Crossing Borders (26 page)

“Randy,” said Tristan.

“No, Devon. I'm using Randy's phone.”

“Okay, Devon, what's up?”

“Psych, it's really Randy.”

“Randy,” Tristan warned. “I don't care who it is;
what is u
p
?”

“I'm just calling to tell you that Edward got permission from his dad to meet us at the park to go jogging tonight.”

“Hey, that's cool. How'd you manage that?”

“Mom talked to him. She told him you were the only deviant in the family as far as we knew, and I guess he accepted it.”

Tristan pursed his lips. “Very funny.”

“Yes, well, he said he'd withhold judgment. He's hoping we'll be there to watch your every move. You know, so we can insure little Neddie's virtue stays intact.”

“How were you getting to the park again?”

“C'mon, Tristan. Lighten up, bro.”

“All right,
bro
, I'll see you when I get home. Get your homework done and tell Mom I said thanks for talking to Jeff, okay? And I'll be home by four so we can run before the park closes. Tell Edward to expect us around four-thirty.”

“Okay.” Randy hung up.

By four-thirty, Edward was waiting for them in front of the gates at the entrance of the regional park. He was dressed all in black, loose shorts and a T-shirt, and had a hoodie wrapped around his waist. His black hair and nails rebelled against his pale skin. Tristan, Randy, and Devon joined him.

“Hey, Tristan,” said Edward, coming forward shyly. Tristan thought it was amazing that his brothers got this kid out from behind his computer at all, much less to go for a run. He looked like he expected the sun to kill him like a vampire.

“Hey, Edward. These two”—he indicated Randy and Devon—“are my brothers. The one in red is Randy. He's the one who has to stop and pet all the dogs when we run. The other one is Devon. He's the one who will complain about it.”

“Hi,” said Edward, still uncertain, as the four of them took off at an easy pace. Tristan pushed a little ways ahead in order to give them a chance to talk to one another. As he'd suspected, they had a lot in common, and even though Edward's dyed dark hair and black nails put them off at first, soon they were laughing together, although probably the joke was on him. He'd introduced Edward and his brothers over the Internet, and the three of them had messaged each other for a week or so, finding they had, among other things, music in common and a deep and abiding passion for manga, anime, and fan fiction.

Tristan ran along, listening to the sounds of their laughter. Edward sounded younger to his ears than he had the night of the party, and Tristan knew he hadn't been wrong about Edward and his brothers. They were definitely going to get along. They rounded the bend and were jogging down into the low-lying area by the baseball diamonds when Randy spotted a dog that he knew and ran toward it. All three of them went, although Devon hung back on principle, and Edward seemed to be wary of dogs. The smallish woman the dog had on his leash seemed to be wary of Edward, as well, and Tristan hid his laughter.

“Dogs love Randy,” said Devon, explaining the attraction to Edward. “He seems to think on their level, and they can sense that.”

“Unlike Devon,” quipped Randy. “Who rarely thinks at all and bores them.”

It wasn't going to be Devon's night at all, Tristan thought. Just about every dog they'd ever seen was in the park, and those that weren't were probably on their way. One after another, Randy stopped and greeted the dogs and the owners, until Devon was jogging in place enraged, and Edward and Tristan were laughing out loud. Randy was tearing across the grass with someone's Jack Russell terrier on a leash when Tristan heard a shriek from behind him. He turned his attention away for a moment to see a small woman controlling a Saint Bernard on a short leash and turned back to see Randy on the ground, and the laughter died on his lips.

“Randy!” he shouted, running toward his brother, who was on his back, clutching his ankle and cursing.

“There's a hole,” said Edward, looking at the ground where Randy had tripped. “Oh, man, you must have stepped in just the wrong place.”

“Randy,” said Devon. “Is it broken?”

“How the hell should I know?” said Randy, through his teeth. The terrier's owner came over to take her dog.

“Randy,” she said, worried. “I'm so sorry, should I call someone? Can I do anything?” She was tiny and frail, like the dog, Tristan noted absently, and had a plastic bag of poop over her wrist like a purse.

“Thank, you,” Tristan said. “I'm sure it's going to be fine. It could've happened to anyone. I wonder if they play ball here—it's dangerous.” He looked around at the uneven ground.

“I feel just awful,” she said.

“Don't worry,” said Randy, and Tristan thought he was saying it more to the dog than its owner. He was still cradling the dog, petting its fur as it licked at his hands. Eventually, the woman moved on, and Randy waved good-bye.

“It's going to be all right,” Tristan said. He made Randy stretch out on the grass and went to his knees to examine the injured foot.

