Ah, if only his remarkable cleverness would kick in right now and give him a quick escape route. But in his heart of hearts he knew, indubitably, that such an escape route did not, would not, could not exist. He inhaled and exhaled again, with great control, slowly, staring past Maisie out through the hallway, as if willing a distraction to spontaneously exist that would get him out of this situation. Of the many potential events Eddie had a list of prepared excuses or explanations for, this was not one of them.
In this moment the realization came upon Eddie--although he acknowledged it with great stubbornness and resistance--that he probably would have had to let his secret out eventually. But this wasn't the way it was supposed to happen, and like a child he wanted to continue insisting that this be a tale never told. He continued flipping back and forth between the pictures, a small part of him wanting to go back to that night with Heather and that god damned fuckface Mark, and knock the bastard out before he had a chance to appear that night.
Yet another part of him wanted to confide this secret in Maisie, for he knew her well enough to know that she could be trusted--but he found himself unable to speak the words. "I have not spoken of her, or to her, in many years," was all he managed to say. No; if this secret was to be excavated from his soul then it would have to be dragged out by force, and the force required for such an action was not something that Eddie possessed right now. It was not something he wanted to possess right now.