Best Forgotten, Part 20.
Trick or treat. You decide. Anyway, just in time for Halloween, here's this month's chapter of my AU OC horror story. But sorry, no zombies here. And yes, I'm still borrowing the characters Josh.
Best Forgotten, Part 20
Lucy heard a final, sharp click as the door to Ryan’s room closed. Instantly she swung around and pushed the handle. It didn’t move. But no, she thought, confused, that cannot happen. These rooms only lock from inside. We cannot be shut out from our patients. She tried the handle again, pressing harder, but it still refused to budge. Her breath hissed and Lucy bit her lip, her fingers clutching her computer printouts so tightly that she almost tore them.
“Dr. Keller,” she called, “you must let me in! I have found information about Ry-about this patient that you must know right now. It is most urgent! Just let me show you, please!”
Nobody answered.
Lucy’s jaw tightened. She raised one hand, her fist already closed and prepared to pound for reentry, when the orderly who had escorted her out grabbed her elbow. Holding it firmly, he began to propel her away from the door.
“I think you need to leave, Nurse,” he said. “Dr. Keller obviously doesn’t want you here.”
“But you don’t understand!” Lucy protested. “He must speak to me! Look--” Wrenching free of his grip, she wheeled around to face the man, simultaneously holding up the photo and articles. “The boy in there,” she explained breathlessly. “Mr. Nichol admitted him to the clinic as Brandon McCullough. He told us the boy was criminally insane, that he had killed Ryan Atwood, the foster son of Mr. Nichol’s daughter, and then he had assumed Ryan’s identity. But that cannot be true! I could find no evidence that any such murder took place. But I did find these.” Hastily smoothing the printouts, Lucy thrust them at the startled orderly. Her words began spilling faster, tumbling over each other in her urgency. “Just see,” she urged. “You see, here is a photo of Ryan-only look, there is his name in the caption-and I know it is not the best picture, but that is the same boy we left inside that room. It is! And this article, it is about a business rival of Mr. Nichol’s, a man named Brandon McCullough, who tried to take over his company. That cannot be a coincidence, that this patient has the same name as a man he hated! Don’t you see? The boy in there really is Ryan Atwood! Dr. Keller must know this. Please, I must get this information to him before it is too late.”
The orderly shook his head, and Lucy saw bafflement cloud his face. Her own darkened with despair.
“Please,” she begged, stammering. “I know it is confusing, but you must believe me.”
Even as she spoke, though, she sensed the futility of her plea. There was sympathy in the man’s expression, even some regret, but he was shaking his head again, and moving to block her access to the door.
How could she make him understand?
“Look, Nurse,” he began, “I’m sorry you’re upset, but none of this makes any sense to me, and I’ve got my orders. Maybe you should just--”
“No!” Lucy grabbed the man’s hand. Taking a deep breath, she made herself slow down, speaking more slowly and more deliberately. “I do not know how or even why exactly, but Mr. Nichol has lied to us. I am sure of it. Dr. Keller cannot operate on that patient. He is not Brandon McConnell. He is Ryan Atwood, and he is not insane. This surgery, it would be the same as killing him.” She moved closer, forcing the photo into the orderly’s fingers. At the same time, she scanned the man’s ID. “Felix,” she said, reading his name, fixing her importunate eyes on his. “You have worked with the boy. Please, only look at this picture. The newspaper identifies him as Ryan Atwood. But that is the same boy who is inside that room, the one we were told is Brandon McConnell. Just look there, at his profile. Surely you recognize him . . .”
She held her breath, waiting.
Felix frowned for a moment before, reluctantly, he studied the picture. As he did, the furrow between his brows deepened. He rubbed a knuckle into the crease. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “It does kind of look like him, but . . .”
His voice trailed off, curving into a question, and Lucy pounced on it eagerly.
“You are not positive,” she said. “I understand. You have only seen the patient when he is most agitated, and being confined here, drugged and frightened and isolated-he cannot look exactly as he did at this party. So it is perhaps difficult for you to be certain. But I have been his primary nurse. I have spent much more time with him, and I am sure.” Lucy squeezed Felix’s hand, a gesture of simultaneous confidence and entreaty. “That patient is not Brandon McConnell. He is Ryan Atwood, and Dr. Keller will realize this too if I can only speak to him.” She paused, fixing Felix with a dark, desperate gaze. “Please,” she whispered, “will you help me?”
He shrank from the intensity in her eyes. Shifting uncomfortably, Felix glanced at the door to Ryan’s room and then back at Lucy. He scrubbed his forehead for several long moments. “Even if you’re right,” he replied at last, “I don’t know what I can do, Nurse.”
“Lucy,” she said, clutching at a thread of hope. “My name is Lucy.”
“Lucy,” Felix repeated. “If I let you back in there, the doctor will just kick you out again before you can say two words-probably have both of us fired. Dr. Keller don’t stand for people who defy his orders.”
“That is true,” Lucy murmured. She bit her lip. Without looking, she pressed the printout she about Brandon McConnell between her fingers, ironing out its wrinkles. There must be a way, she thought. I have evidence now-not absolute proof, perhaps, but enough to raise questions. But how can I get Dr. Keller to listen?
Lucy searched her mind, scrambling for an idea, but nothing at all occurred to her. A numbness seemed to have seized her brain. All she could hear was a mocking refrain: How, Lucy, how?
And, underlying it, drifted the echo of Ryan’s faint voice.
“You promised to help, Lucy. You promised.”
Lucy’s guilt throbbed in her ears, so loud that she barely heard Felix speak again. “Damn,” he mused, “it really does look like him, don’t it?”
Lucy started to attention. Peering up sharply, she found him examining Ryan’s photo again. He squinted, studying it one last time before he handed it back to her. His lips pursed, considering.
“The whole thing sounds crazy to me, but . . . You’re really sure about this kid, Lucy?”
She nodded eagerly, her eyes wide. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes. Yes I am.”
“Okay then.” Felix’s heavy shoulders rolled back and he frowned again. “I don’t like it myself, what I’ve heard about this surgery. Seems like Dr. Keller cares more about being the first to do it than how risky it is. And now that Mr. Nichol is in there, pushing the doc to go through with it when they don’t even know what’s going on with that poor kid . . . It just don’t feel right.”
“Because it is not, Felix.” Lucy clasped her hands together tightly. “You will help me to stop it?”
He glanced down at her, chewing his lower lip. “Like I said, I don’t know what I can do, but well, maybe this will help. The operation is scheduled for OR 1-not the room in the main building. It’s here in the Annex, down the hall to your left and then right at the end. Dr. Keller always heads down early before an operation. I hear he likes to be alone for a while, review his procedures and clear his head or something. Maybe you can catch him and talk to him then.”
A surge of hope lit Lucy’s face. “Yes,” she said on a long, fervent breath. “Oh yes, if I can just see him alone, I will at least have a chance to make him listen. Thank you so much Felix. I think perhaps you may have just saved Ryan’s life.”
