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Chapter 19

"Boys, it's very rude to keep guests waiting," Kirsten reproved, entering the foyer as the doorbell rang a second time. "Isn't anyone going to get the door?"

Seth nodded. "Ryan was just about to do that."

"I was?" Ryan asked blankly, still pondering Sandy's comment about 'your guests.' "I mean, yes, I was, Kirsten."

Just as his hand touched the knob, Seth grabbed Ryan's wrist.

"Wait," he urged in a theatrical whisper. "Think about how weird it's been around here today, dude. So who knows what's on the other side of that door?"

Ryan frowned. "Maybe . . . the guests?"

"Ah, but who are these mysterious 'guests'?" Seth persisted, eyes darting suspiciously. "Come on, man. Letting in a stranger is always a fatal mistake in horror movies. It's one of the top ten ways to get yourself dismembered. Don't go down the basement, don't take a shortcut through the cemetery, don't make-out in a car on a deserted street, and whatever you do, don't open the door. . ."

Kirsten sighed in exasperation as the bell rang again. "Seth Ezekiel! Enough. People are waiting . . . Ryan? Door, please?"

Obediently, Ryan pried Seth's fingers off his wrist and opened the door. Then he stood back, blinking in bewilderment.

"I'm so glad you could come on such short notice, kids. Just go on out to the patio," Kirsten called, sweeping past Seth and Ryan as Sandy came downstairs. "The boys will be with you in just a minute. Sandy and I need a word with them first."

"So . . . our guests," Ryan concluded, watching as Summer, Marissa, Alex and Luke filed in, chatting animatedly among themselves.

"Surprise, guys," Summer caroled. She flipped open her phone, snapping a picture of Seth as she strutted past. "This is so a Kodak moment. But open mouth, Cohen? I mean, it's pretty much always open, but still not your best look. Close, please."

Seth promptly popped his jaw shut, but his eyes remained wide and baffled as he waved a tentative hello, and when Luke reached a fist toward him he jumped back in alarm.

"Relax, Cohen," Luke laughed, cuffing him lightly on the shoulder. "I wasn't gonna hit you. Hey, Chino. How's it going?"

Ryan nodded a bemused greeting and Seth murmured, "Right. Yeah. Hello. Back at you, Luke." His hand sketched a clumsy return punch, catching Marissa's shoulder accidentally. She scowled, but Alex took her elbow and pulled her away.

Lindsay trailed behind the others. She paused to squeeze Ryan's hand, offering him a small, private smile. "I missed you this morning," she whispered, before disappearing through the French doors.

Seth's head swiveled from his parents to his friends and back again. "Oh . . . kay," he said dazedly, "let's see if I've got this. When you said 'we're having people over,' Dad, what you actually meant was 'we're' having people over." He gestured from Ryan to himself. "Which, yeah, is great and all, I guess, except really kind of bizarre, I mean, considering the whole grounding-and-no-entertainment-of-any-kind deal. So if somebody doesn't explain what's going on, like, right now, my head might explode. Seriously, Ryan, it might. I'd stand back if I were you."

Ryan retreated a step and Kirsten looked at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. "Hey, it's Seth," he explained. "You never know."

"All right. Sit down, Seth," Sandy ordered, steering his son into the living room. "You too, Ryan." He waited to continue until they were settled on the couch. "Before you boys got up this morning, Lindsay came to see us. She wanted to talk about what happened last night."

Ryan's eyes widened, alarmed. "She . . . what? Lindsay talked to you about that?"

Kirsten nodded, perching on the arm of Sandy's chair. "It was very sweet, actually. She wanted to apologize for using her key without our knowledge."

"Oh. Using her key," Ryan repeated, relieved. "Right. She was afraid you might be upset about that." He relaxed visibly until Sandy's next words jolted him back to attention.

"And she was very forthcoming about what went on while she was here . . . Ryan? You know that Kirsten and I are glad that you and Lindsay reconciled, but . . ." Sandy's voice rose meaningfully.

"Don't say it," Ryan pleaded, shrinking into the cushions, and trying to disappear. "I know. Sandy. Could we just not . . .?" His eyes darted to Kirsten in embarrassment before dropping to the floor.

