Something I Don't Know

3: it is apparently possible to crash your own intervention

When I make it back to my old house, the one in the subway tunnel that moves around every few weeks or so (this time, it's near the High Museum), I walk into what looks like an intervention.

Well, not an intervention, I suppose, because those normally start out quiet and awkward. This, however, is the precise opposite of that: everyone is yelling, and when I say everyone, I mean everyone. Sybil is screaming at my dad and telling him he should do something for God's sake and Midge is trying to tell Sybil to calm down even though Midge looks miles from calm herself and then there's Safiya and Jamie screaming at each other (I don't even know what) and even River's here, for some reason.

I kinda just stand there at the mouth of the kitchen, my head still aching from, you know, being socked. It's at least five minutes before they even realize I'm there.

"He's your son!" Sybil's busy screaming. "And you're telling me you're just gonna sit here and not report that your son is missing? He could be dead, for all we know—"

Midge looks very green. "Please don't say that, Sybil."

"I'm sure he's fine," says River, tiredly.

Jamie wails, "But what if he's not?"

"Well, sitting here and crying about it isn't going to get us anywhere, Jamie!" exclaims Safiya, and Jamie bares his teeth at her, a gesture she returns without hesitation.

I should probably be saying something, but I kinda don't want to, because all of this terribly entertaining.

Dad, who is taking up the most space in the room with his mountainous shoulders and the even more mountainous horns sprouting from his temples, shakes his head. "Frankly, Sybil, I'm not sure we raised the same person, here. Grey is a fine young man, and stronger than you think."

"Oh, but Al, they could have him chained to the floor somewhere, and they could be cutting off every single one of his toes, one by one by one—"

"I still have all ten toes, I think," I say, and the sound of my voice is met by a chorus of gasps from around the room. Midge looks like she's about to faint. "Thank you for the concern though, Sybil."

For a moment, the six of them just blink at me.

Then Midge bursts into tears and Safiya slumps into the chair she's sitting next to and Jamie—like I knew he would—nearly tackles me, burying his head in my chest and squeezing me so tight that it's hard to breathe. River just looks relieved.

"I was so worried when you didn't come back to get me," says Jamie, into my shirt. "I was so, so worried. You can't go off and do that; you can't leave me here—"

"Jamie," I say, patting his wild tuft of snowy hair. "I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere. Chill out."

He looks up at me, mismatched eyes wide and teary. "But—"

"So, are you going to tell us what you've been up to, demonboy?" snaps Safiya. She's seated in one of the chairs around our tiny circular dining table, her legs crossed and her dark hair pooled down one shoulder. "Or are you just going to stand there and let the mutt squeeze your insides out?"

I glance at Jamie to see if he has picked up on the insult. Judging by the way he's chewing his collar so intensely, it doesn't seem like he has.

I look up, and meet Midge's eyes. Her eyebrows are risen, her mouth in a gentle frown, and by hell, it's one of the softest expressions I've ever seen her wear, and I almost don't want to tell her. I keep replaying that moment outside of her house: I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you, and I could have prevented it.