My nose pounded rhythmically with pain. It was crusted full of blood so I had to breathe out of my mouth, which tasted like the bottom of a garbage disposal.
I stumbled down the hall and knocked on Jake’s door.
“Jake,” I wheezed.
I was allowing myself to sound as pitiful as I felt.
I knocked again.
“Jake,” I said. “I want to apologize.”
The door to the berth creaked open a slit.
“What?” came his voice.
“Astrid told me that stuff in confidence,” I said, sort of gasping as I spoke. “I had no right to tell the other guys. I’m sorry.”
I had his attention.
The door opened a hand’s width. I could see him in his hammock, looking at me through the gap.
“What are you talking about?” he said.
“Astrid talks to me sometimes,” I explained. “When I get food, sometimes she comes down and talks to me. She told me, some stuff about you two…”
Jake watched me through the door.
A beat. A beat. A beat.
Would he buy it?
“Pretty private stuff,” he grumbled. “What else did she say?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Just about how you met and…”
Think. Think. Think.
“She really loves you,” I said. “She said she feels scared and you’re the only one who makes her feel safe.”
He crossed his arms.
“I do love her,” he said. “You were wrong to say that stuff.”
He was buying it. I felt faint with relief or pain. Couldn’t say which.
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. You know, I never really drank that much before.”
“Yeah,” he drawled. “I told you to slow down. Shoot, I thought you’d been spying on us. I didn’t know you two were friendly.”
“I think she gets lonely,” I said. “And I guess you probably know I have this stupid crush on her.”
I was giving him what I already knew he knew.
That’s how you do it. You win confidence by telling your secrets. It seemed like he was buying it.
I really needed him to buy it.
“Well, shoot, booker,” he said. “Then I’m sorry I beat you up so much.”
“I deserved it,” I said.
My nose was throbbing. It sent a constant stab of pain through the middle of my forehead.
“Hey, what does ‘booker’ mean, anyway?” I asked.
“Someone who reads a lot. Kind of a nerd, sorta,” he said with a sheepish smile.
Fine. He could put me down. Whatever.
As long as he didn’t slaughter me for spying on him.
I turned to leave and had to put out my hand to steady myself. Everything was getting electric at the edges of my field of vision. Little zapping fish swimming up and nearly taking me down with them.
Then Jake was up and supporting me, his shoulder under my arm. I leaned on him heavily, trying not to black out.
“I think I mighta broken your nose for you,” he said apologetically. “Why don’t you let me fix you up?”
Jake eased me down onto the futon sofa in the living room and then went and got the materials he needed to tape up my nose.
He came back with surgical tape, cotton balls, a pair of scissors, and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.
“This happened to me once when we played Abilene Cooper. They had a linebacker, must have weighed three hundred pounds. Guy hit me like a bull on a rodeo clown.”
He looked around.
“Aw, shoot, I forgot to get some kind of cloth.”
He grabbed a chenille throw blanket.
“Josie’ll be pissed, but who cares,” he said. He doused a corner with hydrogen peroxide and then started swabbing my face.
I tried not to pull away, but it hurt like hell.
“Oh, wait,” Jake said. “I forgot the best part.”
From his back pocket he drew two foil packs of pills.
“Got you some pain meds. They’re strong. Real fun.” He popped one out and gave it to me. It melted in my mouth. Minty.
“Nice, huh? Works pretty fast.” And he handed me the other one. “And these are demi-roids. Gonna help your body heal and you know what, dude, you should just keep taking them for a while. Help fill out your physique a bit, if you know what I mean…”
I pocketed the steroids to take later when I had water handy.
I was already starting to feel better. More warm and relaxed. I lay back on the futon.
“That’s the way,” Jake said. “Now close your eyes and mouth for me.”
He poured the hydrogen peroxide into my nose.
I sat up, sputtering and frothing.
Jake pressed the throw blanket into my face.
“Good, good.”
Next he felt my nose. And then he stuck cotton up into each nostril.
“You’re lucky,” he said. “Nice clean break. It’ll make you look manly.”
He put two pieces of tape across the bridge of my nose.
“You oughta thank me for breaking it. Girls love a broken nose.”
I could barely talk, between the hangover, the pain pills, and the two cotton balls jammed up my nose.
“Franth, Janke,” I managed to say.
He laughed.
“You’re all right, booker.”
He held out his hand.
“I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.”
I shook his hand—slowly. He was smiling at me, really asking for my forgiveness.
I felt like an a-hole. I
I shook his hand and said, “Itd wath my fault.”
“Oh my God, what happened to you?” came Chloe’s noisy, nosy voice.
The little kids were coming back from breakfast, preparing themselves for their school.
They saw me and gasped, gathering around.
“He got beat up,” Max said, confident.
“Did you get beat up, Dean?” little Caroline asked, scratching her head.
“I fewl,” I lied. “Off a shelf.”
“No, he didn’t,” Max said. “He got beat up.”
“Naw, Dean fell off a shelf, kids,” Jake said. “I saw him fall myself.”
“Maybe,” Max conceded. He looked at me and then at Jake and then back at me. Each time he moved his head his blond cowlick bobbed like a feather on an old lady’s hat.
“But all I can say is that my mom’s sister, Raylene, who is my aunt but don’t like to be called aunt because she says it makes her feel old so I call her Sissy Raylene. Anyways, she used to come over for poker and she’d
