Chapter 15
Sandy slid into the driver's seat and closed the car door. He darted a quick look at Kirsten, his expression unreadable in the dark, and then clutched the steering wheel in a white-knuckled death grip while Seth and Ryan climbed wordlessly into the back seat.
Kirsten heard the metallic click of seatbelts being fastened, and then nothing. She held her breath, expecting someone to say something, to answer the questions they must know she had. No one did. Sandy simply started the ignition, driving with fierce concentration, apparently unaware of anyone else in the car.
The air throbbed with tension. Finally, Kirsten touched Sandy's shoulder to get his attention. "Sandy? What's wrong?" she murmured, almost afraid to hear the reply. "What happened?" Her voice was hushed, but it seemed to echo unnaturally in the closed space.
"Not now, sweetheart," Sandy said curtly. "When we get home, all right?" He reached over and patted her hand briefly, then lapsed back into silence.
Kirsten nodded, cast one anxious glance into the back seat at Seth and Ryan and then sat rigid, facing straight ahead all the way home. Behind her, Seth's eyes flickered from his father's back to Ryan's profile, and a few times he swallowed as though about to speak, but the foreboding quiet in the car felt like hands, one pressed over his mouth, the other locked on his shoulder, holding him in place. Ryan had turned to the window as soon as he sat down, and he never stirred, except for his fingers, which grasped the door handle spasmodically. The first time the car stopped at a light, Seth looked over furtively, half-afraid that Ryan would fling the door open and hurl himself out into the night.
Maybe Sandy had a similar thought. He clicked the childproof lock on, sealing the vehicle.
As soon as they pulled into the driveway, Sandy uttered a terse, "Living room. Now."
He gave Seth and Ryan just enough time to take seats at opposite ends of the couch. Then he exploded. "What the hell were you thinking?" His voice wasn't loud, but it vibrated with livid disbelief. "Both of you . . . I cannot believe you would be so thoughtless and irresponsible. You obviously didn't give a damn about anybody except yourselves tonight."
Kirsten had trailed the boys into the room, unable to keep up with Sandy's furious strides, unwilling to ask him to wait. "Sandy?" she asked, collapsing into an armchair. "Seth? Ryan? Would somebody please tell me what happened?"
"Disregarding everything we've ever told you," Sandy ranted, oblivious. "Getting drunk and high . . ."
Kirsten gasped. Her hand flew to her throat and her eyes flashed from Seth to Ryan and back to Sandy in consternation. "Boys . . . tell me you didn't . . . What did you do?"
Seth raised his hand to his shoulder, like a first-grader trying to get the teacher's attention.
"Uh, dad? Wrong conjunction," he offered helpfully. "Technically, I was the one getting drunk—just a little—and Ryan was the one getting high. Also just a little. So not drunk and high. Drunk or high—a little."
Sandy stopped pacing and whirled around, coming to a full stop in front of Seth. "Do you think that any of this is funny?"
"Not any more," Seth mumbled. He sank back on the couch and murmured to Ryan, "So much for lightening the mood."
A muscle in Ryan's jaw twitched, but he didn't answer.
"Well, Seth, since you seem a little more alert and willing to share right now than your cohort in crime, we might as well start with you." Sandy's tone oozed contempt, and Seth wasn't sure whether it was directed more at him or at Ryan. He suspected they might be equal targets, and he wondered why that idea made him briefly, bizarrely, happy. "Care to explain that colorful little scene I witnessed? Your mother didn't have the pleasure of seeing it, so I'm sure she'd love a description."
"Oh . . . kay," Seth began slowly. "Well, see, Mom, I got bored counting unicorns in Caitlyn's playroom—and by the way, isn't she a little old to have a playroom? Besides which, she's away at school, so really, it's just, like, a total waste of space that could be devoted to something more useful like a media room or"
"Seth!"
Seth flinched. "Yeah. Right, Dad. Rambling. So, back on point"
"It wasn't his fault," Ryan said suddenly. His voice was hollow and seemed to come from someplace far away.
Seth whipped around in surprise and Sandy nodded with something like approval, but Ryan didn't see either expression. When he raised his eyes, they fastened on Kirsten who was sitting silent and small in the armchair, twisting her rings nervously.
