Naked (10 page)

“Come in,” he mumbled.

Gaia pushed open the door and found Paul sitting up against the head of his wrought-iron bed with his arms on his knees. He glanced up, making no attempt to wipe the tears from his face.

“Hey,” she whispered.

“Hey. I do this sometimes. Don't be alarmed.”

“I think I can handle it,” Gaia joked softly. She hesitated, then sat down at the base of the bed. “Well, you screwed up, Paul. You're not following the rules.”

Paul arched his right eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“You're sitting alone in your room, crying. Did you forget about our deal already?”

He smiled from the corner of his mouth and finally wiped the tears from his face with a swipe of his forearm. “Yeah, I guess I did. Sorry.”

“It's all right,” she said. “I didn't do any better.” Gaia focused more intently on Paul's deep blue eyes, now tinged with red. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Paul looked down at his hands. “I miss her. I don't think it goes much deeper than that.”

Gaia nodded. She knew exactly what he meant. She couldn't remember hearing anything that she would term as inspirational since her mother was alive, but something about the simplicity of Paul's statement had managed to inspire her. That ability not to over-complicate matters—it was a skill Gaia was sorely lacking. She'd spent so many hours running and rerunning situations in her head, and it only led to more confusion. Ed wasn't Ed. Sam wasn't Sam. Her father had disappeared again. But maybe she just missed them. All of them. The way they used to be.
Maybe it didn't go much deeper than
that.
Maybe. In any event, Gaia felt the tightness in her chest beginning to evaporate. She shifted position, relaxing against the bars at the base of the bed.

“So,” she said, looking at Paul across the distance of his mattress. “You know the rules. Now we have to do something completely random. Something totally unexpected.”

“Right,” Paul concurred, leaning slightly toward Gaia. He locked eyes with her as the room fell quiet. “But can we do it tomorrow? I'm exhausted. You know, it's, um. . . it's been a while since my last knife fight.”

Gaia smiled. “Sure. But what are we going to do tomorrow?”

“Well...I'm playing football with some guys in the park. We do it every week down the hill from the carousel. Do you want to go? That's
reasonably
random.”

“Football, hmmm?” She tapped a nail against her chin and thought about this for a minute. Two words jumped to mind:
safe violence.
Her smile widened. “Definitely.”

Paul grinned. “Ten-thirty tomorrow morning, then. It's a date—or not a
date,
but. . . an agreed-upon time of gathering—”

“Right,” Gaia interrupted, feeling an odd tingle of energy. “I'll be ready.”

“Okay.” Paul's grin relaxed into a peaceful smile. “Good night.”

“Good night,” she said.

She slid off Paul's bed and left his room, feeling surprisingly content. This brother thing definitely had its advantages. When she stepped back into her room, she actually found she was on a mission. Paul had inspired her to
un
complicate things. He'd given her a sudden burst of motivation.
She felt a pressing need to cast out the excess bullshit and remember what actually mattered to her and, more important, who actually mattered to her.
And one person in particular had been troubling her all day. She flipped on Mary's computer and logged on to her e-mail to set things straight.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Time:
11:41
P.M
.

Re:
Just ignore me

Ed,

I want to apologize for this morning. I don't really know what happened. You were the only reason I even bothered coming to school. I guess the trouble started when I came to see my friend Ed, and instead I saw this tall guy who

Ed,

I don't know how to say this, but I saw you today, and I missed seeing you in a wheelchair

Ed,

Sorry about this morning. It seems I'm just not very comfortable with a walking Ed Fargo

Gaia smacked her hand down on the desk.

This wasn't working. She hated every word she was putting on the page. How selfish could she be?
Ed, I'd prefer if you didn't have a miraculous recovery because it's making me uncomfortable.
Talk about narcissism.
That was just plain sick. Besides, what was making her so uncomfortable, anyway? It wasn't like the lack of a wheelchair made him a complete stranger. What if he'd grown a beard? Would he still be Ed with a beard? Of course he would. What the hell was her problem? And here she was overcomplicating again. She had to keep it simple. She had to say what was important and nothing else.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Time:
11:41
P.M
.

Re:
Just ignore me

Ed,

I'm sorry about this morning. I can't explain what I felt, other than that I was suddenly looking at a stranger

She flipped off the computer and stepped away, squirming with discomfort. She couldn't write a satisfactory e-mail. She was obviously incapable of keeping her apology simple. There probably was a reason for that, though—and it annoyed her. She couldn't keep it simple because the trouble between her and Ed was complicated.

ED JABBED HIS BEDROOM DOOR OPEN
with the base of his right crutch, adding one more black smudge to the postmodern collage that now covered the
bottom of the door. He'd actually mastered the routine of getting into his room by himself. There was a four-step process. Step 2: Poke the door closed with left crutch. Step 3: Throw both crutches onto bed, simultaneously falling down into desk chair. Step 4: Writhe in agony as pain shoots up spine for next five minutes.

Annoying Irony

Welcome back to the world of bipeds, Fargo!

And so it went. Ed gritted his teeth, his eyes tightly closed (as they always were during step 4), wondering what his testosterone-addled physical therapist, Brian, would have to say about this latest accomplishment. Probably something along the lines of:
“You
rock,
baby! You da man! You da man! You're doin' it for Kid Rock and Freddy Durst and
all
the playaz!”

Ed shook his head. He managed a miserable laugh between tortured gasps, and gradually the pain in his back began to recede.
At least the pain took his mind off Heather.
He slumped back against the seat cushion and opened his eyes. His room was cold and still, offering no comfort. The harsh overhead light bore down on him. Now, in the wake of the pain, came another sensation he'd been dreading far more. The sensation of guilt.

