Chapter Eight

"I just….I just don't know what to do for her," Ryan admitted softly almost as if he was talking to himself, but he wasn't. Instead, he was on the phone with Marissa's doctor, her very sympathetic yet ultimately helpless doctor. "All she does is sleep. Whether it's in our bed or on the chair in our room, she sleeps and cries and just sits there and thinks about…her and what might have been."

"Will she talk to you," she questioned in order to gauge the level of her patient's depression.

"Well…if I talk to her, she'll listen and attempt to comfort me…."

"That's a good sign."

"Yeah, but," Ryan argued insistently, "she won't bring up the baby unless I do, and she still won't consider the idea of burying her."

"What about taking care of herself?" When Ryan didn't respond, she pressed. "Will she shower or take a bath, brush her teeth, change her clothes?"

"No." Sighing roughly, he explained. "Last night I tried talking her into taking a bath since her last one had been at the hospital Monday morning before we left, but she merely rolled over in bed and ignored me. I wouldn't listen to her this morning though and simply picked her up, carried her into the bathroom, and bathed her myself, changed her clothes for her, and then helped her to brush her teeth."

"And how did she respond to your actions?"

"She didn't say anything, but the bath seemed to help her relax. I could feel some of the tension ease out of her body, and she didn't fight me as much when I went to open the window to let some fresh air into the room." Cautiously, he admitted, "but there are times when…"

"When what, Ryan," the doctor pushed him. She could sense his hesitance. "I can't help her if you don't tell me everything."

"It's like she forgets the baby is….," he swallowed thickly before saying the word he still had trouble admitting, "dead. When she doesn't know I'm watching her or when I check on her between doing other things, I'll sometimes catch her talking to her, to the baby…almost as if she's still here. I don't think she's going crazy, because when I bring her up, Marissa knows we lost her, but….shit," Ryan's voice suddenly became louder. Dropping the spoon he had been using to stir the sauce he was making, he struggled to keep a hold of the cordless phone as it slipped from between his shoulder and ear and almost landed on the floor. "Sorry," he apologized, "I'm barely holding myself together, what between the baby and now worrying about Marissa. Even simple tasks like cooking dinner seem difficult now."

"You're cooking dinner," the physician exclaimed eagerly. "Ryan, if Marissa's eating, that's an excellent indication that she's going to get through this."

"She's not though. I'm making one of her favorite meals in an attempt to entice her into eating. It's been almost 54 hours since we've left the hospital, and she hasn't eaten anything yet."

"What about drinking? You're not letting her get dehydrated, are you?"

"No, I make sure that she drinks at least a couple glasses of something every day, water, juice, milk, whatever she'll take without fighting me too much."

"Good," the doctor praised him. "At this point, that's the most important thing. Keep her hydrated no matter what you do. As for her depression, just keep an eye on her, keep trying to talk to her, and keep encouraging her to talk to you. If anything gets worse before her check up on Friday, just call me back and let me know. Between the two of us, we'll make sure that Marissa makes it through this both emotionally and physically. Speaking of which, how is she feeling?"

"She's still sore," he answered, "but nothing, from what I can tell, that's out of the ordinary. Timidly, he kept talking, his voice dropping in volume and raising in octave due to his embarrassment. "There is one problem though," he revealed. "Um…how long will she continue to….make milk? I mean….we….she was planning on breast feeding, but there's no baby now, and it's like her body is mocking our loss."

"It shouldn't be that much longer now," she attempted to comfort Ryan, "especially since she's not eating properly." He could hear the doctor let out an uneasy breath before she went to ask him another question, and he suddenly understood why Marissa didn't want anyone else to know about their loss. Her sigh said so much, but all he could hear was pity, and, knowing that she had two teenage sons, two healthy, growing, happy, intelligent, alive sons, at home made her pity taste like bile in his mouth. "And how are you dealing with this, Ryan," she queried. Although the rational part of his mind knew she was genuinely concerned, he didn't want to hear it.