She reached for the man’s hands, taking them both in hers and pressing them gratefully. His cheeks creased in a slow smile.
“Doctors and nurses like you do that-save lives, Lucy. Me, I’m just an orderly. All I do is move patients around.” Felix inclined his head toward Ryan’s door. “And speaking of that, I’d better get back inside before the doc calls for me.”
“Yes,” Lucy agreed soberly. “I must go too. But Felix, you should know this-you are not ‘just’ anything. You are a fine, thoughtful, compassionate man. And I am most, most grateful for your help.” Impulsively, Lucy lifted the orderly’s hands and pressed her lips to them in a soft, fleeting kiss. Felix flushed, surprised, but before he could respond she spun away and raced down the corridor toward OR1. He watched, his gaze warm and anxious until she disappeared around the corner. Then he turned, punched in the code to unlock Ryan’s room and stepped inside.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Damn it.” Craning his head out the window, Sandy peered through the dusty sunshine at the line of cars stopped in front of him. In the distance, he could see a construction worker blocking the lane, his caution flag drooping in the heat. “This is taking forever. Charlie, isn’t there another route we could take to the clinic?”
Charlie bent over her computer, impatiently scrubbing back the hair that fell forward as she checked the directions. “Sorry, Sandy, no,” she reported. “We’d have to backtrack to pick up the other road, and that would add at least twenty miles to the trip.”
“So we just sit here and wait.” Frustrated, Sandy pounded the steering wheel. Then he slumped back in his seat. A gust of hot tar-scented air shoved its way inside before he rolled his window shut, and cranked up the AC.
Beside him, Kirsten breathed a small, stifled moan while Seth heaved a long sigh from the back seat. After that, the Cohens and Charlie all lapsed into silence. Each of them stared bleakly outside. The dusty fields surrounding them seemed to waver in the sun, endless and empty. Nothing else moved until at last the flagman signaled the cars forward.
“Finally,” Seth muttered glumly. “You know, I’ve decided I hate Mexico.” He raked his matted curls off his forehead, turning them into a tangled thicket. “Seriously I hate the heat and I hate the traffic and I hate the heat and I hate the stupid sunshine and did I mention that I hate the heat? Because I totally do.”
Charlie chuckled. “Southern California has all those things too, Seth.”
“Well, Mexico has more of them,” Seth retorted. “Remind me never to come back here once we--” He stopped, incredulous, at the sound of his Sandy’s dry laugh. “What?” he demanded. “There’s nothing funny here Dad.”
“No, I know. It’s just that you were talking about the heat,” Sandy explained, “and I suddenly pictured Ryan’s face the first time he tried wasabi. Remember--?”
“How red he got, and the way his eyes kept watering, and he couldn’t stop coughing and spluttering? Oh yeah!” Seth’s eyes lit with remembered delight. He turned to Charlie. “That? Was totally a You-Tube worthy moment,” he told her. “You should have seen it. Strong, stoic Kid Chino, struck down by a Japanese condiment.”
Kirsten had been leaning wearily against the window, but she turned around, a faint smile flickering across her face. “You were terrible, Sandy,” she chided. “You and Seth both, telling Ryan it was like guacamole and tricking him into eating that big spoonful of it.”
“Well, wasabi is kind of like guacamole,” Seth insisted. “They’re both green and gloopy and generally served on the side. Anyway, we didn’t tell Ryan to take so much. Also anyway, it was all Dad’s idea.”
“Hey! All I said was that we should get him to try wasabi,” Sandy protested. “You’re the one who handed him the tablespoon.” Still chuckling softly, he reached across the console and patted Kirsten’s hand. “And then you sweetheart, rushing in and thinking there was something really wrong with Ryan. I haven’t seen you like that since Seth took a header off his skateboard when he was twelve.”
“Yep. You were in full-on smothering-mama mode there, Mom. Rubbing Ryan’s back, running to get him water, making him put his head between his knees, scolding me and Dad for laughing . . . And the whole time, Ryan just kept getting redder and redder and redder.”
Kirsten shook her head, her lips crimping. “I thought he couldn’t breathe,” she recalled. “It was awful.”
“It was funny,” Seth countered. “Totally worth all the death glares Dad and I got just to see Ryan’s expression when you were fussing around him like that.”
Sandy edged around the construction area and began to accelerate. At the same time he flashed Kirsten a small, tender smile. “The poor kid was so embarrassed, he couldn’t look you in the face for days,” he said. All the laughter drained from his face, leaving it grave and reflective. “But you know, honey, deep down I think Ryan really appreciated how you looked out for him.”
Kirsten nodded wistfully. “He kept thanking me,” she murmured. “But he was so uncomfortable, as if he wasn’t used to anybody caring about his well-being. I know Dawn wasn’t the best mother but, Sandy . . . is it possible that nobody ever took care of Ryan before?”
Sandy stiffened. His mouth opened as if he was about to answer, but at the last moment he seemed to catch himself. Instead he sighed heavily and shook his head.
That small gesture appeared to be answer enough.
From her corner of the back seat, Charlie watched, her eyes dark with sympathy, as another tense silence settled over the car. Each of the Cohens seemed to retreat into private anxiety. Kirsten turned away, her lips folded shut, her profile rigid; Seth slumped, absently picking at a hole in his t-shirt, drumming his toes erratically against the floor, while Sandy stared straight ahead, his jaw set, his hands strangling the steering wheel as he drove.
They sat that way, locked in themselves, alone with their memories and their own wordless fear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lucy realized that she was running just as she turned the corner to the operating room. She could feel a hitch in her side, an anxious flush on her face, the hectic, uneven catch of her breathing. Stop this, Lucy, she ordered herself sternly. There has been no call to make you rush here. If you wish to face no questions you must look professional, a nurse who is just doing her job. Deliberately, reluctantly, she forced herself to slow down. Slipping into alcove, Lucy paused to smooth her tunic, take several deep calming breaths, and fan the heat from her cheeks. Then, her expression carefully neutral, she stepped back into the hallway. A nurse she did not recognize was just wheeling an instrument tray into the OR as she approached. Lucy gave her a brief nod of greeting and walked past into the scrubbing area.
The room was still empty. Breathing a silent prayer of thanks, Lucy spread her computer printouts on the counter and smoothed out their creases carefully. Then she sat down, rereading the articles about Brandon McConnell, studying Ryan’s cotillion photo, mentally debating how she should present them to Dr. Keller.
He would be furious to find her here, Lucy knew. No, more likely he would not waste time on anger. He would simply dismiss her, intent on preparing for the surgery. She would have to be ready, quick and composed. Somehow, in just seconds, she had to explain the facts clearly enough so that he would understand.
So that he would look past his own ambition.
So that he would believe the truth about Ryan.
