Chapter 5A
Sandy stood at his bedroom window, forehead pressed against the glass, eyes fixed on nothing at all. He heard Kirsten come in and sink heavily on the bed, but he didn't turn around.
"Everyone gone?" he asked.
Kirsten pulled off her shoes and kicked them aimlessly into a corner. "I practically had to push my father and Julie out the door. Dad wanted to—how did he put it?—talk some sense into his grandson. And Julie . . . Oh, she acted just so sweet and smug and 'concerned' that I wanted to smack her. She couldn't wait to give me all kinds of advice about 'dealing with the boys'. Imagine. Her, with her track record . . . " Kirsten sighed. "God, Sandy."
"I know . . . So, Ryan okay?"
"Sick, I think. He couldn't keep anything down, and I know his head hurts. But he wouldn't let me stay, and he wouldn't talk to me. What about Seth?"
"Refused to unlock his door. I decided it was better to let him calm down on his own. Right now I'm not sure what to say to him anyway."
"Sandy, you don't think he would . . .?"
"Run away again?" Sandy shrugged helplessly and went to sit beside Kirsten. She dropped her head on his shoulder and threaded her fingers through his. "I don't think so, but hell, honey, I don't know."
"If he does . . ." Kirsten couldn't finish the thought.
"If he does, we'll have the police haul his sorry ass back if we have to. And then we'll ground him until he's thirty."
"That might not be a bad idea anyway."
Sandy lifted their clasped hands and kissed her palm. "It would be a start," he agreed.
They sat in silence for a few minutes before Kirsten whispered, "What are we going to do, Sandy? How do we fix this?"
"I'm not sure we can, sweetheart. I think that may be up to Seth and Ryan."
"But what Seth did . . . the way they spoke to each other . . ." Kirsten shuddered. "They've always been so close, and now . . ."
"Now they'll have to figure out if their friendship is worth salvaging."
"Of course it is!" Kirsten said sharply. She pulled away from Sandy, facing him. "And Sandy, it's not just their friendship at stake. It's our whole family. We have to help them work this out. We can't just do nothing."
Sandy leaned his forehead against Kirsten's, considering. Then he sat up straight. "You may be right," he admitted. "Our doing nothing in the past may be one of the problems here." Kirsten narrowed her eyes, baffled, and he explained, "Last fall, when the boys came back home . . . We just picked up as though nothing had happened. A lot went on last summer, honey . . . and we ignored it."
"I know. But I was just so glad to have them both home . . ."
"So was I, but let's look at the facts." Sandy stood up. He was in lawyer-mode now, logical and dispassionate.
"Seth ran away," he began. "Basically, he threw a three month temper tantrum."
Kirsten started to protest, but Sandy waved her quiet. "I know, I know . . . You were willing to take a hard line then, and I wasn't. Seth was hurt and angry, and I really did think that being away from here might help him work though his issues. Maybe take some responsibility for his life . . . But he never did that. He just hid out at Luke's and sulked. And honey, the way he spoke to us, the way he just disregarded our feelings . . . And we let him get away with it."
"He came home Sandy," Kirsten said. Her tone was pleading. "He came back to us. I didn't want to alienate him all over again."
"But there were no consequences for his actions, honey. None. We let Seth think that we didn't mind his behavior, that the way he had treated us was acceptable." Sandy had been pacing, but he stopped, gripping the back of the armchair. "Kirsten, I love our son, and I think he's an amazing kid. Seth's funny, he's smart, he's got this terrific ability to see who people really are inside. But he's also got a major sense of entitlement. And we gave it to him."
Kirsten shifted uncomfortably, remembering all the transgressions that they'd ignored over the years—especially the past year: the damage to the Rover, the unauthorized trip to Tijuana, Seth's flippant refusal to help out around the house, the cavalier way he had juggled Anna's and Summer's feelings, his expectation that everyone would always fall in with his plans.
"I was just so relieved to see him come out of his shell," Kirsten murmured.
"Hey, I know. I was relieved just to see him come out of his room. Seth had been isolated for so long. He needed to push the boundaries a little bit. But honey . . . there should have been boundaries."
"I suppose we did . . . spoil him. A little."
"We spoiled him a lot. Oh sure, we weren't indulgent like those other Newpsie parents; we didn't buy him a car or give him an unlimited credit card. But Kirsten, we've been letting Seth pretty much run this household. No wonder he thinks he can run Ryan's life too."
Sandy moved to the front of the armchair and slumped into it. "And Ryan," he mused. "We didn't do much better by him."
