ALL THE RAGE (writer: T.M. Frazier)(35)

“Brave?” I asked, “Maybe just stupid.”

“Stupid? How so?”

“She could have gotten hurt. Her eggs could all be crushed or ruined by humans. By laying her eggs here with all this crap going on, it’s a risk, but she did it anyway. Maybe she should have just run.” I crouched down again, staring off into the sand, not sure if I was still talking about the turtles, or me. “Maybe sometimes running is the better option than staying, even if she thinks this place is her home.”

“Rage?” Nolan asked. I stood and brushed the sand off my knees. “You okay?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m good,” I assured him, looking away so he wouldn’t read my face. I changed the subject. “When do they hatch?”

“Soon. Couple weeks at most. They usually stay under the sand for about two months before hatching. Only one out of a thousand make it to adulthood, though.”

“Holy shit. Then why bother trying?” I asked, thinking the statistic seemed impossibly low.

“ ’Cause, it’s worth it,” Nolan said. “These eggs are her family. Family is always worth it. Family is everything,” he said.

I opened my mouth to respond but shut it quickly. I was going to ask him about his parents again. It would have been the perfect opportunity, but I didn’t want to. What if what he told me was what Smoke needed? What if the answer to his question was the beginning of the end?

I knew that was going to happen—it was inevitable—but I pushed the thought away, not ready to deal with that just yet.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Nolan asked again.

“Of course,” I said, turning around to face him. “Thanks for showing me this.”

“Rage,” Nolan started, “where is home for you? I haven’t asked because you didn’t want to talk about your parents after I answered your phone and when you came to my house that first day, you didn’t want to tell me your real name, but now I’m curious.”

“It’s not important.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

I offered him what I could. “Rage is my real name. The one I was given when I was born really isn’t important because my parents are the only ones currently in my life who even know that name, and most of the time, they call me some Flemish nickname anyway. I left home a long time ago, and besides daily phone calls, I haven’t seen my parents since then. Their house never felt like home to me and, it wasn’t because of them. They’re great. They’ve always meant well, their lives and the life they wanted for me just wasn’t…it just wasn’t.”

“So you don’t have a home? You just wonder around?” Nolan asked.

“Sort of,” I admitted. “I have a friend. No, more like a teacher. I stay at his place when I’m in town, but my lack of sleeping weirds him out so I don’t go there too often.”

Nolan’s entire demeanor stiffened. “I thought you said Cody was your only friend? Is this other guy your boyfriend?”

“No! He’s not. He’s like a teacher, sort of. He’s always got a different girl over. And stop with all the questions, I’ve never had a boyfriend!” I yelled, flooded by instant regret the second the words left my mouth.

“You haven’t?” Nolan asked, sounding amused. The dimple reappeared.

“No, I’m too busy traipsing about, taking up with my different boyfriends around the state,” I said, sarcastically, with a dramatic wave of my hands.

“Very cute. But seriously, how is that safe? Being alone out there? There are a lot of bad people out there in the world, Rage.”

Yeah, and I’m one of them.

“It’s a lot safer than you would think,” I said, turning back to the turtles, ready for the conversation to be over. Nolan reluctantly took the hint.

“In a couple of weeks we can come back to see if they’ve hatched yet. If we’re lucky, maybe we can watch it happen,” he said.

“I’d like that,” I said, because I would. I really wanted to witness them crawling out to sea. For once I let myself have that fantasy and in a matter of seconds I’d convinced myself that it was all true. That I would be back to see the turtles hatch.

Nolan grabbed my hand, this time I followed him toward the street. Once on the empty sidewalk, his walk was straighter, his limp barely noticeable. The street was empty except for a lone car or truck passing every few moments. We walked in comfortable silence until we came up to a tiny stucco building no bigger than a shed. “What is this place?” I asked as Nolan held open the door for me.

“This place has the best empanadas in town,” Nolan announced opening the glass door to the tiny cafe. A bell rang overhead. The smell of chilies and bread took up every inch of the place. Steam rose from pots in the open kitchen, which only had two burners and a swinging door, concealing a back room where more steam was coming from what I assumed were even more pots.

“Goon! Where the f*ck you been bro?” a short, dark-skinned man with a mustache shouted from behind a high glass counter.

Goon?

“Pinto! My man! Good to see you. It’s been way too long,” Nolan said and the two guys exchanged as much of a bro hug as they could with the glass counter separating them, clasping their hands together and patting each other’s shoulders.