Chapter 12: A Few Minutes of Silence

I'm back! Again, sorry, because I try to make that sound exciting and we are all well aware that it is not. ;) Anyways...sorry this took me so long, particularly after the lovely encouragement you guys sent along. I had some family stuff and some concert stuff and some midterm stuff. But now I'm back in action. ;) And I'm particularly energetic because of the premiere. And my purchase of the DVDs. Though I'm a little creeped out by the whole Julie/Marissa relationship because my mom and I had that EXACT same fight and basically have the exact same relationship...minus the marriage of an old creepy man and the drowning of lawn furniture. But I can cope. Regardless...here it is. It's a little weird. And I don't know where I'm going with it.

And Princess Oats: I did not know that it was possible to go an octave higher than the Shins. Props to your friend. ;) I also extend my sympathy for the whole "Renegade" thing. Song that is constantly in my head? "Horse With No Name." If you don't know it, I'm not going to tell you, because that would be a very, very mean thing for me to do. And thanks for the awesome reviews! You rock!

And a shout-out to Dulcey, who is LOVELY. Thanks very much for the kind words. ;)

So...here goes nothing! Please review!!!

xoxo

"I still can't believe you're doing this," Sandy said while they waited for Ryan in the driveway. She leaned against the car and he put his arm around her.

"I can't lose him again," she said honestly, watching Ryan approach them from the pool house.

"Well, be careful. I don't think Chino has ever met a Kirsten Cohen."

"Chino has definitely never met a Kirsten Cohen," Ryan supplied.

"What does that mean?" Kirsten asked defensively. Sandy pulled her closer and kissed her on the cheek.

"It means that Chino is in for a treat. Just be careful, okay?"

"We're not going into battle," Kirsten protested, amused. Sandy put a hand on Ryan's shoulder.

"Take care of her, okay?" Ryan solemnly agreed and watched Sandy say goodbye to Kirsten again.

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The phone rang and then it was like he was watching himself from outside of his body somewhere. Floating. Witnessing the horror that he couldn't bring himself to experience. They'd found a body—a boy who'd been mugged and stabbed to death in Corona. A boy who was tall and thin with curly brown hair and Sandy sat on the soft carpet of the living room. He never actually thought it could happen. He and Kirsten had vaguely discussed it, but she bought his books for school. Sandy renewed his subscription to Spin. He was coming back. Until that very moment, he was coming back. And now he was dead? In a second. A shaking hand dialed Kirsten's number and a numb ear heard her voicemail cheerfully requesting that he leave a message.

"Kirsten...call me. Please. When you get this, I—I need you to call me right away." And then the doorbell rang. Doorbells were not supposed to ring at times like these, unless they were ringing because Kirsten, Seth, or Ryan had pressed the glowing button and was waiting on the front step to rescue Sandy. He held his breath as he pulled on the heavy door, praying that it was Seth. Alive.

"Hi, Mr. Cohen..." Summer trailed off when she saw him. "Mr. Cohen?"

"Hello, Summer." He was hoarse.

"Mr. Cohen, what's wrong?"

"They think they found Seth," Sandy said, and before Summer could light up he added, "Dead. They think he's dead."

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"So this is Chino," Kirsten commented politely as Ryan turned off of one dingy street onto another.

"This is Chino," he confirmed.

"Huh," she nodded slowly. "It's nice."

"We just drove past a dead possum," he pointed out.

"Did we?" she feigned nonchalance, feeling her stomach churn as she recalled the gory sight a few yards back. Ryan laughed quietly and said nothing as he pulled up in front of a house. "This is Teresa's house?"

"Yep."

"So that was your house?" Kirsten studied the shabby framework of the house next door.

"Yep." A deserted mailbox still read 'Atwood' in crumbling letters.

"Do you miss it?" she asked softly. Ryan briskly shook his head and opened his door.

"Naah." Kirsten followed him out and up to the front door. It was opened by a pleasant-looking woman and Kirsten wondered if Ryan's story of Teresa's evil mother was perhaps exaggerated.

"She left this for you," the woman said, thrusting an envelope into his hands. No greeting at all; Kirsten retracted her doubt.

