The Wave by Walter Mosley Read Free Book Online Page B

was. She told the real story of the tattoo and promised never to see him again. But she lied.” He looked at her, and she looked away. “I hired the detective, and he brought me proof.”
    “Did Artie make Bobby break it off with me?”
    “Yeah,” GT said. “Yes, I did.”
    In that instant GT took on the demeanor of an old and broken man. He could have been my father, almost.
    We were all silent for a while after that. Angelique and I were trying to comprehend the deep drama that had unfolded while we were going to school and living blissfully, blindly ignorant. GT was lost in sorrow. I have no idea what my mother and Nella were thinking.
    After a long while I said, “That still doesn’t prove anything. My dad could have told you or your mother all of that. It doesn’t make you our father.”
    GT shuddered again, this time so violently that he fell from his seat to the floor under the table. I pulled him out from the booth, but he stayed on the floor, shaking and groaning.
    “What’s wrong with him?” a waitress asked from behind the counter. You could see the fear in her eyes.
    “It’s an epileptic fit,” I said, and then I made a decision.
    “Nella, help me get him out to the car,” I said.
    I got my shoulder under his arm and dragged him toward the door before she could move to help me.
    “What are you doing?” Angelique asked me.
    “I’m taking him home,” I said. “You take Mom back, Sis. I’ll call you later.”

12
    Nella drove my car, and I got in the backseat with GT’s head on my lap. He was shuddering and sweating. He also smelled odd. It was a loamy odor, but I dismissed it. I thought that his hair was still dirty from the graveyard—at least that’s what I told myself.
    “What’s wrong with you, GT?”
    “Hungry, Airy. Starving. I’ve been so happy to see you that I forgot to eat.”
    “Let’s get you something. Nella, stop at the next supermarket.”
    “No.” GT wheezed and stammered.
    “What?”
    “Take me to the ocean, Airy.”
    “Why?”
    “Take me to the sea.”
    He shuddered terribly and then went still. He was still breathing. His eyes were open, too. But he didn’t say another word, just stared up out of the window. I could see the reflections of the clouds in his clear and glassy eyes.
    “Drive out to Santa Monica, Nella,” I said.
    “What for?”
    “Just do it, honey. Just do it.”
    GT felt hot on my lap. The fever of his attack was taking hold. His eyes slanted at me at one point, and he smiled. The fingers of his left hand stirred, but the hand could not rise.
    Nella was a fast driver. She brought us to a parking lot at the shore in under twenty minutes. When I opened the door, GT rose up and dashed out toward the Pacific. As soon as he reached the beach, he dove into the sand headfirst. By the time Nella and I got to him, he had already swallowed a great deal.
    I tried to pull his head away, but he threw me off with little more than a shrug. His strength was amazing. By the time I was on him again, he had turned over and was now looking toward the sky. His mouth was caked with sand, but under that you could make out the smile on his face.
    “Take me home, Airy,” he whispered. “I need to rest.”
    His eyes closed then. I picked him up in my arms and carried him back to the car. A few bystanders gaped at us, but no one interfered. Nella opened the back door for me, and I laid his unconscious body across the seat.
    “Where to?” Nella asked.
    “I’ll drive” was my answer.
    “We should be taking him to the hospital,” Nella was saying.
    We were on Pico Boulevard, headed for my live-in garage.
    “He said that he wanted to go home,” I said.
    “And what happens if he dies?”
    “He’s stopped shaking. He’s not hot anymore. Maybe he . . .” I tried to think how sand could be a cure for any ailment. “I don’t know, Nella. But I’m going to do what he said to do. I don’t want the hospital to get him.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because he knows