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Collision Course Chapter 6
Seth lay on his bed, staring at nothing, idly bouncing Captain Oats on his lap. His headset was on, the music at top volume in an attempt to drown out his thoughts.
Since the disastrous "welcome home" breakfast three days ago, Seth had seldom voluntarily left his room. Where would he go anyway? His parents had grounded him, and normally in that situation, he would seek refuge with Ryan in the pool house. But Ryan was still staying in the guest room downstairs, and, when they did see each other in passing, or during enforced Let's-Play-Happy-Family meals, their relationship was, at best, strained.
It was distant.
It was tenuous.
It was fucking polite.
It was terrible.
Ryan's presence in the house was exactly why Seth had put himself under room-arrest.
He really didn't want to face Ryan if he could help it.
Seth didn't want to face the people who came to visit Ryan either, the people who were supposed to be his friends too. Not after the accidental encounters that he'd already had with them.
Luke had stopped by the house several times before going back to Portland. On Sunday afternoon, Seth had been making a stealth foray to the kitchen for supplies when Luke came in carrying empty soda cans to the recycling bin.
"Out of the way, Cohen," he ordered, with a shove to Seth's shoulder.
Seth tripped and caught hold of the counter. "Hey, Luke . . . Nice to see you too . . ." He gave a self-deprecating snort, choosing to pretend that the contact hadn't been intentional. "I've gotta work on the whole balancing-on-two-legs thing . . . So I just . . . how have you been, dude?"
Luke grunted.
"Yeah, I feel that. . . So, you know, I've been thinking about this summer. Maybe I could come up and stay with you and your dad again? Get my old job back? . . . I seriously don't think that anybody here would mind me being out of the state this time." Seth heard the bitterness in his own voice, and changed tactics. He nudged Luke conspiratorially. "We could hook up with those babes at the pier again, right?"
"Suck it, Cohen."
"Okay . . . Getting a little sense of déjà vu here . . . Flashback to freshman year . . . Actually, kindergarten through freshman year. I thought we were friends now Luke."
Luke crushed one of the soda cans in his fist, sneering. "Yeah? Think again. Why would I be friends with you after what you did to Chino?"
"Come on!" Seth protested. "Pot? Kettle? Black? You treated me like shit for years, and I forgave you."
"Yeah," Luke countered. "I was an ass back then and I admit it. But we weren't friends at the time, Cohen. You and Chino were. Supposedly. And you're supposed to have a friend's back. Not stab it. So I think I'll just watch mine around you from now on."
He grabbed a couple fresh cans of soda from the fridge and turned to go. At the door he stopped to add, "But hey . . . having company this summer might not be a bad idea. Lindsay's going to be gone for six weeks, and Chino will be lonely. Thanks to you. Maybe I'll invite him for a visit . . . Catch you later, Cohen. If I'm real unlucky."
It had gone no better when Marissa and Alex came by.
Seth had met them while he was wheeling the trashcans out behind the house. That had become one of his regular chores. His parents had assigned him all the grunt work they could devise: taking out the garbage, cleaning the pool, unloading the groceries, sweeping up the deck. Seth knew it was punishment—cruel and unusual sweat-producing punishment—but he also suspected that his parents were trying to force him out of his room. Which might not have been unusual, but was definitely cruel.
Alex arched her brows when she saw him. "Good job for you there, Seth," she drawled. "You may have found your niche in life . You . . . garbage . . . it all seems to fit."
Marissa pursed her lips and giggled.
Seth froze, shocked. He hadn't expected Alex to turn on him. True, they had broken up—actually, she had broken up with him—but Seth thought they still had a solid, supportive relationship. At least enough for him to claim her loyalty. Or, at minimum, her neutrality. At this point, he'd be willing to settle just for that.
Someone must be handing out free DVDs to new members of the Seth Sucks Society.
"Yeah," he sputtered. "Go ahead. Have some laughs. On me. My treat, ladies . . . Want some rotten tomatoes to throw while you're at it? 'Cause, you know, the garbage is right here."
"We see it," Marissa smirked, but Alex put a hand on her arm, silencing her.
"No, you're right, Seth" she sighed. "This isn't funny. It's really just . . . sad. I haven't known you that long, but I really thought that I did . . . know you." She moved closer, tilted her head to study his face. After a moment she sighed again and stepped back. "Guess not, though . . . Come on, Marissa. We can only visit Ryan for about half an hour before I've got to leave for work . . ."
Over her shoulder, as she and Marissa walked into the house, Alex called back, "You know how you claimed to be a bad boy, Seth, and I thought you couldn't pull it off? I guess it was in you after all."
Worst of all was Seth's meeting with Lindsay.
He had been sprawled on the floor of his room, idly examining the texture of his ceiling, when he heard the thick sound of heavy items falling beneath him.
"What the fuck?" he wondered.
