A nurse came in bright and early the next morning and woke me up to inform me that since there was nothing further they could do for me, I was on my way out. She assured me I’d be fine and said she’d be back shortly with some papers that needed my signature.
Gee, thanks.
The pain had kept me awake for parts of the night. My limbs were heavy and sore and my chest felt like a tractor had been parked on it. When I was finally able to get myself out of bed to use the bathroom, my back cracked and burned the more I tried to straighten it.
The mirror in the bathroom told the same story. The circles around my eyes were a myriad of reds and purples. I had a huge split in my bottom lip and more bruises on each cheek.
The nurse returned and I signed the discharge papers, refused the wheelchair trip out, and was pulling on my clothes from the closet when Carter walked into the room. He wore brown board shorts and a bright purple T-shirt. He looked out of breath.
“Sorry,” he said, frowning. “I was in LA.”
“It’s alright.”
“I just checked my voice mail this morning,” he said. “I came as soon as I listened to Liz’s message.”
“It’s alright.”
“I’m really sorry, Noah.”
It wasn’t like him to offer sincere, direct apologies. I knew my appearance probably rattled him.
I pulled on my shorts and T-shirt, trying not to grimace. “Dude. It’s okay. I haven’t been much fun anyway.”
“Still. Shoulda been here.”
“Whatever.” I stepped into my sandals. “You can make it up to me by getting me out of here.”
He nodded and opened the door.
We walked silently out of the hospital and I was so glad to breathe fresh air that I didn’t make my usual remark about his god-awful-looking car. The topless Dodge Ram Charger, painted like a zebra, save for the skull on the hood, was a welcome sight.
We made it to my place in fifteen minutes. My Jeep was out front like Liz had promised. Carter stood awkwardly next to the car, not sure how to help me. I waved him off and struggled out, figuring the movement would keep me from getting stiff.
By the time I made it to my sofa, I was winded.
Carter went to the fridge, opened two Coronas, and came around to the couch. He placed one on the table in front of me.
“Thanks,” I said, reaching for it, deciding I’d substitute the alcohol for the pain pills I’d been prescribed.
He nodded and took a long pull from his bottle. He set the bottle down and took a deep breath.
“So,” he said. “Anybody we know?”
I took a drink from the bottle, the beer tasting much better than the water and juice I’d been given in the hospital. I shook my head. “Don’t think so.”
“But you’ll know them when you see them?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Good. You say when and we’ll put them down. I’ll call in a few favors.” He drank from the beer again. “You can be in on it or not. I don’t care. But these fuckers are going down.”
I nodded and didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure if I wanted in on it. I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to see their faces again. And that bothered me more than anything else.
I changed the subject. “Why were you in LA?”
He smiled and pointed the bottle in my direction. “Workin’ on a real job.”
“No. Seriously.”
“Workin’, dude.”
“A real job?”
He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Yeah, I guess. I’m gonna be on TV.”
I leaned back in the sofa. “Excuse me?”
He drained the beer and set the empty bottle on the table. “Acting.”
“So, while I was in the hospital, hell froze over?”
“Funny. I’m gonna be a reenactment actor.”
“A what?”
His eyebrows danced over his eyes, the excitement apparent. “Okay, you know like America’s Most Wanted and shows like that?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Well they do reenactments of the crimes they’re trying to solve. I’m gonna play the bad guy in a couple of reenactments. Wear a wife-beater tank top and everything.”
I stared at him for a moment, then started laughing. “You’ve found your calling.”
He nodded, proud. “It’s not for sure yet, but who knows? This could lead to movie roles or some shit like that.”
I held the beer up. “Who knows?”
“So, anyway, I may be spending a little time up there in the next couple weeks.” He paused and looked at me. “But not until you’re alright.”
“I’m alright now,” I said.
“Sure,” he said, but I could tell he didn’t believe me.
I shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. I didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for me or seeing the embarrassment and fear I didn’t seem to be able to put to bed. And I didn’t want anyone but Mo and Lonnie on the receiving end of my anger.
I pushed myself off the sofa and walked over to the corner of the room where my surfboards stood. I moved the six-foot Ron Jon off to the side and put my hands on the nine-foot Merrick that hadn’t seen the ocean in a while.
“You thinking of hitting the water?” Carter asked.
“Yeah. Probably won’t even ride. Just sit out there.”
“Cool. I’ll go with you.”
I turned around. “No. I’m gonna go out by myself.”
Carter looked at me, a little unsure and skeptical. “You sure? You still look a little wobbly.”
I nodded and pulled the board away from the wall. “Yeah. I just need some air, some space, you know? I’m just gonna get out there and watch.”
“You want me to wait here? Make sure you can make it back okay?”
I shook my head. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Not what I meant, Noah.”
“I know.”
I’d taken a beating like this once before, courtesy of a drug lord I’d pissed off. The difference then, though, was that I knew it was coming. This one had blindsided me. I just wanted to get away from everyone who knew what had happened. I wanted to hide so I wouldn’t have to explain anything to anyone. The bruises would heal, the pain would go away, but I wasn’t sure how to fix the worry and rage that had taken up residence in my head.
I opened the screen door to the patio and laid the board outside in the bright afternoon sunlight. I grabbed the long-sleeved red rash guard off the back of the lounge chair, pulled off my T-shirt, and struggled to get the guard on over my head. I knew that I looked awkward getting it on, my arms still a little uncoordinated, and that the bruises on my body gave the impression that someone had splashed me with purple paint, but Carter didn’t say anything.
“I just wanna be alone for a while, okay?” I said finally.
Carter stood up off the sofa. “Okay.”
I shut the screen door. I picked up the board and stepped over the short wall to the boardwalk.
“Noah.”
I turned around. Carter was standing at the screen door.
“It would’ve happened to whoever walked into that house,” he said. “Me, you, Mike Tyson. Wouldn’t have mattered. You weren’t expecting it. No one would’ve been ready for that.”
I shifted the board under my arm. “I know.”
He tilted his head slightly. “Do you? Really?”
I turned and walked down the sand toward the shimmering water, unable to answer that question.