Linda glared at him. "He wasn't always an asshole, you know. When I first started going out with him, he was really nice. In fact," she added pointedly, "he was real nice till he turned into a sports nut!"
Mark felt his cheeks burn. "Well, I'm not going to do that," he protested. They were walking along the river now, theHarrises ' house only a block away. "And what's wrong with trying to be like everyone else?" he demanded. "Maybe I'm sick of not fitting in!"
Linda said nothing until they were a few yards from her house, then she turned to face him. "Look," she said. "I'm not mad at you or anything like that. I'm just worried about you, okay? And if you want to 'fit in'-whatever that means-I'm sure it's all right with me. But if you're going to turn into another JeffLaConner, you might as well tell me right now."
Mark stared at her, baffled. Turn into JeffLaConner? He wasn't anything like Jeff, and never would be. "But I'm not," he protested. "I'm still me, and I always will be."
They turned up the driveway of theHarrises ' house. From the apron in front of the garage, Robb waved to them. "Hey, Mark!" he called out. "Want to shoot some baskets?" He took aim and tossed the basketball in his hands expertly through the hoop. When his eyes met Mark's, Mark was certain he saw a challenge in Robb's look. For a split-second he hesitated. Then a grin spread across his face. "Sure," he called back. "Why not?" He sprinted down the driveway,Chivas trotting after him, and didn't notice the look of disappointment that came into Linda's eyes before she turned away and hurried into the house.
Ten minutes later Mark was beginning to breathe hard, but he was pleased that despite Robb's size and ability, he'd still managed to score three baskets. Now, dribbling the ball carefully and edging toward the basket, he searched for an opportunity to duck around Robb. He made his move, feinting left, then dodging around to the right, but just as he leaped toward the basket, he felt Robb's elbow dig sharply into his ribs. He grunted as a stab of pain shot through him and the ball went wild, bouncing off the backboard and dropping into Robb's hands. Robb immediately rose into a smooth lay-up, and the ball sailed through the hoop.
"Doesn't count," Mark yelled. "You fouled me!"
"Tough shit," Robb grinned. "You see a referee anywhere around?"
A flash of anger swept over Mark. "What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded. "A foul's a foul."
Robb shrugged. "I play to win," he said, idly flipping the ball through the hoop once more.
Mark stared at him. "There are rules to this game, you know."
The grin faded from Robb's lips, and his eyes hardened. "The only rule I know is the one about winning," he said. He dropped the ball and gave Mark a shove. Surprised by the sudden move, Mark staggered backward.
Robb shoved him again, and now Mark's back hit the garage door. "Come on," he said, "what's going on?"
"Chicken?" Robb asked. "Is the little boy mad 'cause he lost a point?"
Mark's jaw tightened, and before he truly realized what he was doing, his fist flashed out, catching Robb on the jaw. Robb's eyes widened slightly, then his lips twisted into a malicious smile.
"So you want to fight, huh?" he mocked. "Is the little boy finally growing up?"
He began throwing punches then, his jabs barely touching Mark as he taunted the smaller boy. Finally he moved in close, and Mark seized his opportunity. Clenching his right fist tight, he threw himself toward Robb, plunging his fist into the other boy's stomach. A burst of air erupted from Robb's lungs and he lurched back, clutching his stomach and struggling to recapture his breath. Just as he was about to strike out at Mark once more, the back door of the house opened and Elaine Harris rushed out.
"Stop it!" she demanded. "Stop it this instant!" Both boys, startled by the sharpness of her words, turned to face her. She glared angrily at Robb. "I don't want to hear any excuses at all," she declared. "You're nearly a foot taller than Mark and you outweigh him by fifty pounds. Now you get into the house, and when your father gets home, you can explain this to him!" She waited, her hands planted on her hips, and finally Robb, his head ducked low, hurried past her and disappeared inside. When Elaine spoke again, her voice was gentle and apologetic.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Whatever happened, he shouldn't have taken a punch at you."
Mark felt his face burning with shame. What did she think he was, some kind of little kid who couldn't even defend himself? As he wordlessly turned away and hurried down the driveway, he remembered what had happened on the night whenhehadn't been able to defend himself.
But today had been different. Today, even after Robb had taken a swing at him, he hadn't tried to run away.
This time he'd stood his ground and fought back.
And for a moment, after he'd landed the blow to Robb's belly, it looked like he might have won the fight. Of course, Robb had already been recovering from the blow when Mrs. Harris had come out, and he might yet have taken a pounding.
But still, at least he'd tried this time.
In fact, he'd sort of enjoyed the fight, he realized as he started home.
The feeling of pleasure in physical combat was something he'd never experienced before.
It had certainly never before occurred to him that he might like it.
Chapter Seventeen
It had been a quiet morning in the county hospital, and when Susan Aldrich glanced up at the clock suspended on the wall above her desk behind the admissions counter, she was surprised to see that it was only nine-thirty. That was the problem on the quiet days, she reflected-time seemed to crawl. She glanced out at the waiting room, then smiled almost ruefully when she saw that it had already been cleaned up. Nor could she fill a few minutes by setting up a fresh pot of coffee, either, for she had seen Maria Ramirez heading for the kitchen only a few moments ago.
Maria had become a fixture in the little hospital, and as the endless days of sitting next to the bed close by her son had turned into weeks, Maria had slowly begun developing a routine of her own. It had started with the simple housekeeping of Ricardo's room, but slowly she had expanded her domain, never asking if anything needed to be done, but simply watching the duty nurse and the orderlies as they went about their chores, then quietly relieving them of some of their tasks. At first Susan had tried to assure Maria that she needn't bother with the work she had cut out for herself, but she had only smiled at the nurse.
"You do so much for my son," she had replied. "And if I can't help him, at least I can help the people who can." So Susan, like Karen Akers and the other members of the staff, had left Maria alone to fill her time as she saw fit. By now, much of the routine work of the day shift-and the evening shift, too-was being expertly done by the slim and graceful woman whose dark eyes never seemed to miss anything.
Susan had come to realize that, in a way, Maria was helping her son as well, for all the staff had taken to dropping into Ricardo's room several times a day, sometimes simply standing next to his bed for a moment, at other times taking a few minutes to talk to him, even though all of them were privately certain that he was oblivious to their presence. Mickey Esposito-the day orderly, many of whose duties had quietly been usurped by Maria-had fallen into the habit of bringing a book to work and spending several hours quietly reading aloud to the inert form held motionless in the Stryker frame. The first time MacMacCallum had stopped in while Mickey was reading to Rick, the orderly had looked up guiltily and closed the book, but Mac had told him to go on. "None of us knows what's going on in his mind," he'd assured Mickey. "We don't think he can hear us, but we don't know. And if he can, he must be eternally grateful for what you're doing."