Why is it that a chapter to set up the next plot line is a freaking pain to write? It should be easy. All I have to do is connect the dots, tie up some loose ends… Simple shit, right?

The physio seems to be helping and I can hold a pen once again. It doesn't mean I'll update as much as I should… I'm blaming the kidlets for that…. But hopefully, oh crap let me be truthful. I don't know when the hell the next update will be, but I haven't dropped this story. It will get finished. Who knows maybe I'll finish this before muchtvs finishes hers. (You know which story I mean. You actually promised on my head…. Is that why I've had some wicked migraines lately?)

The gauntlet has been thrown down baby.

For my beloved Shithead, as always.

Josh still refuses to sell. Perhaps a hostile takeover is in order. Until then, the OC belongs to him and Fox.

Chapter Fifteen.

Thursday, 1:20PM

Kirsten watched her boys floating lazily in the pool, feeling bittersweet because of the circumstances that brought forth the extended family time. She and Sandy made the easy decision to keep Seth home from school until Ryan went back on Monday.

They had engaged in a relaxed "brunchfest", Seth's word of course, complete with crosswords, suduko and an in depth discussion on the art of Fung Shui. This topic initiated of course by Seth who while reading the Arts and Leisure section commented on the fading charm of the minimalist design form. As Kirsten defended the resurgence of 60's chic, Sandy rolled his eyes and commented that the mail truck they had taken up occupancy in was anything but "Fung Shui" or "60's chic". Their first house in Berkeley was furnished in 60's cast offs and now this house was designed by someone with an unpronounceable name, was fashionably gender ambiguous and who for all the money he/she was paid managed to put lemons in a vase but could not come up with a concept that allowed Sandy to easily find his keys in the mornings. And when a ghost of a smile crossed Ryan's face as he listened to the bantering, Sandy allowed himself to believe that the worst may be over. Issues with Caleb not withstanding, the family was finding its way back to center.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sandy had slipped off to Partridge, Savidge and Kahn to tie up a few loose ends. The parting had been amicable. Both parties knew that he was brought in specifically for the Balboa Heights litigation. In lieu of the standard two week notice, Sandy agreed to consult on a few cases still pending. Since very few of their lawsuits actually went to trial, the work involved would be paperwork and phone calls. The anticipation of returning to the P.D.'s office was tempered by the worry of hours spent away from the family. Unlocking the BMW he slid behind the wheel and threw his briefcase into the passenger seat promising himself he'd find a way to balance the two. Kirsten, Ryan and Seth would always come first.

A lesson learned the hard way.

But it definitely forced Kirsten and him to focus on what they always knew was important but was often relegated to the bottom of the pile. They had become the very thing he swore he'd never become.

Corporate.

There was a time when it was a four letter word.

Berkeley and corporate were two words that didn't go together. It was the reason he escaped New York. He didn't want to become another Wall Street Attorney. There was so much more to the law, but even he couldn't avoid being ensnared by a trap baited with money. The "more pro bono good works" he'd initially placated himself with died in the crossfire between irate Newpsies over invasive bamboo and oversized concrete encased steel beams.

Now he was headed back to a seemingly thankless Public Defenders office complete with crappy generic blend coffee.

And it made him happy.

This was his calling.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lindsay read through her list once again. It was the 5th pro/con inventory she'd made, shifting priorities, trying to determine a definite outcome. She had every reason to go to the Westminster Academy and only one real reason to stay. After a somewhat sleepless night poring over the brochures to the point of memorization and pacing the floor while carrying on a debate with her inner devil's advocate some things were clearer.

Caleb?

The man didn't acknowledge her for 17 years and now he's interested in her educational well being?

Paying for Harbour would have been generous and allowed her to get to know her big sisters better.

Paying for Harbour would have allowed her to graduate next year with kids she actually knew.

Paying for Harbour would allow her to finish a physics project that could have netted her and a certain lab partner some serious coin for university.

Paying for Harbour meant being with Ryan.

Paying for Harbour would mean being with Ryan whom Caleb disliked.

Paying for Harbour would mean having to deal with "him".

After the service yesterday, seeing "him" in her living room, sitting with her mother, offering apologies that seemed a little too pat, conversations that now seemed a little too rehearsed, all given with an oh so subtly implied price tag.

Crumpling her list she made her decision.

Consequences be damned.

She was definitely her father's daughter.

8:45PM

"Quixotic? Who even uses that word?" Seth mentally added the score. Triple letter on the Q and triple word score… "Mother… Father… In my 2 ½ years of over priced secondary school education I have never used the word "quixotic" nor have I ever used "zabajone". A word I challenged and lost. One that netted "he who shall not be named" 72 points, thus putting him in the lead. That coupled with the 135 points for the word he just put down has made any attempt by the rest of us to try and win this game rather futile!"

The subject of Seth's rant leaned back in his chair, wishing he could control the redness building in his face.

Kirsten marveled that despite everything Ryan had been through in his life he still managed to maintain the ability to blush. It gave the illusion of innocence.

Even when playing a cut throat game of Scrabble.

