. Her sandy colored curly hair was pinned back with barrettes, and showed off her big eyes. She waved shyly before she hid behind Yvelise. Ryan's heart skipped; she was adorable.
"I's Seth," Seth said in a voice that sounded tickled to be trying out newly learned grammar.
Ryan pulled his eyes away from Baby and nodded at the older girl. She launched into questions - where he was from – he said Chino, to what he was doing – working on the car. Ryan answered the questions he wanted to answer.
Yvelise hoisted Baby onto a slim hip and looked over the tool cart.
Seth tried to get into the conversation again and repeated slowly as if he were speaking a foreign language, "I's Seth, and heartless." He waved at his clothes.
Yvelise looked at him and smiled, amused. She seemed satisfied with Ryan's answers and her inspection and they darted off without another word.
Ryan stood still, staring after Baby.
"I noticed a lot of kids around and could offer skateboarding lessons for some cash." Ryan didn't move. "Maybe we could set up a camp, use these tools to build a ramp…" Seth grew impatient for a reply and threw a box of rags at Ryan.
It hit Ryan on the shoulder and fell to the ground. Ryan scowled, picked it up, and threw it back. "What did you say?" Ryan asked.
Seth rubbed his chest where the box hit him. "Lots of kids, I said."
Ryan nodded and turned to the tool chest. Seth rambled on but Ryan didn't hear him.
"Hey, Ryan. Ryan." Seth had gotten off the stool and tapped him on the shoulder. "You alright? You're being especially broody even for a broody guy."
Ryan shrugged. "Our baby might have looked like that little girl."
Seth's mocking expression vanished. He pulled his lips tight and nodded. "Yeah, if it had been your child. I'm really sorry about how that went down… even though I'm glad you came back…" Ryan didn't respond. "You never talk about Theresa and the baby, but you can if you want."
"The baby would have been born around now…" Ryan shook himself. He had enough worries in the present to be dwelling on his past. "Thanks, man." He put away the socket wrench and found the oil filter. He was happy to be back with the Cohens, even in the numbered streets. But their baby would have been beautiful, and he would have loved her without holding back. He would have proven he had risen above his crap childhood, and the baby would never have been in doubt that they were loved and protected.
Seth interrupted his thoughts. "I wonder what they wanted."
"That's how it works. In Fresno, Chino and now here – the little kids check things out first. They report back to the others and they decide if we're worth bothering with or worth bothering."
"Worth bothering?" Seth asked anxiously.
Not answering Seth, he said, "See if the oil is finished draining."
Seth didn't move so Ryan slid under the car and checked the pan. He decided it needed a few more minutes.
A guy walked from the house across the street with Baby in his arms. He was Hispanic, in his early twenties, and the build of a weight lifter.
"Hey," the guy said throwing his chin forward.
Ryan nodded. "Hey."
"Nice ride," he said gesturing to the BMW.
Ryan nodded again.
"I need to work on my Camino," he said gesturing to the car across the street, "and Yve said you were hooked up. Maybe we can work something out. I'm a plumber's helper."
"Yeah, bring it over. We have a buyer coming at noon though."
"No sweat, I just gotta check the points and do the oil."
Seth lifted his hand to his waist in a half wave. "Yo, dog," he said awkwardly.
He looked at him strangely. "Raul and Baby," he said pointing at himself and bouncing the little girl in his arms. "You from Chino?" he asked Seth.
"Who me? Ah, no. That would be my brother, Ryan. I'm Seth." Seth jerked his head to Raul's car. "So you thinking about pimping your ride? Superchargers, flames, spoilers, wings, chrome... Which details are you going to use?"
Raul laughed with a deep chuckle and Baby giggled happily. "Just maintenance today."
Seth persisted and sang with a rap beat, "So you wanna be a playa? But your wheels ain't fly, You gotta hit us up to get a pimped out ride." He struck a gangsta pose.
Raul shook his head, bemused. Then his expression changed. "You were the one who messed up the park," he accused.
"No, no. I mean, yes, but no," Seth said no longer so energetic.
"My cousin was there."
Ryan interjected, "They worked it out. Leave it alone, man."
Raul stared coldly, considering. Then he tapped out a cigarette from a pack with his free hand, and offered it to Ryan.
"No, thanks. I'm off the cancer sticks for a year now."
"Just say no, huh?" Raul said. He made the same offer to Seth. When Seth hesitated, Ryan stepped forward and shook his head.
"Okay, Dad," Seth said scowling at Ryan. He took the offered cigarette and lighter. After a fumbled spark, Seth lit his cigarette. "Ah," Seth said as he drew in a breath. He sputtered, leaning over, coughing. "I'm gonna die. My throat."
Raul smiled. "Man, Yvelise was right, you are not right in the head." He turned to leave. "Thanks for helping, man. Usually I go to my uncle's who got the gear, too, but he moved."
"No worries," Ryan said. He waved and smiled shyly at Baby who was staring at him over Raul's shoulder. Raul really shouldn't be smoking near the baby.
Seth turned to Ryan, rolling his tongue around his mouth. "Tell me I did not just sound like a retard - Bobby Brady in the Grand Canyon. Kill me because I did not just do that."
"You want me to lie? What the fuck got into you?"
"Some freak nerd possessed my vocal chords. I get nervous around new people."
Ryan grabbed the cigarette from Seth, and stomped it out with the heel of a boot.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Author's note: Another hearty Thanks goes to Molly4 who gave this the once over.
This chapter is rambling and nothing dramatic happens, but it wouldn't change from a small moments piece no matter how much I tried. Oh, well…