"I'm fine," he dismissed rather quickly, too quickly it seemed when she wouldn't accept his answer.

"You can't ignore your own pain and solely focus on Marissa. It was your daughter, too, who died. You're grieving and trying to take care of a depressed wife, it can't be easy, but, if you need anything, anything at all, I'll try and help. There are some excellent support groups I could give you the number of. Perhaps going to a few meetings where you could talk to other fathers who've gone through similar experiences…."

"I appreciate your offer," Ryan interrupted her before she could go any further and say that another man's loss was like his own. Nobody other than Marissa knew what he was feeling. "But I don't need your help or anyone else's. Marissa listens to me when I need to talk; we'll get through this together."

"Well, if you're against the idea of group therapy, perhaps the two of you should consider private grief counseling."

Before Ryan could invent another excuse and attempt to make his point clear that he did not want anyone's help, the doorbell rang, distracting him and giving him a legitimate reason to hang up the phone. "Thank you for taking time to speak with me," he said honestly, "but I really have to go. There's someone at the door."

"If there's anything else you need, please don't hesitate to call me. Just in case, do you want me to give you my home phone number?"

"No, I don't think that will be necessary." The doorbell sounded again before the impatient person outside the front of his house started knocking as well. "Listen, thanks again. We'll see you on Friday."

"Have you contacted your family yet," the physician questioned him, seemingly not wanting to hang up yet.

"We're not going to," he answered brusquely. At a loss for what else he could say to end the conversation, he simply said, "bye," before clicking off the phone and tossing it aside. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he yelled in an annoyed fashion. Ryan had no idea who would be calling to see them. Their family had no knowledge of the fact that Marissa had lost the baby, and they weren't particularly friends with any of their neighbors. "What," he called out exasperatedly as the door swung open to reveal a woman standing with her back to him. As she turned around, recognition setting in almost immediately for Ryan as he noticed her unique scent of cheap perfume, cigarette smoke, Jack Daniels, and the incense she used in an attempt to hide her bad habits, he let out a strangled grunt of complaint, his eyes moving quickly over her only to fill with sheer shock and anger. "Is this some kind of sick joke," Ryan asked, motioning towards what she was holding in her arms. "Who sent you here? Who told you to do this?"

With a blank, confused stare, she looked back at him, lost as to how she should respond. "Ryan, I don't….I don't know what you're talking about. I knew you wouldn't be excited to see me, but I'd hoped you wouldn't be this upset."

"Upset," he repeated her words incredulously. "Upset doesn't even begin to describe what I'm feeling right now! After what happened to us….to Marissa and I you show up here, on our doorstep, with no warning, not even a phone call, holding…that!"

"It's just a baby," Dawn dismissed him, pushing her way past her son and moving into the house. "What's going on with you? You used to like kids. Hell, they even liked you. Now though you act as if you're afraid of them or something. Well, it's not going to bite, Ry." Without any explanation, she moved her way into the house, observing her surroundings and smirking to herself. "You've really done well for yourself, you and this Marissa. Is she your wife?"

Clenching his fists to curb his rage, he followed her. "Yes, Marissa's my wife. You've met her, you know, but I doubt you'd be capable of remembering, seeing as how you got drunk that night like you always do."

"What night?"

Ryan merely shook his head in frustration. "Never mind," he responded. "It really doesn't matter. Just….stay here, there's something I….I'll be right back." With that, he disappeared into the back of the house, leaving the mother he hadn't seen since he was sixteen and the baby she was holding, a beautiful baby with blonde hair and blue eyes, a newborn baby that painfully reminded him of his own little girl he had only gotten to hold once. There were two differences though. The baby Dawn was holding was a boy…and it was alive.

