A/N.: Thanks to my really fast beta ParisAmy and for the nice reviews. I'm sorry for updating that late, but lately I'm very busy studying the Spanish language. In five weeks I need to speak it properly :S

18.Donor – we're lacking of so much that there won't be enough donors to fill the gaps

R.

I sit at the beach. It's early Saturday morning, but I decided that the beach is the best place. It's neutral and nobody is there. Mr. Nichol…Caleb had driven me here and then went to run some errands before picking me up again. I watch him surfing. From the far the plan doesn't seem to be too difficult from being implemented. The problem is that he has to come from the water to the beach: shorten the distance between us. And now he's coming. Inwardly I try to brace myself. I'm shaking and I know it's because my nerves are on the edge. Yesterday I already felt much better, so it can't be a side effect. I've been trying to prepare for this, but how to prepare for this meeting? I mean, I can't take into consideration the emotions I have to fight with…and yes, there are more emotions I thought that would face me. He comes up to me.

S.

"Ryan." I knew that he wanted to meet me today, but at this time? Shit. I didn't have any time to prepare for this meeting before. But hell I am glad to see him again, although he doesn't look good at all. He has lost weight and he's so pale that he's nearly not visible on the sand. He's wearing a base cap, but his boldness is obvious. I feel bad. This shouldn't be happening to him. Hell, I shouldn't meet him under these circumstances…because of them. I should've been looking for him earlier. I didn't and there's not need to drown in self-pity for it. It was and still is my fault, but I have to take the incentive to make things better, if I can't make them right. Oh my God, what did I do to him? He would have been safe during the whole time, if I'd braced myself. I never should've given him reason to flee, but I did, and how do I talk to him now? I can't just pretend as if nothing had happened. I also don't know how to behave after what has happened. I can't expect him to jump for joy at seeing me and I can't expect him to be open towards me.

R.

"Hey." Is all I can say. It's awkward seeing him again after three years and after what has happened. My emotions are chaos, but I don't feel any kind of hatred. Fear, because I don't know what he's capable of; sadness, because of the gap between us and because of what has caused this gap; disappointment, because he didn't keep his word, although I believed him; anger, because he made false promises and I let my guard down; frustration, because things are never going to be the same as they had been, no matter how bad I want them to be. I notice the tension between the two of us. I want to run. I can't. Not because I have to keep my promise and meet Sandy, I just can't. My heart is pounding under my chin and my body is tensed up. No, I don't like this situation. I feel like I'm caught. If something happens, I couldn't even defend myself, not even run away. Fuck. Stop. This is Sandy, he won't…he did, and it wasn't a drug or alcohol induced action.

S.

"You didn't let me know that you were coming." I tell him. I try to do some small talk, but I fail. Small talk is not possible between us anymore. Hell, I must have scared and hurt him – not only physically but also emotionally.

"Didn't want to give you time to prepare one of your lawyer speeches."

"Oh…Okay." I'm astonished by this. Ryan never used to be a strategic person. I take another step to close the gap between us.

"Could…could you…just stay there?" He asks me and I'm shocked when I see the fear in his eyes. He's afraid of me. I had never thought that this could happen one day, but I made it happen.

"Alright." Shit. I really messed this up. Ryan never tried to keep a distance between us before. Now I get an insight of how things must have been at his home. All on a distance, tension in the air, enduring fear and angst, pain and harm. Silence warps us up into her veil and I feel as if I get squeezed under its weight.

"Do you think you can ever forgive me?" I ask the question that was torturing me all over the past years.

R.

"This…is not only about forgiving. I…don't think I can ever trust you again…not after what happened that one night. Everything before that…I could deal with it, but not with that night." I could try to wrap this up into nicer words, but this wouldn't make the content any better and I want him to understand. Beating around the bush is no use in this situation, added to that I don't have the time for going it on slowly. I want to get this problem solved before…well, no I'm not ready yet to deal with this topic.

S.