"I'm sure you do know. So, yes, we'll save that issue for another time. In any case, Lindsay and Summer--"

Seth, who had been watching Ryan's discomfort with sympathetic amusement, suddenly jerked forward. "Whoa! And Summer?" he demanded. "Summer was here too? Wait, were the girls in the kitchen? Because, see, Ryan, now it's all starting to make sense. I mean, in a totally insane Summer-Roberts-sense kind of way . . ."

"Seth. Listen. Now." Sandy's tone silenced his son, who reluctantly zipped his lips and sat back.

"Apparently, last night the girls planned to get you two together with your friends at Caleb's party. They thought it might help . . . well, all of you really, to work out your problems and get past everything that's gone on. But then . . ."

"I ruined it," Ryan concluded.

Kirsten inclined her head regretfully. "Yes, Ryan, you did. But this isn't about what happened last night. Sandy and I want to talk about the decision we made this morning."

"Lindsay and Summer asked us to let them bring everybody here since you never got a chance to talk at Caleb's," Sandy reported. "They actually argued quite a persuasive case. Lindsay even organized notes on index cards."

Ryan lips twitched into a half-smile. "Lindsay would. She likes to be prepared. You know, so nothing goes wrong."

Sandy raised his eyebrows. "An excellent quality, wouldn't you say?" he asked pointedly.

Ryan flushed and chewed the inside of his cheek.

"Sandy!" Kirsten reproved. "Another time, remember?"

"Right," Sandy conceded. He looked intently from Ryan to Seth. "Lindsay claimed that it's not good for either one of you to be grounded, not when you're already so isolated. Evidently, she believes that you both need your friends right now."

Seth's mouth twisted. "I wasn't sure I still had any friends," he admitted. "I mean, except maybe Summer . . ." His voice trailed off uncertainly.

Ryan caught his breath, but he said nothing. His eyes were still locked on the ground, and Kirsten tapped his knee to get his attention. "Lindsay made a lot of sense, sweetie," she said with quiet emphasis. "You and Seth have both been spending too much time alone."

"Yeah, well, not by my choice," Seth mumbled. Ryan glanced over, a muscle throbbing in his set jaw, and he added hastily. "I mean . . . I'm not blaming you, Ryan. It's only that . . . hell, I just never wanted, you know, what happened to . . . happen."

Ryan took a deep breath. "Neither did I, Seth."

"Right. So, then, we have that in common."

There was an uncomfortable silence, during which Sandy and Kirsten exchanged anxious glances, and Ryan bit his lip. Finally Seth added, his voice deceptively casual. "You know, dude, I've really missed Seth-Ryan time. I mean, Captain Oats gives it his equine best, but what with the hooves and all, he just doesn't have the manual dexterity to play Halo II."

Ryan tilted his head, the shadow of a smirk flitting across his lips. "Neither do you, Seth."

"Hey!" Seth objected. His voice sounded indignant, but he couldn't hide the flash of his dimples. "I've been practicing, man. I could so take you now."

"You mean you could try."

Kirsten smiled with relief and amusement and Sandy beamed at both boys.

"The grudge match will have to be postponed until another time," he declared.

Seth groaned. "Dad, really, 'grudge' match?"

"No pun intended," Sandy assured him. "I just meant that you have company outside waiting for you."

Seth shimmied in his seat eagerly. "Right. Company. So, are Ryan and I, like, officially off punishment, Dad? Houston we have lift off?"

"Your mother and I are considering . . . considering . . . launching you both back into society," Sandy admitted. "But there are conditions, gentlemen."

"Right, conditions. Conditions are totally fair. Ryan and I agree to all the specified terms, don't we, bro? Where do we sign?"

Ryan frowned. "Seth," he cautioned. "We haven't heard the terms."

"Come on, Ryan. We've been through post-it note hell. How bad can these conditions be?"

Ryan looked at Kirsten and Sandy. Their eyes met his with warmth and compassion, and he swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. "Not bad at all," he admitted softly.

