was. You don't owe him anything just because you were close years ago."
Everybody else had given up on Eddie, written him off. Max wasn't ready to do that. It was hard to turn your back on a friend, a friend whose only real crime was waking up one day to find that life had gone on without him.
Eddie was waiting for him at the kitchen door.
"What took you so long?"
He was more agitated than Max had seen him in a long time. Was that good or bad? Max always claimed that any reaction was better than no reaction, but Eddie could be so volatile.
Eddie practically dragged him upstairs.
Lying on Eddie's bed was the palest person Max had ever seen.
"Is she dead?" Max asked, feeling slightly ill.
Eddie slapped the back of Max's head. "Lemme guess. You're not a doctor. You only play one in real life."
It should be refreshing, really, Max told himself. Most people were in awe of him. Not Eddie. Eddie still treated him like the snot-nosed little shit down the street.
"Drugs?" he asked. "Alcohol?"
"Do you always have to think the worst?"
Max unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. It had to be at least ninety in the room. "I like to prepare myself."
"She cut her arm. It bled quite a bit, but it's not bleeding now."
Eddie had done the right thing. Elevated her arm, covered it with a clean towel and applied pressure. Max lifted the makeshift bandage. "You're right. This is going to need stitches."
Max tossed the end of his tie over his shoulder and leaned closer to the girl on the bed. "What's her name?"
Eddie didn't answer.
Max looked up at his friend, his eyebrows lifting in question.
"I don't know."
When they were growing up, Eddie had always felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. He'd felt responsible for everything and everybody. He worried about everything from whether or not all eight-ounce glasses really held eight ounces, to the decay of the country's railway system. He worried about the homeless. The diminishing ozone layer. Germ warfare. The destruction of the rainforest. Pollution.
One day it just got to be too much. One day Eddie just shut the door on the world and he hadn't come out since.
"Just fix her, okay?"
But Eddie was worried now.
Interesting.
"How the hell did you manage to get into trouble without even leaving your place?"
Eddie motioned to the girl on the bed. "Trouble came visiting."
Max opened his case, dug out his blood pressure cuff, and wrapped it around the woman's uninjured arm. As the cuff tightened, she moaned and opened her eyes.
"What's your name?" Max asked.
"Madison. Madison Magenta Smith."
Max looked at Eddie. "See. It's easy to find out that kind of information." He pulled the stethoscope from his ears. "Blood pressure's a little low, but not bad." He removed the cuff and tucked it back in his bag. "When'd you last eat, Madison?"
"Maddie," she mumbled. "Name's Maddie."
"Okay, Maddie." He repeated his question.
She frowned. "What day is it?"
Max let out a snort. "There's your problem. Why do women feel the need to starve themselves? Give me a woman with a little meat on her bones." He looked up at Eddie. "I want you to know I could be dining on lobster right now, along with an escargot appetizer."
"So, those worms you used to eat gave you a taste for the exotic, huh?"
Max attempted to act mad. After all, Eddie had screwed up his evening. Instead, he laughed. "Actually, they weren't too bad with ketchup." He turned his attention back to the girl. Her eyes were closed.
"Maddie."
She didn't respond.
He slapped at her cheek, light, but sharp.
Eddie jumped forward, knocking his arm. "Don't hit her!"
"I'm trying to keep her awake."
"You don't have to slap her."
Eddie disappeared then returned a few seconds later with a damp washcloth. "Here. Try this."
Max took the cloth. "You ever wish things could be like they used to be, back when we were on Avenue H?"
"No shrink stuff. Just fix her arm, okay?"
"Lemme guess. You're not really an asshole, you
Everybody else had given up on Eddie, written him off. Max wasn't ready to do that. It was hard to turn your back on a friend, a friend whose only real crime was waking up one day to find that life had gone on without him.
Eddie was waiting for him at the kitchen door.
"What took you so long?"
He was more agitated than Max had seen him in a long time. Was that good or bad? Max always claimed that any reaction was better than no reaction, but Eddie could be so volatile.
Eddie practically dragged him upstairs.
Lying on Eddie's bed was the palest person Max had ever seen.
"Is she dead?" Max asked, feeling slightly ill.
Eddie slapped the back of Max's head. "Lemme guess. You're not a doctor. You only play one in real life."
It should be refreshing, really, Max told himself. Most people were in awe of him. Not Eddie. Eddie still treated him like the snot-nosed little shit down the street.
"Drugs?" he asked. "Alcohol?"
"Do you always have to think the worst?"
Max unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. It had to be at least ninety in the room. "I like to prepare myself."
"She cut her arm. It bled quite a bit, but it's not bleeding now."
Eddie had done the right thing. Elevated her arm, covered it with a clean towel and applied pressure. Max lifted the makeshift bandage. "You're right. This is going to need stitches."
Max tossed the end of his tie over his shoulder and leaned closer to the girl on the bed. "What's her name?"
Eddie didn't answer.
Max looked up at his friend, his eyebrows lifting in question.
"I don't know."
When they were growing up, Eddie had always felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. He'd felt responsible for everything and everybody. He worried about everything from whether or not all eight-ounce glasses really held eight ounces, to the decay of the country's railway system. He worried about the homeless. The diminishing ozone layer. Germ warfare. The destruction of the rainforest. Pollution.
One day it just got to be too much. One day Eddie just shut the door on the world and he hadn't come out since.
"Just fix her, okay?"
But Eddie was worried now.
Interesting.
"How the hell did you manage to get into trouble without even leaving your place?"
Eddie motioned to the girl on the bed. "Trouble came visiting."
Max opened his case, dug out his blood pressure cuff, and wrapped it around the woman's uninjured arm. As the cuff tightened, she moaned and opened her eyes.
"What's your name?" Max asked.
"Madison. Madison Magenta Smith."
Max looked at Eddie. "See. It's easy to find out that kind of information." He pulled the stethoscope from his ears. "Blood pressure's a little low, but not bad." He removed the cuff and tucked it back in his bag. "When'd you last eat, Madison?"
"Maddie," she mumbled. "Name's Maddie."
"Okay, Maddie." He repeated his question.
She frowned. "What day is it?"
Max let out a snort. "There's your problem. Why do women feel the need to starve themselves? Give me a woman with a little meat on her bones." He looked up at Eddie. "I want you to know I could be dining on lobster right now, along with an escargot appetizer."
"So, those worms you used to eat gave you a taste for the exotic, huh?"
Max attempted to act mad. After all, Eddie had screwed up his evening. Instead, he laughed. "Actually, they weren't too bad with ketchup." He turned his attention back to the girl. Her eyes were closed.
"Maddie."
She didn't respond.
He slapped at her cheek, light, but sharp.
Eddie jumped forward, knocking his arm. "Don't hit her!"
"I'm trying to keep her awake."
"You don't have to slap her."
Eddie disappeared then returned a few seconds later with a damp washcloth. "Here. Try this."
Max took the cloth. "You ever wish things could be like they used to be, back when we were on Avenue H?"
"No shrink stuff. Just fix her arm, okay?"
"Lemme guess. You're not really an asshole, you
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