He was pretty sure that his mother and Rosa were both out, but the crash was followed by a muffled female cry, so he rolled over and crawled to the top of the stairs to check. Lindsay stood just inside the front door. She was surrounded by books, small weights, and a few items Seth decided had to be giant Lego's. Her hair masked her face, her hands were clenched at her sides, and she stood motionless, staring at the chaos on the floor.
Seth considered retreating. Lindsay hadn't noticed him, and he figured he was the last person that she would want to see. He started to duck back toward his room when he heard Ryan's voice. It was a rare enough sound these days that it made him pause.
"Lindsay? Are you okay? Do you need any help? I could come out there . . . "
Lindsay's head jerked up. "No, Ryan!" she cried. "It's . . . I'm fine. I'm just . . . I'm such a klutz sometimes. But it's okay, really . . . I've got it." She knelt down and began to gather everything she'd dropped.
Seth took a deep breath, came downstairs and crouched beside her. "Let me," he offered. "I'll pick them up . . ."
Lindsay's eyes flickered over him. Her expression was guarded, but she stood up, brushing her palms over her skirt. "Thanks," she said curtly.
"This is all, what? Secret ingredients for some science project?"
She nodded.
"You and Ryan aren't, like, building a bomb or anything in there, are you? 'Cause I'm pretty sure we aren't insured for that." When Lindsay didn't respond, Seth tried again. "You know, manual labor . . . so not my thing. But this stuff is really heavy. If you want, I could carry it in for you . . . " He gestured towards Ryan's room hesitantly.
"No!" Lindsay snapped. Then she bit her lip and lowered her voice. "Thanks anyway. I can manage."
Lindsay waited for Seth to hand back the restacked items, but he just put them down on the foyer table. She moved to retrieve them, but Seth sidled in front, blocking her.
"Okay. I get that you don't want me around," he conceded. "Easiest way to clear a room? Have me walk in . . . But could we at least talk, Lindsay? I want to explain . . . I mean, I can't explain, but come on, we're family . . ."
Lindsay took a step back from Seth. "Don't . . ." she warned. "You don't want to hear what I have to say to you. Right now I can't even look at you . . . And the idea that we're related . . ." She shuddered and started to turn away, but then whirled back around. "God, Seth, do you have any idea what you did?"
"I don't know . . ." Seth dropped on the bottom step, hunched over his knees. He'd held on to a thin metal tube he had picked up and now he began rolling it between his palms. "Let's see if I've got this . . . I nearly killed my best friend . . . and now he wants nothing to do with me . . ."
"No, see, that's not it at all," Lindsay argued. "Ryan doesn't care about the accident. He doesn't blame you for that, and neither do I . . . Well, I guess I still do, a little, but Ryan doesn't . . . It's just . . . He can't trust you, Seth. I think he trusted you more than anyone else in his life . . . and now he can't. And that's killing him."
"This whole thing is killing me too, Lindsay . . . " Seth began.
She raised her chin and stared him down. "You know what? I. Don't. Care."
They heard Ryan's voice calling again, concerned. "Lindsay? . . . What's going on? Do you need me out there?"
"No, don't come, Ryan! . . . I'm okay. I'll be right in." Lindsay scrambled to bundle all the books and materials into her arms, wrenching away when Seth moved to help her. "Stay away from me . . ." she hissed. "And if you want to do something for Ryan, stay away from him too." Then, suddenly, her eyes clouded and she whispered sorrowfully. "I hate you for making me say that. Because I really loved all of us together. I really loved . . . having a brother for a little while."
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Ryan had both windows wide open to catch the late afternoon breeze, but he still felt suffocated. Even though the guestroom was huge, big enough for a king-size bed, two armchairs, a dresser, a desk and a TV, the space seemed crowded and stifling. Luke was sprawled across one chair, legs flung over the arm, relaying the play-by-play action of his video game loudly to everybody else, even though no one was paying attention. Zach sat on the floor, describing a water polo match to Lindsay, who was listening politely but with no visible interest, while Marissa and Summer were flipping through fashion magazines in the corner.
Ryan was sure that they were using up all of the available oxygen.
He'd removed himself from the conversations and hidden behind a book half an hour ago, trying to make himself still and invisible. It wasn't working. He couldn't just disappear, and he couldn't ignore everyone around him. Maybe these visits were well-intentioned—all right, he knew that they were—but they were starting to piss him off. He wasn't sick, he wasn't fucking needy, he wasn't six years old and afraid to be alone in the dark. Besides, there was something so . . . off . . . about having the whole group gathered around him. They acted like some self-appointed support system, all of them relentlessly cheerful, trying to keep Ryan busy and involved and oblivious, racing to fill any silences that would normally be obliterated by Seth's constant chatter.
He supposed this was friendship in some form, and he suspected that he was being ungrateful, but Ryan wished to hell that they would all just go.