"I was the one. I was smoking." Ryan swallowed and admitted raggedly. "Marijuana. I was smoking weed. And . . . making out . . . with . . .well, just some girl I know."
"Oh, Ryan," Kirsten breathed.
He winced at the disappointment on her face, but continued resolutely. "Seth pretended Jamie was with him, but she wasn't, and he wasn't smoking. He didn't even show up until just before you did, Sandy. When he grabbed her. . . and the joint . . . he was only trying to be a friend. To protect Lindsay . . . from me. So she wouldn't find out what I was doing."
Kirsten shook her head, her eyes cloudy with disbelief. "I don't understand. Why would you do something like that, Ryan? That kind of behavior—it's not like you at all . . . Did we push you too hard—making you go to that damn party?" Her voice dropped to a shaky whisper. "Did I push you too hard, making you promise to stay here?"
"No!" Ryan answered sharply. He caught his breath, forcing himself back under control. His fist knotted around his crutch and he ground the tip of it into the floor before letting it slump against the coffee table. "You didn't do anything wrong. You haven't done anything wrong through any of this, Kirsten. You or Sandy."
"Then why . . .?"
Ryan hesitated before answering. He seemed to be searching for words, picking and discarding meaningless ones before he gave up and said simply, "I wanted to get out of myself for a while. Smoking and . . sex . . . just seemed like a way to do it, that's all."
"Well, it was a damned stupid way," Sandy announced, his voice blunt and inflexible.
Kirsten cringed at the tone and glanced anxiously at Ryan. "Sandy" she protested.
"No, honey, he needs to face it. Look at me, Ryan . . . Look at me," Sandy repeated. He crouched down so that they were at eye level, and waited until Ryan reluctantly met his gaze. The anger was gone, replaced with confusion and concern. "You're a smart kid. Did you really think it was a good idea to get high and cheat on your girlfriend?"
Ryan clenched his jaw, and the knuckles of his balled fist dug into the couch cushions.
"Ryan."
Sandy's voice was insistent and Ryan's head jerked up.
"I'm sorry," he blurted. "That's what you want to hear, right? And I am. I'm sorry for what I did tonight. I'm sorry that I can't be what you want me to be. I've tried and I can't. This is just who I am. Things in my life start going right and I fuck up. Like with Oliver last year. And then Theresa. And now this . . ."
Ryan broke off, his breathing erratic. He pushed himself up, grabbing for his crutch, but his hands wouldn't work and it fell out of his grasp.
"Sit down!" Sandy ordered, getting to his feet. Instinctively he reached for Ryan, but when the boy recoiled, he dropped his arms back to his side. He shook his head at Kirsten, who had started out of her own chair with a choked cry, and waited until they both sat down again before he continued, His face was sober, and a little sad.
"Ryan, Kirsten and I have never asked you to be perfect. You're the one who does that."
Ryan wrapped his arms around himself, digging his fingers into his bicep. "I don't . . ."
"Yes," Sandy maintained, "you do. Kid, listen to me. We do not expect you to be some sort of paragon. You or Seth."
"Seth is different," Ryan muttered.
Seth's eyes flickered uneasily from Ryan to his father. "Yeah," he agreed, with a conciliatory grin. "That seems to be the consensus in the polls." He nudged Ryan's side, trying to divert what seemed to him a potentially dangerous conversational direction. Ryan didn't response, and Sandy frowned, silencing Seth and making him sink back into his corner of the couch.
When he spoke again, Sandy's voice was deliberate and decisive. "It is not possible to be perfect, Ryan, not for anyone, and if that's what you've been trying to do . . . Well, it's too much pressure for anybody to handle. You have got to give yourself a break."
"Ryan, is that what you really think?" Kirsten asked anxiously. "That we expect you to be perfect?"
Ryan shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know," he conceded. "I mean, you don't say it or anything. But I owe you so much, so . . ."
"You want to know what you owe us, Ryan?" Sandy demanded. "Fine. I'll tell you."
Ryan looked up. His face was stoic, as if prepared to hear bad news that he had been braced to learn for a long time.
From the far end of the couch, Seth stared at his parents, mouth open, shocked that Sandy hadn't countered, "You don't owe us anything," that his mother didn't offer Ryan immediate reassurance. But Sandy's face was stern, and Kirsten looked stunned, rendered immobile by the evening's events.
