Chapter Twelve
Jake showered and came out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, surprised to find Ryan waiting for him in his bedroom, fully dressed in a white polo shirt, jeans, and sneakers, and sitting in one of the chairs. He had a good guess about why Ryan was dressed up, but he wasn’t sure.
“Ryan, feeling better?” Jake asked, concerned.
“Not really. Where were you?”
“Out.”
“Did you burn the jacket?”
“The less you know the better.” Ryan’s eyes were puffy, but his mouth a firm line.
“Don’t treat me like a baby, Dad.”
“I’m not, I don’t mean to, but we had this conversation already.” Jake padded to the dresser, leaving wet footprints on the rug. He pulled open the drawer and grabbed a fresh pair of boxers. He usually felt so good after a shower, but not tonight. He felt miserable, depressed, and guilt-stricken. He couldn’t come to terms with the notion that they’d hit Kathleen. A classmate of Ryan’s and so young. Her life had been cut short before it had even begun. In the shower, he kept thinking about her mother and her father. They would never see their daughter again. They would know she had died alone, and violently. That knowledge and burden would be with them every minute, every day they woke up and every night they went to sleep. It had to be hell on earth.
“Are you not telling me to protect me?”
“Exactly.” Jake went to his bottom drawer, pulled out a pair of jeans, then closed it and went over to the bed to put them on. The room was warmly lit by crystal lamps on their night tables.
Ryan fell silent, then asked, “Do you guys ever even use these chairs?”
“Not really.” Jake slid off the towel and into his boxers, even though he was still a little wet.
“Then why do you have them?”
“Your mom likes them. Sometimes, she uses them.” Jake stood up and put on his pants quickly, feeling strange being naked in front of Ryan, oddly vulnerable and exposed.
“What for?”
“To sit down, when she puts on her shoes.” Jake sensed that Ryan was trying to pick a fight, but he didn’t take the bait. He went back to his dresser, opened a middle drawer, and pulled out a plain blue T-shirt. He slipped it on, standing there. He was getting dressed for staying home, not going to any lawyer’s office.
“I don’t know why you need chairs and a table in the bedroom. Like, what exactly is the purpose of this?” Ryan gestured to the sitting area that Pam had created in front of the fireplace, a decorative upgrade that didn’t work. She’d covered its surround with Delft tile and bought a soft chair and a reclining couch in a yellow-and-blue flowered pattern, for either side. She’d finished it off with an antique pine table, its surface only large enough to hold another small crystal lamp and a stack of hardback books.
“I think your mom wanted it to be a reading area.”
“Does she ever use it for that?”
“No.” Jake finger-combed his wet hair into place, eyeing himself briefly in the dresser mirror. He had to bend at the knees to see his face, which didn’t look good. His eyes were bloodshot, and his expression showed the strain. He could still smell traces of smoke on his skin and hair. “You must be hungry. Why don’t we get some dinner?”
“Dad, I really want to go see this lawyer.”
“I said no.”
“I want to, I have to. Kathleen was in my class, Dad. I want to know if there’s anything we can do, and what my options are—”
“No, it’s too risky.” Jake palmed his wallet on the dresser and tucked it into his back pocket.
“Dad, please.”
“Tell you what.” Jake sighed. He knew how Ryan felt but he couldn’t let this happen. “Let’s go downstairs and talk about it over dinner. We’ll feel better when we’ve had something to eat.”
“We don’t have time.” Ryan stood up. “I already wrote him back. He’s expecting us to meet him at his office at seven o’clock.”
“Are you kidding me?” Jake turned in disbelief, and Ryan drew himself up to his full height.
“I’m going, whether you go with me or not.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I need to see a lawyer,” Ryan answered, almost preternaturally calm. “I did something horrible, something criminal. I need a criminal lawyer, so I can decide what to do.”
“We already decided what to do.” Jake started to lose his temper, more out of fright for Ryan than anger. “We already did what we did. There’s no decisions left. There’s no going back.”
“Maybe there is.”
“There isn’t!” Jake grabbed Ryan’s arm, more roughly than he needed to, but he had to shake some sense into the kid. “I’m trying to keep you out of prison. I’m trying to save your life, your future.”
“I know, you’re trying to protect me.” Ryan’s eyes filmed, but he didn’t cry. “But I want to know my rights.”
“You don’t have any!”
“Yes, I do. I’m going to see the lawyer, whether you come with me or not.”
“How are you going to get there?” Jake stopped just short of saying, You gonna drive?
Ryan blinked, hearing the words that Jake didn’t say, and for a split second, father and son eyed each other, wounded and hurting in front of the pretend fireplace.
“I’m sorry.” Jake grabbed Ryan, just as his son pulled away.
“No, no, I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.”
“Ryan, come here!”
“No!” Ryan jumped aside and batted Jake’s hands away, but Jake went after him, grabbed him, and struggled mightily to muscle him closer, into an embrace. The days were over when he was stronger than Ryan, and Jake didn’t know if he could still take him. He flashed suddenly on Ryan as a little boy and remembered that they used to race each other in the driveway, then down the sidewalk, and his heart broke to think of those sunny days, now consigned to Before.
“All right, down, all right, you win,” Jake heard himself say, shaking his head. “We’ll see the lawyer. We’ll get your questions answered and we’ll see what he says. But we won’t let him make any decisions for us, and we’ll do it my way.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You’ll see.”