"Hey, hey, I'm not laughing at you," he assures her, looking a little better even though the worst has yet to come, "I just... Laughing at how nice you're being, I guess." So... all right, maybe he is kind of laughing at her, then. But he never gets that kind of attention--no one tries to tell him that anything is okay.

(Michael is the exception. Michael is always the exception. But that's another thing.)

But he stops his laughing as quickly as he can. Maybe the nerves are making him a little giggly; the good spirit is hard to force down and mixes too well with that uneasy feeling of dread that's lingering in his bones, making him heavy.

"But it's all right. I mean it, I want to show you."