The door swooshed open suddenly, sooner than Lucy expected. It caught her off-guard and she jumped to her feet. “Dr. Keller,” she began. The words poured out, terse but urgent as she moved to greet him. “I know that you do not wish to see me, but it is essential that we speak. Only give me five minutes--”
A short, dry laugh startled Lucy to silence.
With shock, she saw that Dr. Keller wasn’t alone. Mr. Nichol was just behind him. He raised his eyebrows at the doctor, his mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. “Well, Stephen,” he drawled. “Apparently you needed to be more precise when you ordered this nurse removed earlier.”
Lucy’s eyes flashed, but other than that she didn’t respond, didn’t acknowledge Mr. Nichol in any way. Instead, she launched into her rehearsed argument. “Dr. Keller,” she said, positioning herself firmly between him and Mr. Nichol, “if you proceed with this operation you will jeopardize all your years of research. Your innovative procedure, your professional reputation-you will destroy everything you worked so hard to create.”
His hand already lifted to wave her away, Dr. Keller paused. A flicker of doubt crossed his face and his arm fell to his side.
“What do you mean?” he demanded. “Explain yourself, Nurse.”
“Come now Stephen,” Caleb interjected. “Surely you’re not going to let this girl--”
Lucy heard the autocratic sneer in his tone, but she cut Caleb off anyway. Her own voice cool and sure, she steered Dr. Keller towards the counter where her printouts were displayed. “I tried to show these to you earlier. Look,” she urged. “Here is proof that your patient is not delusional. He does not need your surgery, Doctor, because he has been telling us the truth all along. He really is Ryan Atwood.”
Lucy reached for the cotillion photo, but as she did Caleb snatched it from her hand, pushing her aside in the process. He studied the picture, his expression both scoffing and dismissive.
Only Lucy had felt his alarm when he shoved past her. For an instant, she could even see it etched in a thin white line around his mouth. Then Caleb regained his control.
“What is this?” he demanded. His lip curled derisively. “Oh I see-a blurry picture from the party where that whole Jimmy Cooper debacle came to light. What exactly does this purport to show us, Nurse?”
It took a supreme effort, but Lucy ignored him. She focused on Dr. Keller. “It is a newspaper photograph of Ryan Atwood. You see, Doctor? Look at the caption and the boy in the picture. You must realize, that is our patient.”
Dr. Keller’s brow furrowed. “It’s not possible,” he muttered, poring over the photo. “There's a similarity, yes, but we have the boy’s case history, all his legal papers. He may resemble the real Ryan, but he’s Brandon McConnell. You’ve seen his records, Nurse Forde. Our patient is criminally insane. He killed Ryan Atwood.”
“No, he did not! Those documents are all false, Doctor. I l searched, but I could find no record of any such murder, nothing more than Mr. Nichol provided. As for Brandon McConnell--” As if he were invisible, Lucy swept past Caleb to retrieve the articles she had printed. “Only look, doctor. Mr. Nichol did know such a person, a man who once tried to steal his company. How is it possible, for two people who share the same name to cause him and his family such harm? Is it not too extreme a coincidence to be true?”
“Let me see that.” Intercepting the article, Caleb scanned its contents swiftly. Then he gave a dry, mirthless chuckle and tossed the paper aside. “Garbage," he declared. "People can post anything on the Internet, can’t they?”
Dr. Keller tapped the other printout on the counter. “It is . . . curious, Caleb,” he mused.
“No it’s not,” Caleb snapped. “It’s ridiculous. This nurse brings you some obviously manufactured stories and a blurry picture that clearly was photoshopped and you give her credence? After you’ve seen Brandon’s medical reports and his legal records? Which documents do you imagine could have been falsified more easily?” With a sharp, scathing sound, Caleb slipped the papers from under Dr. Keller’s palm. He crumpled them and dropped them into the trash. Then, very coolly, he adjusted his cuffs. His eyes, a laser-like blue, seared Lucy as he turned back to Dr. Keller. “Think, man,” he said. His voice was edged with steel. “Do I have to remind you what this operation will mean for your future and for the funding for your clinic? You’re a scientist, Stephen. This woman-well, at best she’s a naïf who fell for the boy’s insane story and concocted these ‘facts’ in an attempt to prove his case. At worst, she’s deliberately trying to derail your career.”
Caleb paused, giving his words a chance to take effect. They did. With despair, Lucy saw Dr. Keller’s face start to harden. She shook her head, trying vainly to catch his hand as the doctor pressed the call button.
“No! Do not believe him, doctor!” she begged. “I am only trying to prevent a tragedy!”
Caleb’s lips twitched with amused contempt. “You see? This woman is an overwrought romantic. Tragedy indeed. Perhaps you should screen your clinic’s applicants more carefully, doctor.”
Lucy spun around. “Perhaps you should tell the truth, Mr. Nichol!” She started to retrieve her articles from the garbage, but the door opened suddenly, stopping her.
“That will be enough, Nurse,” Dr. Keller said flatly. He beckoned to the security guard who appeared in the doorway. “Escort this woman from the premises,” he ordered. “She is no longer employed by this clinic. Then make sure this area is completely secured. I want no interruptions during my surgery.”
“No!” Lucy cried again. “You must not do this! It is wrong!”
She fought against the guard’s grip, continuing to struggle, pleading desperately, even as she was pulled out of the room, even, finally, as she was marched out of the building and into the mocking glare of the late-afternoon sun.
The clinic’s door locked behind her.
Only then did Lucy fall silent.
Defeated, she slumped against the white stucco wall.
She had failed. Ryan had trusted her, but she had failed him.
Even now, she feared, Dr. Keller’s team was probably clustered around him, prepping him for surgery. All too soon, they would wheel him into the OR. The room would bustle, then hush and Dr. Keller would lean over the table, his eyes fixed only on an exposed area of skull and carefully, precisely, he would make his first incision. And with that, Lucy knew, it would be all over. Because even if Ryan lived through the operation he could not survive, not in any meaningful way.
Ryan Atwood would cease to exist.
And Lucy could not keep that from happening.
She tilted her head back, her unseeing eyes staring straight up at the sun. I am so sorry, Ryan, she whispered silently. I did not mean to leave you alone, to break my promise to you. I should have believed you from the first. You tried to tell me the truth. If I had only trusted you, this would not be happening now . . . We would have had time to expose Mr. Nichol’s lies, to get you out of this place . . .
Unconsciously, she fingered the phone in her pocket.
Beneath the litany of her own guilt, the distant hum of traffic, she seemed to hear Ryan, his voice faint, rusty and urgent. He kept repeating the same refrain.
“Call Sandy,” he pleaded. “Call Sandy. Please.”
Lucy stifled a sob.
But it is too late now, she thought. It will do no good. I still do not know the last two digits of Sandy’s number and the Cohens are too far away. Sandy could never reach Ryan in time.
Even so, she pulled out her phone.
She could think of nothing else to do.
