Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.
Author's Note: Thanks to Famous 99 for the research, and to elzed and Shelbecat for the strategic nagging / distraction, both equally necessary!I've gone in without a beta this time, so the errors are all mine. After writing this chapter I have come to the conclusion that my record collection is in sore need of some disco.
"...nothing is changed. Nothing has been done. There is neither rhyme nor reason, just tears, tears, people's pain, people's rage, their aggression. And silence."
Anthony Minghella, Cigarettes and Chocolate
Kirsten stood in the middle of the shopping mall's bookstore, trying to remember exactly what she had come in to buy. She was sure that Sandy had asked her to pick something up for him whilst she was collecting the kids' required textbooks for new school year, but on her way upstairs, she'd been distracted by the travel section and had ended up reading about Tahiti for what seemed like the hundredth time since Seth had stolen away in the middle of the night nearly two months ago. He was safe, she knew that. He was a good sailor. Summer Breeze may be small, but Seth knew every inch of her, she was part of him. He knew what weather she could handle, he didn't take unnecessary risks, he checked in with the coastguards and this had allowed Kirsten and Sandy to track him on his journey. Even if Seth's letter hadn't told them where he was going, they could have guessed; Tahiti had impressed itself on Seth's soul long ago. And three weeks ago, he had called.
Kirsten had expected the blinking message to be work, again, or possibly Ryan. To hear Seth's voice stumbling out of the answering machine had stopped Kirsten dead in her tracks and for a moment she was so relieved to hear him telling him alright she momentarily forgot her anger, her anxiety, her disappointment. Three weeks later, they still had no firm idea of where he was, what he'd been doing, or where he was going, until the night before last, when his latest message had revealed that he was finally on his way home. It was almost enough to make her forgive him.
"Mrs. Cohen?"
Kirsten turned in the direction of the nervous voice to find Summer standing next to her, struggling under a pile of textbooks.
"Summer! How are you?"
"I'm okay, just picking up books for school," Summer said, as she adjusted them in her arms. Noticing the open book in Kirsten's hand, Summer's face fell a little, "Are you and Mr. Cohen going away too?"
"What?" Kirsten looked down at the book as though she'd forgotten she was holding it, "Oh, this. No, we're not going anywhere." She put it back on the shelf beside her. "I just got distracted." She nodded towards the books in Summer's arms, "Are those all those books just for the required list?"
"Yeah. And I thought a private education was meant to help you avoid a life of heavy lifting."
Kirsten couldn't help but crack a smile, "I've come to pick up the same for the boys. Thought I'd take a break from the office."
Seeing Summer twitch nervously at the mention of her absent friends, Kirsten couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at the way Seth had hurt the normally bright and bubbly girl before her.
"Hey, listen, it's nearly lunchtime. How about you show me where I can find these monstrosities and then we could head down to the food court. My shout."
"You sure?" Summer asked, brightening a little.
"Absolutely," Kirsten said assuredly, "And after all this heavy lifting, I think we're going to need it."
By the time Kirsten sat down with Summer at the food court, she was convinced that her arms were a good two inches longer.
"Good grief!" she said, as she placed their bags of books on the floor and Summer set their trays of paninis and juice down on the table, "I think I've just dislocated my shoulders."
"See, this is why I'm signing up for the Shakespeare class. It's like two books for the whole quarter."
"Sounds very wise."
Summer smiled, trying not to show Kirsten how awkward she felt. In the bookstore, lunch had sounded great; she couldn't remember the last time she'd actually sat down and had a casual chat with somebody who wasn't self-medicating like her step-mother, or moody like her dad, or both, like Marissa. Plus, she was dying to know if there was any news from Seth. Or even Ryan. Hell at this point, she'd settle for news of the Newport Group. But sitting down now in the crowded food court, surrounded by people who'd actually come shopping at the mall as friends or families instead of two undefined acquaintances meeting by accident, it seemed to Summer as though this was a classic "it seemed like a good idea at the time" moment if ever there was one. And exactly what was the decorous way to ask after the boyfriend who you weren't really sure was your boyfriend anymore on account of him sailing to Tahiti and leaving the world's vaguest note?
Sensing Summer's nervousness, Kirsten decided to put her out of her misery, "I'm glad we ran into each other, I was actually going to call you later."
"You were?"
"Seth called the other night."
