Chapter 4

Ryan sat on his lone piece of comfortable furniture, his bed, and flipped through the few broadcast stations that his TV antennae picked up. He stopped at a repeat 'Valley' episode, and watched Jake Needleman and his friends ruminate on whether they could remain close after going to colleges all over the country. Instead of distracting him from serious thought, it made him feel sad, he remembered empathizing with the characters the first time he had watched the episode. Their problems seemed so petty now… and so desirable. He changed channels quickly; he would not think about how he had blown the best thing that had happened to him, and more importantly hurt the people who had given it to him.

There were immediate things to worry about. He'd done the math ten times over and he knew he was barely squeaking by. There were always more bills to pay, and his savings oscillated between pitiful and empty depending on which bills had come in, and how the car was running. With a discouraged growl, Ryan turned off the TV and got off the bed. He had to get out and prove his life was more than work and Valley reruns.

A bus ride later, Ryan found himself nursing a 7&7 at an old neighborhood bar. The beauty of a dumpy bar, besides cheap drinks, was they never carded. He tried to keep it light and enjoy his mild buzz but blocked issues seeped in. They blurred as he forced them away for the moment, or mixed into his fantasies. What happened with Seth was inexcusable, stupid. His apology said into Seth's cell phone's message recorder even lamer. He couldn't do anything right; he was hurting them as he tried to protect them. He was either a near danger or a distant jerk. To think, he could be enjoying freshman year with Seth, his biggest worry failing a test…

"Need anything?" the pretty redheaded waitress asked.

"Principles of architecture, art history, building mechanics, and maybe an intro to poetry. I'm economical with words."

She smiled slightly puzzled. "Just let me know when you want a refill, Shakespeare," she called before going onto the next customer. It was a crowded night.

Ryan imagined getting ready for a critique the next day, starting over on a central drawing, arguing with classmates on whether Frank Lloyd Wright had had any impact on European architecture. He had a smile on his face when somebody pushed against his back. He looked up ready for an apology or to stand his ground and found Arturo, Theresa's brother, looking back at him.

They stared at each other, uncertainly.

"Yo, you don't belong here no more," Arturo said with boiling hostility. Ryan turned his back and tried to ignore him. So that was how it was going to be.

Arturo only spoke louder and more angrily. "I hear what you did to Trey. He's still eating through a needle! Fucked him over to keep the good life for yourself, huh? And my baby sister, too. My family treated you like blood, man, … get the fuck out of here." His voice carried above the din.

Arturo's two companions who had been playing pool on the other side of the bar, paid close attention now. The men walked over, one glassy-eyed drinking a beer and the other with a pool cue in hand.

"This the bitch who left your sister with a baby to go live rich in the OC?" the man with the drink asked, staring at Ryan.

"Pendejo," Arturo sneered at Ryan. "We don't need his kinda shit. Vamanos," he said walking away pushing the taller man, "c'mon Javier."

Ryan felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "What? Baby?"

Arturo paused and stared at Ryan for a long moment. He came back to Ryan and stuck a finger in his chest. "I honor her wishes, but don't you come here if you know what's good for you."

Javier broke in again, "Theresa and her mother died in Atlanta. Your baby was with her cousin. Arturo has been taking care of Louisa, man."

"Dead? They died? My baby," Ryan repeated hollowly.

"Silencio, shut up," barked Arturo at Javier. He turned back to Ryan, "Maybe your baby, but no matter what she got nothing to do with you. You didn't want her or my sister, now we don't want youShe's a Sanchez."

His head pounded as he tried to understand what they had just said. "Theresa didn't lose the baby? She's dead?"

"Don't bullshit me, Atwood." Arturo got within inches of Ryan's face and stared hard. He pushed Ryan in the chest, knocking Ryan against the guy sitting next to him. Ryan mumbled an apology to the scowling man. The bartender bellowed, "Take it outside, and I better not have to call the cops," and he motioned to the bouncer. A large man nodded his understanding and only had to glare at them to get them to leave.

The night felt cool after the stale bar air. Ryan cracked his neck and shrugged his shoulders to ready himself. "We don't have to do this, 'Turo. I didn't know about Theresa, your mom. If the baby's mine, I'll do the right thing."

Arturo with his friends backing him up from behind, faced Ryan with a cold stare.

"Theresa said she lost the baby or I'd never leave her. You know me, man," Ryan pleaded with earnest sincerity.

Arturo continued to study Ryan without blinking for long moments. "Turo? Que pasa?" Javier tried prompting his friend, "he's gonna bone out, no doubt."

"Theresa's dead. Y mi Mama. You never came to pay them respects." Arturo's voice broke, as much hurt as angry. He slowly crumpled, his tensed, red face slackened and his eyes softened with tears. "They were beautiful," he said quietly, "mi vida." Arturo grabbed Ryan in a hard embrace.

Ryan held on just as tightly to Arturo. His mind was reeling with what Arturo had said. Theresa was dead… he'd never again see that smile that made his heart race, be teased by her into a real laugh, hear hard truths only she could know to say. And Mrs. Sanchez, tired from overwork and full of her own family troubles, had taken the time to notice him, offer an encouraging word and a good meal. Their loss was as hard to grasp as the idea that he was a father. He and Theresa had imagined the joy they would feel when the baby was born, but he mostly felt fear now. How could he give a child what every child deserved, love and security, when he could barely keep himself together?

They broke apart and Arturo said, "We're getting out of here." The other men had relaxed and were huddled together a short distance away. Arturo held up his hand, gesturing his good byes.

Ryan followed him to a car. They drove for a few minutes before Arturo started explaining what had happened. When Ryan left, Theresa had made Arturo promise not to track him down. The baby had been born in Atlanta. A car accident had killed Theresa and her mother instantly when Mrs. Sanchez was visiting a month ago. Arturo had brought the baby back to Chino quickly right after the funeral because he was worried Child Services would stick their noses into their business. His girlfriend had been helping him take care of Louisa since he got home.

They pulled up to the Sanchez house, the same neat yard and painted stoop that it had always been. Arturo paused at the door before turning the key. "Louisa's all I got now. Angie and me we've got some problems but we're her family. You can visit if I think it's good, but you're not taking her from me. "

The baby was crying and squirming in a young woman's lap when they entered. "Arturo, where have you been?" she demanded to know. She looked exasperated from caring for the fussing baby.

"This is Ryan, Angie," he said in explanation.

Angie's expression soured but the baby turned and stared curiously at the newcomer. Her crying slowed to a hiccupping stop. As soon as Ryan laid eyes on Louisa he felt whole. Ryan knew he was her father. She was less than a year old if Ryan knew anything about babies. Maybe her hair was darker than Ryan's but it was lighter than Theresa's, and it sat in springy curls over her head. The light brown eyes were large and unblinking. But it was the nose that was most familiar, the slightest cleft at the tip.

Ryan's face drained and he had trouble keeping his eyes clear from tears. He knelt down by his baby, pulling her close.

Author's note: Muchas gracias a FredSmith. Apologies to Senor Ruck, my 9th grade Spanish teacher, for butchering the language. And further apologies to humanity for trying to sound street.