As soon as he was safely secluded in their home office, he locked the door behind him and let the choked sobs that had been struggling to be released escape his tightly clenched, bloodless lips. It wasn't enough though. Frantically, he searched his surroundings for something to take his anguish out on. Without thought, he simply reached out and picked up the first thing his hands came in contact with, a crystal vase containing what were once fresh flowers that were now wilted in death, and he threw it against the far wall as hard as he could, seeing it and the framed award he had won years before for some unimportant design fall crashing to the floor, giving him a moment's relief, but still it wasn't enough. Suddenly, anything he could pick up and throw was being destroyed: a small, antique clock, their answering machine, a letter opener, a stapler, the cordless mouse to their computer, a container of pens and pencils, even a large, potted plant. His destruction would have continued if he wouldn't have picked up a framed photograph of himself with Marissa.

It was an older picture, one from when they had first moved into the house, and it had always been one of his favorites of them together as a couple. They had been painting the afternoon it was taken, and, while taking a break Marissa had deemed necessary, she had found a camera to take their picture, insisting that she needed something to remember just how much paint she had managed to get on him. He had playfully tried to stop her, making her squeal with laughter and cries of surrender as he tickled her. Somewhere in the middle of their battle of wills, she had unwittingly snapped a picture, capturing the glee they felt that day forever. She was on his lap, his arms wrapped around her and his hands underneath her shirt as he teased and taunted her sensitive skin. While his eyes were intently watching her as an amused smirk played across his lips, hers were closed and crinkled in the corners while she giggled, her mouth open wide to protest his actions. Simply seeing her so happy, so carefree and content, made Ryan realize he couldn't hide away from Dawn all day. He had to face her, give her what she wanted, which in all likelihood was money, and then make her leave before Marissa realized she was there and that she was holding a newborn baby in her arms.

Taking a deep breath, he unlocked the door and moved out of the office, stopping to splash some cold water on his face in the bathroom before proceeding into the living room. Apparently, tactless as always, Dawn had made herself feel quite a home, putting the baby down on the couch, despite the fact that it was unsafe to keep him there, and was snooping around, looking at pictures and examining all their possessions. "I don't know what you want, but you can't be here," Ryan said as he walked into the formal space. "So, let's just skip the small talk. What do I have to do to get you to leave?"

She ignored him. "I see you have pictures of those people who took you in. You're still in contact with them?"

"They're name is Cohen, and why wouldn't I be in touch with them? They're my family." With an uneasy eye, he quickly looked towards the baby who was still sleeping, worried he would roll between the cousins or fall onto the floor. "What is it you're after, money?"

"You've done really well for yourself, you and your wife," Dawn conceded, turning around to offer him a tentative smile. Seeing his glare, her grin fell from her face swiftly. "What do you do?"

"I don't see how that matters, so let's just skip the small talk. I would ask how you found me, but, at this point, I don't care. Listen," he rubbed his hands against his tired face before continuing, "I can't have you and your kid here, not after what we've been through. Would you please just cut to the chase, so I can give you what you want and you can disappear from my life again for another eighteen years."

"What," she questioned him confused. "This ain't my kid. Ryan, I'm 54 years old. There's no way I could have a baby. He's Trey's."

Hearing that name and knowing that his older brother had the one thing Ryan wanted more than anything else in life was like a fist to the gut, and he quickly had to turn around so that she could not see the hot streak of pain flash across his countenance. Clearing his throat several times before he could speak, he eventually started talking again, mainly to himself but Dawn could hear what he was saying. "Trey….the guy who took every and any drug he could get his hands on, abusing his body, the guy who was violent with women, the guy who….," his voice died away. Some memories were too painful to speak about in front of others even after so many years. If he would have been looking at Dawn, he would have seen her confusion towards his attitude, but, instead, Ryan was lost in his own sea of hate and agony. Spinning around, he glared at her. "It was bad enough knowing that you brought a baby here so soon after what happened, but….Trey's baby, what are you trying to do to us? I had no idea you hated me so much."

