Return to form
by M. F. LuderPart one
Ryan can feel the words ringing in his ears as he works, piling cement bags by the sand, bars of corrugated iron lying down a few feet from him.
He even remembers Kirsten's tone of voice.
"He left, Ryan. Seth. He just... he just left."
He swallows thickly, pausing for a moment before placing another bag on top of the pile. Only ten bags per pile, he tells himself, trying to push away the tightness in his chest.
She had started crying a moment later and Sandy had to take the phone.
Seth took the boat and left. Minutes after Ryan. Ryan knew where Seth was heading the moment Sandy mentioned the boat. Seth left for Tahiti, without him. That hurts as well.
He shakes his head, shutting off his mind. He turns around and walks back to the trunk to unload the rest of the cement.
"Ryan?"
Ryan looks up from his plate, eyes about to close. At eight in the evening, he's already too tired. His forearms are gray from the cement and his back is killing him.
Theresa has the phone in her hands, extending it to him.
He nods, standing up from the table and walking to the small table by the couch. He sits down, auricular placed against his ear.
"Yes?"
"Ryan."
It's Kirsten's voice, and Ryan cringes inside. "Oh, hi."
"Sweetie, am I interrupting?"
Never. You could never be an interruption. "No, it's okay."
"How are you, Ryan?"
He doesn't know what to tell her.
I'm tired. I don’t remember working was this hard. I miss the futon, and the 400-thread-count sheets. I miss the bathtub and cereal in my bowl in the mornings.
I miss you, and Sandy, and Seth. I miss Seth the most.
"Fine," he says, his voice low. He looks over his shoulder and Theresa is looking his way. Her eyebrows are furrowed. He turns his back to her, pressing the mouthpiece closer, and he whispers, "How are you? Sandy?"
He wants to ask about Seth, but doesn't know how.
"We're fine. Sandy's working on a case right now. He's not here." Her voice quivers. "I'm alone in the house."
He can barely hear the choked back sob.
He bites down on his lower lip to keep himself from saying something he'll regret later.
He wants to ask for forgiveness. Ryan didn't know that when he left, she lost two sons.
"Could you... do you think you could come home on Sunday, for lunch? Maybe stay for an hour or two?"
He frowns. He wants to, he really does.
He looks over his shoulder. Theresa gives him a tight smile and lowers her eyes. Ryan swallows. "Yeah, sure. Is one okay?"
"Yes, yes, perfect." Ryan can hear her voice shaking. "Perfect. Thanks."
She shouldn't thank him for going back, for going home.
He should thank her.
Kirsten hugs him tight when he parks at the house. She tears up and lays her head on Ryan's shoulder for a moment. Ryan hugs her back just as tightly, placing a small kiss on her cheek. She gives him a shaky smile when she pulls away, her hand caressing his cheek.
Ryan doesn't want to leave again.
"I missed you," she says, though it sounds more like a mutter.
Ryan nods. He wants to tell her something, anything, but his throat is too tight. He can hardly breathe, let alone speak.
He looks over her shoulder and sees Sandy standing there, arms crossed over his chest. Ryan takes a step forward and Sandy hugs him again.
Ryan closes his eyes. He doesn't want to leave.
Kirsten asks about Chino, and Ryan gives him two-word answers. He thinks he can hear bitterness in her voice, especially when she asks about Theresa. He tells himself he's imagining it.
Kirsten leaves the kitchen to go to the cellar for a bottle of wine while Sandy orders takeout.
Takeout. Ryan had almost forgotten the sound of that.He catches Sandy's eyes and motions his head toward the hall. Sandy nods and Ryan leaves for the bathroom. He crosses the den, his eyes shifting to the TV screen and the video console on top. His heart constricts.
He swallows past the lump on his throat and walks down the hall.
On his right is the staircase leading up to the second floor and before Ryan can think about what he's doing, he trots upstairs, taking three steps at a time.
It's stupid of Ryan to think that Seth will be there, sitting on the bed, comic book on his lap. It's stupid. But Ryan can't stop wishing.
He pushes the door open, his breath caught in his throat, and stays still. The room is empty, the bed made, Captain Oats stands on top of the dresser, the comic books piled nicely on top of the desk. The laptop is there, along with the Ipod. The only thing missing from the room is the skateboard. And Seth.
