Where We Belong (32 page)

I wanted to say, “Maybe that could change now. Or sometime. Maybe when she gets over this huge loss.”

I didn’t. I still felt like his life was none of my business. If he wanted to tell me about it, that was fine. That was up to him. But I didn’t feel like I had the right to comment much.

I said, “I’m glad you had a good moment with your brother.”

“Well,” he said. “A tough moment. I guess it was good, though.”

“What did you say? When he said that?”

“Not much. Just what I tell him a million times a day. That he doesn’t have to worry about anything anymore.”

Long, fairly comfortable silence. I knew that was all he’d called to tell me. And I wasn’t sure where that left us.

After a while, when he didn’t rush off the phone, I said, “Would it be okay if I told you something that’s going on with me?”

“Of course. I’d like that.”

“I’m not sure it feels right, though. When you’re down there going through all the stuff you’re going through.”

“Please do. It would be good to get out of my own head for a change.”

“I think we’re going to have to put Sophie in some kind of a home.”

A beat of silence. I wondered who was more shocked to hear me say those words out loud.

“Oh, dear. That’s too bad. I thought it would solve everything if you could live in the apartment.”

“Yeah, we all did. I’m not sure what went wrong with that. It’s like she knows Rigby is with me, so she thinks she should be allowed to be with us all the time. I’ve had to be in the apartment with Rigby, or leave her in the apartment with them, until Sophie goes to school in the morning, and from after our walk till she goes to sleep. And in the morning, Sophie opens the apartment door and comes up the back stairs and lets herself in through the doggie door. I don’t let her stay, of course. I walk her right back out again. But she was in your house twice, for about a minute each time. No, not even that long. Seconds. But still. Sooner or later, I had to tell you.”

“Even though I never would have known.”

“Even though you never would have known.”

“Maybe when I get back, it’ll be more like it was when we were on the other side of the fence.”

“Maybe. That’s what we’re hoping for, of course. But my mom’s already made up her mind that she doesn’t want to leave this place. Which I sort of don’t blame her for. Whatever place we found, we’d probably just get thrown out of it again. That being homeless thing was scary.”

“Maybe it really would be the best thing for all. Including Sophie.”

“I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be hard for any seven-year-old kid to get taken away from everything they’ve ever known?”

“I guess it would.”

“And Sophie’s even worse with change than most kids.”

“I guess I’m sorry I ever said that.”

“You don’t have to be. Maybe it
is
the best thing. Not because it’s good, but maybe because all the other things are even worse. I don’t know. I just know I was hoping we could wait until she was old enough that it would be more like a normal time to leave your family. And I keep getting this feeling that without her, there’s no family. Just me and my mom. That doesn’t feel like a family, exactly. That just feels like two people.”

Long silence. I realized I was done. I’d said all I had in me to say. The same feeling I got when he was done talking, earlier. I watched shadows on the wall and wondered how to wrap this up.

“Well, if nothing else,” he said, “you reminded me that I’m not the only one who’s got it hard right now.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say.

“You know I’ll work with you as best I can when I get back.”

“I do. I do know that. But I also know it’s your life. It’s your retirement. And you worked hard for it, for a long time. And you have a right to it. You have a right to have it the way you want it.”

First nothing.

Then he said, “I might have been wrong about the alone thing. It’s not what I had it made out to be.”

“I still like it, myself. Besides, you also wanted uncomplicated. You still want uncomplicated, don’t you?”

“I’m on the fence about that. Other people always bring complications. That’s just the nature of human relationships. You can’t separate people from their complications. Uncomplicated and alone are more or less the same thing. I don’t know. I’m still thinking about that. And my thinking is probably skewed right now, anyway. I should let you get some sleep. We should both get some sleep. Maybe things will look a little better in the morning.”

“Maybe,” I said.

But I didn’t think they would.

“I’m sorry you’re having a hard time,” he said.

“I’m sorry
you’re
having a hard time,” I said.

“Sleep well,” he said.

“Goodnight,” I said.

Then I hung up the phone and hardly slept at all.

After a couple of hours of not sleeping, I dragged my little trunk out from under Paul’s bed and opened it with the key, which, by that time, I was keeping on the ring with Paul’s house keys. I was careful not to look at the note from Nellie, or
The Tibetan Book of the Dead
, or the hundred-dollar bill. Or at my dad’s watch and wallet and ring. I couldn’t exactly not see those things, but I was careful not to let my eyes rest there long.