Seth wondered if he should say something instead, but his father didn't give him a chance.
Sandy put a hand on Ryan's shoulder, holding firm when he shifted slightly away. "This is it, kid, so you better hear me," he declared. "You owe it to us to think before you act so you don't hurt yourself or somebody else."
"That's . . . it?" Ryan shook his head in disbelief. "That can't be all . . ."
"That's everything. You think it's so easy? Did you do it tonight?"
"I guess . . ." Ryan set his jaw. "No," he admitted. "I didn't."
"Damn right you didn't." Sandy sighed. "Hell, kid, we all know what a rough time you've had lately. But what you did tonight was stupid and dangerous and incredibly hurtful, and you had to know that." Despite his attempt to remain calm, Sandy found himself growing agitated again, and his voice rose. "And I'm not just talking about the marijuana. Did you really believe that what you were doing with that girl was going to make you feel better? Because it was pretty obvious what was going on, even if you didn't get to . . . finish. So tell me the truth, Ryan. Was it worth it to forget all about Lindsay, a girl who really cares about you, just so you could . . ?" He stopped, glancing at Kirsten, who had gone pale and was gripping the arms of her chair.
"Please, Sandy," she whispered. "Don't."
"Fine. But, Ryan, I want an answer," Sandy insisted.
Seth squirmed uncomfortably, watching as Ryan's face shuttered and grew dark. "Dad, hey," he urged quietly. "Come on. Chill."
"Chill?"
"Just, you know, you already made your point, so . . . ease up on Ryan, okay?"
"You know what? I don't take advice from half-drunk teenagers," Sandy snapped.
"Ouch," Seth muttered. "Direct hit. Shutting up now."
"Smart decision. Ryan . . .?"
Sandy's voice demanded a response. Ryan bit his upper lip, forced out a few thin, unwilling words. "No. It didn't make me feel better. It made me feel numb."
"Right. Numb." Sandy shook his head, his face registering regret as well as a kind of empathy. He gave Ryan a penetrating look, and then abruptly changed gears. "And you, Seth, I suppose you were going for the same result, trying to anesthetize yourself with alcohol?"
Ryan frowned, surprised, as Sandy swung his attention back to his son. He'd expected more interrogation, more of a lecture at least, and he didn't understand why Sandy was suddenly shifting blame back to Seth.
"Sandy," he objected. "I told you, Seth didn't do anything wrong. He was just covering for me."
"Um, Ryan?" Seth reminded him quietly. "In the parent handbook? Covering for someone pretty much makes you equally guilty."
Sandy nodded grimly. "True. So I assume you'll plead to the second count, Seth. Let's go back to the first one."
"Yeah, well, I . . . um, what exactly was the charge again, Dad?" Seth risked a quick grin, then quickly extinguished it when his father glowered at him.
Sandy crossed to Seth's side of the couch. Ryan's bewildered eyes tracked his movement, and he tried again, his voice raspy and persistent. "Sandy, I'm the one you're mad at. And Seth tried to stop me from . . . well, everything. I swear. So don't take it out on him, okay?"
"Oh, there's plenty of blame to go around here, Ryan," Sandy said coolly. He caught a questioning frown from Kirsten and telegraphed her an answering look that she recognized: trust me. She nodded slightly, sitting back, and Sandy continued, "Son, were you or were you not drinking tonight?"
"Man," Seth muttered. "I hate it when he goes lawyer on me." He looked over at Kirsten, hopeful of appealing to a higher court. "Mom?"
To Seth's despair, she just continued the cross-examination. "Did you drink alcohol at your grandfather's party, Seth?"
He tried a persuasive smile, flashing his dimples. "Well, I wouldn't say drink so much as sip," he claimed evasively. "And I wouldn't say alcohol, so much as champagne, which, come on, isn't even a third cousin twice removed to the hard stuff, right?"
"Stop smiling. Champagne is alcohol, you're underage, and as I recall, we've had this discussion before," Sandy retorted. "Obviously it didn't take, and you need a refresher course. But there's probably no point in trying to get through to you tonight."
Seth nodded with eager relief and started to get up, gesturing for Ryan to follow him.
"Hold it right there, you two. We're not done."