"What are you talking about, Sandy? We made Ryan part of our family. We gave him a real home, maybe for the first time in his life. "
"Yeah," Sandy said flatly. "We did. And then we let him leave. Theresa gets pregnant, Ryan decides to shoulder the responsibility all by himself, and we basically say 'Fine. Do it.'"
"We kept in touch . . . We tried to help out . . ."
"We sent them baby clothes, Kirsten. He's seventeen, and we let him work double shifts. And we didn't do a thing when Ryan told us that he was going to drop out of school and just try for a GED . . . With his potential . . . We should have insisted that he at least graduate . . ."
Sandy yanked off his tie and flung it on the dresser.
"Fine parents we are," he muttered.
"I know, but he was so determined . . . And with Ryan . . . I always believed if we pushed him too hard he might just disappear out of our lives completely . . . And Sandy," Kirsten urged, "think about what he's been like since he came back. He smiles more, he talks more . . ."
Sandy reached back and massaged his neck, grimacing. "Yeah, Ryan talks," he conceded. "But sweetheart, has he really been saying anything? Has he even mentioned last summer, or how he feels about losing the baby? Because if he did, I gotta say, I missed it. And the breakup with Marissa, that had to have some effect on him, after all they went through, but you'd never know it from anything he's said to us."
"You're right," Kirsten said slowly. Unconsciously she mimicked Sandy, rubbing her own neck. "His school counselor had to call to get us involved in his college plans, Seth is the one who lets us know that Ryan's taking AP courses . . ."
"Honey, let's face it. The kid may be saying more words, but he's as silent about what matters this year as he was last year. It's like Ryan's skimming over the surface here, not wanting to make any more waves . . ."
"He thinks we only welcomed him back because he brought Seth home with him," Kirsten murmured.
"What?"
"He said that. Actually, I don't think he meant to; it just slipped out. We were talking about the internship . . ."
"Wait. Honey, you knew about that?"
Kirsten nodded. "Only because Renee told me that Lindsay was a finalist. I suggested that Ryan might want to go along with her. He thought . . . it was when he thought that he hadn't gotten an interview. Oh, Sandy, he was so disappointed. . . And then he said . . . one reason he wanted the internship so badly was because he wanted us to be proud of him—to be glad that he'd come back, and not just that he'd brought Seth home."
"So . . . great," Sandy groaned. "Just . . . great. Ryan's still not secure here and is still hiding things from us, Seth thinks the world revolves around him, and tries to get his way with childish, hurtful stunts . . . What have we been doing, sweetheart? Because it seems like we've lost touch with our sons altogether."
Kirsten's lips trembled. "I thought loving them would be enough. It's not, is it?"
Sandy shook his head.
"So what do we do now?"
Sandy pulled her to her feet, nestling her head against his heart. "Hey, we've recognized the problem. That's the first step, right? So now we try to get some sleep. We're going to need our energy. Tomorrow, the Cohen laissez-faire system of parenting comes to an end."
----------------------------------------------------
Kirsten was headed for Seth's room when the doorbell rang insistently. She detoured downstairs to answer it, sighing audibly when she saw her visitors.
"Dad. Julie. We are really not in the mood for company this morning."
"Well, we're hardly company, Kiki," Caleb objected. He moved to step inside, but Kirsten held her ground, hand on the door, blocking the entrance. "You ushered us out of here so quickly last night that I thought we'd better check on things."
"In person. At this hour. You couldn't have phoned?"
"We're just so worried about all of you," Julie purred. "First the accident, and now this horrible argument between Ryan and Seth in front of everybody . . . I don't know how you're coping." Her lips curled in a patronizing smile. "Kirsten, you poor dear, you look just exhausted."
"Thanks," Kirsten said dryly. "That's exactly the look I was going for. Dad, why don't I just call you later, after we have breakfast and get a few things settled here? I'm sure you and Julie have important things of your own to do—clothes to buy, checks to sign, ordinances to sidestep . . ."
"I've cleared my schedule this morning." Caleb announced. "I thought you might like me to have that talk with my grandson."
"Sandy and I are perfectly capable of . . ."
Caleb ignored her objection. "Running away last summer, stealing my car, getting drunk at a club—I heard about that--and now all this thoughtless, irresponsible behavior . . . Someone needs to lay down the law to that young man. And I know you and Sanford have never been comfortable handling discipline."
"So you're offering to do it? I really don't think you're in any position to give Sandy and me parenting lessons, Dad. And I'm not at all sure we want Seth practicing your values," Kirsten snapped. "Does the name 'Lindsay' mean anything to you? Or Hailey, for that matter?"
