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FOURTEEN

“ H ey!”

Eddie doesn’t hear that first greeting. The rest of us do, but he doesn’t. Or maybe he does, but it doesn’t register. He’s in a daze of anger and confusion and regret, weighted down by a searing, brutal loneliness. He’s been walking, thinking, not eating, for a long time, and his brain is foggy, misfiring, exhausted. He’s not paying attention to where he is. Lost.

“Eddie!”

He looks up to see a face. A familiar face, a lovely face, warm and focused, standing in the patisserie doorway. What’s that on the side of the face? Oh, a dusting of flour. That’s right. He’s not lost after all. He’s on Cornelia Street again. It’s where his body seems to come, when it doesn’t know what else to do.

“It’s so good to see you!” Theo says, holding the door open. “I’ve been wondering about you. Mysterious man.”

Eddie still doesn’t answer. It’s dark out here. No one’s around, just a lonely taxicab thumping across a pothole, and Theo.

“Your timing is perfect. I was just about to roll out some croissants and I could use the extra help. Come on in, I’ll get you an apron and put you to work.”

Eddie doesn’t move.

Theo’s voice lowers. “Eddie? Are you all right? How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie says honestly. He’s foggy. Maybe he got here a minute ago. Maybe an hour. Maybe a lifetime. “What time is it?” he asks.

“Three?” Theo says, though it sounds like a question. “Or just after.”

“Oh.” Eddie’s voice sounds distant, even to himself.

Theo looks up the street, and down it. The taxi has thumped away. There is nothing here now, only a distant, blinking Don’t Walk sign, warning nobody.

“Is everything all right?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” Eddie says, suddenly hyperaware of where he is, and embarrassed. The last time he saw Theo was so humiliating, the way Theo had to pull him up off the curb and walk him home. “Everything is fine.”

“Come inside,” Theo says, gentle, soft, strong. “I’ll put on some fresh coffee.”

The words are friendly, but they grate against Eddie, whose fury still simmers, searching for a target, any target other than himself. Talk about what? Theo’s kindness can’t solve Eddie’s problems. Theo’s kindness can’t help at all. It only reminds Eddie of how unkind he was to Cookie. How small and impatient and cruel.

“No,” Eddie says. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. I’m sorry.”

“Eddie,” Theo says, taking a step forward. “It’s dark out here. I don’t think you should be out here in the dark. We don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to. We’ll play music. Or you can sleep on the cot that Gaston keeps in the back. Just come inside.” He puts his hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

Why is he being so nice? Eddie doesn’t deserve this right now. He hasn’t earned it. What’s he ever done for Theo? Nothing but be a pest. He pushes Theo away, sending the bigger boy stumbling backward into the door. It swings open behind him, ringing the entry bell, the gentle tinkle incongruous inside Eddie’s stormy mind.

“What’s going on, Eddie?” Theo says, his voice tighter now as he regains his balance. Is he angry? He should be. But his face says he’s only concerned. Worried.

Eddie doesn’t have an answer. He can’t find answers for anything right now. Not an answer for what’s been happening, an answer for why he’s walking, an answer for who he even is anymore. He knows himself in Francis’s world, but here, in this world, in Theo’s world, he can’t find an answer for anything. Not a fucking thing.

Oh, that acrid bile in his throat. It rises again, thick with humiliation. A toxic elixir. He is so sick of that flavor. He wants to retch, to spit, to cut off his tongue so he never has to taste it again.

“I don’t know,” he says, jaw clenching in resentment. How dare Theo see him like this?

“Let me help you.” Theo speaks slowly. His voice is so calm. “Come inside, Eddie. Let me help you.”

“No!” Eddie shouts, like a child, shocking himself with the intensity. “I don’t belong here! You don’t know anything about me. I don’t belong in your perfect little world with your perfect little cakes! Just leave me alone!”

It’s a terrible thing to say, and he knows it. But he’s got nowhere else to put this frustration, this fury. So he aims it at Theo, and spins away. He trips blindly across the sidewalk, catching his foot on an empty cardboard box and tumbling into the street. He catches himself on his elbow, drawing blood, then quickly scrambles back up and, not looking back, speeds into a run. He can picture Theo behind him, watching him go, and the image enrages him even more. What a pathetic sight he must be. Weak and ugly and stupid and cruel. Exposed. Naked. Raw. Eddie.

He races around the corner and up Sixth Avenue, rageful tears streaming as he runs. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself.