“You know, kiddo… you don’t really always have to stay and help your mom.”
I didn’t answer, because my mouth was too full.
“When you have a kid, it’s this huge responsibility. There’s not much getting out of it. If it goes wrong, you’re in it all the same. But you didn’t have a kid.”
I swallowed hard. Twice. That still left some pizza to talk around.
“Who would help her if I didn’t?”
“I know this sounds terrible… and it may be hard for you to understand from where you’re sitting… but I don’t think that’s your problem.”
“I can’t just leave. Sophie’s father just left. He just sort of wandered off when he figured out it was going to be hard.”
“I don’t think that’s your problem, either. I’m not sure you can make up for other people’s letdowns with other people.”
“She couldn’t take care of Sophie alone. Nobody could.”
“Well, then, how will you do it? When you’re both much older? Like, after your mom’s gone?”
I took another huge bite of pizza. The edge of the crust scratched the roof of my mouth as I chewed.
She said, “You want to talk about something else, don’t you?”
I nodded. Hard.
“Okay. Sorry. What?”
I swallowed with great effort.
“I want to talk about how pathetic you are about just buckling down and doing this damn inventory. And how I’m ever going to get you to get it done.”
“Hmm. That is a problem. I can do two hours at a time. Maybe.”
“Try an hour and fifty minutes.”
“Close enough.”
“So, next week at the same time?”
“Yeah. That’s fine. But after you’re not here to help, no promises.”
“I’ll be here to help. I’ll be here to help every Sunday till it’s done. Otherwise, it’ll never get done.”
“In return for what? You’ve only got two hours due on the book.”
“I don’t know. Pizza. Anything. We’ll figure it out.”
I levered to my feet.
“No, I’ll pay you. You have to let me pay you. You want to take this leftover half a pizza home?”
“Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”
When I went up to the counter to get it, I found her staring right into my face. I knew she was going to ask something important. And that I wouldn’t like it.
“If you were ever really needing help, Angie… if you were ever in over your head… would you tell me? Or somebody?”
I picked up the pizza box and shifted back and forth on my feet a couple of times.
“No,” I said.
“No,” she said. “I didn’t think so.”
4. Crushed
On moving day—Paul’s, not ours—I woke up and stumbled into the living room to see my mom peeking out through the curtains.
I ignored her and plowed into the kitchen.
Aunt Vi was nowhere around. Sophie wasn’t there, either, but I knew where to find her if I wanted to. I wasn’t looking for Sophie or Aunt Vi. I was looking for breakfast.
Nothing looked like breakfast in that kitchen. I seemed to have been the first person to have even had the thought.
I grabbed some cold cereal. I rummaged around in the fridge for milk. There was none.
I just sighed. What else could I do?
I looked out at my mom, who was still peeking through the mostly closed curtains. I wanted to tell her it was making me nervous. But I didn’t. What would’ve been the point of that?
When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I carried my cold cereal over to the window and yanked the curtain back, which made my mom jump out of the way. I wanted to tell her she’d missed her true calling as a private detective, but then I decided that would have been mean.
There was a huge moving truck in Paul’s driveway, with the name of a rental company on the side. And a painting of a mountain. Like they already knew where he wanted to go, before he’d even rented it. It had a tow bar on the back for his car.
“He sure didn’t waste any time,” my mom said.
“I never thought he would. He can’t wait to get out of here.”
I stared into my cereal bowl. My stomach was growly, so I ate a handful dry.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “He’s coming this way!”
I looked up to see Paul crossing the lawn.
“So?”
“He’s coming to the door. What do we do?”
“Um… open it?”
“I don’t want to see that man. I don’t want to talk to him.”
“Fine. I’ll open it.”
I walked over to the door, and as I did, I watched my mother disappear. I wondered what she was so afraid of. But not for long. It really doesn’t pay to spend too much time wondering what other people are afraid of. Everybody’s always afraid of something; it never makes much sense, and wondering never gets you anywhere.
I opened the door while Paul was still coming up the walk.
“Good morning,” he said, and I thought he sounded unusually cheerful.
Also, he was dressed nicely again. With a new-looking light blue shirt and navy slacks with a crease. And when he got closer, he smelled nice. Like that one other time. He never smelled nice on a day off, or on his way to work. Only on his way to his brother’s house, that other Saturday.
I said, “Thought you’d be gone before the sun was up.”
“So did I,” he said. “I’m four hours behind schedule.”
“You need some help packing or something?”
By that time, he’d gotten up to the door, and when I said that, he actually took one step back. Like he was that surprised.
“Well, that’s a very nice thing to offer. But no, we can handle the packing.”
I was curious who “we” was, but I didn’t ask. Just waited.
“I just wondered if I could talk you into one last dog walk. I thought I’d have time to take her myself, but it’s not going well. I don’t want to skip it, because it’s such a long drive. She’ll be cooped up in the cab of that truck for six or seven hours.”
“Sure. No problem.”