Randy grimaced. “You sound like Mom.”

“I could sound like worse people.” He looked at Randy's ankle, which was already swelling.

“I think you should stay right here—don't move. I'm going to bring the car.” The curious Saint Bernard was on his way over, pulling his reluctant owner with him. “The biggest problem I foresee is getting you away from all these dogs.” Randy already had a whitish tightness around his mouth, and in the dying light, Tristan could see the sweat beading on his forehead. Tristan pulled off his sweatshirt and helped Randy put it on over his head.

“It hurts, Tristan,” said Randy, who sounded very much like he had when he was a really small child, and Tristan felt his stomach clench.

“I know, bro, hang in there. I'm going to be back quickly, okay? I'll call Mom, but I think she'll tell me to take you to emergency. We can drop Edward home on the way.” He looked at Devon, who nodded at him and sat on the grass next to his brother.

“I can walk, or call my dad—” Edward began, but Tristan cut him off.

“No, it's on the way.” Tristan took off, calling over his shoulder, “Besides, if your dad thought I was a flake before, just think what he'd say if I left you in the park alone after dark.” He took off running, his thumb already pressing the speed dial for his mom.

Tristan was in the emergency waiting room, reading the
Newsweek
he'd picked at random from a stack of torn and outdated magazines. Randy was in the emergency room, waiting to be taken to radiology. It was already taking longer than he thought it would, but he wasn't surprised. The last time Randy had been in emergency, when he'd broken an arm rollerblading, he'd been in the ER for hours. Tristan's mother asked him to drop Devon at the house and take Randy to the hospital. Eventually she would meet them there, but she was stuck in traffic. He noticed the sign that said ##No Cell Phones.## The automatic doors opened with a swish as he returned to the parking lot, dialing Michael's number, knowing that at this time of day he'd likely get only voicemail.

“Hey, Michael,” said Tristan, scanning the parking lot for his mother's car. “It's me, Tristan. I just wanted to let you know there was an accident, and it looks like Randy might have a broken ankle. I'm at St. Jude Medical Center, and I'll be turning my cell phone off. As soon as I'm done here, I'll call you, okay?” He hung up and went to his car for his backpack, lugging it in with the intention of getting some work done. He was writing the outline for a paper on rationalism and empiricism for philosophy when a body hurled itself at him and pulled him up into a hard hug.

“Crap,” said Michael. “Sparky, are you all right?”

It probably didn't go unnoticed by Michael that Tristan's mouth hung open in surprise. Michael shifted from foot to foot, his nervous agitation flooding out through every pore. He looked around, realizing he'd just manhandled someone in public while in uniform.

“Why wouldn't I be all right?” asked Tristan. He put his work aside carefully and gave Michael his full attention.

“You called and said there'd been an accident…you were at the hospital…Randy might have a broken ankle.” Michael took a seat beside him. “I'm glad you weren't hurt,” he said. “How's your car?”

Understanding dawned. “No, hey…whoa. Baby,” said Tristan quietly, leaning toward Michael to talk in a low voice. “No. It wasn't that kind of accident.” Michael's shoulders visibly relaxed. “I'm sorry I didn't make that clear.
Randy
had an accident. He fell. He stepped in a hole at the park and wrenched his ankle.”

“Oh,” said Michael. “
Oh
.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No, it's cool. I guess I overreacted.”

“I guess,” said Tristan. They sat side by side staring at the information desk. Neither one looked at the other for a long time.

“I'm going to have to get rational when it comes to you, or I'm going to make a complete ass out of myself.”

“Could be,” said Tristan, not so secretly delighted.

“Unless I already have.”

“That too.” Tristan grinned like an idiot.

“Stop that, will you?” said Michael angrily. “In case you hadn't noticed,
scooter
, I practically had a heart attack thinking you were in some kind of accident. That doesn't make me the most capable civil servant.”

“I will not be
scootered
by anyone,” said Tristan. “I happened to have left a perfectly clear message on your voicemail. I'm not the one at fault here.”

Michael rubbed his face, all the fight gone out of him. “It's my fault, I know it,” he sighed. “In my job I don't always see the best that life has to offer. I think I worry a lot.”

“It's not a fault to care. I'm sorry I said it like that,” said Tristan. “I love you. If something happened to you, I'd bust my ass to get there. You know that, don't you?”

“Yeah,” said Michael. “Yeah.” He smiled.

“Do you want to know what?” Tristan asked. “I have ICE numbers on my phone. Why don't I change them so that if anything does happen, you get a call too?” He pulled his phone out and turned it on, earning a look from the woman at the information desk. “Let's go outside.”