Page 15

FIFTEEN

D onna answers in a flustered blurt: “Hello?”

Eddie smiles. Already, just hearing her voice, he starts to relax.

“Hi,” he says, twirling Cookie’s phone cord around his finger.

“Thank God it’s you. It says Unrecognized Number so I almost didn’t answer. You’re not a scammer, are you?”

“Yes, I’m calling to scam you from Cookie’s kitchen,” he says, playing along.

“Good luck,” she says. “If you can talk me out of the 356 dollars in my checking account, it’s all yours. How’s it going out there? How’s Cookie?”

This is the question he called knowing she would ask, but it’s also the question he doesn’t know how to answer. Eddie doesn’t want to mention the scene with Cookie in the kitchen. If he tells Donna, she’ll only worry, and if she worries, she’ll start to think that Eddie can’t handle Cookie, and if Eddie can’t handle Cookie, his time in New York will be cut short. Not that she can force him to come home—he’s eighteen after all—but if she doesn’t support the current arrangement she can upend it. She has veto power.

Maybe, maybe there’s part of him that wants her to use it. Maybe this is all too much. New York is so big, and for all its exhilaration, it bewilders him, confuses him, scares him. The energy, the light, the noise, the people. So many people. He misses the open sky over Mesa Springs. The air. The quiet. The mountains, always there, reminding him where he is. Back there, he was in control. And when he felt out of control, he could retreat. Not here. There is no escape. He looks at his feet.

“Eddie?”

No, he thinks. Not yet. He can handle this. He’s sure he can. All of it. Even when Cookie seems to lose it. Even when Cookie gets mean. He’s got enough experience, or believes he does, to deal with things. He just, oh who knows. Maybe he just wants to hear her voice. That’s all.

“She’s great,” he says, just a little too brightly. “Really great. Everything’s been great. You should see how many get-well cards she’s gotten.”

The line is silent for a moment. He pictures her staring at the ceiling again, considering the lie he’s just told. Because she’s certainly detected it. Oh, he shouldn’t have called her. Not today. He should have waited until tomorrow, when Cookie’s episode is only a memory. When he will surely be feeling confident again.

“She gave me this cool old camera,” he says quickly, hoping the subject change will deflect her doubt. “Whenever I go out to do errands, she asks me to bring her pictures.”

“Can’t you just show her pictures on your phone?”

The impulse to tell her what happened to his phone comes and goes swiftly. It works fine. “She prefers the Polaroids,” he says. “She likes to hold them.”

“Pictures of what?”

“Of whatever. She likes to see the city.” Of magic.

He hears Donna light a cigarette. He pictures her in the kitchen, staring out the window at the wildfire sky. “You’re sure nothing’s wrong,” she says.

“I’m sure.”

“And everything is great.”

“Everything,” he says. “Honestly.”

She doesn’t answer right away, but after a breath, says, “All right. I miss you, kid.”

“You too,” he says. This part is not a lie.

Back in his room, Eddie props the picture of Cookie that he took the other day against one of her miniature Rockettes on the table next to his fainting couch. He lies on his side to study the coy expression on her face. What was she thinking about that day? What is she thinking about now?

Outside, he hears a siren in the distance. He wonders what everyone in Mesa Springs is doing right now. Probably drinking Solo cups of beer in a parking lot, bragging about their summer vacation plans, their trips to Cancún or the Grand Canyon. He wonders what Theo is doing right now. Probably sleeping, his broad chest rising and falling rhythmically in the dark, soon to wake up for another early morning at the bakery.

Eddie feels proud that he didn’t panic today. He felt it coming, but he kept moving, stayed focused on Cookie, swallowed it away. Can he claim victory? No, probably not. He probably got a little bit lucky, too. Still, he didn’t panic, and it feels good.

He reaches for Cookie’s photograph and holds it to his chest. Clutching it close, he lies on his back and watches the disco ball spin slowly above. Oh, Cookie, he thinks. Today wasn’t good. But I made it through. We made it through.

Eddie will sleep deeply tonight. He won’t wake up once, not even when the bright-eyed boy in the photograph across the room turns to him and smiles.