Sandy went to stand behind Kirsten, and put his hands on her shoulders.
Seth leaned over to Ryan who had sunk back on the couch, looking both confused and exhausted by the turns in the conversation. "It's the united front pose," Seth whispered. "Never a good sign."
Kirsten reached up to clasp Sandy's hand. She looked from Seth to Ryan and her eyes filled with tears. "I just don't know what to say to you boys about this," she began.
"Oh, I do," Sandy interjected. "For starters, you're both grounded." He raised a warning finger and pointed it at his son. "Don't even think about saying anything, Seth. I'm well aware of the fact that you are already grounded. Just consider your punishment extended indefinitely, possibly until your mother and I need you to get us settled in a nursing home. We'll let you know. And Ryan," he added grimly, "being grounded may sound a lot like just being stuck at home the way you have been, since you're still pretty much immobile. But trust me, you will know the difference. No calls, no computers, no television, no PlayStation. Oh, and next week is spring break, isn't it?" Sandy gave a satisfied nod and squeezed Kirsten's shoulders. "Excellent timing, guys. This is going to be particularly sweet retribution . . ."
"All of spring break? Sacred teen-time? But Dad . . ."
Sandy cocked his head quizzically. "I'm sorry, Seth. Was there something you wanted to say?"
"Say? Um . . . not so much." Seth swallowed and offered his parents an anemic smile. "Silent as the Sphinx here. Mum in fact."
"You, Ryan?"
Ryan bit the side of his lip and shook his head.
"Good," Sandy declared. "But Ryan . . . when we've both calmed down, we are going to talk about this some more. Whatever made you act out tonight, we're going to get it settled, understand? Because this cannot happen again."
Ryan looked at Sandy directly, his eyes dark with conviction. "It won't," he promised.
"Good," Sandy repeated, but the edge had gone out of his voice, and the lines in his face softened. "All right. Now get to bed, both of you. Sleep off . . . whatever."
"Wait!" Kirsten called, as Seth and Ryan got up. "I do have something I need to say first."
Both boys tensed, turning to face her. Kirsten hesitated for a moment. She pressed her palms together, resting her mouth on the steeple of her fingers. Then she folded her hands in her lap. "Seth, Ryan," she said quietly. "You really let us down tonight. Making a mistake is one thing, but deliberately doing things you know are wrong . . . that kind of behavior is never, ever acceptable in this family. Do you understand?" She waited for their sheepish, shamed nods before continuing. "Still . . . nothing that happened changes the fact that we love you both very much. And I want you to remember that." Her voice broke, and she gave a tremulous smile. "All right?"
Ryan ducked his head, murmured, "Yeah. Thank you," as Seth crossed and gave his mother a quick kiss. "Love you too, Mom," he said.
Kirsten cupped Seth's chin briefly and motioned to Ryan. He came over, standing hesitantly for a moment until Seth moved aside and whispered, "Tag in, bro." Then Ryan bent down and touched his lips to Kirsten's cheek. She brushed the hair out of his eyes as he stood back up.
"Now," she said, "you can both go to bed."
Sandy stepped from behind Kirsten's chair and followed Seth and Ryan to the door, watching as they made their way silently toward their rooms.
The moment the boys were out of sight, Sandy swung around, smiling broadly. He raised his hands above his head and clasped them in a victory salute.
"Sandy? What's going on? You're . . . happy? What is there to be happy about?" Kirsten demanded incredulously. Tears that she had blinked back while Seth and Ryan were in the room welled over, and she stared at her husband in disbelief.
Sandy bounded over, pulled her up into his arms, and began to dance her around the room, humming into her ear.
"What's gotten into you?" Kirsten protested, pushing against his chest. "Sandy, this evening was a complete catastrophe. The boys are self-destructing. I told you we shouldn't have forced them . . ."
Sandy stopped in mid-step, but he continued to hold her. "They stuck together, honey."
Kirsten blinked, bewildered.
"Think about it," Sandy urged. "Ryan defended Seth. Seth asked me to ease up on Ryan. Sweetheart, they were acting like . . ."
Kirsten's eyes widened. "Like friends," she breathed with stunned comprehension. "Like brothers. The way they used to. Sandy, they were, weren't they? Do you suppose . . .?"
