Chapter Eighteen
Joa rolled Balta into bed. The big man had one or two, or possibly six, too many beers, and he was getting damn maudlin, muttering in a broken Portuguese that he barely understood.
“Bed, Balta. Sleep. Tomorrow will be better, sim? Tomorrow will seem so much better. Normal.”
At least he hoped so.
He imagined tomorrow would bring a bad headache and a greasy stomach.
Balta grabbed his head, kissed it, and he brushed the thick wing of hair off the beloved forehead. “My demon. Sleep.”
Soon the quiet breaths turned to low snores, proving that his Balta had given up his fight and was sleeping.
He made sure Balta was comfortable and covered and had access to aspirin before he headed back out, hunting somebody to talk to.
It wasn’t late. Lord knew Balta had started drinking early, and Joa could use some of the barbecue that had been cooking when he’d gone to call Balta to dinner the first time.
He couldn’t believe it. Jason Scott blind.
That was a shame.
Still, he had to admit, he thought Coke’s idea was good. He didn’t think, though, that that was what the trouble was. Not really.
That wasn’t Balta’s hurt.
Balta’s hurt was that he wasn’t the first one told or the second or the third. Hell, if it hadn’t been AJ’s family having a wreck and everyone having to come to help, maybe Balta wouldn’t have known at all.
And that made Balta feel like an outsider again. After all these years. He felt betrayed by his friends. And Joa knew how protective his Balta was, too. He would have been the first man to help.
Andy Baxter was sitting outside on the porch smoking a cigarette when Joa stepped out.
He nodded to the man, trying not to snarl.
“Hey Ju-wa, how’s it going?”
He would have said “fine.” He would have no question if it weren’t for that Ju-wa. His name was Joa. “I just put Balta to bed.”
“Good.” Andy took a long drag from his smoke. “He okay?”
He lifted his chin. “Y’all hurt him bad, not letting him know about Jason and all. He would have helped from the get-go.”
He knew Andy Baxter didn’t give much credit to them because they weren’t American, but he was, and Balta was a better man than any of them.
Andy rolled his eyes. “Coke’s gonna tell the whole damn world. I just wanted it to be me and Coke who knew, and then we had to tell AJ, and then, and then, and then, and then, and then, and then!” Andy’s voice kept getting louder. “You don’t know.” Andy got up, stood, got right in his face. “You don’t know!”
He bumped chests with Andy. The man wanted to fight, he could fight. He knew how.
“I don’t know what?”
“He didn’t want to live no more. I had to do something. I had to fix it, don’t you see?”
Joa got that.
He couldn’t think of anything worse than not being able to see nothing.
Jason couldn’t drive no more, couldn’t ride no more, couldn’t read no more. He couldn’t watch TV, couldn’t play video games, couldn’t make stuff.
The idea made him sick.