"You know what?" he asked abruptly, tossing his book to the side. "I'm sort of hungry. I'm just gonna go get . . ." He waved vaguely toward the kitchen and reached for his crutch.
Lindsay looked up with concern. "Are you okay, Ryan? I could fix you something. Well, as long as it was something simple."
"Or we could order," Luke suggested enthusiastically. "Hey, there's an idea. Food! I know I could eat. Pizza? Chinese? Mexican? Who's in? And who's got money, 'cause I'm kind of tapped. Chino, any preferences, man?"
"Nah." Ryan made his way to the door. "You guys order if you want. I'll just get a bowl of cereal or something . . ."
"You want company?" Lindsay offered. "Cereal's simple enough even for me. I could fix it for you." She got up and reached for Ryan's hand, but he pulled it away with an apologetic grin.
"Thanks," he said, kissing her forehead. "But I'm good. I just want to stretch my legs a little . . ."
Lindsay nodded and smiled, although her eyes were worried. "Okay. But come back. You don't have to eat alone, you know. We're all here."
Ryan scanned all the activity in his room. "I know. Thanks," he said dryly, and eased himself out the door.
Once he was in the hall, Ryan put his crutch down on the floor, leaned against the wall and sighed.
Yes, they were all there. In his room. Well, no, in the guestroom, which was not his at all, unless that was what he had become. A guest.
Maybe he had.
Ryan wasn't sure how he fit in the Cohen household anymore.
Music and voices spilled out of the room, and Ryan wished he had closed the door. The noise would carry upstairs, and it sounded too much like a party, one to which Seth had not been invited. A totally artificial, totally cheerless party, with people making a point of gathering around Ryan. Not Seth.
Battle lines had been drawn, armies had mustered, and Seth was fighting alone.
Ryan couldn't stand much more of it.
Abandoning his crutch where it lay, Ryan used the wall to support himself as he made his way to the kitchen. He was about to pass the TV room when he heard voices.
"You're wrong, Sandy," Kirsten was arguing. "It will just make things worse."
Sandy's tone was tired. "I don't think so honey. We agreed that we had to do something."
"I know that, but if we force the issue, the boys will just wind up hating us and each other."
"Kirsten, you're being too emotional . . ."
"Don't tell me that!"
Ryan winced at the anger and pain in her voice, involuntarily grinding his teeth in empathy. When Sandy spoke, his tone was calm, cajoling.
"Honey, they're not going to hate us, and they don't hate each other. They're just angry and frustrated, and they don't know how to deal with it. Seth and Ryan don't have any real experience with being mad at each other. They've always been on the same side before. But all friends argue. Siblings too . . . Look at you and Hailey."
Ryan could tell that Sandy was trying to disarm Kirsten, but she was having none of it.
"Me and Hailey?" she protested in disbelief. "There is no comparison, Sandy. We're sisters and I love her, but we were never friends, and no matter what she's done—we've done—Hailey and I never hurt each other the way Seth and Ryan have."
"I just mean that you've managed to get past your differences."
Kirsten's voice rose, becoming even more incredulous. "So you think this is just some difference of opinion? Some little disagreement, Sandy? Because I don't. It goes a lot deeper than that. The boys don't want to be around each other any more, they don't talk to each other. Not voluntarily. Have you heard the house in the evening after everybody has gone home?"
"Kirsten . . ."
"No," she insisted. "It is so quiet, Sandy. It's worse than it was last summer when they were both gone, because then the house was empty. Now they're here, and they're still gone."
"And I'm trying to do something about that, if you would just listen, sweetheart—"
Ryan heard a sharp sound, as if Kirsten was pulling away, before Sandy continued angrily. "Fine. If you have a better idea, let me know what it is."
"I don't have any ideas, Sandy! All I know is that when we took Ryan in, it was really hard. It changed our whole family. But Seth was so sure that it would work, and so were you—"
Ryan didn't want to hear any more. He willed himself to move away, but something held him in place, forcing him to listen.
"It has worked, Kirsten," Sandy said quietly.
When she answered, Kirsten's voice sounded brittle and muffled. Ryan couldn't see her, but he imagined her hand cupped over her mouth, fingers digging into her cheek.
"I know. It all started to make sense. I could see Seth and Ryan as brothers, and I loved the fact that Seth wasn't an only child any more, that we had two sons. Only now . . . Sandy, it doesn't feel like we have any." Kirsten choked, finished hopelessly. "I hate this."
She started to cry, and when Ryan heard Sandy move to comfort her he realized that he had been holding his breath, waiting for the words that would end everything.
Carefully, silently, Ryan slid back toward the guestroom. When he got to the stairs he stopped for a moment, clenching his fists and dropping his head back against the wall. As he did, he caught a movement above him—Seth, looking as stricken and miserable as Ryan felt. He was on the landing, in one of his favorite eavesdropping stations, his arm wrapped around the banister. When he saw Ryan, he ducked away instantly and disappeared into his room.
And closed the door.