It might take her a hundred tries to come up with the right combination, and once she did reach Sandy Cohen, Lucy dreaded the words she would have to say: Your father-in-law is about to destroy Ryan. Unless you can somehow produce a miracle, you will lose him forever.
But there would be no miracle, Lucy knew. It was hopeless. The phone sat in her hand, hard and cold and impossibly heavy. Lucy stared at it, her heart hollow. Then she stiffened.
It may be too late, she told herself. But you still must try, Lucy. Call Sandy. You owe Ryan that much.
She pressed the “on” button, lighting up the display.
Deliberately, firmly, Lucy began to dial.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seth slammed his feet down and sat upright, abruptly breaking the silence in the car. “I’ve been thinking,” he announced. He shifted sideways in his seat, accidentally jarring Charlie’s coffee cup. Diving forward, he steadied the plastic mug as it teetered back and forth in the holder. “Oops, sorry! I got it. Nothing spilled, Charlie.”
She chuckled, relieved to hear someone speak. “That’s because the cup’s empty, Seth.”
“Oh. Well, that would explain it. So, anyway, Mom and Dad, I--” As if he couldn’t recall what he meant to say, Seth stopped. He chewed his lip and his feet jittered again, beating the floor in an uneasy cadence.
Sandy peered back through the rearview mirror. “You were thinking?” he prompted.
“Right. Yeah, right, I was. Three things actually.” Seth took a deep, bracing breath. “Okay, number one, I just realized that I like you guys. I mean, you know I’ve always loved you and everything but--”
This time Seth seemed to trip over his own words. They trailed off, dangling in the air for an awkward half-second. Then Charlie nudged his arm with her elbow. He peered over, and she grinned, nodding her support.
“But . . .” she mouthed silently.
Encouraged, Seth bobbed his head. He licked his lips and continued. “Well, okay, here’s the thing, guys,” he explained. “What I mean is, I like you a lot better since Ryan came. I mean, face it, Dad, you’re funnier now. Also just more fun, even if I could do without you bursting into Broadway tunes at completely random moments. I’m probably explaining this all wrong but before--”
Sandy braked at a traffic light, and met Seth’s gaze in the mirror. They looked identical, both of them sober and thoughtful.
“You acted like you were at war with the system,” Seth said, choosing his words carefully. “But it never seemed like you thought that you could win. Since you found Ryan, though . . . it’s kinda like you know that you can.” Sandy raised his eyebrows slowly. His eyes smiled, and the corners of Seth’s mouth quirked in response. Taking another deep breath, he turned to his mother. “And you, Mom,” he continued, even more earnestly. “You’ve gotten a lot more approachable since Ryan started to live with us-less Ice Princess-slash-Newpsie socialite-slash-The Kirsten and more, I don’t know . . . mom-ish. It’s like, you’re softer inside now. But in a really good way.”
Kirsten covered her mouth. “Oh,” she whispered. She turned around to face Seth. Her voice trembled, emerging tight and thin. “You really think we’ve changed that much, sweetie?”
“Yeah,” he replied simply. “I mean I know I have.” His shoulders hunched in a quick, self-conscious shrug. “Because I like me better too. Maybe it just comes from having somebody like me back. I don’t know. I just keep thinking . . . yeah, Ryan was grateful to have a place to stay when you brought him home, Dad. But he could have resented us too, me especially: you know, here I am living in a mini-mansion with no money worries and two parents who don’t hit or abandon their kid. Ryan could totally have written me off as a spoiled rich comic book-nerd. He didn’t though. He just . . . became my friend.”
Seth flushed, squirming slightly and sank into silence. Then Sandy nodded at him in the mirror.
“That’s two,” he said quietly.
“Two?”
“Things you were thinking. You said there were three, Seth.”
“Yeah. Yeah, there are.” Slipping down further in his seat, Seth picked at his t-shirt again. His voice sounded hollow when he finally spoke. “I’m worried,” he confessed. “I mean, not worried the way we all are, although that too. I’m worried that if we find Ryan--”
“When,” Kirsten interjected. Her voice cut, razor-sharp. “When we find him, Seth.”
“Right,” Seth conceded hastily. “When. Which is totally what I meant to say. But, well, when we find Ryan-you think there’s a chance he won’t want to come home with us? I mean I wouldn’t blame him if he doesn’t. As bad as things were for him in Chino, this has got to be a gazillion times worse. And you know how Ryan acted when his mom showed up in Newport. He didn’t want anything to do with her. So . . .” Seth shrugged, his voice sinking to a doleful mumble. “Maybe he’ll feel that way about us. Because I’m pretty sure even his mom never hurt him this bad.”
Sandy’s eyes flashed, meeting his son’s through the rearview mirror. “Yes, she did, Seth,” he said sharply. “Dawn abandoned Ryan. We’re looking for him. There’s a huge difference. Ryan will know that.”
Kirsten touched the window, her eyes blank as she traced a rivulet line down its surface. “He forgave her,” she said softly.
“What sweetheart?”
“His mother. Ryan forgave her. Even after she left him, he gave Dawn another chance.” Kirsten’s whisper dwindled into a thin, almost inaudible thread. “I understand that. Children always want to forgive their parents. But some things . . . some things are unforgivable. My father--”
Whatever else she meant to say was lost under the sudden peal of Sandy’s cell phone. His jacket muffled the sound but still Kirsten winced, shrinking away from the trill, further away from Sandy.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbled. Grimacing, he fumbled in his pocket and yanked out the phone. It promptly fell out of his hand, wedging between his seat and the center console. “Damn it!” he muttered. He reached down, trying to retrieve it, but instead he just pushed it further down.
The ringing continued, shrill and insistent, the brash notes of “White Lightning” incongruous in the stress-filled car.
Dad really needs a new ringtone, Seth thought dimly as aloud, he said, “I’ll get it, Dad.” Scooting forwarding, he foraged between the seat cushions. His fingers closed around the phone and he wiggled it back and forth, trying to slide it out as it continued to chime relentlessly. “Wait, it’s kind of caught on the seatbelt strap or something-”
Just as he jerked it free, the car hit a pothole and Seth fell backward. Automatically, his grip tightened on the phone.
The ringing stopped mid-note. Seth peered down in consternation, studying the silent phone in his hand.
“Oops, sorry, Dad,” he said. “Got the phone, lost the call. I guess I pressed the “end” button or something. Want me to see who it was?”
Sandy glanced at his wife, registered her wan profile, her arms wrapped tightly around her midriff. He shook his head wearily. “Don’t bother son,” he replied. “It was probably just my office. You were right, what you said when Marissa called before. Charlie’s in touch with everyone we need to contact right now and Ryan--”
He paused, but Seth sighed bleakly, finishing his father’s thoughts. Ryan was the only person they wanted to hear from.
But he couldn’t call.
And they didn’t need to be bothered by anybody else.
Sandy turned back to face the road. “You know what, Seth?” he concluded flatly. “Why don’t you just turn the damn thing off?