"Ryan, I know there's nothing that can justify what I've done; not this evening nor anything of the whole lot of other things I did. But you know that I'm not one of those…who…" Used to use you continuously as vent for their aggressions back in Chino. I'm not your Mom or you Dad or any other of her boyfriends. Why can't you see that? I didn't mean what I was doing. I have no idea what the hell had gotten into me, but I swear I'm not one of those who'll go on hurting you again and again. I'll never lay hand on you again. I can't say these words. I can't say that I'm not one of those – although I'm quite sure I'm not yet – because for him I am. He has another view of things; a view shaped by violence and aggression.

"…who hurts you deliberately. If I had been myself back then, knowing what I was doing, I never had done so." I try to explain to myself.

"Sandy,… I've learnt one thing: there are two kinds of people. There are the junkies and alcoholics that hurt you when they need to satisfy their addiction or when they're been overdoing it. You can calculate them, because you know their behaviour pretty much depends on their substance abuse. You know it's the drugs or the alcohol that makes them mean, because when they're not edgy because of the need they don't do anything. People like my Mom who just can't control themselves, but when they won back the control show you, who they really are and that they actually didn't mean what they did.

Then there are those who hurt you just because they want to. They don't need alcohol or drugs. They just need to be pissed off and need to vent their anger. They see you and immediately know a reason for punishing you. These are people like…well…Frank. They see you when they come home and beat the shit out of you, although you haven't even said a word then. You can't calculate them. You're always afraid, always prepared for the next blow. They are uncontrollable, because their behaviour isn't hooked up on some drug. They are just evil.

And as I'm pretty much sure you haven't been on any substance in that time…you belong to this second type of person. You're uncontrollable and I don't know when the next blow will hit me, I'd always be prepared for it in your presence. That's why I can't trust you, and that's why I don't want to be around you. I just don't have the strength for that."

I'm overwhelmed by the monologue which just came from the boy. I've never heard him talk with so many words in a row, and I'm devastated by what he had said. Evil. I'm not evil. How can he say something like that? How can he lump me together with his fath…okay Frank? I never was like this man and will never be. I take care of my family. How can I make him believe me that this will never happen again? How can I explain him that I had no control over… Shit. This is what he wanted to tell me, right? I had no control of myself. I am uncontrollable in his sense. It seemed as if then everything had slipped out of my hand. My wife sought help in a bottle for god's sake and I couldn't do anything. I'd been paralyzed by the situation, unable to deal with it. I just didn't want to believe what was happening. I didn't accept the help that was offered. I couldn't think clearly. I didn't want the fact that my wife had a serious problem to be true. I tried cover up each crack in our family and Ryan always had been able to remove the cover of lies: lies I told myself.

"And that's it? Can't we at least give it a try and work it out?" I ask him. I'm not letting him go that easily. It sounds strange, but he still means something to me.

"I'm not ready to try. Not yet, but…I'll try."

"Okay, then…I can only wait for you to make the first step. Can you, just do me one favour?" I ask him. I have to ask him this.

I look at him. I don't know what he wants.

"Hang tight. Forget about what is between us and only concentrate on getting better. That's the only important thing. Could you do that?" I ask him. I can't bear the thought in my mind that he might not be there one day – that I'll never have the opportunity to explain myself to him and work things out.

"I'll try…that's all I can do…for now." He answers me. His glance wanders over to a waiting car – the car which is waiting for him.

"I guess I should go now. Have a nice day." He says and then turns around to go.

"Okay, was good to see you, though."

I have a meeting with Dawn this afternoon in the rehab. I can identify her from afar because of her bleached blonde curly hair. She has lost weight and without her makeup she looks sick.

"Dawn, nice to meet you. How are you doing?" I ask her politely although it's obvious that she's not doing well.

"Not so good." She answers. She's fiddling her hands in her lap.

"I can imagine." I answer her and this time I can. After what happened to Kirsten – witnessing her going through the withdrawal – I am much more aware of the fight it is.

"Why are you here?" She asks me and the tone of her voice signals that she isn't pleased to see me.

"I want to talk to you about Ryan's father, his biological father." I emphasise.

"Why?" She asks me. She's huffy.