"So here's the deal, guys. Seth, you're still going to drive Ryan to rehab."

A shadow crossed Kirsten's face, but no one noticed.

Seth bobbed his head. "Check. I drive, Ryan rehabs. No problemo, Dad. What else?"

"No curfew extensions until further notice. Don't even bother asking. Both of you let us know where you are at all times. And neither one of you is to put anything into your body that you can't purchase legally with your own I.D. This is non-negotiable, gentlemen."

"Got it. No negotiations," Seth agreed.

"No drinking, no drugs, no coming home late," Ryan clarified. "Anything else?"

"Yes," Kirsten said somberly. Surprised and nervous, Seth stopped jiggling his legs and Ryan gripped the armrest of the couch. "Here's the hard one. And you've both heard this before. Seth, we need you to think before you speak and before you act. And when I say think, I don't mean about what you want. I mean consider how your behavior will impact other people. And Ryan . . . we want you to talk to us more about things that matter to you. Please don't make us try to read your mind all the time. Can you boys do that for us?"

Ryan kneaded his bicep and took a deep breath. "I can promise to try," he said slowly. "If that's good enough? Because I don't know about Seth. . ."

"Yeah," Seth murmured. "I don't know about me either. I mean, it's just, I've spent sixteen years perfecting the art of the babble, so to change it up now . . ."

"We don't expect you to become different people," Sandy assured them.

Kirsten smiled tenderly, "We don't want you to be different people. We love who you are, boys. Just . . . show us you've learned something. All right?"

Ryan nodded. Seth cocked a finger in his direction and declared, "Me too. What he said."

"Good." Sandy took Kirsten's hand and stood up. "I'll have my secretary draft the legal documents and fax them over for your signatures tomorrow."

"Legal? Signatures?" Seth sputtered, and then shook his head. "Right. I forgot. Dad's funny today, Ryan. Humor him. Laugh."

"Humor me, Ryan. Don't listen to Seth. Just get out of here, both of you, before we change our minds." Sandy handed Ryan his crutch. "Your guests and the grill await."

Seth didn't even wait until the French doors closed behind him before demanding, "Okay, Summer, 'fess up. The post-it notes in the kitchen this morning? Your idea, right?"

Summer lay back in a lounge chair, kicking off her sandals and crossing her ankles primly. "Absolutely not," she claimed. "That was all Lindsay."

"What post-it notes?" Alex asked at the same time that Ryan, who had clasped Lindsay's hand, spun her around in surprise.

"You? You did that to us?"

"Not . . . really," Lindsay answered, ducking her head. "Well, I guess I did in a way. But Summer inspired the idea. She made so many crumbs eating a bagel with her eyes closed--"

"What? I was tired. And hungry," Summer explained when the others stared at her. "It's just not all that easy to eat and sleep at the same time."

"Anyway, Kirsten was going to clean up," Lindsay continued, "but I said we hadn't come over to make work for her, and maybe she should just leave a note for you guys to take care of it after you had breakfast . . . You're not mad, are you, Ryan?"

She walked her fingers up his arm and across his chest, biting her lip appealingly. Ryan dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Nah. Not mad. But Lindsay," he reminded her with a slight frown, "there was more than one note."

Lindsay peeked up. Her voice was muffled, since her mouth was pressed against Ryan's throat. "Sandy thought it would be funny to leave a few of them."

Seth sighed. "Yeah, Dad's all about the funny today. But . . . a few?" He frowned suspiciously and ticked off his fingers, counting. "Okay, like three or four could be considered a few, but there were, well, I'm not sure exactly, but definitely more than a few notes. And there was a lot, lot, lot of mess."

Summer beamed at him. "There was, wasn't there?" she agreed smugly. "Lindsay and I made the mess—well, mostly me. I kind of got carried away once we got started. But hey, Cohen, the way your room has looked lately, I totally thought you felt at home surrounded by filth."

Affronted, Seth looked to Ryan for back-up, but Ryan just shrugged. "She has a point, Seth."

"It's not filth," Seth grumbled. "It's creative chaos. And anyway, I cleaned, Summer. A little anyway. You noticed last night--" He stopped abruptly, glancing around. "Wait. Is Zach here? I mean, if you didn't tell him that you visited me last night . . ."

