Within/Without

chapter twenty-three.

Val

At first when Jo announced she had a job interview and would thus need me to watch Charlie for a while, I was begrudging. Today, I was begrudging to do much at all besides lie in my bed and sulk; I even skipped my ten AM class, I'm so out of it. My mind's all over the place. Replaying the moment Simon kissed me, replaying all the moments that followed, replaying the words: I'm a shapeshifter.

So, in a way, I sort of need a break.

I take my niece to the park, which is both a fantastic and terrible idea. Fantastic because it's refreshing to be outside, breathing in crisp, cool winter air, the sun in my face. Terrible because it's cold, and Charlie won't keep her hat on her head, no matter how much I scold her for it. That's the one thing Jo insisted on. "If she doesn't keep her hat on her head, she'll get a cold. If you go outside, make sure she keeps it on, will you?"

Her hat's adorable, by the way, bright pink with a fuzzy pink and white pompom on top. I'm not sure why she doesn't want it.

For good measure, I reach over to tug it down over her ears. She blows a raspberry at me.

"I don't want you to get sick," I say, pinching her cheek, and she grins up at me, a bit of whipped cream from the hot chocolate I bought her caught on her upper lip. When I look at her, here—wide, brown eyes, perfectly chubby cheeks like a doll's, wild curls twining from underneath her hat—I don't understand how anyone could have left her behind. We all knew Jo's ex-husband, Dennis, was no good. I just never knew, not until it happened, that he could be that bad.

Charlie places her hand in mine as we trace the path, careful to stay out of the way of the bikers. The park's calm at this time of day; it's just barely afternoon. Cars roll by on the street on the other side of the trees, a low rumble of tires and horns. On the other side of us is the bay: cool, placid water, the baying calls of seagulls. It smells, faintly, of saltwater and coffee.

"Auntie Val?" asks Charlie, then.

I glance down at her. "Yeah?"

"You came in really late last night, didn't you?" she continues, and I jolt a little, forgetting for moment that she's quite intuitive for a seven-year-old. She's always been observant like that, ever since she could talk, really. "You seem tired, too..."

She doesn't have to finish the sentence; I know what she's asking. "That obvious, huh?" I say, pausing to scout the nearby surroundings for somewhere to sit. I find an empty bench at the edge of the park's lawn. "You don't need to worry about me, Charlie. I'm just fine."

I start to pull her towards the bench, figuring she wants a break, but she tightens her grip on my hand, drawing me to a halt. When I glance back at her, her face is all screwed up, lips puckered and brow furrowed.

"Charlie?"

"Auntie Val, you're keeping secrets from me, aren't you? Mommy always says—"

"Secrets secrets are no fun, unless they're shared with everyone," I grumble with her in unison. "I know exactly what Mommy tells you. Mommy used to tell me the same stuff when we were kids."

Charlie harrumphs, folding her arms so suddenly she spills a bit of her hot chocolate on the sidewalk. "So you'll tell me?"

I study her for a moment: that young face, still fresh with innocence. It's possible that this is a mistake, what I'm about to do—but I figure I've made so many of those lately, one more probably won't hurt that much.

Besides, if I don't talk to someone about this soon, I might burst.

"Okay," I say, and only then does she let me guide her towards the bench. "But you have to promise me you won't tell anyone. It's a big, big secret. Think you can handle it?"

Charlie plops herself down on the bench, puffing her chest. "I know I can handle it!"

I smile a little, sitting down beside her. "It's a little crazy."

"That's okay."

"You might not believe me."

"You'd be surprised!"

I probably won't be. I sit for a while, trying to decide the best way to phrase this to a seven-year-old. I barely know how to phrase it to myself. "I met...I met someone. But he's not just any someone. He's real magical, if you can believe that."

Charlie blinks, her eyes alight. "Like a wizard?"

I exhale, leaning my head back, shutting my eyes. By telling her this, I'm admitting it's real. Aren't I? What am I thinking? "Kinda. Something like that, yes. He has...special powers."

Charlie prods me in the side, as if ordering me to wake up. I glance sideways at her as she asks, "What kind of special powers?"

"He can change the way he looks," I tell her. Tapping her nose, I go on, "Like you—you look like Charlie, every single day. Same brown eyes and black hair and little button nose, right? And I look like Auntie Val everyday. But this someone I met? Sometimes he looks like other people, with other names. He's what you call...a shapeshifter."

"Shapeshifter," repeats Charlie, in awe. I still can't really tell if she's believing me, or just humoring me. "He sounds really cool."

"Except," I say, pivoting to face her. She has her legs folded in her lap, her hot chocolate set down on the bench between us. Wind blows flyaway strands of hair into her face; she brushes them away mindlessly, all her attention riveted on me and magical Simon. "Except he lied to me. Turned out I've known this shapeshifter for a long, long time, much longer than I thought I did. I thought I was...growing to like him, I guess, until I found out he's been lying all this time. It makes me wonder if I know him at all."

The smile on Charlie's face fades into a thoughtful frown. "And that's why you're sad, Auntie Val?"

I nod. "And that's why I'm sad."

Charlie sits in silence for a moment, as if mulling this all over, and I watch her face, the little furrow to her brow, the gears turning in her mind. She's a smart one, and no wonder she is. My sister's raising her, after all.

And for a few moments more it's only the cool, almost biting breeze off the sea, the warm scent of hot chocolate in the air, the yelps of little children running after kites across the lawn.

Charlie touches my leg. "Maybe he lied because he was scared."

I just look at her. "Scared?"

She nods exuberantly. "Like, maybe he was scared you wouldn't like him anymore if he told you. Or maybe he was scared you'd end up getting hurt, somehow. That's what they say in all the movies. That they lied to protect someone. So maybe he was doing that. Protecting you."

"You really think so?" I say, biting my lip. I don't want to, but I think about it, about the horror in Simon's eyes, the shaking way he called my name. He was scared. I know that for a fact. It doesn't change the fact that he kept it from me, all this time.

Charlie nods. "I really think so."

I exhale. "I'm scared too, Charlie. I'm scared because I never knew, you know, shapeshifters existed. I'm scared because I still have so many questions. I'm scared because I don't know if I can trust him, and I'm scared because, after all this time...I haven't ever really met anyone like him."

Charlie sticks out her tongue. "Ew! Are you in love with him?"

I sputter, my face warming. "That's not what I said. That's not at all what I said—"

But Charlie's laughing, full-out giggling, her eyes squinting shut and her mouth wide open. Soon enough, just because she is, I'm laughing too, and it's the first time I've even smiled like this for hours. Though it's the afternoon, it's the first time today I feel truly awake.

Charlie pats my face with her chubby fingers. "I think if you really really like him," she says, "it doesn't matter what he is."

"Even if he's a liar?"

"It's okay because he was just scared."

"But I'm scared."

Charlie grins, leaning in close, as if she's got a burning secret to tell. But I've told all the burning secrets here.

"Be scared together," she whispers to me. "It's so much easier that way."