He didn't get it. Everything that she'd said made Ed feel like the biggest bastard on planet Earth, and most of it wasn't true. Or at least half of it wasn't true. The
part about blaming her for the accident sure as hell was about as far from truth as a person could get. Honestly, at this point he really had no idea what was true and what wasn't. Or maybe he was lying to himself about that . . .

Gaia could help him. Gaia could talk him through this. She could tell him that he was an idiot, and Heather was a self-absorbed bitch, and could he please not call her anymore so late?
He tried to smile again at his own lame joke, but he couldn't.
Fantasizing about a conversation about Gaia only added to his guilt.

But that didn't make any sense. Why
shouldn't
he want to talk to Gaia? She was his best friend. He glanced at his computer, at his tired and distorted reflection in the blank screen. Right. She
was
his best friend. He jabbed his finger at the power button, then logged on to his e-mail and began to write.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Time:
12:06
A.M
.

Re:
Just a suggestion . . .

G$—

Could we maybe just pretend you didn't turn evil this morning? Because right now, I am what
is commonly referred to as “a friend in need.” We don't even need to talk about that strange

G$—

I know it must be a little weird to see me on my feet. Was that the problem this morning? That was why you were acting so weird, right? Because I felt this

Gaia,

Heather thinks that I am in love with you. And I think she's

Ed shoved his chair away from the computer. If Gaia read one of those e-mails, she'd never talk to him again. Of course, that might solve some of his problems: it would make his life a hell of a lot less complicated. He stared at the monitor for some indefinite period of time—a minute or five; he wasn't really sure. He had no idea what to do next, either. Finally he blew out a long sigh of resignation, pulled his chair back to the desk, and typed something more appropriate.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Time:
12:21
A.M
.

Re:
Tomorrow

Heather,

Tonight was awful. Let's never have another night like tonight. You said what you had to say; now I just wanted to say three things:

1. I've never blamed you for my accident.

2. I am not in love with Gaia Moore.

3. I love you.

Do something with me tomorrow, okay? Or, I guess now it's today. Let's hang out.

It doesn't have to be this bad, Heather. It certainly couldn't be any worse than tonight.

Love,
Ed

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Time:
12:45
A.M
.

Re:
Tomorrow

I think maybe you're right. I went home feeling horrible. I don't ever want another night like tonight either, Ed.

Maybe we can sort of start from scratch.

I'm going to a Hamptons reunion brunch at Sarabeth's tomorrow (I mean today). Put on something nice and meet me.

And don't worry, Chad Carmel will
not
be there, and neither will any of those people. Trust me, I've checked with Carrie about fifteen times.

Pick me up at 12:30. I promise to be nice if you will.

Do you own a pair of khakis?

Love,
Heather

Ed blinked at the screen. He wasn't sure quite what he felt. All he knew was that the feeling was very unpleasant. But he kept returning to one thought. The annoying irony of his situation had not escaped him. Not at all.

Regaining the use of his legs had left him completely paralyzed.

THE MOMENT JOSH OPENED HIS
dorm-room door—with that twisted smile pasted on his chiseled face—was one of the happiest
Sam had enjoyed in days. Because in that moment Sam was finally able to live out a long-standing dream: to remove the smile with his fist.

White Light, Red Light

Josh never even saw the punch coming. His eyes were heavily lidded. It was late, and he was obviously tired, so he wasn't quite as guarded as he should have been. And as Sam's arm flew toward Josh's chin in the expanded silence, Sam soaked in every aspect of his tormentor's disguise. The droopy boxers. The ratty T-shirt. The mussed hair.
It was so perfect, so ingenious.
Josh Kendall
was
a college student. There was no way anybody would be able to mistake him for anything else. And within a matter of seconds he'd be a dead—

Thwack!

Josh's legs crumpled the instant of impact. “Ow!” Sam howled.

The punch had
hurt.
He shook his hand as Josh fell to the floor. His pinky throbbed in acute pain. He stared at it, eyes wide, breath coming fast, wondering if he'd broken his finger on Josh's chin. It didn't seem to be crooked, but he could barely move it. His heart began to race. Josh was already recovering, already stumbling up on all fours and lunging toward Sam's legs. Sam tried to sidestep him, but he was too distracted. Josh's shoulders slammed into his shins, and Sam went toppling over him into the room.

“You idiot,” Josh grunted.

Sam's face skidded across the rugged, industrial dormitory carpet. It was like sandpaper, burning his skin. He tried to roll away from Josh, to get his bearings, to strike again. But at that moment something struck the small of his back.
Quite simply, it was the sharpest, single most excruciating pain Sam had ever felt.
White light exploded in front of his eyes. He didn't even know what had caused it—an elbow, a fist, a knee. It didn't matter. His body went limp.

The fight was over.

The next thing Sam knew, Josh had twisted his arm behind his back, and Josh's free hand was at his neck, firmly squeezing and nearly cutting off his circulation. Sam couldn't move. He could hardly breathe. He tried in vain to struggle, but he was too weak. That blow to the back had somehow sapped all his energy. It was as if a plug had been pulled.

“Stop it,” Josh commanded. “Don't be an idiot, Sam. Didn't I tell you not to get cocky? Wasn't I trying to help you out? Now look what you did.” He twisted harder until Sam's entire arm had gone numb from pain. “Look!”

All at once a blinding red light flashed through Josh's dorm window, assaulting Sam's eyes. He blinked, fighting to turn away, but the viselike grip around his neck prevented him from moving.