"Zach couldn't make it," Summer reported. "He had to do, I don't know, something with his family." She shuddered slightly. "What a boring way to spend a Sunday. Or an any day, really. It's much more fun here."

Seth's face brightened. "So . . . you could have been spending the day with Zach but you chose me instead?" Summer raised a cautioning eyebrow and he clarified, "I mean, here. Or, yeah, me, but really, me kind of in the collective sense. A we-me, so to speak. You know, as in Seth plus Ryan plus everyone else, me."

"Don't make me sorry I came, Cohen," Summer warned, glaring at him.

"Make you sorry?" Seth countered. "Hey, I'm expecting an apology from you, Summer. With all that unnecessary work you created, I'm holding you personally responsible for my blisters. All three of them."

Summer made a face of mock sympathy. "Really? You have blisters?" she cooed. "Aw, poor Cohen. I'm surprised you even knew what they were."

"Whoa, guys," Luke interjected, stepping between them before Seth could launch his comeback. "If I have to sit through an insult marathon, I need nourishment first. Isn't there supposed to be food here? Some of us are hungry. Thirsty too . . . Chino, I would have brought a six-pack, but I thought the Cohens might not appreciate it."

"Yeah, kinda think not. But food coming up," Ryan replied. "Seth, you're going to fire up the grill, right?" He tossed over the spatula, shaking his head sadly when it bounced off Seth's chest and fell to the patio floor. "Maybe one of these days, Seth . . ."

"Maybe one of these days, Ryan, you'll give me a heads-up before you throw something at me."

"Yeah," Alex drawled. "Like that will help."

Ryan grinned. "There's a baseball in the poolhouse, Alex. You and Luke could give Seth pointers while I get the food." His voice dropped an octave and he whispered to Lindsay. "Want to help me out in the kitchen?"

"I would love to . . . help you. Anywhere," Lindsay murmured, and then blushed when she realized the others were listening. "Sorry. We'll just be a minute or . . . well, a few minutes, everybody."

She and Ryan disappeared through the French doors, ignoring Seth's plaintive cries of "Wait! Ryan! Tell them you were kidding about the baseball, man . . .You know, Luke, I'm the one on grill duty so you really should try not to, like, hit me in the head or anything . . ."

Inside the kitchen, Ryan backed Lindsay against the counter while she hooked her fingers into his belt loops, pulling until their bodies were pressed together. She lifted her face in invitation and Ryan leaned down, his tongue tracing her lips, but as her mouth opened, he pulled away. "Lindsay?" he asked, his voice on the edge of a growl. "You told Sandy and Kirsten what we did last night?"

Lindsay blinked in alarmed disappointment. "What?" she stammered, shaking her head. "Ryan, no . . . Well, that is, I guess, yes. But not what we did, really. Just sort of . . . that we did. But I'm sorry. I mean . . . if you're upset. Are you upset?"

"Upset," Ryan repeated a little hoarsely. "No, I don't think that's what I'm feeling right now."

Lindsay sighed in relief. "Good, because, you know, I didn't plan. . . I mean, I just talked to them so that we . . . Ryan, it's okay, isn't it? That I brought everyone over? Because I just thought . . ."

"It was a good thought," Ryan said softly, his breath ruffling her hair.

"You're sure? Because I know you and Seth . . . and well, all the tension . . . and things people said . . . and . . . God, Ryan! Why can't I ever form a coherent sentence when I'm with you?

"Maybe because there are better things for your mouth to be doing?" Ryan suggested. He nipped her bottom lip playfully, his hand moving under her shirt, and Lindsay moaned, dissolving against him.

"Oh yes," she agreed happily. "There really are."

"So, Phil?" Caleb demanded. "What do you think?"

Phil Styles, dressed in his golfing clothes, stared at Caleb in doubtful confusion. "It's doable, of course, Cal. But when Kirsten proposed this project, you said it wasn't profitable enough for the Newport Group to pursue."

