31. Finding Him
Maureen
My head was spinning. I couldn't quite catch my breath. I was tripping over the hem of my sweatpants as I struggled out of them, swiping at a pair of jeans I had flung over a chair.
Get dressed. Get in the car.
I was repeating these basic instructions to myself in my head as I snagged my jacket from the closet and my cell-phone from my desk.
I was halfway down the stairs when I realized I was barefoot and a shriek erupted from my lips in frustration as I hurried back up to grab my sneakers from under my bed.
"Mom!" I called as I once again hurried down the steps.
"Yes?" She was in the family room.
I skidded to a halt, whirled around and popped my head in at the doorway. "I'm going to find Ryan. Talk to Dad; he'll explain everything." I was breathless. My heart pounded with excitement in my chest and I could feel heat pulsing in my cheeks to the same rhythm.
"But what-"
"She can go, Rose," Dad said from behind me. He touched my shoulder as he walked past me into the family room.
Calm down, take a breath, I had to tell myself, feeling that at any moment I was going to burst from all the different emotions fighting it out in my head. "I'll see you guys later. I love you!" I called over my shoulder, jogging towards the front door. Behind me, I could hear my mother questioning Dad but I didn't wait to hear what he would say.
-
I parked, drawing to a slow stop right in front of his house. My hands were sweaty on the wheel and though some of the adrenaline had faded on the drive over, my heart was starting to race again, the blood pumping fast in my veins. Ryan, I was going to see Ryan, I was going to make things okay with Ryan... I was suddenly so nervous I had to take several deep breaths as I turned the car off and gathered my bearings. It was starting to feel like I was having a full-on panic attack.
When I was calm enough to see straight, I slid my hands down the front of my jeans, drying them, as I peered at the house. Immediately, my stomach plummeted. The front door was shut and the house was silent. His truck wasn't anywhere to be seen. Was it parked in the garage? I couldn't tell. In any case, it didn't look like he was home; I'd worked myself all up for nothing.
But I'd just call him. That would solve everything.
I wriggled my cell-phone out of my pocket, scrolling quickly through the contacts.
I hadn't erased his number, though several times I had been tempted to do so. I'd tried, and every time I'd clicked cancel when it came down to the deciding moment. I didn't have it in me. Now I thanked God in one gusty breath that I hadn't.
I waited, my heart racing again as the sound of steady, impenetrable ringing filled my ear. I inhaled deeply, splaying my free hand on my thigh as I tried to get it to stop shaking.
You're just going to talk to him, calm down, I told myself impatiently but my body seemed to have a mind of its own and refused to catch onto the soothing mantra I was chanting in my head.
I counted six rings before it switched to voicemail. My heart squeezed when his familiar voice was suddenly in my ear - a voice I hadn't heard in so long - asking me to leave my name and number if it was important, that he was busy at the moment. I hung up before it could beep.
Then I called again.
And again got the voicemail.
I made a noise of frustration and threw the cell-phone down on the car seat. Like a kid who'd been promised a ride on the biggest Ferris wheel at the park only to get there and realize they didn't let kids on, I felt hot, irrational disappointment come crashing down all around me and tears leap to my eyes.
This is ridiculous, get a hold of yourself, Maureen, I shook myself but the tears only came faster. I leaned back against the headrest, closing my eyes, and let the waves of emotion wash over me in short, overwhelming bursts. The shock at Dad's revelations. The bewilderment and then overwhelming joy at his apparent turn of the heart. The adrenaline and energy that had whirled me into the car and across LA, right to where I was now sitting in front of his house. The nervousness at the realization that I'd be talking to him - to Ryan - that I had to convince him to hear me out, to give me a second chance. The disappointment when it all faded into nothingness and now I was just a silently crying girl sitting in front of an empty house, clueless as to where it's occupant might be or how I would even start to find him.
My heart rate slowed. I caught my breath and dried my hands again. Wiped my face. I thought about where he might be and tried to make a rational decision based on what I knew about him. He could be at Uni. He could be with his friends. He could be a million places, really, but those top two were the ones I was holding out for.
"Excuse me?"
A high, reedy voice. I opened my eyes and sat up, peering out and all around me. Ryan's neighborhood was one of those middle-class places - far from suburbia and close to the city, genteel enough to live without the worries of being mugged or robbed from but not so hoity-toity that the community was exempt from the litter lining the streets and the dirty, worn sneakers hanging from the telephone wires. On either side of his small place was a much larger house and a much smaller one, and from the smaller one, I found the source of the voice.
