"Seasons Change"

By Sister Rose

The characters of "The O.C." belong to Fox, and no infringement of those rights is intended in this fictional work.

Summer was waiting in the kitchen when the knock came at the back door. There was no point in waiting in the living room; Atwood wouldn't knock on her front door. She got up from her Italian-style country table and walked to the door to open it.

Even after the door was open, Atwood waited.

"Come in," she said, stepping to one side and watching his big boots clomp into her kitchen. He had left his gloves and glasses outside. He used the hand that wasn't holding a clipboard to take his Martinez Landscaping cap off.

"You let your hair grow," she exclaimed. It was at least two inches long.

"Yes, ma'am," Atwood said.

"Let's make it 'Summer,' all right?"

He paused, trying it out in his head and then obviously declining to say it.

"I just want to say that I've called the office, and they have guaranteed that you'll have a different crew chief working here from now on. Ms. Martinez is waiting at the office for your phone call," Atwood said. "Please don't hold my actions against Martinez Landscaping. I won't be back. Ms. Martinez is eager to do whatever is necessary to make you happy."

"What if I need them to fire you?" Summer said.

"Ms. Martinez already has my verbal resignation, and I'll follow it up with a written one within the hour," Atwood said.

Summer stared at him. He had just given her more words than she had heard from him at any time in the first six months they slept together. She wondered whether he had been practicing for the last two hours. She wondered why he had let his hair grow. She wondered whether he ever thought about her. She wondered when he turned stupid.

"Are you crazy?" she said.

"Ma'am? I mean, Summer?" Atwood said. "Martinez Landscaping is just expanding into Newport. They need goodwill and are willing to go the extra mile for customer service."

"That's nice," Summer said. "Did you really think I wanted to talk about yard work? I don't care about that. Now sit down at the table. We have some unfinished business that I didn't want to take care of in front of every yard worker in Newport."

Atwood sat. His jeans were grass-stained and hung heavily with dirt. He had thrown a red Martinez Landscaping shirt, unbuttoned, over his undershirt with its deep sweat stains. His boots had blades of grass stuck in the edges. He carefully placed his clipboard on the table.

Summer wanted to swoon. He looked totally natural at the big table, his quiet personality blending into the kitchen. Wow. Until he sat down, she hadn't realized that she had decorated this kitchen for Atwood. She had thought it was for Zach, Atwood's hand stroked the table, appreciating the craftsmanship and the grain of the wood. She sighed a little, appreciating him.

But that didn't mean she was going to let him off easy.

"Why didn't you call?"

Oh, good grief, the lamest girly line in the whole book, and it's the first thing out of her mouth. Like he had ever called her. Like he had a telephone. Like he ever would have called her when he was leaving town. She was stupid. And mean. She wished she could sew her mouth up like a mean fish. Like a stupid fish. Like a stupid, mean fish. But Atwood was answering her.

"I thought the note said everything I needed to say," he said softly, fingers tracing the edge of the clipboard.

"Dear Summer," she quoted. "I can't stay in Newport any more. I hope you have a happy life. You deserve someone terrific. Thanks for all the time we spent together."

She paused, remembering how her stomach had hit her shoes when she saw that note, remembering the sight of the empty room, the way her life felt empty and alone when Atwood left her. She shook her head.

"You didn't even sign it, Ryan," she said.

There was a long pause, and Summer watched him gathering his thoughts. Words always came so hard for him, especially when he was talking about emotions. It was if he had to find mind pictures and describe them in a language he didn't know.

"I didn't know for sure you were the only one who would see it," Atwood said finally.

Summer knew he meant that he had been afraid he would embarrass her. Like that could ever happen.

"If you had given it to me in person, you could have been sure," Summer said tartly.

"If I hurt you, I'm sorry," Atwood said. "I hoped you would find someone else, someone who could take care of you. Someone like Seth."

"Seth's gay," Summer said.

"That's just a rumor," Atwood said.

"Not according to Seth's boyfriend," Summer retorted.

Atwood lifted his eyes to Summer's face with a question in them.

"Really," she said. "He fought it for a while, but eventually, he found someone who can put up with him, and it's not a girl. We're still friends, though."

"Thank you for telling me that," Atwood said. "I'm glad for both of you."

He scooted his chair away from the table.

"I'll make sure Ms. Martinez sends someone else to take care of your house from now on," he said. "Are you sure you don't want me to quit?"

"I want you to quit trying to leave," Summer said, annoyed. "I have a few more questions."

"Sure," Atwood said. It was the answer he always gave when he thought he had no choice. It was how Summer knew that she was bullying him too hard.

"I just want to know how you're doing," she said, with less heat.

"I'm fine, thank you," he said. "I've worked for the Martinez family since I left Newport. When they decided to expand into Newport, they asked me to be crew chief because I had worked here before."

Atwood looked up, and she saw darkness in his eyes, in addition to the little lines around them. More lines than he had when he left Newport. He was willing to talk about his work, but not about how he had been. It was pretty plain, even to a self-involved girl like Summer, who hadn't deserved a guy like Atwood when she had him, that the years hadn't been kind to Atwood.

"I almost didn't take the job, because I was afraid I might run into you," Atwood said.

Summer had always been able to read Atwood's face like a road map. Today's directions to Ryanville showed his sincerity. He hadn't wanted to hurt her, and he had thought leaving was necessary. But she had always known that. Knowing that hadn't stopped it from hurting. She had also known that she wasn't good for him. That knowledge wasn't painless, either. Despite having finally graduated from college, Summer remained convinced that knowledge wasn't the answer to life's hurtful questions.

"I asked Ms. Martinez not to send me to any jobs with the name 'Roberts' attached," he said. "I'm sorry we had a mix-up. The work order says 'Stevens.' I don't know how she got it wrong."

"Oh, that's my married name," Summer said.