He looked down at my cereal bowl.
“Wait until you’re done with breakfast, though.”
“No, I can come now.”
“Your cereal will get soggy.”
I held the bowl out farther for him to see.
“Not with no milk on it, it won’t. That’s the only nice part about being out of milk.”
He laughed, but just a little bit.
“Bring it over. I’ve got milk.”
I shrugged and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind me. Just as I did, I looked back into the house. My mom was peeking out at us from the hall. She’d wedged herself into a spot where I could see her, but Paul couldn’t.
I gave her a little frown as I shut the door.
While we were cutting across the lawns, I wondered if it seemed weird to her that Paul and I talked like we were friends. Like any two regular, adult friends. That’s when I realized it seemed weird to me. And that I’d never noticed it before. Or at least, I’d never stopped to think about it.
“Last ten bucks for the road,” he said, knocking me out of my train of thought.
“No, it’s okay. This one’s on me.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind. I’m going to miss that big old girl when you go.”
“Not half as much as your sister will, I’ll bet.”
I frowned without meaning to. “We don’t talk about that at my house.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“You don’t need to be. There’s plenty to be sorry about at my house, but none of it is your fault.”
He smiled a little as he opened his front door for me. But it was a sad smile. And I wondered if he really knew me enough to be sad for me, or if I just reminded him of something he was sad about on his own. That’s wha
t it is with most people. More about them and less about you.
If it was really for me, it made me uncomfortable.
Rigby greeted me with kisses. Actual face kisses. Which she had never done before. I wondered if she was smart enough to know she was leaving.
When I looked up from that, there was a woman standing there. In Paul’s house. A woman.
“Oh,” I said. Lame, but I was surprised.
I knew her, but I didn’t know from where.
“Hello,” she said.
Just that. Just hello.
I thought she had the tiniest trace of an accent, but unless she talked more, I’d never figure out what it was.
“This is Rachel,” Paul said. “My sister-in-law. Rachel, this is Angie. From next door. She’s going to walk the dog while we pack.”
“I’m very happy to meet you,” Rachel said.
She was about Paul’s age, but pretty. Thin, with dark hair and eyes and a long, straight nose. And I’d seen her before.
“I know you,” I said. “We met already. Right? I mean… didn’t we?”
That’s when it hit me. Just kind of all at once like that. I turned my head to the bookcase. But the picture was gone. But that’s who it was. It was the woman from the picture on Paul’s bookcase. The one I’d figured must be dead. But I’d figured wrong, because she was standing right in front of me.
The weird thing was, nothing else on the bookcase was packed yet. But that picture, the only picture of an actual human being, was gone.
Paul stepped into my line of sight, and his face looked tight. It almost seemed like he was trying to catch my eye. I couldn’t make any sense of any of it, but it made me want to shut up. Fast.
“I guess I’m wrong,” I said. “I guess you must just remind me of somebody.”
I looked at Paul, who looked relieved.
I had no idea what to do with any of that. It made me curious. But it was like a ball of tangled rope, and I couldn’t begin untangling it until I could find the ends. So I just gave up and put the whole mess away for later.
“Where’s Dan?” Paul asked her.
“In the bedroom closet. Packing your suits.”
“He’s wasting his time. I’m going to burn my suits.”
“No, save them,” she said. “In case somebody dies.”
Paul smiled, like that was funny. Only it was too much smile for not enough funny. And I decided her accent was European, probably German or something like that, but faded. Just a dull leftover.
I was about to grab for Rigby’s leash when Paul said, “Milk.”
“Oh. Right. Milk.”
He sat me down at the kitchen table and put a carton of milk in front of me. And got me a spoon from a kitchen drawer.
And I thought, Boy, he really is behind in his packing if the spoons are still in the kitchen drawer.
Then I just sat there and ate my cereal, with Rigby’s head on my knee. Which involved a lot of leaning down on her part, which made her look like a vulture.
I looked out into the living room and watched Paul and Rachel walk back and forth in front of the doorway. And I knew there was something there to know, but I didn’t know it. That bothered me some. But like just about everything that bothered me, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to sort it out.
I didn’t take Sophie. I kept pushing myself to, but I just couldn’t be pushed. There was this giant pushback in my gut that I couldn’t explain. I finally decided it would be best for Sophie if nobody let her anywhere near Paul’s house to see the packing.
I didn’t really know what Sophie did and didn’t understand, like I said. But she’d sure had a lot of experience with the people around her packing.
I think that was probably a bullshit excuse, though. I think I was being selfish. I really was going to miss that great big angel of a dog, and I think I wanted her all to myself this one last time.
So I stayed close to the houses on our side of the street, where Sophie wouldn’t see us go.
I walked along with my hand on Rigby’s huge shoulder blades, feeling them shift and then shift back as she took her slow, giant steps. I felt sadder than seemed reasonable.
“Wish you didn’t have to go,” I told her.