"Really?!" said Summer, a little too excitedly for her liking, "Where the hell is he? I mean, is he okay? He's coming home, right? What'd he say?"
Kirsten tried not to crack too much of a smile as Summer channeled her inner Seth, "He's fine; I mean, he sounded fine. Wherever he is he's on his way back. He left another message, told us to give you his love."
"He did?" said Summer, her voice softening a little, "Well, that's something, I guess."
"Summer, I can't begin to understand what was running through Seth's mind when he left, but if there's one thing I'm certain of it's that he cares about you enormously. And although there's no denying he behaved despicably towards you and to every one else, there's no doubt in my mind that Seth never meant to hurt you."
Summer at prodded her panini, "I know. And I know there was a lot of stuff going on, what with Ryan and all, and us too, but he never even called, you know?"
"I know," said Kirsten, feeling guilty for the obvious hurt Seth had caused her, "And believe me, is he going regret that when he comes home. Seth's crazy about you, Summer."
"God, he can be such an moron sometimes."
"No arguments here."
Summer looked at Kirsten, touched by her attempts to make her feel better when it was obvious she was hurting too, "But he's my moron, you know?"
"Do you think you'll get back together?" inquired Kirsten, asking the question that Summer hoped she wouldn't.
"I don't know," said Summer honestly, "Maybe."
Feeling uneasy once again, Summer abandoned social convention and abruptly changed the subject, "So, how's Ryan? He hasn't e-mailed me in like forever. Typical male."
"Ryan's fine. Actually, he and Theresa are coming up this weekend. We were planning on having a belated birthday get together for him and we were hoping you might come along? Bring a few friends from school? Marissa maybe, perhaps some of the guys from the soccer team? What do you think?"
"I think Chino would probably die of embarrassment," Summer said automatically, before hastily adding, "No offense. But Ryan and parties? Not the world's best combo."
"Are you sure? I mean, I know he'd never ask for us to do anything, but I thought it might be nice-"
"- He'd appreciate the gesture, sure, but when Ryan goes to parties, people kind of have a habit of getting punched. Or shot. Sometimes both. Plus the soccer team; they make the water polo team look like intellectuals. By the time Luke and Anna left, it was pretty much just the four of us."
"I see," said Kirsten, the disappointment in her voice clear, "Well, that's okay. We can just have dinner. It'd be nice to have you girls round again, it's been too long."
"I, uh, I don't think Coop would come," said Summer gently, "I mean, I'll ask her if you want, but she's kind of been a little out there lately."
"Out there?"
"You know, angry," Summer continued, picking at her salad in an attempt to avoid Kirsten's gaze and making either of them feel worse than they obviously already did. "She's out partying a lot. She was pretty mad at him when he left. I don't think they've talked. She's not really talking to me either; we kinda had a fight. Actually, we kinda had several."
Kirsten's heart fell. She'd known things were bad, that Ryan and Seth's leaving were part of a wider problem, but as she heard Summer speak, saw how she tried to sound cheerful for Kirsten's sake, she realized just how messed up the lives of her kids and her friends really were. And she couldn't help but feel that she should have seen it coming. Unable to hide her sadness, Kirsten sighed heavily and rested her head in her hand.
"How did everything get so screwed up?"
"Welcome to the O.C.," joked Summer, before taking another bite of her panini.
Kirsten couldn't help but smile a little, "Well, at least the stores are good."
"And the paninis, " said Summer, her mouth full of bacon, brie and cranberry, "I think I want to marry the guy who made this."
"Actually, I think it was the girl," said Kirsten looking over towards the counter.
Summer followed her gaze, "Screw it, she's cute and I'm open-minded."
Kirsten laughed. She hoped Seth realized what he'd risked by leaving this girl on the shore. "So this weekend?" she asked, "Will you come? I can't promise paninis, but I am planning to excessively over shop for groceries."
"I'd love to," said Summer with only a fraction more enthusiasm then she actually felt, "Watching Chino squirm with all the attention on him? It'll be totally cool."
