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Ryan's Father

By June Foster

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Chapter One


The walls at Starbucks groaned and crunched. The cardboard cup of steaming coffee flew from Ryan's hand and spilled onto the tile. He swayed as his foot slid out from under him on the undulating floor. He caught himself against a chair.
"What's happening?" A scream behind him split the air. "Help me."
He spun toward the woman's cries.
She tottered in the center of the room, eyes round and mouth wide. Her hands gripped her pale face.
Sympathy sifted through his own fear.
"Take cover, everybody," the barista yelled from the coffee bar. The strong smell of espresso filled the room.
"Quick. Under here." Ryan grabbed the panicked young woman's arm and pulled her beneath a wobbling table. "Hold on to the legs."
"Please don't let me die." The slender, dark-haired woman's face contorted as she sobbed beside him on the floor.
Ryan's normal sense of calm fled, and fear gripped him. He sucked in a breath. Would they survive or be crushed by the walls caving in upon them?
The shaking earth seemed relentless. A bag of coffee toppled from the counter and split, spraying brown beans across the quaking floor.
"God, please help me." Terror shrilled her piteous wails. She grabbed him, holding on tight.
"It'll be over in a minute." Ryan closed his eyes. Instinctively the prayer sprang from his spirit. "Lord, we need protection. Keep us safe." The words to God appeased his own fright, but most of all, he hoped they'd quiet the woman's fear.
The incessant rolling refused to let up. A display case toppled to the floor with a crash, and coffeemakers, mugs, and tins of tea flew in all directions. The woman tightened her clutch around his shoulders. The aroma of flowers wafted over him.
The room shook, and so did his thoughts. Most people would've chosen to hold on to a table leg, but she continued to cling to him. She sucked in air and exhaled in jagged spurts, no attempts at deep breathing. Terror possessed her.
How should he comfort her? His hand hovered over her shoulder then gave it a pat or two. "Don't worry, ma'am, God is in control. Try to breathe." Thank goodness, his voice didn't sound as shaky as his stomach felt.
Bottles of coffee flavors flew from a shelf behind the bar and landed with a thud. The sound of shattering glass made him jump. The syrupy aroma of vanilla and hazelnut blended with the dust in the air.
Warm breath fell on his neck. "How…how…much longer?" She tucked her face against his chest. Hot tears soaked his shirt.
Rising panic threatened to unravel his last fragment of control. Was it the quake or her death grip? "Dear God, see us through this."
He'd walked into Starbucks like any other day. Then the onslaught of the quake. Now an eternity elapsed since it began. Lord, protect Uncle Frank and my students.
The woman gripped him harder. Was she going to pass out? He forced a pat to her shoulder again. "Shh." What else could he say to reassure her?
Cracking and creaking and a crash sliced into his composure. He wanted to yell, but he had to keep his sanity—for the sake of the frightened person under the table with him.
What if this was the day the Lord called him home? Death didn't frighten him, but the process did.
A piece of drywall fell to the floor, exposing the building's frame. His ears rang from the woman's shriek. He hadn't planned to slip his arms around her when he jolted, yet the nearness brought a shred of comfort.
Almost as quickly as it started, the rocking and pitching ebbed and a semblance of normalcy returned to his world. Was it over? He remained under the table, forcing his heart to slow as his tablemate clung to him. He couldn't have endured the tremors much longer.
"Oh, thank God, it's stopped." A man's loud voice reverberated off the walls.
"We're okay." Ryan pried at her arms, trying to disentangle himself.
Tousled dark hair hung in her eyes. She pushed the strands from her face and attempted a weak smile.
Good. Maybe she'd get a grasp on her emotions now. "Are you okay?"
She nodded. "I…guess so."
"Let's get out from under here." Ryan grasped her arm as they inched out. Starbucks looked like a war zone—tables on edge, chairs broken, the front window shattered.
Water poured into the room through a broken pipe somewhere. Shattered dishes and pastries cluttered the floor. The odor of rotten eggs filled his nostrils—a gas leak.
He pulled the woman with him toward the door. "We need to go." He kept his voice quiet, hiding the undeniable fear inside. She was hysterical enough already.
A man in a business suit pushed in front of them. "Jack, wait for me," he called to someone ahead of them.
Another man pressed ahead of Ryan's tablemate, causing her to stumble. He grabbed her waist and righted her, then tightened his fingers around her hand as they shuffled through shards of glass and pottery littering the floor.
An employee elbowed his way out the front door. Ryan stumbled but hung on to the frightened woman as they followed the crowd. Polite notions of civility seemed to be secondary in a crisis.
He pulled the petite lady across the parking lot in front of Starbucks and stopped at the street to gulp a breath of clean, dust-free air.
On the sidewalk, a man checked his watch and another woman wiped her eyes. Clusters of people gathered in front of stores in the strip mall.
The woman beside him pinched her lips into a thin white line. "I'm…I'm Sandy Arrington. I'm sorry for my silly behavior."
He had to admit. For a while, he thought he might have to carry her out and take her to the hospital. "Ryan Reid." He gave her a quick smile. "It's okay. I can understand how you felt."
He knew fear when he saw it, had lived a childhood full of it. How many times as a boy had he been alone in the house? Every creak and bump sending a shiver down his spine.
A bird up in the poplar tree chirped, as if nothing had happened. Yet only moments ago, Ryan's world had tumbled upside down.
Sirens filled the air, and a few seconds later, a red and white truck with CEDAR FORK FIRE DEPARTMENT painted on the side screeched to a halt in front of them.
