“I’m sorry I’m late. I almost didn’t make it.” James was a little out of breath, and a fine sheen of perspiration dotted his forehead. “I was just at the house. I took a few things, but the rest is yours. I wanted to tell you that I have an apartment in Hickory now.”

Ah, Evanelle thought. That was the reason James wanted Fred to meet him here, so James would know when Fred wasn’t going to be in the house and he could take things out without having to discuss it first with Fred. One look at Fred, and Evanelle knew he’d figured that out too.

“I’m taking early retirement next year, and I’ll probably move to Florida. Or maybe Arizona. I haven’t decided yet.”

“So that’s it?” Fred asked, and Evanelle could tell there were too many things he wanted to say, all fighting to get out. Ultimately, the only thing that escaped was “That’s really it?”

“For months, I was angry. Now I’m just tired,” James said, and he leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “I’m tired of trying to show you the way. I dropped out of school for you, I came here to live with you because you didn’t know what to do. I had to tell you that it was all right for people to know you were gay. I had to drag you out of the house to show you. I had to plan the meals and what we did with our free time. I thought I was doing the right thing. I fell in love with your vulnerability in college, and when your father died and you had to leave, I was terrified you wouldn’t be able to make it on your own. It’s taken me a long time to realize that I did you a great disservice, Fred. And myself also. By trying to make you happy, I prevented you from knowing how to figure it out on your own. By trying to give you happiness, I lost my own.”

“I can do better. Just tell me—” Fred stopped, and in one terrible moment he realized that everything James said was true.

James squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then he stood. “I should be going.”

“James, please don’t,” Fred whispered, and grabbed James’s hand.

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep telling you how to live. I’ve almost forgotten how to do it myself.” James hesitated. “Listen, that culinary instructor at Orion—Steve, the one who comes into your store and talks recipes with you—you should get to know him better. He likes you.”

Fred let his hand drop, and he looked as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

Without another word, James walked slowly away, so tall and thin and stiff-legged that he looked like a circus performer on stilts.