"Ryan, I don't hate you," she spoke up quickly, attempting to reach out a hand towards him, but he only backed further away from her like a trapped animal. Giving up, she shrugged her shoulders and started to explain herself. "I had a friend who knows how to use a computer look you up for me, but I'm not here for money or any other help, at least not for me. You see, Trey's disappeared, running from the cops since he got in trouble again. I think he went to Mexico this time, so he might never be back, and he took his girlfriend with him, leaving me with his kid."

"What do you want me to do about it, find him, because there's no way in hell I'm going to lift a finger or spend a single penny to help Trey."

"No matter what me or your father did," Dawn argued with him, "he's still your brother. How can you turn your back on him like that?"

Snorting in disbelief, Ryan answered, "you have no idea what he did to us."

"Us, you mean you and your wife," she pondered, bewildered by his ambiguous statement. "I didn't know you'd seen him after he got out of prison the first time."

"Look, I'm not doing this," Ryan exploded, forgetting about the quiet, resting baby for a moment, the pain of his memories momentarily obliterating the pain he felt about seeing his brother's son. "I'm not taking a trip down memory lane with you. I can't!" The sounds of the abruptly startled baby's screams interrupted him momentarily. "Just….take him," he commanded while pointing to the upset newborn, "and get out of my house. Don't come back here, don't try to contact me, forget I even exist. It shouldn't be that hard for you; you've done it before."

"You don't get it," Dawn pleaded with him to listen to her. "I can't keep this baby. I can barely take care of myself, and you know better than anyone how well I deal with having kids around. I'm just…not cut out to be a parent, and seeing as how successful you and your wife are and that you're happy, I was hoping that maybe you'd….I mean, you don't have any kids of your own, I can tell that from all the pictures around the house, that maybe you'd take him and…."

"I can't even look at him," he yelled fervently, "and after what Trey did to me…"

"Oh, would you quit with that already," she raised her own voice in response, both of them shouting over the baby's wails. "I don't even want to hear about how it was all Trey's fault you got arrested, how he forced you into it. For Christ's sake, Ry, it wasn't like he held a gun to your head, and look at all you got out of it," she motioned towards the house itself and then the various pictures lining his mantle. "Because of Trey, you got the good life, while he's barely been able to make it since he got out of jail. Is it really too much to ask for you to raise his kid after everything he's given you?"

"I am so sick of people telling me I should be grateful to Trey. The only thing he ever did for me was not die after Marissa shot him, so that she didn't have to go to jail!"

"You married the woman who shot your own brother," Dawn narrowed her eyes at him menacingly. "What the hell is wrong with you? You owe him even more than I thought." She went to leave, went to pick up her purse and head towards the door she had entered through uninvited earlier, but Ryan's voice stopped her.

"Take the baby with you, Dawn," he ordered, unsuccessfully attempting to block out the child's whimpers and screams.

"Damn it, Ryan," she went ballistic. "I can't raise a baby. I couldn't when you were a kid, and I sure as hell can't now!"

"And I can't raise the child of a man who tried to rape my wife!"

She hadn't expected him to say that. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh," he mocked her response. "I see Trey conveniently forgot to mention that part of our history to you. Why doesn't that surprise me?" When she merely stood there watching him, he motioned towards the still crying baby. "Would you mind picking him up? I don't want Marissa to know he's here."

"She's home," Dawn spoke up surprised, but Ryan's angry glare told her not to even ask about his wife. "Sure," she said instead, moving towards the baby and picking him up just as he had asked. "And I understand," she continued, nodding her head down towards the stilling newborn. "I'll leave…I'll take him with me, but, before we go, if it wouldn't be too much to ask, would you mind getting me something to drink? It's a long trip back to Chino, and I don't have enough money to stop and buy something."