His father didn’t see him, but Seth nodded grim agreement. He bounced the phone on his palm twice.
Then he reached for its “off” bottom.
TBC
Best Forgotten, Part 20
Lucy heard a final, sharp click as the door to Ryan’s room closed. Instantly she swung around and pushed the handle. It didn’t move. But no, she thought, confused, that cannot happen. These rooms only lock from inside. We cannot be shut out from our patients. She tried the handle again, pressing harder, but it still refused to budge. Her breath hissed and Lucy bit her lip, her fingers clutching her computer printouts so tightly that she almost tore them.
“Dr. Keller,” she called, “you must let me in! I have found information about Ry-about this patient that you must know right now. It is most urgent! Just let me show you, please!”
Nobody answered.
Lucy’s jaw tightened. She raised one hand, her fist already closed and prepared to pound for reentry, when the orderly who had escorted her out grabbed her elbow. Holding it firmly, he began to propel her away from the door.
“I think you need to leave, Nurse,” he said. “Dr. Keller obviously doesn’t want you here.”
“But you don’t understand!” Lucy protested. “He must speak to me! Look--” Wrenching free of his grip, she wheeled around to face the man, simultaneously holding up the photo and articles. “The boy in there,” she explained breathlessly. “Mr. Nichol admitted him to the clinic as Brandon McCullough. He told us the boy was criminally insane, that he had killed Ryan Atwood, the foster son of Mr. Nichol’s daughter, and then he had assumed Ryan’s identity. But that cannot be true! I could find no evidence that any such murder took place. But I did find these.” Hastily smoothing the printouts, Lucy thrust them at the startled orderly. Her words began spilling faster, tumbling over each other in her urgency. “Just see,” she urged. “You see, here is a photo of Ryan-only look, there is his name in the caption-and I know it is not the best picture, but that is the same boy we left inside that room. It is! And this article, it is about a business rival of Mr. Nichol’s, a man named Brandon McCullough, who tried to take over his company. That cannot be a coincidence, that this patient has the same name as a man he hated! Don’t you see? The boy in there really is Ryan Atwood! Dr. Keller must know this. Please, I must get this information to him before it is too late.”
The orderly shook his head, and Lucy saw bafflement cloud his face. Her own darkened with despair.
“Please,” she begged, stammering. “I know it is confusing, but you must believe me.”
Even as she spoke, though, she sensed the futility of her plea. There was sympathy in the man’s expression, even some regret, but he was shaking his head again, and moving to block her access to the door.
How could she make him understand?
“Look, Nurse,” he began, “I’m sorry you’re upset, but none of this makes any sense to me, and I’ve got my orders. Maybe you should just--”
“No!” Lucy grabbed the man’s hand. Taking a deep breath, she made herself slow down, speaking more slowly and more deliberately. “I do not know how or even why exactly, but Mr. Nichol has lied to us. I am sure of it. Dr. Keller cannot operate on that patient. He is not Brandon McConnell. He is Ryan Atwood, and he is not insane. This surgery, it would be the same as killing him.” She moved closer, forcing the photo into the orderly’s fingers. At the same time, she scanned the man’s ID. “Felix,” she said, reading his name, fixing her importunate eyes on his. “You have worked with the boy. Please, only look at this picture. The newspaper identifies him as Ryan Atwood. But that is the same boy who is inside that room, the one we were told is Brandon McConnell. Just look there, at his profile. Surely you recognize him . . .”
She held her breath, waiting.
Felix frowned for a moment before, reluctantly, he studied the picture. As he did, the furrow between his brows deepened. He rubbed a knuckle into the crease. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “It does kind of look like him, but . . .”
His voice trailed off, curving into a question, and Lucy pounced on it eagerly.
“You are not positive,” she said. “I understand. You have only seen the patient when he is most agitated, and being confined here, drugged and frightened and isolated-he cannot look exactly as he did at this party. So it is perhaps difficult for you to be certain. But I have been his primary nurse. I have spent much more time with him, and I am sure.” Lucy squeezed Felix’s hand, a gesture of simultaneous confidence and entreaty. “That patient is not Brandon McConnell. He is Ryan Atwood, and Dr. Keller will realize this too if I can only speak to him.” She paused, fixing Felix with a dark, desperate gaze. “Please,” she whispered, “will you help me?”
He shrank from the intensity in her eyes. Shifting uncomfortably, Felix glanced at the door to Ryan’s room and then back at Lucy. He scrubbed his forehead for several long moments. “Even if you’re right,” he replied at last, “I don’t know what I can do, Nurse.”
“Lucy,” she said, clutching at a thread of hope. “My name is Lucy.”
“Lucy,” Felix repeated. “If I let you back in there, the doctor will just kick you out again before you can say two words-probably have both of us fired. Dr. Keller don’t stand for people who defy his orders.”
“That is true,” Lucy murmured. She bit her lip. Without looking, she pressed the printout she about Brandon McConnell between her fingers, ironing out its wrinkles. There must be a way, she thought. I have evidence now-not absolute proof, perhaps, but enough to raise questions. But how can I get Dr. Keller to listen?
Lucy searched her mind, scrambling for an idea, but nothing at all occurred to her. A numbness seemed to have seized her brain. All she could hear was a mocking refrain: How, Lucy, how?
And, underlying it, drifted the echo of Ryan’s faint voice.
“You promised to help, Lucy. You promised.”
Lucy’s guilt throbbed in her ears, so loud that she barely heard Felix speak again. “Damn,” he mused, “it really does look like him, don’t it?”
Lucy started to attention. Peering up sharply, she found him examining Ryan’s photo again. He squinted, studying it one last time before he handed it back to her. His lips pursed, considering.
“The whole thing sounds crazy to me, but . . . You’re really sure about this kid, Lucy?”
She nodded eagerly, her eyes wide. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes. Yes I am.”
“Okay then.” Felix’s heavy shoulders rolled back and he frowned again. “I don’t like it myself, what I’ve heard about this surgery. Seems like Dr. Keller cares more about being the first to do it than how risky it is. And now that Mr. Nichol is in there, pushing the doc to go through with it when they don’t even know what’s going on with that poor kid . . . It just don’t feel right.”
“Because it is not, Felix.” Lucy clasped her hands together tightly. “You will help me to stop it?”
He glanced down at her, chewing his lower lip. “Like I said, I don’t know what I can do, but well, maybe this will help. The operation is scheduled for OR 1-not the room in the main building. It’s here in the Annex, down the hall to your left and then right at the end. Dr. Keller always heads down early before an operation. I hear he likes to be alone for a while, review his procedures and clear his head or something. Maybe you can catch him and talk to him then.”
A surge of hope lit Lucy’s face. “Yes,” she said on a long, fervent breath. “Oh yes, if I can just see him alone, I will at least have a chance to make him listen. Thank you so much Felix. I think perhaps you may have just saved Ryan’s life.”
She reached for the man’s hands, taking them both in hers and pressing them gratefully. His cheeks creased in a slow smile.