I took out my Himalayas book and locked the truck again and slid it back under the bed. Then I sat propped up with pillows for a couple of hours and traveled to Tibet and Nepal. Where I hadn’t been for a long time.

Only one bit of trouble. It was hard not to think about Nellie. She kept coming in through the back door in my head. I kept pushing her out and locking up again. But it was never a very good lock job. Because she always found her way back in.

One thing I can say for sure. She did not travel to Tibet with me that night. I was a solo traveler on that trip. Just like in the old days.

When my eyes got too tired and grainy and sore, I closed the book. Rigby was lying with her back up against my hip, her legs dangling off the bed. I petted her, and she woke up and stretched those impossibly long legs even farther over the edge.

“Wish I could travel with
you
,” I said. “You’re like the perfect person to be with. Except you’re not a person. Well. In some ways, you sort of are.”

I left the book out on the bedside table. Because I could do that at Paul’s. I had no idea how long I’d get to live that wonderful way. I just knew that, whatever happened, someday my life would be like that again. Someday, I would live in a place where everything was safe sitting out. Somehow, I would get there.

I just didn’t know where “there” was. Or how long I had to wait.

Paul didn’t call again for weeks. And nothing else happened that was really worth reporting. Just some fishing trips, and this one tiny moment.

It was after six in the evening, and we were all in the apartment. Rigby was lying on the rug, with Sophie right beside her. The late-afternoon sun was glaring through the glass of the door, and it fell over both of them and made them look the way a manger decoration looks at Christmas. That spooky, almost supernatural amount of light. A halo for a whole scene.

My mother was staring at them.

After a minute of staring, she said, “How old is that dog?”

Truthfully, I’d wondered when she was going to wonder.

“Old,” I said.

And that was the end of that conversation. It was never brought up again.

Next time I heard from Paul, it was almost three weeks later. And it wasn’t the same as the other times at all. It wasn’t late. He didn’t call to tell me what hurt most in what was happening to him. He sounded closed up. Far away. I don’t mean his voice sounded like it was coming from far away. It was the same volume as always. I mean he sounded like he was somewhere else.

“I’m coming home tomorrow,” he said.

I was hoping he meant for a visit. So Rigby wouldn’t think he’d forgotten her. I wanted a lot more notice when he was coming home for real. Not that notice would have helped much. There wasn’t a lot I could’ve done to prepare. But I felt like it would help me prepare on the inside. But maybe that’s just a story I told myself.

“For a visit? Or did Dan…”

“Dan’s gone,” he said. Just like that. Flat.

It reminded me of something. Or somebody. But I didn’t have enough time to think what. Or who.

“Oh. I’m sorry. When did that happen?”

“Last night while we were all asleep.”

“Oh. What about Rachel, though? Doesn’t she need somebody with her?”

“Apparently not. She just told me she needs some alone time.”

I started to say, “Ouch.” At the last minute, I changed it to, “Oh.”

That couldn’t have been a fun thing to hear. I mean, in addition to the fact that his brother just died. But I knew if somebody had said something that hurt me, the last thing I’d want is somebody pointing out the obvious. As in “That must have hurt.” So I left it alone.

“Rigby will be so thrilled to see you,” I said.

“Yeah. That’ll be nice.” His voice sounded softer. “I’ll probably get in around late afternoon. Want me to call from the road? Tell you more about what time?”

“No, it’s fine. It’ll be good to see you whenever you get here.”

I could tell from the silence that he was a little surprised to hear me say that. But I wasn’t sure why. It’s like we’d lost all that friendship progress we’d made while he was away.

“See you tomorrow, then,” he said.

We said our goodbyes, and I hung up the phone. And it hit me. What he’d reminded me of. The old Paul. From before.

Paul from the other side of the fence.

When I heard the tires of his car crunching on the driveway, I ran to the apartment and got Sophie and Rigby and brought them down to meet him. I knew he wouldn’t want to see my mom. And I knew he wouldn’t want to come home to screaming. Which he would have, if I hadn’t let Sophie come down the stairs with us.

Rigby smacked me with her tail a few times, no matter how hard I tried to stay clear of it, because she just couldn’t hold still. She kept lifting her front legs off the ground, rearing up. As long as I’d known her, I was still amazed by how tall she could be.

Sophie jumped up and down like a kid on a pogo stick, because she always picked up on what Rigby was feeling. Something struck me. Not for the first time, but in a different way. At a different level. That’s why she was almost always calm when Rigby was around. She was imitating the inside of the dog by calming down.