Ryan simply nodded his head as he moved out of the room and went to the kitchen to get her a drink. Out of her sight and earshot, he released a deep sigh of relief. She was finally leaving, and he only hoped he would be able to forget about her visit, to forget about his brother's son, to forget those blue eyes the little boy had that reminded him so much of his own, eyes he inherited from his Mom, eyes that his little girl, his tiny, vulnerable, innocent, dead baby girl had as well. With a glass of water firmly grasped in his hand, he went back into the room, his eyes scanning it quickly for the woman who had, at least, attempted to raise him for the first sixteen years of his life, only to find it empty and the front door, visible through the doorway, hanging wide open. She had run away…again, but this time the only emotion he felt was gratitude. Without setting the cup down, he made his way into the foyer, shutting the door loudly, only to have the noise trigger a cry from back in the living room again.

The glass slipped from his hands, falling quickly to the hardwood floor to spill and break into a thousand tiny pieces, but he never noticed. Sweat immediately started running down his wrinkled, frightened brow as his hands started shaking uncontrollably. He didn't think he could handle the situation, but his fear for his own sanity wasn't as important as his fear for Marissa's. With eyes averted away from the baby, he slowly made his way back into the living room, willing it to quit crying. No matter what, Marissa could not see it, and the longer it cried, the louder it screamed, the greater the risk she would wake up and hear it. Ryan knew that something was wrong with the baby, that it needed him to take care of it, but he couldn't even glance at it longer than a few seconds let alone touch it. So, confused and panicking, he started pacing. He had no way to contact Dawn, for he did not know her telephone number, if she even had one, or where in Chino she lived, but, no matter what, the child could not stay there, meaning he had to call the authorities, report the incident and then wait for what could be hours for someone to come and take it away. Breaking him out of his thoughts, the fire alarm in the kitchen started blaring, its high pitched shriek only causing the baby to wail even more.

The kitchen was full of smoke when he ran into it, the sauce he had been cooking burnt to the pan. Taking it off the heat, Ryan turned the stove off, cursing the fact that he couldn't even seem to make his wife dinner. It felt as if he couldn't do anything to help her grieve or feel better. After opening up the windows to let the smoke out, he took a pot holder and fanned the smoke alarm, eventually giving up and taking the batteries out of it. Just as the blaring noise stopped echoing through the large home, everything fell silent, even the baby's cries ceased. Willing his overwhelmed emotions away so they wouldn't get the better of him, he picked up the phone he had used before to call the doctor and moved back into the living room, dialing as he walked. Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and goosebumps covered his body. It was the same feeling he had whenever she was suddenly in his presence. Looking up from the phone, the last digit still lingering in his mind yet not dialed, Ryan saw Marissa with her back to him, her slightly hunched back that he only assumed was caused by her silent tears and sobs at seeing the taunting newborn in the room.

"I'm so sorry," he immediately apologized, hating Dawn and Trey more in that moment than he ever had in his life, knowing that they had hurt her yet again when all he wanted to do was love and comfort her, protect her and keep her safe. "I didn't want you to see him….to know he was even here," he continued to explain, hastily moving to her side. "She…my…Dawn just showed up here, with no warning, and he was with her, but she was supposed to…."

His words faded away, lost in the abyss of sorrow, confusion, and anxiety abruptly separating him from her emotionally. Marissa turned around, her thin, light pajama top unbuttoned enough to reveal one of her swollen, aching breasts, and Ryan was stunned into silence as he watched her tenderly feed the newborn baby he had been so afraid to even look at, letting the son of his brother, the man who had attacked her so brutally when they were teenagers, drink the nourishment her body made for the daughter they had so cruelly lost.

"It's time," she said confidently, meeting his tear filled gaze with her own.

He didn't have to ask her to say anything more; he understood the significance behind her words perfectly. Letting the phone he was still holding slip from his clammy hands, he listened to it land softly on the area rug, the operator's voice as it asked him to redial and try to make his call again the only sound in the room, but he couldn't hear it. Instead, the meaning behind his wife's words kept repeating itself in his mind, and, while he was thankful they had finally reached the point where she recognized it was necessary, he was utterly terrified of the cause of her sudden realization and how it would affect them.

It was time to say goodbye to their little girl; it was time to bury their daughter.