"Now, Kiki," Julie admonished, "there's no need to take out your frustrations on your father. Caleb and I are just here to help."
"Do not call me 'Kiki,'" Kirsten warned. "And since you have one daughter stowed away at boarding school and another who can't stand to be in the same room with you, I think I'll pass on your advice too."
"Well!" Julie huffed. "Caleb, I did not come here to be insulted. I know Kirsten is upset, and she's your daughter, but we do not have to stand for this."
"Then by all means, don't." Kirsten lifted her chin and closed the door in their faces, letting it slam just a little. Then she turned on her heel, flushed with simultaneous fury and triumph. She glanced up in surprise when she heard applause from the top of the stairs.
"Brava, Kirsten!" Sandy clapped, then put two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. "I wish I'd had the video camera. You took down the Gruesome Twosome. I am really impressed, honey."
"I don't know if I took them down so much as kicked them out."
"Hey, it still works for me. You got them out of the house. And I imagine Julie will think twice before she tries her Lady of the Manor act again with you . . . So, who's next on the Kirsten straight talk list?"
"Seth," Kirsten replied. She looked a little grim. "And you can deal with Ryan. Breakfast—all four of us—in twenty minutes. I want both boys at the table. No excuses"
"Got it, Sarge. I'll do good cop, you do bad cop. I'll go high, you go low."
"Sandy, you do realize that I have no idea what you're talking about, right?"
Sandy nodded, grinning. He came downstairs and Kirsten started back up. As they passed Sandy caught Kirsten's hand, twirled her close to him and kissed her deeply.
"I do love a forceful woman," he murmured into her mouth. "Now, go get 'em, tiger."
---------------------------------------------------
As soon as he opened the door, Sandy could tell that Ryan had spent a sleepless night. He was haggard and pale, with lines of pain etched around his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Ryan said as soon as Sandy walked in the room. "For what happened last night. I'm really sorry."
"You want to make it up to me?"
Ryan nodded, a little surprised.
"Okay. Then here's the first thing you can do . . . Stop apologizing, Ryan. Everything bad that happens in this house is not your fault. And as far as I can tell, you're pretty much the injured party here."
A shadow of a smile flitted across Ryan's face as he glanced down at the brace on his leg.
Sandy rolled his eyes ruefully. "Right. Injured party . . . Didn't even intend that one. So . . . how are you feeling this morning, kid?"
"Fine," Ryan claimed.
"Would that be 'fine' as in 'I feel like hell'? Or 'fine' as in 'Even worse than I look'?"
"Maybe . . . the first one?"
"Good. Because you look like death warmed over."
Ryan made a move to get out of bed, but Sandy motioned for him to stay where he was.
"Relax," he urged, pulling a chair over to sit by Ryan. "Breakfast won't be ready for twenty minutes, so I thought you and I could have a talk first."
Ryan peered at Sandy from under his bangs, his expression wary. "I'm not very hungry . . . and I don't feel much like talking right now, Sandy."
"Food. Words. They're non-negotiable." Sandy's tone managed to be both playful and unmistakably firm. "Kirsten said you couldn't keep your dinner down last night, so unless you want to make a return visit to the hospital, you are gonna eat. And as of this morning, we have a 'no secrets' rule in this house, so you are gonna talk. Now, do you want to tell me exactly what happened between you and Seth?"
Ryan picked at the edges of his brace. "Not really."
"Okay, let me rephrase the question. Are you going to tell me what happened between you and Seth now? Or are you going to wait until I badger you relentlessly for the next ten minutes? Because you are going to tell me."
"Why? You heard. You know already."
Sandy put his hand over Ryan's, pulling it gently away from his brace. "Leave that alone . . . Yeah, I heard what happened. But that's not the whole story. I don't know how it happened, or why, or how you feel about it."
"I can't tell you how or why it happened," Ryan claimed. "I don't know. You should talk to Seth."
"Kirsten is talking to Seth. I'm talking to you. And after we have breakfast, we're all going to sit down and talk together."
Ryan concentrated on a spot above Sandy's head, avoiding his eyes. His voice grew desperate. "I know what you're trying to do, Sandy. But I can't . . . Seth was my best friend . . . And every time I think about what he did . . . I can't help it . . . I want . . ."
Sandy noted with sorrow Ryan's use of the word "was." He had put his friendship with Seth into the past tense. "What, Ryan? What do you want? You've got to tell me how you feel here."
Ryan shook his head. He was growing agitated, his hands balled into fists, his breathing rapid and labored. Sandy watched him with mounting concern. This was the Ryan he had picked up on the street corner after getting a desperate phone call, the one he had visited in juvie after the model home burned down. It was all still there in his eyes, the distrust, the anger, the sense of abandonment, the fight or flight instinct.
