“What’s going on?” he called out. “What’s wrong with Savannah?”
I ignored him and felt him grab my wrist. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”
Not a wise move. I could smell beer on his breath and knew that the alcohol had given him courage.
“Let go,” I said.
“Is she okay?” he demanded.
“Let go,” I said again, “or I’ll break your wrist.”
“Hey, what’s going on?” I heard Tim call out from somewhere behind me.
“What did you do to her?” Randy demanded. “Why’s she crying? Did you hurt her?”
I could feel the adrenaline surge into my bloodstream. “Last chance,” I warned.
“There’s no reason for this!” Tim shouted, closer this time. “Just relax, you guys! Knock it off!”
I felt someone try to grab me from behind. What happened next was instinctive, over in a matter of seconds. I drove my elbow hard into his solar plexus and heard a sudden groaning exhale; then I grabbed Randy’s hand and quickly twisted it to its snapping point. He screamed and dropped to his knees, and in that instant I felt someone else rushing toward me. I swung an elbow blindly and felt it connect; I felt cartilage crunch as I turned, ready for whoever came next.
“What did you do?” I heard Savannah scream. She must have come running once she saw what was going on.
On the sand, Randy was wincing as he clutched his wrist; the guy who’d grabbed me from behind was gasping and on all fours.
“You hurt him!” she whimpered as she rushed past me. “He was just trying to stop the fight!”
I turned. Tim was sprawled on the ground, holding his face, blood gushing through his fingers. The sight seemed to paralyze everyone except Savannah, who dropped to her knees at his side.
Tim moaned, and despite the hammering in my chest, I felt a pit form in my stomach. Why did it have to be him? I wanted to ask if he was okay; I wanted to tell him I hadn’t meant for him to get hurt and that it wasn’t my fault. I hadn’t started it. But it wouldn’t matter. Not now. I couldn’t pretend as if they should forgive and forget, no matter how much I wished it hadn’t happened.
I could barely hear Savannah fretting as I began to back away. I eyed the others warily, making sure they’d let me leave, not wanting to hurt anyone else.
“Oh, geez . . . oh, no. You’re really bleeding . . . we’ve got to get you to a doctor. . . .”
I continued to back away, then turned and climbed the stairs. I moved quickly through the house, then back down to my car. Before I knew it, I was on the street, cursing myself and the entire evening.
Ten
I didn’t know where to go, so I drove around aimlessly for a while, the events of the evening replaying in my mind. I was still angry at myself and what I’d done to Tim—not so much the others, I admit—and angry at Savannah for what had happened on the pier.
I could barely remember how it had started. One minute I was thinking that I loved her more than I’d ever imagined possible, and the next minute we were fighting. I was outraged by her subterfuge yet couldn’t understand why I was this angry. It wasn’t as if my dad and I were close; it wasn’t as if I even thought I really knew him. So why had I been so angry? And why was I still?
Because, the little voice inside me asked, there’s a chance she might be right?
It didn’t matter, though. Whether he was or wasn’t, so what? How was that going to change anything? And why was it any of her business?
As I drove, I kept veering from anger to acceptance and back to anger again. I found myself reliving the sensation of my elbow crushing Tim’s nose, which only made it worse. Why had he come at me? Why not them? I wasn’t the one who’d started it.
And Savannah . . . yeah, I might be able to head over there tomorrow to apologize. I knew she honestly believed what she was saying and that in her own way, she was trying to help. And maybe, if she was right, I did want to know. It would explain things. . . .
But after what I did to Tim? How was she going to react to that? He was her best friend, and even if I swore it had been an accident, would it matter to her? How about what I’d done to the others? She knew I was a soldier, but now that she’d seen a small part of what that meant, would she still feel the same way about me?
By the time I found my way home, it was past midnight. I entered the darkened house, peeked into my dad’s den, then proceeded to the bedroom. He wasn’t up, of course; he went to bed at the same time every night. A man of routine, as I knew and Savannah had pointed out.
I crawled into bed, knowing I wouldn’t sleep and wishing I could start the evening over again. From the moment she’d given me the book, anyway. I didn’t want to think about any of it anymore. I didn’t want to think about my dad or Savannah or what I’d done to Tim’s nose. But all night long I stared at the ceiling, unable to escape my thoughts.