Page 93 of Blacklist

THE PAST

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” I say for the hundredth time since I picked Sterling up in front of his dormitory. My hand taps the steering wheel, out of beat with the song playing on the radio. That’s how I feel: out of sync. I’m not sure that this is going to help.

“You can’t avoid it,” he says. He reaches and turns off the music.

I’m still tapping the wheel, trying to disperse all the emotions building inside me. “I know.”

His hand closes over mine, drawing it away from the wheel. Sterling weaves his fingers through mine and holds it. “It’s going to be okay, Lucky.”

For the first time his nickname for me doesn’t feel like an insult. It feels like a promise. I cling to it along with the rest of his words. Sterling knows because he’s been through this. He survived it. I can survive it. I don’t know why it comforts me to tell myself this over and over, but it does. I guess I need something to believe in.

“Distract me.” The drive to the cemetery is nearly as bad as what’s waiting there. I can’t stand thinking about it—imagining it—anymore.

He pauses, the pressure of his hand holding mine increasing. I dare a glance over and see his eyebrows knit together in concentration like he’s trying to find a safe topic. “In New York, there’s a place called Eataly that’s half a city block of Italian food and groceries.”

“What?” I can’t help laughing at his choice. He grins in response. A real smile from Sterling—not a smirk—is like a rainbow coming out from the clouds. Unexpected. Beautiful. Seeing it can’t help but brighten the day. “Italy? Like the country?”

“No. E-A-T-A-L-Y,” he corrects me. He begins to describe it to me. The fishmonger station piled with crabs and whole fish on ice. Across from that a butcher. The smell of baking bread rising over the crowd and tempting visitors to glass cases full of loaves of every shape and size. Restaurants for pasta and pizza and fish—relaxed or fancy—are tucked around every corner.

“What’s your favorite?” I ask. The warmth of his hand seeps under my skin just like the rest of him is starting to.

“I’ve only ever gotten the gelato and a loaf for Francie,” he says. His eyes dart to the window. I’ve asked the wrong question again, but I’m starting to find my answers in between the ones he gives me. He’s told me before that he’s poor. A foster kid. He wouldn’t have the money to buy all that imported stuff. But I know why he’s shared it with me. It wasn’t only to distract me. It’s because he knows the best distraction is desire. It’s wanting something you can’t have.

With my hand in his, I realize he might be the only distraction I actually need.

“We’ll go there sometime,” I find myself saying, “and eat our way through.”

“You think you can handle that? You just started eating pizza without a fork,” he says.

“I’m all in, baby.” I mean it. “So, who’s Francie?”

I’m a little scared to ask, because her name’s come up before and he didn’t like me asking about her.

“My foster mom,” he says quietly.

“She adopted you?” I ask.

“Nah.” He shrugs like this isn’t a big deal but he’s careful to avoid looking at me and his hand tightens a little around mine. “I’ve only been with her a couple of years. It’s too late to adopt me now anyway.”

Sterling might act like it doesn’t bother him, but it does. I have a million more questions I want to ask about how he wound up in foster care and what happened to his parents, but I know better than to ask. He might be relaxing his guard around me but he still has teeth. I don’t know what will cause him to bite.

“Well, if she likes good bread, she’s alright in my book,” I say, turning the topic back to the subject of food.

“Francie loves to cook,” he says. “She’s taught me how to cook a bunch of stuff.”

“Really? I barely know how to make toast.”

He arches an eyebrow, his lips twitching. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me, Lucky.”

“And why is that?”

“Do you really what me to answer that question?” he asks.

“Nope.” I laugh, shaking my head. We both know the answer. “You can teach me how to cook.”

“How about I just cook for you instead?”

“Deal.”