Caleb spun the miniature globe on his desk thoughtfully. "There are all kinds of ways to make a profit," he observed. "This development probably won't work to our financial advantage, but trust me, there are still things to be gained."

"Then, fine, I'll draw up the necessary papers," Phil promised. "Now, if you don't need anything else . . .?"

Caleb waved him away. "You're done."

Phil nodded, shuffled his files together and left, passing Julie as she entered the office. She raised her eyebrows curiously and looped her arms around Caleb's neck from behind.

"Darling?" she asked, resting her chin on his shoulder. "You called Phil after all? But when I left. . ."

"You told me to think outside the box, Juju. And that," Caleb declared with satisfaction, "is exactly what I'm doing."

Kirsten found herself humming as she went to refill her glass of ice tea. Somehow, emotionally, she'd spun back in time, enjoying the same sense of drowsy content that she'd felt after breakfast yesterday, before Ryan's letter from UCLA arrived, before the various disasters at the Newport Group re-launch party.

Outside, she could see the boys savoring the last few minutes with their friends. Seth was sitting on the side of the pool, feet dangling in the water, arms waving, chatting with Alex over the head of an amused Summer. Behind them, Luke and Marissa were clustered around Ryan, who was stretched out on a lounge chair. He lay slightly on his side, with Lindsay nestled snugly next to him. Kirsten could see that Ryan wasn't actively participating in the conversation. His head was resting on Lindsay's shoulder and his eyes were closed, but he was smiling, even laughing occasionally, at whatever Luke was saying.

It all looked so right.

Kirsten did feel a brief pang that the gathering had splintered slightly into a Seth group and a Ryan group. She would rather have seen everyone together, but she knew that there was still some awkwardness between the boys, a small gulf peppered with prickly and forbidding unfinished business that they had not yet resolved.

At least, Kirsten reminded herself, they had made a solid start. Seth and Ryan were talking. They were, however sporadically and carefully, joking. They were standing up for each other. They were getting into trouble together.

As a parent, Kirsten knew that she shouldn't be happy about that last fact. But she was.

It was so much better than seeing them get into trouble apart.

Kirsten stole a last glance at the boys and dropped a wedge of lemon into her ice tea, then poured a second, over-sugared glass for Sandy. At the last minute, feeling generous, she also cut a large wedge of shortcake, a consolation prize for her husband, who was in the family room still struggling with the last four crossword clues. Kirsten had already figured out the missing words, but she intended to wait a while before she filled in the blanks.

Watching Sandy suffer would make her ultimate gloating that much sweeter.

And her gloating might inspire Sandy to seek revenge. That could be sweet too.

Smiling to herself, Kirsten started back to the family room just as the doorbell rang. She sighed, her good mood suddenly in jeopardy. Everyone she wanted to see was already at her house. She couldn't imagine any visitor she would welcome now.

Kirsten's initial reaction when she opened the door to a work-shirt clad stranger was relief. At least it wasn't her father. All day she had half-expected Caleb to appear, righteous and irate, armed with reports about how badly the boys had behaved at his party, his house. She figured she'd have to face that confrontation sometime, but Kirsten really didn't want it to spoil her Sunday.

The man at the door nodded at her, a grin creasing his sunburned cheeks.

"Mrs. Cohen?"

"Yes," Kirsten answered, peering at the name, Russ, embroidered in an oval on his pocket. "May I help you?"

Then her gaze slid past the man to the driveway, and Kirsten froze. Dimly, as if from a distance, she heard Russ saying something about sorry it had taken so long and all damage repaired and good as new and probably be glad to get rid of the loaner. When the man stretched out his hand, car keys dangling from his fingers, Kirsten recoiled. Her head was shaking, and she scarcely realized that she had dropped the tray she was holding, splattering her feet with tea and crumbs and bits of broken glass.

"Ma'am? Mrs. Cohen? Is something wrong" Russ asked in alarm. "Jeez, let me help you with that."

He swabbed ineffectually at the puddle with a handkerchief and began to pick up the largest shards of glass, but Kirsten didn't move.

"Sandy . . ." she whispered. Then she found her voice and cried frantically, "Sandy!"