"What do you mean?" Ryan asked, his voice wavering.

"Hello," Teresa's mother acknowledged Kirsten. "Are you his new girlfriend?" Kirsten blushed, stammering.

"I'm his...I'm Kirsten Cohen. His...foster mother."

"Oh. Hello." She offered a dismissive nod. "Nancy."

"Nice to...meet you."

"What do you mean, she left this for me?" Ryan cut in. "Where did she go?"

"Arizona," Nancy said dismissively. "She said she couldn't take California and she took off."

"Arizona? What's in Arizona? Why did you let her go? Why did she have me come here if she was just going to leave?" Kirsten said Ryan tense up, heard his voice tremble, and she put a hand on his back. To her surprise, he jerked away and she took a step back, wounded.

"Maybe it says so in the note. If you ask me, you don't deserve an explanation."

"Ryan worked very hard," Kirsten spoke up.

"He didn't work as hard as he could have."

"He's sixteen!"

"He should have thought of that before he slept with another sixteen-year-old," Nancy said coldly, and closed the door in their faces. They both stood silently for a moment, still, like they were afraid to move. Finally Ryan cleared his throat and started down the walkway. Kirsten followed him back into the car and once they were seated, she reached towards him.

"I'm so sorry, Ryan." Her hand lingered near his arm but didn't touch it. She couldn't take him pulling away again.

"It's okay," he forced a smile and pulled away from the curb. "No big deal." She did not point out her agreement that it wasn't a big deal. It was a huge deal, she thought, but she only stared out the window. They drove in silence for several minutes until Ryan pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall. "Sandy's not expecting us until seven," he pointed out. "You want to get a cup of coffee?" She smiled even though she could tell that his happiness was artificial.

"Yeah."

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Their drive to the morgue in Corona was completely silent. Summer wasn't crying. She looked terrified, Sandy observed. He imaged that the same could be said about himself. The hallway was cold and poorly lit, and he identified himself at the front desk.

"I'm here to identify...my...son. I'm Sandy. Um, Sandy Cohen. You called me."

"Of course. Come with me, Mr. Cohen." The coroner was nice. A young woman with her hair in a barrette. Sandy watched her hair bounce as he walked behind her. Summer was waiting in the lobby. Sandy stared at the white sheet and his head throbbed. Sethster. His little man. He and Kirsten had been so young but delighted. "I just need you to make a positive identification. Are you ready?" He wasn't. He nodded. The woman pulled back the sheet and he threw up in a trash can by the door.

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The moment they got out of the car Ryan realized how out-of-place Kirsten looked. Donna Karan cashmere sweaters had no place on these streets. Quickly, he moved so she was walking against the stores with him on the outside, blocking her body with his. He gave her a once-over and recalled Marissa's whispered awe over Kirsten's purse. They had been standing in the Cohen's kitchen and Kirsten had retrieved her bag to get Ryan her car keys. Marissa had looked shocked, then spent the next hour marveling over how the bag was over nine thousand dollars and somewhat of a legend.

"Turn your purse backwards," he instructed, and she glanced curiously at him, then at her purse.

"What do you mean?"

"The logo. Turn it around to hide the logo." Was he ashamed to be able to recognize Donna Karan and know the location and significance of a Marc Jacobs nameplate on a handbag? Hell, yes. He blamed Marissa 100 percent. But he didn't want a devious street vendor or a smarmy pickpocket to snatch her zillion dollar bag. She smiled and followed his orders.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

"So, is it safe for us to get coffee, do you think?"

"As long as you keep your purse backwards," he smiled.

"Where do you learn this stuff?" She was half-joking but he cast his eyes downward, blushing.

"I used to be the kid who looked out for those things. People. Like you, I guess. And...labels. Stuff like that. We'd make a day out of it. Drive to LA and scope out the rich and vulnerable." When he saw how concerned she looked, he tried to correct himself. "I actually never stole anything myself. I was the watchdog." She remained quiet, brow furrowed. "I shouldn't have told you that," he said. "I'm sorry."