"As you know, your son Ryan is very sick and we need to find his real father in order to find a suitable bone marrow donor." I explain to her.

"Why? Why are you doing this?" She asks me and I'm taken aback by this question. Why does she need a justification for me helping her son? She left him with us in our care.

"Because we care about him."

"After you forced him out of your house?" She bites back. She knows what has happened.

"I don't think you're in any position to talk like that. When you had the chance to start a new life with your son and leave everything behind you chose the alcohol and dumped your son at ours. Yes, we had rough times, but we overcame them and we try to start from new, with your son." I let her know. I won't allow anyone to compare me with the Atwoods a second time this day. Ryan? Okay, he has his reasons, although he's not right. But this woman? No, never.

"Well, if you think so. I don't know who the guy was. It's not like he gave me his business card afterwards." Great. No wonder that the kid has issues with such an irresponsible mother. Worse of all, how am I supposed to find out who the boy's father was? It seems as if nobody understands the seriousness of the situation.

"Do you know where he lives or lived?" I ask her, although I doubt that this information will be of much use. This man probably has moved.

"It had been in Fresno, one of these trailer parks."

"Thanks, that's a great help." I'm frustrated. I want to help Ryan, my son, but I can't because his mother seems to be a fan of promiscuous sex. What if I don't find his father? I know he mustn't be a match, but the chances are bigger than those of finding some suitable stranger being a match.

"Sorry Mr. Cohen, believe me, if I had known that my son one day needed to know his origins I would have asked for a name." Dawn says snappish. I don't understand this woman. She's losing her son, how can she be that indifferent about it?

"Dawn, aren't you concerned at all?"

"It's sad yes, but I have enough of my own problems to take care of than those of my precious son." She says bitterly.

"I hope you know that you'd be much worse off, if your so called precious son had been thinking like that through all the years he had been living with you." I say and then leave the rehab centre. I don't need to be polite to such a woman. She forces this behaviour.

A trailer park in Fresno. Hell, this town has probably a dozen of those and after sixteen years it's not even certain that this specific trailer park still exists.

I drive home. I'm furious about Dawn's unconcerned behaviour. I can't imagine any mother being like that. I come home and find my wife in the kitchen, nursing a cup of hot steaming tea in her hand. She's worried about something. I can see it on her frowned forehead.

"Hey honey." I greet her and give her a kiss.

"Hey."

"What are you thinking about?" I ask her, letting her know that I'm aware of her worries.

K.

"Nothing." I answer him. I don't know why, but maybe because after I know what he did, I don't think that Ryan is his business anymore. I know this is harsh, but what can he do anyway? Ryan's not going to trust him soon anyway.

"What are you worried about? C'mon, I can see that something's bothering you. You can tell me."

"It's just…Ryan is worrying me." I answer him. He wants to know what's going on as he still blames himself for my alcoholism.

"I won't say that he seemed fine to me this morning, but he looked better than I expected."

"I know and…he's holding up great, but he's not eating. That's what worries me the most lately." I fill him in.

"Side effect of the treatment, right?"

"Yes, and my Dad even cooked mashed potatoes, something he used to do for my mother when she was sick. But Ryan can't keep it down."

"Why do all people see mashed potatoes as the remedy against an upset stomach?"

"What? Why? What did you get when you were sick?"

"Apple rice."

"What?"

"My Mom had to cook plain rice with apples, sometimes some sugar and cinnamon. I kept it down."

"Honestly, this doesn't sound as if someone keeps it down voluntarily." I admit. I shudder at the mere thought of having to eat something like this.

"At least give it a try."

"I will, this evening." I answer him. It's at least worth a try. I have to get Ryan to eat more than the small portions he's eating currently. It's not even a real meal he's eating a day. This is not good.

"You go there again?"

"Yes, I have to make sure he doesn't overdo things. My father…he can't read him like I do. He can't see when Ryan's tired and only too proud to let him know. Could you find out about his father's whereabouts?"

