Castles on the Sand

Twenty-Four

Carson shakes his head, but doesn't say anything as we leave. We walk through the featureless hallways flooded with light, or at least that's how they look to me. I don't bother to focus my eyes, just rely on Alex to guide me. After what feel like random twists and turns, we emerge in the lobby, cross it, and step out the sliding glass doors into a soft rain and dusky light. The air is muggy. Only then do I take stock of where I am, which is a street I don't recognize at all. “Where are we?”

“Crescent City.”

I look up at him in surprise. The ambulance drove much faster than I'd realized. “Oh, I thought we'd be in Sequoia Ridge.”

“They don't do 24-hour emergency. They close at six.” He turns me to face him. “You hungry?”

“No.”

“Did you get dinner?”

“No.”

“Then you need to eat. What do you want?”

“Nothing. Really.”

His gaze holds mine a moment longer, then he turns to lead me to his car, I presume. Now that I'm outside, in the fresh air, I feel foolish. “Look,” I say, “I'm sorry.”

He quirks an eyebrow at me and I explain, “For being all clingy. You know. Back there.”

He doesn't favor that with an audible response, just heads to his car and holds the door open for me and I inhale the scent of sandalwood and Tiger Balm.

I glance at my watch and am shocked to see that it's past nine. Where did all the time go? “Thank you,” I say when he climbs into the driver's seat.

He flicks his gaze to me, then turns to look out the back window as he reverses out of his parking space.

I feel doubly foolish now, like I'm babbling like a little kid while he takes care of me. I clasp my hands in my lap and look down.

“First met Sonya in eighth grade,” he says as he puts the car into drive. “Got taken to the emergency room with a nasty cut on my arm and my mom couldn't give a coherent account of what had happened. The caregiver didn't see it happen. Thing is, I cut myself by being stupid.” We turn out of the parking lot and onto the street.

“You whittle a stick towards yourself?”

He glances at me again. “I offered to hold a target while Ryan practiced knife throwing.”

“No way.”

“I was thirteen years old, too. How stupid is that? And try to explain that to someone without talking. I drew a picture.”

“Then what happened?”

“Ryan stepped up. When Sonya called him, he told the story just like I did, except with more words. Back then our police officer was Officer James, you remember her?”

I shrug. “Not really. I've never had much interaction with the police.”

“She told me it was too bad it didn't hit my face. Would've been an improvement.”

“No it wouldn't.”

“That's really the last time I had a run in with CPS. The older I get, the more willing people are to assume that I'm just an idiot.”

His insults about himself bother me, but I don't know how to say that without sounding petulant, so I hold my tongue.

“I shouldn't have mouthed off to Sonya, but I guess she still gets on my nerves. I should've said I don't do drugs because it's against the Word of Wisdom.”