Sandy could feel Ryan retreating, and his first reaction was to give the boy some space, but he remembered his resolve from last night. No more doing nothing.
"You can tell me," he insisted. "No matter what it is, Ryan."
Ryan shook his head again, more emphatically.
"Then how about if I tell you, and you just let me know if I'm right?" Sandy suggested. "You're furious with Seth. You can't believe he did this to you. You feel betrayed. And you want to strike back. Am I close?"
"Yeah," Ryan choked. "But I can't . . . He's Seth . . . so I can't . . . can't hit him . . . can't just let it go . . . can't even hate him . . ."
"Good. That's good. I'm glad you can't hate him. That's something . . ."
"It's nothing. It's nothing," Ryan argued. He pounded the mattress, wasn't satisfied with the impact, and punched the headboard instead.
"Ryan! Stop," Sandy ordered. "Let me see your hand. Did you hurt it?"
Ryan shook his hand and his head simultaneously, went back to staring at the ceiling.
"I trusted him . . . I feel like I can't anymore . . ."
Sandy edged his chair closer, trying to make Ryan focus on him. "That's a natural reaction, kid. Seth's got a lot to answer for here, and I am not making excuses for him. He's going to have to work to earn back your trust. Ours too . . ." Almost to himself Sandy added, "Damn. I just wish he had come to Kirsten and me."
Ryan caught a rapid breath. "What do you mean? 'Come to you'?"
"Seth should have told us what he'd done himself. He should have at least been willing to take responsibility," Sandy said. "But look, Ryan, that's not your problem . . ."
Ryan dropped his eyes, tightened his jaw. "Yeah. Yeah it is."
The words were rushed and almost inaudible, but Sandy heard them. He frowned, confused. "You want to explain that to me?"
Involuntarily, Ryan's hand moved back to his brace, ripping at the fabric. "Seth wanted to tell you," he admitted hoarsely. "I wouldn't let him."
"Ryan, why the hell . . ." Sandy caught himself, lowered his voice. "Why not? Seth should have told us. Maybe if we had known, things wouldn't have gone this far . . ."
"I just . . . thought it would be better if you and Kirsten didn't know. It was between Seth and me. I didn't want it to be your problem. I thought we should handle it."
"Are you? Handling it?"
"I guess . . . No. Not really."
"You didn't work anything out when Seth visited you at the hospital?"
Ryan's gaze flashed up and immediately down again. "We didn't really . . . talk," he said hesitantly.
Sandy remembered all Seth's evasions and excuses. "Or," he concluded heavily, "Seth never visited you at all."
Ryan took a shaky breath. "He came. Once. I just . . . I was too angry. I told him not to come again."
Sandy sighed. "So all this time, you two have just been avoiding each other. Letting this fester. Seth has been actively lying to us, and you . . . you just haven't been talking at all. Which pretty much is the same thing . . ." Sandy rubbed his hand across his forehead trying to summon both his patience and his skill as a negotiator. "Ryan. Would you look at me, kid?" Reluctantly, Ryan raised his eyes to Sandy's. "You know, Kirsten and I are here for a reason. We could have helped. At least we could have arranged for you to have another shot at your interview . . ."
Ryan's headache suddenly pounced again, an attack from ambush. "Seth said he'd try to do that," he admitted unwillingly. "I told him not to bother."
Sandy tried, but he couldn't mask the exasperation in his voice. "Why would you do that, Ryan? Work with me here. If Seth's trying to put things right, why won't you at least give him the chance?"
"You don't get it!" Ryan cried. "It's not even about the internship any more. That's not what matters. It's about the kind of friend I thought . . . Shit. Just, never mind Sandy. You're right. Seth's right. I've fucked this up so bad. You probably want that apology back now. So I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry."
Ryan ran out of words. He clenched his eyes against the pain pulsing behind them and groped blindly for the prescription bottle on his nightstand. Sandy picked it up, shook out a couple pills and handed them to him along with a glass of water. If Ryan were well, he would force the issue, but Sandy sensed that the boy was dangerously close to a breaking point, and he couldn't risk pushing him too far.
"Okay. Take it easy kid," he said, resting his hand on Ryan's hair. "You're right. I don't get it. I need you to make me understand. But we'll finish this conversation later. You get a reprieve until after breakfast."
Ryan swallowed the pills and laid back, eyes closed. "Thanks," he whispered.
Sandy sighed and returned the water glass to the nightstand. "Kirsten," he said to himself, "I really hope you're having better luck with Seth."