An older woman standing on a tiny porch, peering at me like I was a psychopath escaped from a hospital. She cocked her head at me and then planted a fist on her hip.
"Yes, you, the girl in the car. Can I help you?"
My first instinct was to blush and apologize for disrupting the communal peace or whatever, but that would have been silly. Instead, thinking maybe this old lady could tell me something about Ryan's whereabouts, I called back, "yes, please," and climbed out of the car, making my way over to the small, pale green house with the white shutters and flowers lining the foot-wide path leading to the porch.
"Well, let's have it out. What's the matter with you?" the woman asked, not unkindly, and I drew closer, taking in the plaited, gray hair, the small, rimless glasses perched on a small, straight nose and the curious green eyes that watched me shrewdly.
"I'm looking for the guy that lives next door. Ryan. Do you know him?"
The lady studied me for a moment and then tilted her head to the side. "Hmm."
Disconcerted, I tucked my hair behind my ear and sniffed, before shoving my hands into my pockets. I was being sized up. Neighbors tend to be protective of their own with strangers. But the woman was obviously coming to the conclusion that I couldn't be an axe murderer or a tax collector because she motioned me to come up the two porch steps, so that I was closer.
"You're the girl, aren't you?" she asked and I blinked, taken aback.
"I'm sorry, what?"
The woman tsked.
"The girl that used to come here before. The one Ryan's been pining after."
I went stock-still, my heart skipping a little.
"I used to watch you two drive up and go walking up into the house holding hands. Oh, he thought I didn't notice, but I did. Didn't say anything, of course, because I'm no busybody." She eyed me thoughtfully as she sat down in a rocking chair and retrieved a pair of knitting needles and what looking to be the burgeoning shape of a sweater from a small table next to her. "You're very pretty, you know." She said suddenly and I was left floundering for an answer. She didn't wait for one. "I've been hoping you'd show up. Put him out of his misery," she remarked as she placidly began to knit away.
"Wha-what do you mean?"
She shook her head. "I'm Charlotte. What's your name?"
"Maureen."
"And why are you here?"
"I have to... I have to talk to him, I have to fix -" I abruptly left off, turning to look at his house next door. So silent. I let out a frustrated sigh. Charlotte was staring at me.
"Well, he isn't there."
I shook my head. Charlotte, still watching me, decided to have pity on me.
"I don't know where he went but I don't think it was school. He doesn't usually have classes on Thursdays."
I glanced back at her, hopeful. "When was the last time you saw him?"
"He left a few hours ago. I daresay he looked a little tipsy, but he didn't stop when I called him and with these old legs, there was no way I could have followed him," she sighed, patting the thin limbs through her pale, printed dress.
Tipsy. My heart clenched a little in alarm.
"Do you think he's alright?" I asked, unable to hide my distress.
Charlotte glanced up and I saw a pained expression in her eyes. "I hope so," she said earnestly and I realized that this little old lady, whoever she was, did seem to care about Ryan a good deal.
"I have to go find him, I have to track him down," I said distractedly, and I was already turning away, when Charlotte's next words stopped me.
"You haven't seen him in a while, have you?"
Her tone had me turning around. "No. Why?"
She shook her head. "He's leaving. He's going to Utah."
I blinked in mute stupefaction. "What?" I finally managed, my voice thick and heavy.
"He's transferring over there. He has a job lined up, an internship I think he said. He's flying out there tomorrow to look at apartments." I couldn't have been imagining the pity in Charlotte's eyes, the regret there.
I didn't give myself time to process what she was saying.
"I have to go find him. Right now."
"Maureen?"
"Yes?"
"I want you to do me a favor and go patch up that boy's heart. You hear? I know I don't know you, I know nothin' about you, and I don't know what happened between you two, but I'd like you to fix it. If I can be so bold as to say."
My heart clenching within me, I nodded once, tightly, and said, "I will," and then I whirled on my heel and ran to my car,
-
I drove around LA for hours. I searched for him in every place he could have been... and found nothing.
I called Sasha, finally. Darren, too. Neither of them knew where he was, hadn't heard from him in days, couldn't think of where to look for him.
"I had no idea about the two of you! But didn't I tell you? I told you he liked you, didn't I?" Sasha was wildly curious about everything that had gone on between Ryan and me, I could tell, but she was respectful enough not to pry. She promised she'd call around and try to track him down; when I revealed how worried I was about him, her muted agreement was all the encouragement (or discouragement) I needed. Without going into details, she described a little bit about where he'd been the past seven weeks and my chest felt like it was filled with molten rocks as she told me about the alcohol, the drunken nights, the wreckage that had become his life.
