“Say what?” From the belly of this building, the organist begins to play “Take My Hand, Precious Lord,” yet again. Nausea I’ve been suppressing all week starts to creep. My belly feels like a snake nest hatching, and all the snakes are crawling up my innards and esophagus, trying to escape through my mouth. I gag, clear my throat, try to cough the snakes away.

Ray says, “One minute this kid is living with you and possibly sleeping with your wife. The next he’s smashed in your yard. And all I know is that somewhere between A and B, you vowed to get rid of him.”

I say, “Stop,” but the word sounds strange. My words sound strange. The snakes.

“If you’d have picked up the phone, we wouldn’t be here, but Emily said you wouldn’t talk to me.”

This air is too thick, the light milky. Behind Raymond, a ceramic dead Jesus shines on the wall. “What did you tell Emily?”

“Emily loves you, Bobby.”

“Nick killed himself. He was depressed. He had problems, but he didn’t—he wasn’t doing that other thing. Forget it, please. I picked up on something, but I interpreted it all wrong.”

“I understand.” A stained-glass skylight spits primary colors on Ray’s face. “Like, a lot. That’s why I’m here. Because I picked up on something too, and I sure as hell don’t want to interpret it wrong.”

“What are you saying?”

“That I’m your friend. You can talk to me.”

Raymond isn’t just my friend. He’s my brother, and I love him, but he isn’t listening to orders or silent treatments. He’s forcing me to resort to the cruelest sting. “You don’t know me,” I say, burning my throat on the words, choking on snakes and words. “You think you know what’s good for me, but this is proof that you don’t have a clue. To be honest, it’s freaking me out, Ray. I feel like you’re obsessed with me, like you’re stalking me, and it worries me.” I cough. “I’m uncomfortable. Maybe that’s what you’re picking up on.”

My oldest friend shakes his head, but as a show of disappointment, not a response.

“Nick was Jonah’s friend,” I remind him. “That’s the end of the story.”

Raymond turns away, taunts me, turns back to say, “I’ve always defended you. When people talk shit, I tell them, ‘You don’t know the real Bobby.’ When they say you’ve changed, I stand up for you, but maybe they’re right. Maybe you are just a prick nowadays.”

“I’m not a prick.”