“Doctors and nurses like you do that-save lives, Lucy. Me, I’m just an orderly. All I do is move patients around.” Felix inclined his head toward Ryan’s door. “And speaking of that, I’d better get back inside before the doc calls for me.”
“Yes,” Lucy agreed soberly. “I must go too. But Felix, you should know this-you are not ‘just’ anything. You are a fine, thoughtful, compassionate man. And I am most, most grateful for your help.” Impulsively, Lucy lifted the orderly’s hands and pressed her lips to them in a soft, fleeting kiss. Felix flushed, surprised, but before he could respond she spun away and raced down the corridor toward OR1. He watched, his gaze warm and anxious until she disappeared around the corner. Then he turned, punched in the code to unlock Ryan’s room and stepped inside.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Damn it.” Craning his head out the window, Sandy peered through the dusty sunshine at the line of cars stopped in front of him. In the distance, he could see a construction worker blocking the lane, his caution flag drooping in the heat. “This is taking forever. Charlie, isn’t there another route we could take to the clinic?”
Charlie bent over her computer, impatiently scrubbing back the hair that fell forward as she checked the directions. “Sorry, Sandy, no,” she reported. “We’d have to backtrack to pick up the other road, and that would add at least twenty miles to the trip.”
“So we just sit here and wait.” Frustrated, Sandy pounded the steering wheel. Then he slumped back in his seat. A gust of hot tar-scented air shoved its way inside before he rolled his window shut, and cranked up the AC.
Beside him, Kirsten breathed a small, stifled moan while Seth heaved a long sigh from the back seat. After that, the Cohens and Charlie all lapsed into silence. Each of them stared bleakly outside. The dusty fields surrounding them seemed to waver in the sun, endless and empty. Nothing else moved until at last the flagman signaled the cars forward.
“Finally,” Seth muttered glumly. “You know, I’ve decided I hate Mexico.” He raked his matted curls off his forehead, turning them into a tangled thicket. “Seriously I hate the heat and I hate the traffic and I hate the heat and I hate the stupid sunshine and did I mention that I hate the heat? Because I totally do.”
Charlie chuckled. “Southern California has all those things too, Seth.”
“Well, Mexico has more of them,” Seth retorted. “Remind me never to come back here once we--” He stopped, incredulous, at the sound of his Sandy’s dry laugh. “What?” he demanded. “There’s nothing funny here Dad.”
“No, I know. It’s just that you were talking about the heat,” Sandy explained, “and I suddenly pictured Ryan’s face the first time he tried wasabi. Remember--?”
“How red he got, and the way his eyes kept watering, and he couldn’t stop coughing and spluttering? Oh yeah!” Seth’s eyes lit with remembered delight. He turned to Charlie. “That? Was totally a You-Tube worthy moment,” he told her. “You should have seen it. Strong, stoic Kid Chino, struck down by a Japanese condiment.”
Kirsten had been leaning wearily against the window, but she turned around, a faint smile flickering across her face. “You were terrible, Sandy,” she chided. “You and Seth both, telling Ryan it was like guacamole and tricking him into eating that big spoonful of it.”
“Well, wasabi is kind of like guacamole,” Seth insisted. “They’re both green and gloopy and generally served on the side. Anyway, we didn’t tell Ryan to take so much. Also anyway, it was all Dad’s idea.”
“Hey! All I said was that we should get him to try wasabi,” Sandy protested. “You’re the one who handed him the tablespoon.” Still chuckling softly, he reached across the console and patted Kirsten’s hand. “And then you sweetheart, rushing in and thinking there was something really wrong with Ryan. I haven’t seen you like that since Seth took a header off his skateboard when he was twelve.”
“Yep. You were in full-on smothering-mama mode there, Mom. Rubbing Ryan’s back, running to get him water, making him put his head between his knees, scolding me and Dad for laughing . . . And the whole time, Ryan just kept getting redder and redder and redder.”
Kirsten shook her head, her lips crimping. “I thought he couldn’t breathe,” she recalled. “It was awful.”
“It was funny,” Seth countered. “Totally worth all the death glares Dad and I got just to see Ryan’s expression when you were fussing around him like that.”
Sandy edged around the construction area and began to accelerate. At the same time he flashed Kirsten a small, tender smile. “The poor kid was so embarrassed, he couldn’t look you in the face for days,” he said. All the laughter drained from his face, leaving it grave and reflective. “But you know, honey, deep down I think Ryan really appreciated how you looked out for him.”
Kirsten nodded wistfully. “He kept thanking me,” she murmured. “But he was so uncomfortable, as if he wasn’t used to anybody caring about his well-being. I know Dawn wasn’t the best mother but, Sandy . . . is it possible that nobody ever took care of Ryan before?”
Sandy stiffened. His mouth opened as if he was about to answer, but at the last moment he seemed to catch himself. Instead he sighed heavily and shook his head.
That small gesture appeared to be answer enough.
From her corner of the back seat, Charlie watched, her eyes dark with sympathy, as another tense silence settled over the car. Each of the Cohens seemed to retreat into private anxiety. Kirsten turned away, her lips folded shut, her profile rigid; Seth slumped, absently picking at a hole in his t-shirt, drumming his toes erratically against the floor, while Sandy stared straight ahead, his jaw set, his hands strangling the steering wheel as he drove.
They sat that way, locked in themselves, alone with their memories and their own wordless fear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lucy realized that she was running just as she turned the corner to the operating room. She could feel a hitch in her side, an anxious flush on her face, the hectic, uneven catch of her breathing. Stop this, Lucy, she ordered herself sternly. There has been no call to make you rush here. If you wish to face no questions you must look professional, a nurse who is just doing her job. Deliberately, reluctantly, she forced herself to slow down. Slipping into alcove, Lucy paused to smooth her tunic, take several deep calming breaths, and fan the heat from her cheeks. Then, her expression carefully neutral, she stepped back into the hallway. A nurse she did not recognize was just wheeling an instrument tray into the OR as she approached. Lucy gave her a brief nod of greeting and walked past into the scrubbing area.
The room was still empty. Breathing a silent prayer of thanks, Lucy spread her computer printouts on the counter and smoothed out their creases carefully. Then she sat down, rereading the articles about Brandon McConnell, studying Ryan’s cotillion photo, mentally debating how she should present them to Dr. Keller.
He would be furious to find her here, Lucy knew. No, more likely he would not waste time on anger. He would simply dismiss her, intent on preparing for the surgery. She would have to be ready, quick and composed. Somehow, in just seconds, she had to explain the facts clearly enough so that he would understand.
So that he would look past his own ambition.
So that he would believe the truth about Ryan.
The door swooshed open suddenly, sooner than Lucy expected. It caught her off-guard and she jumped to her feet. “Dr. Keller,” she began. The words poured out, terse but urgent as she moved to greet him. “I know that you do not wish to see me, but it is essential that we speak. Only give me five minutes--”
A short, dry laugh startled Lucy to silence.