"Sasha, can I call you back?" I croaked out, when it'd been too much.
"I'm sorry," she said immediately. "I didn't want to say anything..."
"No, I asked... I just... I have to find him, Sasha."
"I know. I'll keep calling people. Don't worry, Maureen, we'll find him."
"Okay," I said in a small voice because now I was starting to assume the worst. First everything Charlotte had said, now Sasha. Apparently, it was Darren's testimony which would really crush because according to Sasha, he'd been with Ryan the most throughout this time, looking out for him and keeping him from hurting himself or anything like that. I didn't know what to think, what to feel. I just had to find him - now - and assure myself that he was okay, that he was alive, that he was breathing. "Thank you so much, Sasha, I'll talk to you later."
"Alright, hon. We've got a lot to go over anyway. It's been so long."
"I know. I'm sorry for that."
"It's okay. Call me if anything, alright?"
I'd already gone to Death Valley, that club he took me dancing, a few of the restaurants we'd eaten at. I went to the university where he studied and found nothing. Darren called me to tell me he was scoping out the bars he usually frequented with no luck so far; he told me he'd call me if he found him.
And now I was driving down the freeway, with no apparent direction, sick with worry and an ever increasing feeling of dread.
Oh, God, help me find him. Where is he?
For the millionth time, I thought back to all the places I'd ever known him to go - the gym, school, Death Valley -
The beach.
It plopped into my head without warning. And instantly, I knew. It was the beach. It was worth a shot anyway, wasn't it?
I'd only been there the one time. I wasn't sure which exit to take but I remembered it was only a few miles out from where Ryan lived. I remembered the street he'd taken me down, the long, winding road, the store with the giant poster-board advertising their small pharmacy. By then, it was past eight and it was getting dark out. I turned on my high beams and prayed for protection as I sped down the secluded road, wondering what I'd find when I finally reached the beach and if this was a good idea after all or was I flirting with disaster?
I had my windows open as I drove. I'd hardly noticed the strange heat wafting through the car until I heard a crack of thunder, and then my eyes nearly fell out of my head.
No. Way.
They say California gets these tropical style freak storms every once in a while, but I knew for one thing that one of those hadn't occurred in years. It certainly hadn't for the two years that I'd lived here. But now, as I raced down the dark road, listening to the rumbling peals of thunder, and feeling the hot air whipping through the car, I shook my head to myself and decided the next time I attempted one of these spur-of-the-moment expeditions, I'd check the weather first.
I reached the beach with a sigh of relief. The small parking lot was empty, from what I could see, except for a lone truck on the opposite side. I stared at it for a long minute before getting out of the car. And then with a rush, I realized it was Ryan's.
Frantically, I yanked my jacket on as I pulled my cell-phone from my pocket.
Found him at beach. I quickly texted and shot off to Darren and Sasha. I didn't want them to worry and poor Darren was driving all over LA, trying to find him. It was probably premature - I hadn't actually seen him yet - and though the model and color of the truck was identical to Ryan's, there was still a chance it wasn't his. But still. I was taking a leap of faith here. And besides, there was nowhere else to look. If he wasn't here... I didn't know what I might do.
With that done, I slid my cell-phone back into my pocket and straightened my jacket. My heart was pounding again. And the heat was disappearing, leaving behind in its wake a frigid chill that was driving goosebumps to the surface of my skin.
Ryan was here, on this beach - I was sure of it now. Somewhere. Suddenly eager to see him, I turned to the beach, squinting in the darkness as I tried to find him. I didn't see anyone. I could hardly see anything.
I moved forward, undeterred. I was sure Ryan was there... I only needed to find him and then I'd be okay.
The only light came from the moon shining on the waters. Thunder was rolling in the distance but the storm didn't seem like it'd hit too close. I briefly considered going back to my car and putting the headlights on, if only so I could see better, but I was too intent on finding Ryan. Every nerve in my body, every cell, and thought and fiber of my being, was banding together to beat a discordant rhythm in time with my heart. Find him, it said. Find him. Find him.
Stumbling through the sand, I yanked on my jacket, my eyes never leaving the wide expanse of white sand glowing under the moonlight. The foaming, rolling waves crashed on the shore and I shivered. He has to be here somewhere. A sharp wind whipped through the beach, ruffling my hair. But I paid no attention as I tripped to a halt, spotting the dark silhouette of a figure sitting down by the water.