Ryan moved through the quiet stacks of the library, haphazardly pushing a cartload of books. The three-wheeled cart wasn't the only thing that was run down in the library; aside from the children's section, most of the books were older than Ryan and about as worn out. But Ryan liked it; libraries to him had always been a sanctuary, from when he was escaping his parents' financial disputes in Fresno as a little kid, to avoiding the attentions and often the fists of his mothers' boyfriends after they'd moved down to Chino. Throughout the last year, he'd come to rely on Harbor's lofty alcoves as a place to seek solitude from Seth or Marissa without causing them hurt. And now, he was back at the local library again, seeking refuge from his home life once more. Only this time the pain he was attempting to ignore was of the emotional variety and entirely self-inflicted.
Wrestling with the cart as he maneuvered his way through the stacks, Ryan came to a halt in front of the Romance section and began straightening up the shelves. When they were more or less in order, he started to shelve the books. It never ceased to amaze Ryan how fast the romance novels went out. Every month, when the new selection came in, there would literally be a crowd of people jostling for position around the New Titles section, all trying to get their hands on a happy ending. And there were so many different genres; the standard whirlwind adventures, usually involving at least two European cities, Westerns and a whole of stack of stories depicting the shenanigans of various members of the Medical profession. Looking at the array of titles before him, Ryan couldn't help but wonder how much you could make by writing one of these; the books weren't that thick, there was certainly a high demand and he'd definitely had enough experience hanging around hospitals.
Just as he was in danger of taking his whimsical thoughts of a dazzling if slightly nauseating literary career too seriously, Ryan spotted Kit, the library's deputy manager heading through the stacks towards him. Hastily returning to the task at hand, Ryan gave a nod to Kit as the forty-something joined him.
"Hey, Ryan," he greeted him warmly.
"Hey."
"So, I checked the schedule," Kit said, taking a stack of books and joining in with the shelving, "And it's no problem for you to have tomorrow off."
"You sure?" said Ryan, "I know it's short notice."
"It's fine, really. And about those extra shifts, I could do with an extra pair of hands on Wednesday nights if you want."
"Really?" Ryan said, pleased at the chance to make a little extra money before school started back up. That'd be great."
"I take it you're saving for something special," Kit said amiably clueless.
"You could say that," Ryan said carefully, trying to walk the line between casual and inviting further interest, "So starting next Wednesday?"
"Yeah, from six. Can you get yourself over here, by then? Sans concrete?"
"Not a problem," Ryan said with a confidence he felt was deeply misplaced. His boss on the construction site was an ass and despite knowing about his acrophobia, had no qualms about sending him to the top of the scaffolding. Ryan was just relieved he hadn't found out about the baby; it had been a long while since he'd punched somebody and he was hoping to keep it that way.
"Hey, I know she's a fine looking lady, but really, I think you can do better," Kit teased, shaking Ryan out of his thoughts. He looked down at the femme fetale on the cover of the book he was distractedly holding. Kit was right; she was kind of hot. He really needed to go home.
"Sorry," he said as he placed the book back on the shelf and reached for another.
"Long day?" Kit asked kindly.
"Long day." Ryan confirmed with a sigh.
"Well, it's nearly over. Tell you what; it's pretty quiet. There's a few books that need checking into the system by the front counter, why don't you go do that and I'll finish up here?"
"You sure?" asked Ryan, surprised at the offer; checking books in wouldn't exactly the thrill of his day, it would be a hell of lot more interesting than more stacking and they both knew it.
"Yeah, go for it," confirmed Kit with a nod of his head, "There's not many, it shouldn't take long. Then you can head off afterwards."
"Thanks man, that'd be great."
"No problem."
Leaving Kit alone with the ladies, Ryan headed over to the counter. After relocating the small-ish pile of books from the floor to the countertop beside him, he began to check them through into the computer system. Of all the jobs in the library, it was the one he favored the most; it was quiet, allowed him time to think without being as mind-numbing as stacking and it gave him chance to flick through the new books before they were sent out into the wild.
This particular selection was mostly literature; the latest Norton anthologies and the usual few copies of Shakespeare to replace the most dilapidated in the collection. There were a few poetry anthologies including a copy of The Rattle Bag, the only book of poetry Ryan had ever owned, a leaving gift from a kind-hearted teacher when he'd moved from Fresno. After thumbing through it idly for a few minutes, Ryan continued with his task until finally he came down to the last book, The Pillowman, a thin volume with a plain orange cover. Intrigued by the title, Ryan picked up the play and read the first few lines.
Half an hour later, he closed the back cover gently. After taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Ryan checked the book into the system and placed it with the others on a cart ready for shelving. Grabbing his bag and jacket from under the counter, wordlessly he strode quickly through the library, his head down as he mumbled a few parting words to Kit and out into the cold lonely night.