"No, Dawn doesn't even know the man's name."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, but this woman doesn't seem to be too worried about her son's condition. Talking more generally, I don't even think she cares. She was only talking about having her own problems and not being able to care." I'm stunned. I couldn't imagine Dawn being such an indifferent mother. In the same second I'm scared, because without knowing Ryan's father, the chances for a cure keep shrinking.

"Sandy, this woman is his mother. How can she talk like that?"

"Biologically, but let's face it. This woman is self-absorbed and her world is only focused on herself, otherwise she'd have gotten sober and taken her son with her instead of dumping him with us – not that I regret that she did do so. Not at all, but that's the fact and something no mother should do."

I sigh. I don't know what to think about all of this. I can't find an answer to all the questions which are swirling in my mind, not even when I drive back to my father's house. I go to the kitchen and start to cook the rice, and peel and cut the apples and then put them into the rice.

"Kiki, are you cooking?" My father says when he enters the kitchen.

"Yes I am, and I didn't burn anything yet."

"Eww, what's that?" My father asks in a disgusted way.

"Apple rice. Sandy suggested it."

"The boy shall keep it, not be food poisoned."

"I know Dad, but that's at least alternative. We don't need to make things worse as they already are." I snap at him and immediately regret my reaction. It's not his fault that things turn out not to work – it's not his fault that we're driving a one-way road.

"Sandy didn't have any luck, finding Ryan's father?" My father asks. How did all men in my life earn the ability to immediately know what's wrong with me when I only talk to them?

"No, not really." I answer and stir the mushy mass in the pot and decide it's done. I put a small portion in a bowl.

"Let's hope he can keep that." My father says and I make me way upstairs. I open the door to his room. He's sitting at his desk, busy studying. He's a very accurate student. He's not missing any details.

"Hey, that late and still busy studying?"

"Yeah, have to get this done by Monday." He answers me. I place the bowl on his desk and sit down on the bed.

"Are you sure you're still up to go to College every day? I mean, don't hesitate to let any of us know when you realise it's too much for you. In your situation it's okay to cut down any activity." I let him know. I'm still worried he's not taking his illness seriously enough. Of course he's going to his treatments regularly, but still: I doubt that he's accepted that he's not the strong tough guy he had been when he left. If he'd ever been this type of guy. I think he might just have played a role he had perfected over years.

"Kirsten, I'm fine. Really. It would be worse if I was deemed to sit around all the day and do nothing."

"I'm just worried you might overdo it. Here, maybe you can keep this." I point at the bowl in front of him and hand him a spoon.

"What's that?" He asks me puzzled.

"Apple rice. I know, sounds strange, but try it, please. You haven't been able to keep anything the last few days. Maybe this can help." I get up to leave him.

"You don't always have to leave when I'm eating, or something." He says and I turn around. I can't tell if my face looks as confused and astonished as I am? Does this mean he's starting to let me through to him? Is he eventually starting to trust me? Can he let me be his mother again?
"Oh…I mean, you don't have to…I mean, if you rather leave and go home I can understand that. It's probably pretty boring watching other people eating." He starts to excuse his sentence. If he knew how much the previous sentence means to me.

"No…I'd like to stay with you. I …only thought…I mean you like your privacy and I didn't want to interfere into your space."

"Uh…no…you won't." He answers and then I sit back down in the bed. I watch him. An awkward silence takes the space of the room.

"Uh…so, how did you cope with all the work at College? I mean seriously, that's impossible to be done." He starts. Ryan and small talk, I didn't even know that this was possible.

"Honestly? I still don't know how I managed to get it all done. But somehow I did." I answer him.

"You're sure? I don't think I can make it. It's just too much and…too difficult. I doubt that this was the right decision." He tells me.

"Ryan, don't worry. You're at the beginning of your studies. It'll change. Next semester I'm sure things will be much easier for you. Hell, when I remember all the rage blackouts I had only because I couldn't understand the simple calculations."

"You and rage black outs? Are you sure it had been you and not your sister Hailey?"

"Pretty sure…" It feels good to be able to share my College memories with him. It brings me that much closer to him and I can show him that he's no different to the rest of us. Suddenly I have the feeling as if things can still turn out the right way. He can still make it – we can still make it.