"Ryan…. You are the Scrabble King and as your first sovereign duty you'll put us out of our vocabulary misery. In return, the Lady of the Manor and I will retreat into the kitchen and soon return with warm beverages and an assortment of baked goods…"

Ryan offered a stiff bow, a royal hand wave and then started to gather up the game tiles. Seth was recalculating the tally sheets.

"So dude… You gonna let me in on your Scrabble secrets?"

Ryan didn't look up.

"Nope".

"574 points and the best you can do is "nope"?"

"Yup"

As the game went back into the entertainment unit, Kirsten and Sandy came back laden with coffee, cookies and pie, as promised. They all settle back to enjoy the rest of the evening. Completely sated by caffeine and Key Lime, Seth announced that the next morning would be the start of "Angst-free Ryan Day".

Ryan shook his head.

"We tried that once. It didn't even last the night, remember?"

"How can I forget oh Imperial Master of the Board Game? I've got a good feeling about this Ryan. In fact, I'll go so far as to proclaim it to be "Angst-free Ryan Weekend"."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Friday, 10:15 AM

"Angst-free Ryan Weekend" got off to an auspicious start with a trip to the doctor's office to remove the remaining stitches in his forehead. Dr. Samuels moved the stethoscope over Ryan's chest and back, a slight frown crossing his face before being replaced with the mask of professionalism. Kirsten however, caught the look. It had taken a little "motherly" persuasion on her part before Ryan yielded to her request to be in the examination room with him. He rolled down his 'beater and shrugged back into his button down. He looked expectantly at the doctor.

"Your gash has healed rather nicely despite the broken stitches and the scar should fade in the next few months. There's still some gurgling in you lungs which should have cleared up by now. Are you still coughing a lot?"

"Sometimes… Not really… At night a little…"

He glanced at Kirsten. She was revving into full "mom-mode" again.

"Is it pneumonia?" She asked, concerned.

"In literal medical terms, yes," Dr. Samuels answered. "but Ryan doesn't have a fever and I'm positive the inflammation in his lungs is from trying to expel the last bit of silt and sea water. I know Dr. Connell prescribed 2 weeks worth of antibiotics so I'd like to see Ryan back next week. I may have to prescribe another round but we'll see how much progress the next few days hold. In the meantime," the doctor looked back at Ryan, "I suggest you initiate some controlled coughing to get the fluid in your lungs moving. And add a few pillows so you're in more of a semi-sitting position when you sleep. That'll help as well…"

"Yippee…" Ryan muttered. Kirsten shot him a "behave yourself look", enjoying once again the scarlet hue that rose to the tops of his ears.

"I mean okay… Yeah… Thanks…"

She really needed to stop making him blush. Not yet though. It gave her a much needed look to a side of Ryan he didn't show. He spent so much time hiding behind controlled actions, very rarely being carefree and spontaneous. Last year telling her he wanted to be 17 but had no idea what that really meant. Kirsten chastised herself inwardly. This was "Angst-free Ryan Day"… Weekend… Month… Life…

"Sweetie, why don't you make sure Seth hasn't gone to Heroes without us… I'll be out in a sec.".

Ryan was grateful to escape the exam room. Kirsten, now in complete "Mother mania" didn't play fair. In order to accompany him into the doctor's office, she threatened him and he had no doubts that she would follow through.

She definitely didn't play fair.

Seth was speed reading an issue of "Time". A stack of discarded magazines were piled on the small table beside him.

"I was beginning to think you guys started "AFRD" without me. I have the whole day planned. While sitting here in the Ikea office collection hell, I made a few adjustments to the itinerary.

"We have an itinerary?"

"Yes, and if the Kirsten whom we all love and adore doesn't remove herself from Dr. Samuels presence, I'm going to have to… Speaking of mom, how did she wangle… Wait a second, did I just say "wangle?" How did she, you know, her way into the exam room with you?"

"I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you…"

Seth's eyes grew wide with mock fear.

"She didn't…?"

"Yup…"

"Now's not the time to revert to mono-syllabicism. Did she really…"

Ryan nodded.

"Dude… That's just evil. I'm sorry you had to be subjected to the dark side of our maternal unit…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

12:12 PM

Sandy loaded the last of the golf clubs into the back of the Range Rover. It took a little coaxing on his part to get Kirsten to agree to join him and the boys on the golf course. Actually it took a fair bit of coaxing, blackmail, extortion, coercion. Sure her view on golf was that it was something couples did just before they were relegated to a nursing home, sitting in wheelchairs and wearing underwear with someone else's name on them, but now she was finally going to use the clubs he bought her a few years back. Seth had his own set and Ryan used Sandy's old clubs. "Old" being rather subjective. Sandy loved his "less new" clubs with their finely honed sweet spots. The cost of his obsession for "playing the greens" could probably support a small third world country but the afternoon spent on the fairways with his family was priceless.

"Sandford Cohen?"

Sandy turned around, not recognizing the man standing on the driveway.

" That would be me. Can I help you?"

The peace officer took a step forward.

"You've been served."