Sandy tightened his grasp and rested his chin on top of Kirsten's head. "Well, we can't get too excited. They were both under the influence, remember? Let's see how they do sober, when Seth takes Ryan to rehab and they have to deal with each other without having us as a common opponent. You know, the enemy of my enemy is my friend . . ."
"Sandy Cohen! We are not the enemy!"
"Kirsten," Sandy said blithely, as he switched from a fox trot into a slightly off-rhythm rumba, "we're parents. Of course we're the enemy. It's part of the job description. Just like we're the heroes, the role models, the coaches, the confessors, the mentors, the bankers, the lifeguards, and about sixty other things. You have to read the fine print, honey. Anyway, let's not lose sight of the important point here."
"And the important point is . . .?"
"That we should absolutely avoid all parties at your father's house," Sandy teased. Then he stopped dancing and added seriously, "Actually, sweetheart, as horrible as Cooper-Nichol parties are, I've gotta say, in my book? This one turned out to be an exception. I know it happened for all the wrong reasons, and obviously we've got some issues we need to deal with once the dust settles. But I really do think Seth and Ryan are back on track." Sandy raised Kirsten's hand to his lips and kissed it. "And now, Mrs. Cohen, care to finish our dance?
Kirsten laughed as Sandy spun her dizzily around the living room. She collapsed against him, nestling under his chin and feeling his breath lift her hair as he continued to hum.
"If the boys could see us now, they would think that we're completely crazy," she murmured. "Singing and dancing when they" Kirsten stopped abruptly and pulled herself away just enough so that she could look up at Sandy. Her eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. "Wait a minute. Sanford Cohen . . . you manipulated Seth and Ryan tonight, didn't you?"
"I don't know what you mean, sweetheart," Sandy claimed innocently.
Kirsten slapped him lightly on the chest, smiling with wry admiration. "Oh yes, you do. The way you were accusing them, baiting them, pushing them—it was all designed to goad them into defending each other, wasn't it?"
"Little bit. Little, little, tiny bit." Sandy held up a hand, his thumb and forefinger measuring a scant inch. "Hey, sweetheart, a lawyer has to use a few tricks sometimes if he wants to get at the truth." He pulled Kirsten back against him and kissed her deeply. "The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."
"Why you—attorney, you." Kirsten released two buttons on Sandy's shirt and slipped her hand underneath the fabric. "You are so bad."
"And that would be bad as in . . .?"
Kirsten let her fingers and her lips answer him first. "As in very, very good. Oh, counselor. I can't wait to see you in my chambers . . ."
At the foot of the stairs, Seth turned to Ryan and rocked back on his heels.
"So, dude," he began tentatively, "this evening pretty much turned into . . ."
"A fucking mess," Ryan concluded.
"Well, I was thinking something a little more epic. The sinking of the Titanic. The crash of the Hindenburg. The siege of the Alamo. But a fucking mess? Yeah, that pretty much sums it up too."
Ryan sighed. "It's all on me, Seth," he muttered, stabbing at the bottom step with the tip of his crutch. "You shouldn't have gotten busted for it. I didn't mean to drag you down with me tonight. What you did—well, I . . . owe you, man." Under his breath he added, so quietly that Seth didn't hear, "Again."
Seth shrugged, shaking his head. "No, hey, I figure if we follow the whole cause-effect line back to the beginning, shit, I'm the one who started this whole snowball of disaster rolling. Which, you know, takes major fuck-up talent, since we live in southern California and it's practically impossible to even make a snowball."
Ryan's brow furrowed, trying to follow Seth's rambling logic.
"Yeah, I mean . . . anyway, we can trace pretty much every lousy thing that's happened recently back to . . . well, you know," Seth explained, with an expression of earnest appeal. "My infamous erase-the-tape moment. So you don't owe me, Ryan . . . Seriously. You don't."
"Still," Ryan insisted uncomfortably, "it's not right for you to take the heat for tonight. Look, maybe tomorrow I can talk to Sandy . . ."
Seth gave an ironic smile and waved his hands magnanimously. "Thanks, but trust me, Ryan, that would be so not worth the effort. Because, dude, the drinking? I did that all on my own. Hell, I would have done a lot more if Summer and Alex, AKA the Carrie Nation twins, hadn't come charging in waving their hatchets. Well, their metaphorical hatchets anyway." Seth shuddered. "God, can you picture Summer with a real one?"