"No, no." She quickly attempted to mask her discomfort. "Ryan, I...this sounds so stupid, but I forget sometimes that you've lived an entirely different life. Sometimes I don't even realize it and I think we've had you all along." She smiled meekly. "And then you tell me things like that, and it's just kind of a...jolt. Because I've never known the boy who looked out for cops while his friends mugged people." She laughed sadly. "You've made a lot of changes, huh?"

"You have no idea."

"No, I don't," she agreed. "If you ever want to give me some idea...some insight on your old life...I'd like to hear about it."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Because legally, you're mine. Legally, you're as much mine as Seth is. And all I know about Seth could fill...a million books, but you...I know almost nothing. It would be nice to have a little more balance between my...two sons." They were both silent as they let her words sink in. She prayed that her statement wouldn't scare him off. He was trying not to smile, but it was difficult.

"So, what do you want to know about me?" he asked, making deliberate eye contact to let her know how he felt. She smiled.

"Putting me on the spot? Nice." She considered things. "I don't know. Let's see. What was your first word?"

"I have absolutely no idea," he laughed. "Who remembers that?"

"Seth's was 'pony'."

"Pony."

"I take it you've met Captain Oats?"

"Of course. I think Seth introduced him to me before he introduced himself."

"I brought Captain Oats back from one of my first business trips. Seth was around two. He was a very quiet baby, oddly enough." They both settled into an awkward silence and Ryan quickened his pace to get to the coffee shop.

"Here we are. Chino's finest." They approached the counter and Kirsten ordered her coffee. Both Ryan and the cashier were stunned by her elaborate request, a jumble of Starbucks lingo that went right over Ryan's head. Oblivious, she turned to him.

"What would you like?"

"Um, coffee's good." Now that she had something to compare her drink to, she looked significantly ashamed.

"God, listen to me. Coffee is coffee."

"You know what you like. Nothing wrong with that." She smiled.

"I'll get us a table?"

"Sounds good." She sat and waited for him, playing with her hands. When he took a seat across from her she smiled.

"So, Ryan." She wrapped her hands around her cup of coffee, cocking her head. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he nodded quickly.

"It's okay if you're not," she offered softly.

"Yeah. I know. I'm good."

"This must be weird for you. In the case that you are 'good'...I mean...that's lucky. This is...hard, I'm sure."

"Yeah, well, I mean...feelings...I'm not a feelings guy."

"It's okay to be a feelings guy," she pointed out.

"No, it's cool. I mean, it sucks, but...I'm good."

"So you keep saying." Ryan grabbed a napkin and began to elaborately refold it, clearly uncomfortable with the turn their conversation had taken. She reached for her purse and pulled out her cell phone, a little distraction of her own. "Sandy called," she remarked just to make noise. "Looks like he's checking up on me." She smiled at Ryan as she raised the phone to her ear. "He's very protective. Which is nice, but it's not like—," She froze at the sound of Sandy's voice.

"Kirsten...call me. Please. When you get this, I—I need you to call me right away." Something was wrong. Off. He sounded absent and groggy.

"What's the matter?" Ryan asked. Kirsten shook her head as she dialed their home number.

"I can't tell." She sighed anxiously at the sound of the answering machine. "God, Sandy, where are you?" she murmured, trying his cell phone.

"This is Sandy Cohen. Leave me a message." She tossed her phone into her purse and stood up.

"I'm sorry to cut this short, Ryan, but—,"

"Of course. Let's go." She loved him for getting it, for getting that her instincts were rarely wrong and for getting that she knew Sandy so well.

"Thanks."

Play me what I want to hear
Don't make me have to come down there
Forgot how to think and I don't wanna dance
I wanna hear few minutes, few minutes, few minutes, of silence
Few minutes, few minutes, few minutes, of silence

It's me, I'm back for my request
Cut me some slack and give it a rest
Sex and money and violence
I wanna hear few minutes, few minutes, few minutes, of silence
Few minutes, few minutes, few minutes of silence

Silence
Silence

You know the reason I'm listening for
One more note and I'm out that door
Is it too much to ask for my request

Silence

--Paul Westerberg, "A Few Minutes of Silence"