Walking down the street towards home, his insides were numb, his mind dizzy. Passing by a small park, Ryan slipped inside, coming to rest on a dilapidated swing-set. As he sat idly rocking, leaning against the chain, he had never felt more out of control. Fury, desire and hopelessness raged inside of him in a conflicting hurricane of emotions. He had worked too hard for this to become his life, he didn't want it, he didn't deserve it and worst of all, he had no idea how to change it.
Beneath the same crescent moon, Seth finally rolled into town with barely five miles worth of gas left in the tank. Stopping to fill up at the first gas station he saw, he continued down to the beach and drove slowly up the coast road until he found the turn off for the cove road. When he came to the beach, there was a only one other person there, a girl of his age, maybe a little older, sitting by a small fire of driftwood, that crackled sharply in contrast with the gentle rise and fall of the waves. Seth parked his motorbike near hers and grabbing his bag, made his way across to the sands to where the fire burned. Nodding in greeting to her, Seth picked up a piece of driftwood from the small pile and pushed at the edges of the orange fire, coaxing it along.
"This seat taken?" he asked, hoping her reply would come in English. Pulling out a phrase book would spoil the mood and he had no intention of letting anything corrupt the almost magical perfection of this beautiful place.
"Go ahead," the girl said, gesturing for Seth to sit down, her mellow words lilting with a light accent.
Placing the piece of driftwood on to the crackling flames, Seth sat down on the soft white sand. He looked out to the dark ocean, its softly breaking waves illuminated only by the small slice of silver moon and the scattering of stars.
After a few minutes of silent tranquility, he looked over to the girl beside him and smiled, "I'm Seth," he said.
She looked towards at him and their eyes locked on to one another as if they had known one another and had been waiting to meet here all their lives.
"Maia," replied the girl softly, before turning back to the ocean once more, "My name is Maia."
Kirsten lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as she waited for Sandy to come home. She couldn't get over how quiet the house was these days. Only a few months ago she had relished in the occasionally time in which she'd found the house empty of kids and husband; no cacophonous video games or music blaring from the lounge or Seth's bedroom. But now, things were different, the quiet unsettling and eerie. The whole house felt empty and sad, as if it too knew what it had lost.
She had only been asleep for half an hour by the time Sandy crept in to the bedroom and inadvertently woke her with a kiss. Rolling over to watch him as he undressed, she couldn't help but notice the aura of lethargy that radiated from him, echoing her own. Hearing her stir, Sandy, turned and offered a small smile.
"Hey. Did I wake you?"
"I was just drifting," said Kirsten as she pushed herself up in bed. She glanced at the clock, "You're late tonight."
"Yeah, I had some catching up to do. Wanted to get ahead before this weekend."
"And did you?"
"Close enough. What about you?"
"I told Dad I was unavailable for comment until Monday. He was wondering whether or not to stop by, say hi to Ryan, but since we're not having a party anymore-"
"- We're not?"
"I ran into Summer at the mall. She seemed to think it would probably be best if we kept things small."
"Oh well, if that's what Summer thinks, then-"
"She's right, Sandy," said Kirsten gently deflecting her husband's rising indignation, "You know, if we had a party, he'd enjoy it for our sake, not his own. Plus this way, we have a legitimate reason for telling my Dad and Julie to stay away, which suits me fine."
"I guess," Sandy conceded, "So what did Summer suggest?"
"We thought dinner. Just the four of us, nothing fancy."
"What about Marissa? Should we invite her too? I mean, I know that her and Ryan didn't part on the best of terms, but..." he sighed, knowing the futility of his words, even as he spoke them.
"From what Summer told me, I don't think that would be a good idea. Sounds like Marissa has a few things she needs to work through and you know Ryan-"
"- One damsel in distress is more than enough."
"Right." Kirsten confirmed.
Sandy sighed heavily. Having let his clothes collect in a puddle on the floor, he reached back under his pillow for a t-shirt. After slipping it over his head, he remained sitting quietly on the edge of the bed, his back still to Kirsten, his shoulders slumped dejectedly.
"Sandy?" asked Kirsten quietly, her spirits as heavy as her husbands'.