With shock, she saw that Dr. Keller wasn’t alone. Mr. Nichol was just behind him. He raised his eyebrows at the doctor, his mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. “Well, Stephen,” he drawled. “Apparently you needed to be more precise when you ordered this nurse removed earlier.”
Lucy’s eyes flashed, but other than that she didn’t respond, didn’t acknowledge Mr. Nichol in any way. Instead, she launched into her rehearsed argument. “Dr. Keller,” she said, positioning herself firmly between him and Mr. Nichol, “if you proceed with this operation you will jeopardize all your years of research. Your innovative procedure, your professional reputation-you will destroy everything you worked so hard to create.”
His hand already lifted to wave her away, Dr. Keller paused. A flicker of doubt crossed his face and his arm fell to his side.
“What do you mean?” he demanded. “Explain yourself, Nurse.”
“Come now Stephen,” Caleb interjected. “Surely you’re not going to let this girl--”
Lucy heard the autocratic sneer in his tone, but she cut Caleb off anyway. Her own voice cool and sure, she steered Dr. Keller towards the counter where her printouts were displayed. “I tried to show these to you earlier. Look,” she urged. “Here is proof that your patient is not delusional. He does not need your surgery, Doctor, because he has been telling us the truth all along. He really is Ryan Atwood.”
Lucy reached for the cotillion photo, but as she did Caleb snatched it from her hand, pushing her aside in the process. He studied the picture, his expression both scoffing and dismissive.
Only Lucy had felt his alarm when he shoved past her. For an instant, she could even see it etched in a thin white line around his mouth. Then Caleb regained his control.
“What is this?” he demanded. His lip curled derisively. “Oh I see-a blurry picture from the party where that whole Jimmy Cooper debacle came to light. What exactly does this purport to show us, Nurse?”
It took a supreme effort, but Lucy ignored him. She focused on Dr. Keller. “It is a newspaper photograph of Ryan Atwood. You see, Doctor? Look at the caption and the boy in the picture. You must realize, that is our patient.”
Dr. Keller’s brow furrowed. “It’s not possible,” he muttered, poring over the photo. “There's a similarity, yes, but we have the boy’s case history, all his legal papers. He may resemble the real Ryan, but he’s Brandon McConnell. You’ve seen his records, Nurse Forde. Our patient is criminally insane. He killed Ryan Atwood.”
“No, he did not! Those documents are all false, Doctor. I l searched, but I could find no record of any such murder, nothing more than Mr. Nichol provided. As for Brandon McConnell--” As if he were invisible, Lucy swept past Caleb to retrieve the articles she had printed. “Only look, doctor. Mr. Nichol did know such a person, a man who once tried to steal his company. How is it possible, for two people who share the same name to cause him and his family such harm? Is it not too extreme a coincidence to be true?”
“Let me see that.” Intercepting the article, Caleb scanned its contents swiftly. Then he gave a dry, mirthless chuckle and tossed the paper aside. “Garbage," he declared. "People can post anything on the Internet, can’t they?”
Dr. Keller tapped the other printout on the counter. “It is . . . curious, Caleb,” he mused.
“No it’s not,” Caleb snapped. “It’s ridiculous. This nurse brings you some obviously manufactured stories and a blurry picture that clearly was photoshopped and you give her credence? After you’ve seen Brandon’s medical reports and his legal records? Which documents do you imagine could have been falsified more easily?” With a sharp, scathing sound, Caleb slipped the papers from under Dr. Keller’s palm. He crumpled them and dropped them into the trash. Then, very coolly, he adjusted his cuffs. His eyes, a laser-like blue, seared Lucy as he turned back to Dr. Keller. “Think, man,” he said. His voice was edged with steel. “Do I have to remind you what this operation will mean for your future and for the funding for your clinic? You’re a scientist, Stephen. This woman-well, at best she’s a naïf who fell for the boy’s insane story and concocted these ‘facts’ in an attempt to prove his case. At worst, she’s deliberately trying to derail your career.”
Caleb paused, giving his words a chance to take effect. They did. With despair, Lucy saw Dr. Keller’s face start to harden. She shook her head, trying vainly to catch his hand as the doctor pressed the call button.
“No! Do not believe him, doctor!” she begged. “I am only trying to prevent a tragedy!”
Caleb’s lips twitched with amused contempt. “You see? This woman is an overwrought romantic. Tragedy indeed. Perhaps you should screen your clinic’s applicants more carefully, doctor.”
Lucy spun around. “Perhaps you should tell the truth, Mr. Nichol!” She started to retrieve her articles from the garbage, but the door opened suddenly, stopping her.
“That will be enough, Nurse,” Dr. Keller said flatly. He beckoned to the security guard who appeared in the doorway. “Escort this woman from the premises,” he ordered. “She is no longer employed by this clinic. Then make sure this area is completely secured. I want no interruptions during my surgery.”
“No!” Lucy cried again. “You must not do this! It is wrong!”
She fought against the guard’s grip, continuing to struggle, pleading desperately, even as she was pulled out of the room, even, finally, as she was marched out of the building and into the mocking glare of the late-afternoon sun.
The clinic’s door locked behind her.
Only then did Lucy fall silent.
Defeated, she slumped against the white stucco wall.
She had failed. Ryan had trusted her, but she had failed him.
Even now, she feared, Dr. Keller’s team was probably clustered around him, prepping him for surgery. All too soon, they would wheel him into the OR. The room would bustle, then hush and Dr. Keller would lean over the table, his eyes fixed only on an exposed area of skull and carefully, precisely, he would make his first incision. And with that, Lucy knew, it would be all over. Because even if Ryan lived through the operation he could not survive, not in any meaningful way.
Ryan Atwood would cease to exist.
And Lucy could not keep that from happening.
She tilted her head back, her unseeing eyes staring straight up at the sun. I am so sorry, Ryan, she whispered silently. I did not mean to leave you alone, to break my promise to you. I should have believed you from the first. You tried to tell me the truth. If I had only trusted you, this would not be happening now . . . We would have had time to expose Mr. Nichol’s lies, to get you out of this place . . .
Unconsciously, she fingered the phone in her pocket.
Beneath the litany of her own guilt, the distant hum of traffic, she seemed to hear Ryan, his voice faint, rusty and urgent. He kept repeating the same refrain.
“Call Sandy,” he pleaded. “Call Sandy. Please.”
Lucy stifled a sob.
But it is too late now, she thought. It will do no good. I still do not know the last two digits of Sandy’s number and the Cohens are too far away. Sandy could never reach Ryan in time.
Even so, she pulled out her phone.
She could think of nothing else to do.
It might take her a hundred tries to come up with the right combination, and once she did reach Sandy Cohen, Lucy dreaded the words she would have to say: Your father-in-law is about to destroy Ryan. Unless you can somehow produce a miracle, you will lose him forever.