She looked into my face like she wanted to answer. Funny, but for a split second, I almost thought she would.
Then she looked where she was going again.
“And not just because of Sophie,” I added.
It’s always best to like people for more than just what they can do for you. I guess I was counting Rigby as people by then.
I was pretty sure anybody who knew that dog would do the same.
When I took her back, Paul stepped out onto the stoop and took the end of the leash from me. He seemed to be a little awkward and sad in the goodbye, too, even though I knew he was really happy to leave that city and his job forever.
“Could you do me a favor?” I asked him. “When you back your moving truck out of the driveway, could you go that way?” I pointed down the street, away from Aunt Vi’s house. “I’m not sure what’s going to happen if Sophie sees you and Rigby go by. I know it’s going to hit the fan sooner or later. It’s just…”
Then I ran out of words for what it just was.
“Of course,” he said. “That’s no problem. Are you sure you don’t want that last ten dollars?”
“No, it’s okay. This one was my going-away present. Just be happy in the new place, okay? I’m jealous, you know. Going up to the mountains. I’d love to live up there so much. Anyway, you probably don’t care about that. Just be happy, okay?”
I really meant that sincerely, and I think he could tell. I didn’t know Paul very well back then. But I knew he wasn’t happy. It really didn’t take much knowing him to figure that out. Here he was, turning sixty-five and retiring, and if he didn’t find happy now, when was he going to find it? This was like his final season.
He put one hand down right on the crown of my head and just left it there. It surprised me. It was almost like something affectionate. Like your mom or dad would do.
“You’re a good kid,” he said. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Then he looked at his hand on my head like he’d only just noticed where it was. He took it back again. “Well, that’s a stupid thing to say, I guess. Nobody’s going to tell you you’re not. I guess what I mean is, be careful not to tell yourself otherwise.”
I could see his point, how that was trickier. But I didn’t quite know how to put it into words. So I just stood there like an idiot and said nothing at all.
Rigby was still sitting by my left heel. Even though Paul had her leash, she hadn’t gone to him yet. I think she knew this was an ending. I know dogs aren’t supposed to know stuff like that. But it seemed like she did.
After too much quiet, Paul said, “You may see us again. If we come back here for a visit.” On the word here, he pointed over his shoulder into the house. Which now belonged to his brother and the woman in the picture.
“You don’t even like your brother,” I said. But I said it quietly, so no one in the house could hear. Maybe his brother didn’t know Paul didn’t like him. Paul wouldn’t be the first person to ever keep a thing like that to himself.
He cracked just a little bit of a smile. On one side of his mouth only. “Too true,” he said. “But…”
Then he just trailed off.
And I wanted to finish the but for him. I swear, I almost did. I almost said, “But you like Rachel a lot.” I stopped myself just in time. What the hell kind of thing is that to say to someone who’s practically a stranger?
But then I thought, If we’re strangers, why are we saying goodbye like we’re friends?
I stepped away, and when I was on the last stone step, I said, “Drive safe.”
As I was crossing his lawn, I looked over my shoulder at him. He was still just standing there on the porch.
He raised one hand. Just held it still in a wave that didn’t move.
I waved back. With actual waving.
“You can’t go,” my mom said. “How can you go?”
It was the following morning, and I was on my way out the door to help Nellie with the inventory. Might’ve been the last inventory day. Then again, with Nellie, you could never tell.
I was going. That bookstore was the only thing in my whole miserable life that I actually looked forward to. I didn’t say so, of course.
What I did say was “I’m going.”
“This might be the day your sister falls apart.”
“Yeah. It might be. Or it might be a week from Tuesday.”
“I might need help with her.”
“Help how? Help to do what? If she screams, two of us can’t stop her any better than one of us. You just want me to stay here and help you worry. You’ve got to stop hovering over her, worrying. She’s going to pick up on your stress, and that’s only going to make it worse.”
“See? That’s exactly why I need you.”
“Oh, my God!” I said. Actually raising my voice. “You’re my mother, not the other way around!”
That fell hard. Nobody said a thing for an uncomfortable time. Actually, my mom never did.
“Look. I love that damn bookstore, and I’m going. Good luck with her here. I’ll help when I get back. If you need any.”
I tried not to look at her on my way out the door, because that pouty-lip thing was damned irritating. Even I didn’t do that. I mean, not even when I was six.
Then again, it all just sort of stressed my point.
I was working with a bookshelf between me and Nellie, which made things easier. I loved talking to her. But face to face, it was a little too… intense. Or something. So this was easier.
“What would you think about a guy who only has one picture of a person in his whole house, and it turns out it’s a picture of his brother’s wife?”
I was holding a hardcover novel in my hand but not reading off the title yet. Nellie didn’t care. The less we inventoried, the happier she was.
“What would I think of it?”
“Yeah. What would you think?”
“I’d think it was a little weird.”
“But what would you think it meant?”
“Was it a picture of a bunch of people doing something interesting?”
Where We Belong Page 8