Ryan frowned, puzzled. "The Carrie Nation twins?"
"Okay, you're clearly a little too far gone for obscure American history references. Don't worry about it, buddy. I'll explain it all someday. Besides, when you talk science, I get lost."
"Seth," Ryan countered, his face lighting with a faint smirk, "you get lost four blocks away from the Harbor campus."
"Ah! What was that?" Seth asked dramatically. "Was that a weak but brave attempt at the legendary Atwood humor?"
"Legendary?"
"Yeah, you know. Legendary. May not exist in reality, but occasional reports of sightings make us want to believe in it." The moment he said them, Seth wanted the words back, and he held his breath waiting to see if Ryan would be offended.
"So my humor is . . ." Ryan raised an eyebrow and considered. "The Loch Ness Monster?"
Seth caught the quirk of Ryan's lips and did a little shimmy of relief. "Um, yeah. Or, you know, maybe Bigfoot."
"No, I'm Nessie. You would be Bigfoot," Ryan parried. "And hey, that was the best I could do tonight . . ." A shadow of worry erased his brief smile. "Seth, do you suppose your mom will be all right?"
"Mom? Sure. She's fine. Why?"
"I think we upset her tonight. A lot. In the car on the way home she was like. . . frozen, or something. And did you see the way she was looking at us in there?" Ryan shook his head, shifted his gaze away from Seth's face. His voice suddenly sounded very guilty. "She's taken all of this . . . you know, what's happened with us . . . really hard."
Seth nodded, suddenly serious. "Yeah, I know. But, Ryan, honestly, I think Mom will be okay as long as we are. Are we? Okay? 'Cause see, to me, tonight felt a lot like the way things used to be—well, I mean after the whole alternative universe bit with Jamie and the weed and everything."
"Yeah." Ryan risked one of his shy, almost cautious half-smiles that offered trust, but still held back a small measure of himself. "Yeah, it did sort of," he said slowly.
"So . . .?"
Ryan hesitated for just a moment, his eyes skimming the ground. "We're okay, Seth," he said finally, head cocked as if he was listening to his own words. "I mean . . . yeah. We're getting there."
"Right," Seth agreed, bobbing his head rhythmically. "Getting there. So that's progress . . . Um, Ryan, not that I want to ruin this band of brothers moment or anything, but . . . what about Lindsay?"
"Lindsay," Ryan repeated heavily.
"What are you gonna do, dude? I mean, if I can help, I totally will . . . but somehow I don't think Lindsay would appreciate the tag-team approach too much."
Ryan blew out a despairing breath. "Nah. My guess? Lindsay's done with me," he predicted tonelessly. "I don't blame her either because, shit, that business with Jamie on top of . . ." He stopped suddenly.
"On top of what, Ryan?" Seth looked at Ryan, troubled by his vacant tone of voice, his suddenly bleak expression. "What else is going on with you, man? 'Cause if you want to talk, you know, I'm here."
Ryan sighed again, weighing the offer. "Look, Seth, could we maybe drop this for tonight?" he suggested. "I really don't feel like . . ."
"Yeah, no, totally with you on that. One post-mortem limit per night. Besides, if we stay out here much longer, Dad will probably come out and extend our punishments until the next millennium. So . . . talk to you tomorrow?"
Ryan bit his lip, debating. "Tomorrow," he agreed.
"Okay then." Hesitantly, Seth held out his fist.
Ryan looked at it, gave a crooked grin and rapped it lightly with his knuckles.
"Good night, Seth."
"Night, Ryan."
Despite being slightly dizzy, Seth took the stairs two at a time. He was trying to figure out if it was too late to call Summer. There was something he really wanted to discuss with her.
Ryan watched him go, then turned wearily to his own room and pushed open the door. The light inside startled him, and his eyes, heavy-lidded and expecting darkness, blinked several times before they focused. When his sight cleared, Ryan leaned back against his closed door, stunned.
It didn't make sense, but there they were: Lindsay and Summer, both of them expressionless, sitting rigidly in his bedroom.
Waiting for him.
TBC
A/N: Yes, I know. How did they get in? Why didn't anybody notice the car? Answers in the next chapter