But there would be no miracle, Lucy knew. It was hopeless. The phone sat in her hand, hard and cold and impossibly heavy. Lucy stared at it, her heart hollow. Then she stiffened.
It may be too late, she told herself. But you still must try, Lucy. Call Sandy. You owe Ryan that much.
She pressed the “on” button, lighting up the display.
Deliberately, firmly, Lucy began to dial.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seth slammed his feet down and sat upright, abruptly breaking the silence in the car. “I’ve been thinking,” he announced. He shifted sideways in his seat, accidentally jarring Charlie’s coffee cup. Diving forward, he steadied the plastic mug as it teetered back and forth in the holder. “Oops, sorry! I got it. Nothing spilled, Charlie.”
She chuckled, relieved to hear someone speak. “That’s because the cup’s empty, Seth.”
“Oh. Well, that would explain it. So, anyway, Mom and Dad, I--” As if he couldn’t recall what he meant to say, Seth stopped. He chewed his lip and his feet jittered again, beating the floor in an uneasy cadence.
Sandy peered back through the rearview mirror. “You were thinking?” he prompted.
“Right. Yeah, right, I was. Three things actually.” Seth took a deep, bracing breath. “Okay, number one, I just realized that I like you guys. I mean, you know I’ve always loved you and everything but--”
This time Seth seemed to trip over his own words. They trailed off, dangling in the air for an awkward half-second. Then Charlie nudged his arm with her elbow. He peered over, and she grinned, nodding her support.
“But . . .” she mouthed silently.
Encouraged, Seth bobbed his head. He licked his lips and continued. “Well, okay, here’s the thing, guys,” he explained. “What I mean is, I like you a lot better since Ryan came. I mean, face it, Dad, you’re funnier now. Also just more fun, even if I could do without you bursting into Broadway tunes at completely random moments. I’m probably explaining this all wrong but before--”
Sandy braked at a traffic light, and met Seth’s gaze in the mirror. They looked identical, both of them sober and thoughtful.
“You acted like you were at war with the system,” Seth said, choosing his words carefully. “But it never seemed like you thought that you could win. Since you found Ryan, though . . . it’s kinda like you know that you can.” Sandy raised his eyebrows slowly. His eyes smiled, and the corners of Seth’s mouth quirked in response. Taking another deep breath, he turned to his mother. “And you, Mom,” he continued, even more earnestly. “You’ve gotten a lot more approachable since Ryan started to live with us-less Ice Princess-slash-Newpsie socialite-slash-The Kirsten and more, I don’t know . . . mom-ish. It’s like, you’re softer inside now. But in a really good way.”
Kirsten covered her mouth. “Oh,” she whispered. She turned around to face Seth. Her voice trembled, emerging tight and thin. “You really think we’ve changed that much, sweetie?”
“Yeah,” he replied simply. “I mean I know I have.” His shoulders hunched in a quick, self-conscious shrug. “Because I like me better too. Maybe it just comes from having somebody like me back. I don’t know. I just keep thinking . . . yeah, Ryan was grateful to have a place to stay when you brought him home, Dad. But he could have resented us too, me especially: you know, here I am living in a mini-mansion with no money worries and two parents who don’t hit or abandon their kid. Ryan could totally have written me off as a spoiled rich comic book-nerd. He didn’t though. He just . . . became my friend.”
Seth flushed, squirming slightly and sank into silence. Then Sandy nodded at him in the mirror.
“That’s two,” he said quietly.
“Two?”
“Things you were thinking. You said there were three, Seth.”
“Yeah. Yeah, there are.” Slipping down further in his seat, Seth picked at his t-shirt again. His voice sounded hollow when he finally spoke. “I’m worried,” he confessed. “I mean, not worried the way we all are, although that too. I’m worried that if we find Ryan--”
“When,” Kirsten interjected. Her voice cut, razor-sharp. “When we find him, Seth.”
“Right,” Seth conceded hastily. “When. Which is totally what I meant to say. But, well, when we find Ryan-you think there’s a chance he won’t want to come home with us? I mean I wouldn’t blame him if he doesn’t. As bad as things were for him in Chino, this has got to be a gazillion times worse. And you know how Ryan acted when his mom showed up in Newport. He didn’t want anything to do with her. So . . .” Seth shrugged, his voice sinking to a doleful mumble. “Maybe he’ll feel that way about us. Because I’m pretty sure even his mom never hurt him this bad.”
Sandy’s eyes flashed, meeting his son’s through the rearview mirror. “Yes, she did, Seth,” he said sharply. “Dawn abandoned Ryan. We’re looking for him. There’s a huge difference. Ryan will know that.”
Kirsten touched the window, her eyes blank as she traced a rivulet line down its surface. “He forgave her,” she said softly.
“What sweetheart?”
“His mother. Ryan forgave her. Even after she left him, he gave Dawn another chance.” Kirsten’s whisper dwindled into a thin, almost inaudible thread. “I understand that. Children always want to forgive their parents. But some things . . . some things are unforgivable. My father--”
Whatever else she meant to say was lost under the sudden peal of Sandy’s cell phone. His jacket muffled the sound but still Kirsten winced, shrinking away from the trill, further away from Sandy.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbled. Grimacing, he fumbled in his pocket and yanked out the phone. It promptly fell out of his hand, wedging between his seat and the center console. “Damn it!” he muttered. He reached down, trying to retrieve it, but instead he just pushed it further down.
The ringing continued, shrill and insistent, the brash notes of “White Lightning” incongruous in the stress-filled car.
Dad really needs a new ringtone, Seth thought dimly as aloud, he said, “I’ll get it, Dad.” Scooting forwarding, he foraged between the seat cushions. His fingers closed around the phone and he wiggled it back and forth, trying to slide it out as it continued to chime relentlessly. “Wait, it’s kind of caught on the seatbelt strap or something-”
Just as he jerked it free, the car hit a pothole and Seth fell backward. Automatically, his grip tightened on the phone.
The ringing stopped mid-note. Seth peered down in consternation, studying the silent phone in his hand.
“Oops, sorry, Dad,” he said. “Got the phone, lost the call. I guess I pressed the “end” button or something. Want me to see who it was?”
Sandy glanced at his wife, registered her wan profile, her arms wrapped tightly around her midriff. He shook his head wearily. “Don’t bother son,” he replied. “It was probably just my office. You were right, what you said when Marissa called before. Charlie’s in touch with everyone we need to contact right now and Ryan--”
He paused, but Seth sighed bleakly, finishing his father’s thoughts. Ryan was the only person they wanted to hear from.
But he couldn’t call.
And they didn’t need to be bothered by anybody else.
Sandy turned back to face the road. “You know what, Seth?” he concluded flatly. “Why don’t you just turn the damn thing off?
His father didn’t see him, but Seth nodded grim agreement. He bounced the phone on his palm twice.
Then he reached for its “off” bottom.
TBC