A/N This is a sequel to an earlier posting, "Epiphany." I recommend you read that story first, as much of the background for what happens in "Reality" is established in the earlier posting.

This story picks up where "Epiphany" left off, just after the Curtis children have buried their parents. Scout has had her epiphany, and now the whole family tries to adjust to the complexity of their new life without their parents.

REALITY

At my grandparents' funerals we always had people over to the house afterward. I guess the idea was that you were supposed to sit around and remember the person, talk about what a great life they had. That works OK with grandparents, I guess, but in the case of my parents, it was a little more difficult to find any positives about the situation, so we hadn't planned anything. I think we all just wanted to go home. The weekend of waiting had sucked the very life right out of us.

What we hadn't anticipated was that since we had no official wake, there was a throng of people who wanted to talk to us at the cemetery, and as much as I had hoped to avoid it, we still had to hear the endless stream of "Sorry for your loss." What's worse, since we weren't at the funeral home, there was nowhere to sit. I was shocked at how many people wanted to talk to me. My basketball coach was there and that meant a lot to me. As the afternoon wore on, I was feeling worse by the moment and by the time Two-Bit drove us back to the funeral home to get Darry's truck, I was in pretty bad shape. I couldn't wait to get home and go to bed.

I crawled into the truck, feeling like I was going to die. I had somehow managed to make Pony take the middle seat again, and Soda had gone home with Two-Bit. Darry had pulled out of the funeral home lot and was on the main road back toward home when I realized I would never make it.

"Pull over, Darry," I said.

"What?" He looked confused.

"I'm sick, Darry, I'm gonna be sick." I'm sure I didn't look so good because Pony hopped right on board.

"Come on Darry, I don't want her getting sick all over me! Pull over."

Darry pulled over to the side of the road. I burst out of the door and raced to the shrubs along the road. I fell to my knees and got sick, miraculously managing to avoid getting anything on myself. When I was done I sat back up, feeling like I just might die.

Darry and Pony surrounded me, looking panicked. "Scout, you OK?" Darry asked.

"No, actually, I'm sick," I said, holding my head. "Didn't you notice?"

"Don't be a wiseass Scout," Pony said. "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm not being a wiseass, Pony. I'm sick. I've felt sick all day. Can we please go home now so I can at least be sick at my own house?" I got up and climbed back into the truck. Pony climbed into Darry's side to the middle and I leaned against the passenger door the whole way home. The coolness of the window felt good on my forehead. When we got home Darry opened the door and I nearly fell out.

"Whoa," Darry said, as he grabbed me. "You don't look good, kiddo. I think we'd better get you to bed." I had never heard a better idea. Darry carried me into my room and since I was dying to get into more comfortable clothes I asked him to get out my pajamas and put them on the bed. He did and left the room, saying he'd be right back to check on me. I heard Soda talking to Pony as Darry left.

"Well, it's probably the stress. It's been a tough time for her." If this is just stress, Soda, I thought, we'd all be sick.

I stripped out of my funeral clothes and put on my pajamas. I slid under my sheets and buried my head in my pillow. I intended to sleep forever. I don't know if anyone ever came in to check on me, I was asleep immediately.

That plan was interrupted, however, as I awakened to the unmistakable sensation that I was again going to be sick. I whipped back the covers, ran down the hall to the bathroom, and slammed the door behind me as I just barely made it to the toilet. I was enormously thankful for having just cleaned it the day before. I flushed and sat back against the wall, my hand on my forehead.

Suddenly: a knock.

"What?"

"Scout, are you OK?"

"No, actually, I'm puking. Do you mind?"

"Can I come in?" It was Soda.

"I guess so," I said. "But I don't recommend it, if you don't want to catch this." The door opened and there they were, all three of them, looking concerned. I just lay back on the cool tile and tried to summon the strength to get up.

Soda sat next to me and touched my forehead. "You're hot," he said.

"Yeah, I know." I said, "I'm sick. I told you that." I sat up, pulled myself to my feet, and pushed them all out of my way as I headed back to my bed. I crawled back in and still they were all there, looking down at me.

"What?" I asked. "What do you want?"

"You're sick, Scout," Soda said. "We want to help."

"So I'm sick. Big deal. I've been sick a hundred times before and all of you couldn't have cared less. I got better every other time and I'll get better this time too. Just leave me alone and let me be sick. It was probably my own chicken that did it anyway," I glared at Soda. I was just being mean about his comment from the night before; I didn't even know why.

Soda looked hurt. I didn't have the energy to feel bad.

"We just want to help you, like Mom did when we were sick."

"Well stop stressing yourselves about it. I'm fine. Just leave me alone and let me sleep. I just want to sleep."

They all looked a little hurt, but I was in no position to be tiptoeing around their feelings. "Please, you guys. Go away."

"All right, well, you call if you need us."

"I'm sure I will."

"Night Scout. Feel better." Soda again. He must have been elected spokesperson.

"Good night," I said, "Shut the door."