Arby had a black eye, a swollen cheekbone, and a cut that Harding had bandaged on his forehead. His arms and legs were badly bruised. But he was walking, and he managed a crooked smile. Thorne said, “How do you feel, son?” Arby said, “You know what I want more than anything, right now?” “What?” Thorne said. “Diet Coke,” Arby said. “And a lot of aspirin.”