"Honey . . . what?" Sandy ran from the family room, catching Kirsten from behind as she retreated from the foyer. She was trembling, and Sandy stared without comprehension at the mess on the floor, then raised his eyes to meet the apprehensive ones of the man standing by the door.

"Russ? What happened here?"

"So help me, Sandy, I don't know," Russ said helplessly. "I just brought the Rover back. You said you wanted it for tomorrow morning, but I finished too late to deliver it yesterday, and you said you'd be home today, so I thought, even though it's Sunday . . . Anyway, I don't know. I must have startled your wife somehow. Mrs. Cohen, I'm really sorry. If you'll tell me where I can find a broom, I'll be glad to clean this up."

Sandy tightened his arm around Kirsten. "Thanks, Russ, but I'll take care of it. Look, the keys for the loaner are on the counter in the kitchen. Could you just get them and leave ours? Do I have to sign anything?"

"Just this." Russ fished a pen out of his pocket and Sandy scrawled a signature on the clipboard he held. "You sure everything's all right? I can't do anything for you?"

"Everything's fine," Sandy claimed. "Thanks again. Especially for taking the time to deliver the car today. The kitchen's that way."

"No problem. I'll just exchange the keys and get out of your way." Russ bobbed his head nervously and backed out of the room.

Sandy led Kirsten to the stairs and sat down with her on the bottom step.

"Okay, sweetheart. It's all right," he crooned. "I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you that I had arranged to have the Rover delivered this weekend. But the boys will need it tomorrow when Seth takes Ryan to rehab."

Kirsten stared at him incredulously. Her lips moved slightly, but she didn't say anything.

"I figured you . . . well, we all would feel better if Seth didn't have to drive the loaner," Sandy explained, choosing his words carefully. "It really doesn't have enough legroom for Ryan to ride comfortably, and besides, Seth isn't familiar with it. You remember how he was when he learned to drive the Rover. Once he knows how a vehicle operates Seth does great, but his first time behind the wheel . . ." Sandy smiled encouragement and rubbed Kirsten's back, his hand moving in soothing circles. "Sweetheart, I know you were startled when the Rover just turned up again. You didn't expect it, and seeing it probably made you flash back to . . ."

"The accident?" Kirsten asked stonily.

"Yes," Sandy conceded. "The accident. But that's behind us, honey. You just need to relax, all right?"

Kirsten tensed and shifted away from Sandy's touch.

"Don't tell me to relax. I hate that car," she hissed fiercely. "I didn't want it back. You knew that. I told you I never wanted it back."

"Kirsten, you said that while Ryan was still in the hospital. You were upset . . ."

"So you just chose to ignore my feelings? Make decisions for me, as if I'm some kind of child who can't think for herself?" Kirsten wrenched herself to her feet so abruptly that she stumbled and had to grab the newel post. "Damn you, Sandy."

He stared at her, shocked, his brow furrowed. "Kirsten? Sweetheart? You're not making sense," he argued quietly. "Come here. Just . . . sit down, all right?" Sandy moved over to give Kirsten more room. She looked at him for a long moment, her lips crimping, and then dropped back down, as if she couldn't support her own weight anymore.

"Honey, you knew I was having the car repaired. That's why we had the loaner, to use until we got our own car back."

Sandy kept his tone reasonable, but Kirsten flushed with anger anyway. "My car, Sandy. Mine. So the decision about what to do with it should have been mine too."

"All right, Kirsten, yes, your car. But you knew I was having it repaired," Sandy repeated, confused. "After all, it wasn't damaged that much--"

"I don't care how much it was damaged!" Kirsten cried. "I care how much damage it did. And fine, Sandy, you probably told me what you were doing. I don't remember, all right?" Her voice caught in her throat. "But you had no right . . . Didn't you care at all about how I'd react? Do my feelings mean that little to you?"

Seth and Ryan, heading to their rooms from the kitchen, froze at the sound of Kirsten's words. The relaxed smiles left over from their party disappeared instantly.

"Of course your feelings matter," Sandy protested. "Kirsten, honey--" He broke off at the sight of the boys and smiled wanly. "Hey. Party over, guys?"