"I just wanted this weekend to be special, to remind him that he's got friends here, family. Even without Seth." He rubbed at his brow with one hand as Kirsten reached for the other and squeezed it gently, "God, Kirsten, how did we get here? A year ago, I didn't even know Ryan, Seth was miserable, now Seth's still miserable and God-knows-where because I couldn't stop Ryan's life from catching up with him."
Kirsten remained quiet, not wanting to offer hypocritical platitudes. "He's never going to come back, is he?" she said finally, her voice steady but full of sorrow, "This weekend, he's coming to say good bye."
Sandy looked round at Kirsten, saw his heart weary expression mirrored in her own, "I think so, yes."
Ryan really wasn't in the mood to be sociable but he had to admit that the sounds of laughter and teasing that emanated from inside the house was vastly preferable to sounds of fighting that he'd heard the night before. As he pushed open the door, he was greeted by a full house and the delicious smell of Chinese food wafting over from the kitchen table, where Theresa, Jay and Eva sat enjoying a feast.
"Hey! The man himself," said Jay warmly, getting up and crossing over to the oven.
"Thank goodness you're here Ryan," said Eva, as he came and joined them at the table, "I was just about to die under the stress of anticipation."
"Don't be so melodramatic Ma," chided Theresa, rolling her eyes, "You're late tonight."
"Sorry," Ryan said habitually, "Just had some stuff to do."
"You got tomorrow off?" asked Jay.
"Uh-huh," Ryan nodded back, "Plus I picked up some extra shifts at the library; Wednesday nights."
"Hey, that's great," said Theresa warmly, "I got some overtime at the office tomorrow, so I can't make it to Newport."
"You can't?" Ryan replied, not surprised but a little disappointed all the same.
"It's double time, Ryan, I didn't want to pass it up. D'you mind?"
"No, it's okay. There's always another time, right?" Ryan said, letting it go, despite knowing that there wouldn't be.
"Absolutely."
"Well, there goes my weekend. With all you guys away I was going to throw a kegger," joked Jay as he presented Ryan with a piping hot carton of mu-shoo pork and another of sesame chicken, "Tuck in, my friend."
"Thanks," said Ryan, breathing in the fragrant spicy aroma.
"I'm going to my sister's in Pomona, not Atlanta, Jay," reproached Eva in a mock stern fashion, "I would like my house to be here when I get back."
"Yes, Ma'am," Jay pledged, saluting her playfully, as he re-took his seat at the table.
"Don't worry Ma, I'll keep him on the straight and narrow," Theresa promised her mother, helping herself to a spring roll, smiling at Ryan as he searched amongst the cartons for cutlery.
"Here you go, man," Jay said to him, extending a clean pair of chopsticks across the table.
"Nah, I'm good," shunning Jay's offer of chopsticks and reaching for a fork. Jay laughed at him good-naturedly, "Say nothing," he said in a jovially menacing tone.
"Ryan's very sensitive about his gross ineptitude," teased Theresa.
"Hey, everyone's a comedian," Ryan muttered, his light tone masking his impatience.
"Leave the boy alone Theresa, he's had a hard day," said Eva, smiling sweetly at Ryan as she came to his rescue. Ryan smiled gratefully back at her as she continued, "And now he's back, you can tell us. Grandson or granddaughter?"
Ryan's head shot up and his gaze found Theresa's, "You know?"
"I know," she replied levelly, "If you don't want to, I won't tell the others either. Your call."
"Hey, as long as you're both fine, I don't care if we're having twins."
"God, I do!" laughed Theresa, "And we're not, we're having a girl."
"We are?" Ryan said, his voice wavering slightly. Suddenly it all seemed surreally, undeniably real.
"Almost definitely. Unless he's really, really shy, but the doctor's pretty certain. You want to see?"
"Yeah," Ryan mumbled softly. Theresa stood up and crossed round to Ryan. She took a small still of her sonogram from her pocket and leaned over his shoulders to show him.
"See, that's her head, her back," she said, tracing the outline of the tiny baby round for Ryan to follow, "And these shapes here are her feet, and then her arms."
"Wow," said Ryan, as he reached up and touched Theresa's hand as it rested on his shoulder, lost in the photo and the image before him, "She's so little."
"But she's going to have a big future," Jay said, breaking gently into his friends' private moment.
"Yeah, she is," Theresa replied, letting go of Ryan's hand as she returned Jay's gaze, "No matter what."