Within/Without

chapter forty-seven.

    "Hm," Noah says, then rustles around in his pocket for something. He recovers a small tin and pops the lid off with his thumb, revealing the origin of the toothpick between his teeth. "Mint-flavored toothpick, brother mine?"

    "I'll pass."

    Noah shrugs and slips the tin back into his pocket. He looks up toward the convenient store's doors, which Larry is just now tossing open. Seemingly prepared enough for the short remainder of our trip, Noah slides back behind the wheel, pulling the door shut beside him as he does. "By the way."

    "By the way...?"

    "I showed Val your journal collection."

    "You—" A cold feeling spreads through me that I can only really describe as the physical sensation of oh shit. "You did what now?"

    "Shh! Don't yell!" Noah says. He jabs his thumb in Val's direction. "You'll wake Sleeping Beauty."

    I am not done with this subject; I, in fact, am far from done with this subject, but I don't get to say anything else about it before Larry jumps back into the passenger seat and thumps the ceiling above him with his fingers. "Step on it, cousin," he orders. Noah gladly puts the car back in drive. "I really want to get this homecoming over with."

Noah has barely stopped the car when the front doors fly open and my parents and Rose come spilling out onto the circular drive. It's almost like it was the last time we saw them, when it was Great Granny Etta's birthday, except they're a lot more frantic. If they're trying to hide their concern, they are doing a monstrously bad job of it.

    Larry climbs slowly from the passenger seat, his mouth pressed into a firm line. I notice Dad eyeing him with a frown, his eyebrows pulled low over his eyes. "Larry," Dad says, cautiously.

    "Hank," Larry says, just as cautiously. He's never called my parents Uncle Hank or Aunt Mary, probably because the age difference between his mother and my dad is so great that Larry is, in fact, about the same age as my parents. "It's been a while since I've been here. Your home is lovely as ever."

    Dad's eyes grow narrower. "Thank you."

    Everything seems to happen at once. Mom crashes into Noah and shakes his shoulders and though I can't exactly hear her, she seems to be interrogating him about something. Val leans to look out the window, turns back to me, and says, "You didn't tell me you were rich." I start to tell her that I'm not, exactly, but then Rose comes around and throws open the back door. "Can you stand?" she asks, holding out her arm.

    "What? Of course I can. Just—" I'm stunned, however, when I stand to step out of the car and stars explode in front of my eyes and my balance falters. The ground seems closer than it was a second ago. A headache surges at my temples again; I stagger forward into Rose's arms. "Oh."

    She pats my head gently. "Oh, precious. Oh, it's alright. Let's get you inside, okay?"

    I want to tell her to stop calling me that—precious—like I'm still the little boy she snuck extra hot chocolate to in the winter ("All the whip on top, just like you like it!"), like I'm still the kid who hugged her fiercely whenever she brought home classic book collections for me. I want to tell Noah and Mom and Larry and Dad and even Val to stop looking at me like that. Eyes round and shiny, mouths parted.

    They're looking at me like I'm about to die.

    For a second, it feels like someone else's story. I'm an old man, maybe, or perhaps just a sick young man—weathered after years of battle with an illness no one could name, let alone cure. My body's heavy, my mind is fading. I've come to the place where I was raised to say goodbye to it all, finally. To say my last words. To close my eyes. To take that wavering, final breath. It feels like it's happening to someone else. This makes the sudden realization that it isn't all the more terrifying.