"Um . . . yeah, right on time, as ordered," Seth answered. "Everybody's gone home. And, well, yeah, this was great today . . ." His voice drifted off, bewildered, and he shot a troubled look at Ryan, mouthed a silent "Tag in."

Ryan nodded, his gaze locked on Kirsten, whose face was turned to the wall, avoiding them. "We just wanted to say . . . thanks. For letting everybody come over. And to tell you that we'll be glad to clean up . . . Sandy? Is everything okay?"

"Of course," Sandy claimed. "Kirsten and I just have to talk about a few things . . . Tell you what, guys. I'll handle the clean up. Why don't you two head for your rooms? Maybe make up for that sleep I didn't let you have this morning?"

"Dad, hey, it's only seven-thirty," Seth began, but he swallowed the rest of his words when Sandy's eyes flashed dangerously. "Right. Sleep. Sounds good." He gave an extravagant yawn. "All of a sudden I'm really exhausted. You, Ryan?"

"Yeah," Ryan agreed, his voice low and troubled. "Me too."

"So then. Okay. Yeah. 'Night, everybody." Seth started to sidle between his parents, but Kirsten suddenly got to her feet.

"We don't have anything to talk about, Sandy," she announced. Her voice had no inflection at all. "And you don't have to go to bed yet, boys. But I think that I will. And I'll be using the upstairs guestroom tonight."

Ryan checked his clock for the third time before deciding that he might as well just get up even though it wasn't even seven a.m. Leaving his brace on the dresser, he started to limp out to the kitchen, but at the last minute he grabbed his crutch, just in case he met Kirsten or Sandy.

The aroma of coffee told him that somebody else was already awake.

"Hey, kid. A little early for you to be up on the first day of spring break, isn't it?" Sandy asked as Ryan slipped onto a stool.

Ryan nodded. "Couldn't sleep. Coffee?" He looked hopefully at the pot, and Sandy poured a second mug, handing it to him. Ryan sipped it, watching with concern as Sandy opened cabinet doors, peered inside, and then closed them again.

"Sandy? Are you . . . I mean, can I help you with something?"

"We gave Rosa the week off, and I was just thinking about making some breakfast, only I can't seem to find the skillet," Sandy explained. He leaned back against the counter and ran his fingers through his unruly hair. "Kirsten really didn't eat any dinner last night . . ."

"The drawer under the broiler. That's where the skillet is, I mean. Did Kirsten . . .?" Ryan's voice trailed off, and he stared into the murky contents of his coffee cup. "Never mind. I mean, I know it's not my business."

Sandy sighed wearily. "She hasn't come out of the guestroom, Ryan. I knocked, but she said that she wants to be left alone."

Ryan gestured at the food sitting on the sideboard. "So you thought . . .?"

"I thought I'd try to lure her out with bacon," Sandy admitted ruefully. "It's a cheaper bribe than jewelry, and we can always eat it if she turns it down, right? Can't do that with a bracelet."

Ryan attempted a smile, but it disappeared before it fully formed. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "This . . . Kirsten being so upset . . . it's pretty much my fault. I mean she didn't cause the accident. I did. And now it's making her mad at you . . . "

"Hey!" Sandy's resolute tone forced Ryan's reluctant gaze to meet his. "Don't do this, kid. No apologies. This one is on me. I should have listened to Kirsten when she said she didn't want the car repaired. Hell, who cares what she drives . . ."

"If she drives," Ryan muttered.

"What?"

Ryan dropped his gaze, embarrassed. "She . . . well, she hasn't driven, has she? Since everything happened? And . . . it's like she barely wants to leave the house. Or have any of us leave . . ." He shrugged helplessly. "I just wish there was something I could do."

Sandy leaned down to look at him directly. "Ryan, this is not your problem," he insisted, "and it's not your responsibility, either." Then he smiled, giving Ryan's shoulder a little shake. "But hey, if you really want to help out, you could always give me a hand with the bacon."

Ryan nodded, then bit his lip, hiding his face behind his coffee cup.

There had to be something more he could do.