Ryan can't breathe for a second. Seth is not here. Without him, the room seems cold. His eyes sting and he struggles to take a deep breath. His lungs don't seem to want to work. He stands there longer than he realizes. He has to force himself to walk inside.
He walks slowly toward the desk, four comics piled on top of one another and they remind him of the cement he unloaded just yesterday.
There's part three of the New Legion, another series of five. Part four came out last week. Ryan has it hidden in the lower drawer of the dresser in the room he shares with Theresa. He hasn't opened it yet. It doesn't seem right without Seth. The new edition of Batman/Superman comes out next week. Ryan will buy that one as well.
He picks up the Ipod Seth used to take almost everywhere with him. "In case I get bored," Seth once told Ryan. Ryan wonders if Seth is bored, or alone. If he's scared, if he's lost. Ryan hopes Seth isn't lost, that Seth, at least, knows where he's going.
He scans the songs in the list. The Clash, Sex Pistols, and other groups Ryan recognizes now. He wouldn't have a year ago.
"Ryan!"
Ryan nods to himself. There's so much difference between Kirsten's voice and Theresa's, even in the tone they use. His name sounds different coming from Kirsten's lips.
He nods once again, clutching the Ipod in his hand and placing it in his pocket. The songs remind him of Seth.
He turns around and leaves the room, pain hollowing his every bone as he makes his way downstairs.
Ryan closes his eyes, leaning his head forward. He doesn't have to see the name of the song to recognize it.
"One emotion fighting through the night. And it can keep your curtains closed when it gets light," Ryan mutters under his breath as the song filters through the earphones.
He's only wearing his boxers, his feet cooling rapidly against the clear blue floor tile. Theresa was asleep when Ryan walked out of the room and toward the bathroom, electronic device in one hand. It had taken Ryan two days to find the moment, and the courage, to retrieve it from its hiding place and listen to the music he almost misses. Theresa's mother doesn't listen to rock or punk. She tunes the radio to a Spanish station Ryan doesn't know.
Ryan grimaces slightly, trying to remember the rest of the lyrics. He can picture Seth's face in his mind, clear as the sky every morning, his lips moving along the music and lyrics. He can imagine Seth's head bouncing slightly, his hand drumming against his thigh. He can see Seth grinning in Ryan's direction, music filling the space in between.
Ryan can see all that, but he can't remember the rest of the lyrics.
"Banging on the doors and closing them down," Ryan says, after a moment, unsure.
The rest of the words go by and Ryan lets himself go back in time and see Seth standing before him once again.
His hand itches. When he rubs his forefinger and thumb together, Ryan can feel the dryness brought on by handling sand and cement all day, everyday. He doesn't think there's enough soap in the house to cleanse him of that feeling.
The phone rings and Ryan doesn't lift his eyes from his plate.
Frijoles con queso, Theresa called it. Ryan frowns, lifting his fork holding a piece of melted cheese. He doesn't like frijoles."Mano."
The word catches his attention and Ryan looks up.
Arturo is holding the phone out in one hand. "Telefono para ti."
Ryan nods, standing up. Theresa gazes at him and he ducks his head so as to not have to answer questions she is asking with her eyes. He takes it from Arturo, who shakes his head and sits down at the table.
"Era una mujer," Arturo says and Ryan bites down his lower lip. He hates it when they speak Spanish. He hates not knowing what they're saying. "Una mujer," Arturo repeats. "Me parece que era esa señora."
"Callate," Ryan hears Theresa tell Arturo and Ryan grins. He knows that word. Shut up.
He presses the earpiece close and before he can say anything, he hears Kirsten on the other side of the line.
"Ryan? Ryan, are you--?"
"Yes, it's me." Her tone alone makes his heart race faster, his breath quicken. "Kirsten, what's--?"
"We just got a call from the Coast Guard."
When she pauses for a breath, Ryan hears all sound around him being sucked out.
Kirsten chokes back a sob. "Something happened. Bad weather. The tide--"
Ryan holds on to her every word.
"He's in..."
The sentence doesn't end and Ryan doesn't need it to.
"Ryan--"
He knows what she wants to ask. Ryan nods before his brain remembers how to process the words. "I'm on my way."
Spanish/English translation:
Arturo is holding the phone out in one hand. "Phone for you."
"It was a woman," Arturo says says and Ryan bites down his lower lip. He hates it when they speak Spanish. He hates not knowing what they're saying. "A woman. I think it's that lady." "Shut up," Ryan hears Theresa tell Arturo.