“But?”
The house creaked around us. I could hear my mother singing as she got ready for bed. Ox laughed downstairs at something Joe said. Jessie and Dominique were in the kitchen, drinking tea and talking quietly. Gordo and Mark were on the porch, close together and wrapped in blankets, sipping beer from cans. “But this is our home,” I said quietly. “It’s not perfect. I don’t think it ever will be. There’s always going to be something. And yet, even when I was gone, even when I was slipping, I thought of this place. Kelly and Joe. Mom. The others. They’re here. They’re home.”
“You came after me,” he whispered.
“I did.”
“Like Kelly went after Robbie.”
I swallowed with an audible click. “I suppose it’s kind of like that.”
And then he said, “What do I smell like to you?”
“Do we really need to—”
He said, “Grass. Lake water. Sunshine. That’s what Robbie says Kelly smells like to him.”
“When did you—”
“Kelly says Robbie smells like home.”
“I don’t—”
He pushed on. “And Mark said it’s dirt and leaves and rain for Gordo. Joe says it’s candy canes and pinecones. Epic and awesome. I don’t know what that means.”
“No one does. It’s just—”
“And Ox told me Joe smells like lightning.”
“You asked him?”
He squinted at me. “I didn’t know. So I asked. That’s how you find out what you don’t know.”
“You can’t just go around asking people what others smell like.”
“You can,” he said. “I did. It’s not hard. They have that. You think we have that. What do I smell like to you?”
I was cornered. I thought about leaving. Going downstairs. Getting away from him. From this.
I didn’t.
I said, “One of the first memories I have is being in the forest with my dad. Deep in the forest. I was on his shoulders. His hands were wrapped around my calves. I was… two? I think. I don’t remember what he was talking about. I just remember what the trees smelled like. How old it was. How much bigger it was than me. I felt… small. But safe. I was with my dad. And I knew nothing could ever hurt me.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I smell like you sitting on your dad?”
I groaned. “No. Christ, that’s not what I’m—it was the forest, okay? I was happy. Above all else, I remember being happy. My dad was smiling and laughing, and the forest just felt so… alive. So green.”
“Green is relief.”
“Yeah. But that’s not all. It’s more than that. Grander. It’s strong. And all-encompassing. There’s nothing like it in all the world.” I couldn’t look at him. It was too much.
“That’s what I smell like?”
I nodded.
“Oh,” he said. “Okay.”
And then he climbed up onto the bed and slid over close to the wall. He pulled the covers back and then over him, laying his head on the pillow. He rested his hands on his chest as he stared at the ceiling.