"There's a gas leak in Starbucks," Ryan yelled at the firemen scrambling out.
"Yeah, we got the report. Everyone needs to move away from this area. Now!" Two men in protective suits, oxygen tanks on their backs, pushed into the coffee shop.
Sandy looked at him with eyes the color of cinnamon and chewed her little finger. The remnant of a tear hung on her lash. "I know I've been enough trouble already but could I…impose on you to walk with me to my car? It's in front of Cramer's Drugs." She shielded her eyes with a cupped hand to her forehead and pointed toward the other end of the strip mall.
Was she in any condition to drive home? He'd better make sure before he said good-bye. At least she wasn't crying anymore. "Be happy to."
They trudged past broken store windows and downed tree branches.
Sandy's shoulders shook, but it probably wasn't due to the cool late-spring day in Western Washington. Fear was one thing. Terror another. She looked as if she were on the edge of a meltdown. Better keep her talking. "Do you have to go somewhere?"
She shook her head and blinked as if something important had occurred to her. "I…yeah. The hospital ER."
"What?" He looked her up and down. No signs of injury. "Are you hurt?"
She scanned the parking lot that now looked like a scene from a post-apocalyptic video game. Chunks of blacktop protruded up with rough edges.
If the quake could create the two-foot-wide chasm which ran the length of the sidewalk in front of the mall, what other damage occurred?
Emergency vehicle sirens wailed in the distance. "Sandy, are you hurt?" he repeated.
"No." She closed her eyes then opened them. "I'm a nurse. I work in the ER. I need to get to the hospital."
Ryan smothered a chuckle. An ER nurse who handled a natural disaster as badly as she did—what a contradiction. He cut his gaze to her. "See your car yet?"
A woman holding on to a baby whisked past them. She stared at her cell phone and threw it in the diaper bag.
Sandy's mouth fell open as her hand flew to her throat. She pointed toward the end of the mall and gasped. "My car. Oh, my car!" she cried. "It's crushed."
Ryan gaped at the luxury vehicle. A huge cedar had broken off mid-trunk, flattening the silver Mercedes parked in front of Cramer's Drugs. The top half of the tree lay crossways over the car's roof. Bits of glass reflecting the sun like a million diamonds decorated the parking lot around the damaged sedan. Sticks and leaves littered the pavement.
He examined the mess in front of them. Never had he seen such a look of shock on a woman's face. She gulped and raised wide eyes to him as if he had answers.
Not his problem, yet he couldn't allow her to drown in fear. "I hate to tell you, but it's probably totaled."
"Let me think." She rubbed her forehead. A search through her purse turned up a cell phone. "I'll call a friend for a ride." Her trembling hand punched a button, and she raised the phone to her ear.
Good. She appeared to have control now. He'd take off.
She grabbed a clump of hair and paced behind the useless Mercedes. "No cell service." She expelled a short breath. "I really hate to ask. Could you give me a ride to the hospital?"
What could he do? Leave her here alone when she couldn't find a ride? If he was stranded, he'd want someone to offer help. "Sure."
A Mercedes meant wealth, the finer things in life. His Corolla wouldn't impress her much, but then he lived by the Golden Rule.
Pink crept onto Sandy's cheeks. "I've never reacted to fear quite like that before. You'd think after all my years studying Kung Fu I'd have a little more courage. I'm braver when confronted by people than acts of God."
"Forget it." He slowed so she could keep up. "So, you're a martial arts fan?"
The beginnings of a smile crossed her lips. "Yep. Took lessons for years."
Kung Fu was the last activity he'd participate in. He didn't like contact sports. Jogging alone in the park appealed to him. Besides, his mother never encouraged him to take lessons of any kind. If she managed to feed him every couple of days, he'd counted himself lucky.
They wound around rocks, toppled trees, chunks of pavement, and scurrying people and neared Big Lots at the other end of the strip mall. The smell of burning wood stung his nostrils. A fire somewhere?
He spotted his Toyota parked next to the street. She'd see it now in all its glory. "Not even an earthquake could destroy a car like this." At least it was in better condition than her Mercedes. Something to be grateful for.
Once he opened the passenger door, she climbed in. He traced a line with his finger through the dust on the faded blue paint as he rounded the front of his vehicle. "We'll probably have to take some back roads to avoid traffic." The torn leather on the seat scratched his leg through his jeans.
Sandy smiled, seeming not to notice his fifteen-year-old car.
Ryan eased out of the parking spot. As they approached the exit, a lone figure drew his attention. Propped up with the heel of his old tennis shoe hiked on a tree trunk, a boy about fifteen gazed off toward the destruction. The kid's shaggy blond hair was a little too long, as if he'd missed a haircut or two. His tattered black T-shirt was dirty. Next to him, a rusted relic of a faded red bike lay on the ground. The look on his face tangled Ryan's heartstrings into knots. Not forlorn and lonely, but his face was hard, disheartened as he scowled at no one.
Ryan didn't know the teen, but the image clawed at his heart. He comprehended all too well the pain he saw on the kid's face. Not too many years ago, the boy could have been him.
Later, would the teen get on the broken-down bike and return to an empty house? Or maybe he'd try to ease his hurt with a substance some willing drug dealer might sell him. Or would he try to fill the gaping hole in his heart with love—love he never received from a mother and father?
Ryan's pulse pounded in his ears. More than anything, he wanted to help the boy. Help other boys like him. But what could he do?
 

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