Charlie spent the majority of the next day enduring his parents driving around town reestablishing the few ties they had left in this small hamlet. Over a few hours of this process, he had fielded the same inane small-talk questions from curious, well-meaning not-quite-acquaintances who wished to know every minute detail of his life over and over again: if he was doing well in school (he'd graduated high school at the top of his class and was majoring in English at the University of Minnesota, and yes, he actually was planning to be a writer, instead of something "more useful"), whether he had a girlfriend (he had for almost four months, thank you very much), when he was planning on coming back to try and reopen the "family business" (never, and he wasn't really certain whether being a barber could be considered a "family business" in the first place), and so on. The only even remotely interesting part of the day had been when Sally was asked about what it was like to be in high school.
"Oh, it's all right, I guess," she had said. "But I don't know why they called it that, though. It doesn't look very high to me."
Sally had not become more skilled in the art of common sense during her time in high school, apparently. At least she'd fit right in at college, Charlie thought.
Fortunately for Charlie, his patience with the seemingly endless interviews paid off when it reached dinnertime, as it was then when they were supposed to meet the Van Pelts for dinner. It would be the first time he'd seen Linus in person since he'd moved away. Even though they'd been good friends and confidants as children, though, he honestly wasn't sure how it would go.
Charlie and Linus had been very close for more or less the entirety of their respective childhoods. But ever since the Browns had left, Charlie hadn't heard anything about how he had been. He'd heard him talking to Sally on occasion, but something always seemed off about how he was acting. It was the same spiritual, wise-beyond-his-years Linus he'd known growing up, but more and more it began to sound as though he'd become discouraged, as if he was starting to doubt himself. Normally, this could have been dismissed as a lingering side effect of going through high school, but from what he'd heard, whatever Linus was dealing with sounded deeper than just bog-standard high school angst. The weighty sighs and long pauses that overtook his otherwise cheerful discourse with Sally had to be symptomatic of something ponderous gnawing away at his soul.
Charlie then decided that next time he pondered something like this, he would try to use a narrative voice that wasn't so overly dramatic.
The family piled back into the car—having completed the final leg of the prolonged reunion tour they'd embarked on—and drove to the other side of town, toward an area that Charlie couldn't quite remember ever having seen as a child. It was probably a product of the town's expansion during the five years he'd been gone. The car came to a rest in the parking lot of what appeared to be a small, family-owned Italian restaurant by the name of "Castucci's." Sally had dozed off again somehow (Charlie had always wondered how she got to sleep so fast), so Charlie was the first one out of the car as his parents tried to rouse the girl. The Van Pelts were already out front, and as a result, as he was getting out of the car, Charlie was able to look straight into his old friend Linus' face.
There's quite a lot of debate as to whether multiple emotions can truly be expressed simultaneously by a single person; some argue that the human body can only reliably represent one emotional response at a time, thus meaning that someone claiming to have seen someone exhibit even complementary emotions at rates of greater than one at a time were simply mistaken, instead progressing through each apparent emotion displayed at a fast yet still sequential pace. But Charlie could have sworn that as he saw Linus from halfway across the parking lot, he noticed no less than four different expressions on his friend's face in that moment, in no particular order at all: shock, joy, confusion, and relief.
He made his way forward through the mostly-deserted parking lot toward the family. Lucy (who, in case it wasn't clear, was obviously there as well) stepped forward as Charlie drew close. Turning toward her younger brother, she said, with a tone somewhere between triumphant, mischievous, and amused, "Surprise."
Charlie couldn't help but smile. He extended his hand. "Hey, Linus. Good to see you again."
He tried to say this, at least, but Linus had become so overcome with emotion that he had run forward and pulled Charles into a tight hug. After a moment of surprise, Charles couldn't help but return it.
In that hug, it seemed as though Linus was telling a story—not just any story, but his own; his fears, his doubts, his frustrations—everything that had held him back seemed to have gone into the hug, and just as quickly had melted away. In a way, Charlie, too, felt just a little more secure, knowing that he was finally able to see his best friend again.
As they finally broke apart, Charlie had so many things he wanted to ask—questions that, on further inspection, were actually quite similar to the questions he'd only just a little while ago shunned as annoying. But before he could begin, he was interrupted by a high-pitched noise coming up from behind. He turned just in time to see a blonde and blue blur charging past him, and when he looked back, he saw Linus on the ground, having been glomped by a squealing Sally. He sighed and looked at Lucy, who was failing to stifle a giggle.
The party at last was able to pry the two apart and dust off Linus. Then they all went into the restaurant. They had a lot of catching up to do.