Where We Belong

by Hyde, Catherine Ryan

  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.

  4. Calm

  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.

  Paul came out of the garage looking tired and old. Like he hadn’t shaved that day. Like he hadn’t slept in a week. He was carrying two bags of groceries.

  His face lit up when he saw Rigby.

  She sat in front of him, barely able to hold the position, looking like she might explode into more dancing at any moment.

  “Well, don’t you look wonderful,” he told her. “Looks like your dog sitter took very good care of you.”

  I wondered if her muzzle and eyebrows were any grayer than when he’d last seen her. It’s hard to tell about these things when you see somebody every day.

  Then he looked at us.

  “Hello, Angie,” he said. “Hello, Sophie.”

  “I hope it’s okay for her to be here,” I said. “I wanted her to see you and see that you’re taking the dog back. I thought it might help.”

  “And if not? What’s our Plan B?”

  “Well. We soundproofed the closet with egg cartons. That won’t do everything you might want it to, but it’ll help some. And I still have a couple fresh pairs of those good earplugs.”

  “Sophie,” Paul said, looking right at her. She did not look back at him. “Rigby has to come in the house with me now. Just wait until tomorrow, and Angie will take you both for a walk again. Sound okay?”

  Then we waited a minute, but I had no idea for what. I wondered if he had any idea, either. Or if it’s just one of those things you do because you’re not thinking things through very well.

  “I’ll go upstairs with her now,” I said. “Because there might be trouble if she thinks I’m with Rigby. But after she goes to sleep, I could come up and visit.”

  “Don’t take this wrong,” he said. But I already knew I would. “I know how Rachel feels now. I just need some time by myself. Just me and my dog.”

  “Okay. I can understand that.”

  And I could. And it hurt me. Both at the same time. I wondered where that other guy was, the one who used to call me at midnight. If I’d ever see him again. Why I’d been so sure that would be a permanent change.

  I gave him his keys back. Watched him walk up the stairs to the back door, Rigby wagging behind.

  I realized two things.

  One, I’d forgotten to get the key to my trunk from his key ring. But there would be time for that later.

  More important, that Rigby was the only friend I had who’d never once said anything that hurt my feelings.

  I looked down at Sophie.

  “Let’s go upstairs, Sophie. We’ll see Rigby again tomorrow.”

  We walked up the stairs together, and she followed me in. And I closed the door behind us.

  I looked at my
mom, who was sitting on the couch, and my mom looked at me. I crossed my fingers on both hands. Held them up for her to see. Then she crossed her fingers, too. Then she crossed her feet. Then she crossed her eyes, and I laughed. Probably too hard and too long, because I was nervous.

  Sophie settled in front of the door in a sphinx position, the way she used to do by the fence at Aunt Vi’s. My mom and I watched her for a few minutes. Then after a while, there was nothing much to watch.

  She fell asleep that way, and my mom unfolded the couch and put her to bed.

  “I guess we can uncross everything now,” she said.

  In the morning, I woke up early, maybe six. It was light, and very cold. And drafty. But I wasn’t sure why.

  I was sleeping on the single bed behind the room partition. It was the first time I’d ever slept in the apartment, so, in my half-asleep state, I just assumed it was cold and drafty every morning.

  There was a gas fireplace to keep things warm, but it seemed weird to turn it on in the summer. But then I got shivery and decided I didn’t care.

  I got up and walked around the partition.

  My mom was fast asleep on the foldout couch. The door was hanging wide open.

  I got dressed as fast as I could. Pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and ran down the stairs with my feet still bare. I trotted up the back steps as quietly as I could. But then I had no idea what to do.

  If I knocked, I’d wake Paul up. He was probably sleeping and didn’t even know Sophie was in his house. I sat on the back landing for a few minutes, trying to think of a way to get her out of there without his ever knowing she’d been in. But I was still half asleep, and not exactly flowing over with brain power.

  The only thing I could think to do was to open the bottom of the doggie door flap and call for Rigby. If Rigby came out, Sophie would come out, too.

  “Rigby,” I hissed.

  I wasn’t sure about the volume. She had to be able to hear me. But I had to not wake up Paul. I remembered when Paul told me Rigby’s hearing was ten times better than ours. I was thinking that could save the day now. But I waited, and nothing happened.

  “Rigby,” I said again, a little louder.

  “You don’t have to whisper,” Paul called out to me. “I’m awake.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  I sat there for a minute, because I didn’t know what else to do. Then the back door opened, and Paul stood over me in his pajamas and that nice burgundy robe.

  “Looking for your sister, I assume.”

  “Right.”

  “She’s in here.”

  “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

  “Well. She’s being nice and quiet. She just wants to lie down next to Rig. Have you had your breakfast?”

  “Um. No.”

  “Come on in.”

  So I did. I just sort of put away my amazement and did as I was told. Sophie was lying on the kitchen floor next to Rigby. I sat down at the table.

  “Are you a coffee drinker?” Paul asked.

  “Sure. I’ll have some coffee.”

  “Cream and sugar?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Most beginner coffee drinkers do it that way. Look, I’m sorry if I was in a bad mood last night.”

  “No, it’s okay. You weren’t. You just wanted to be left alone. I get that.”

  “I was going to make myself a bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon.”

  “Oh, my God, that sounds like heaven.”

  I watched him rummage around in the fridge.

  “There was still a little bit of food in the house when I got back. In the freezer. And some canned stuff. You know what I told you about that.”

  “I did my best.”

  “I guess you did okay. Considering I wasn’t gone as long as I said I’d be. Is that your key on the table? It was on my key ring.”

  “Oh, yeah, thanks,” I said, shoving it in my pocket.

  Then it was silent for a long time, while he poured the coffee and toasted the bagels. And put cream cheese on the table, and a knife. He mounded up a little plate with what looked like enough smoked salmon for four people. Even four people who heaped it on like I did.

  Then he sat, and we ate. And didn’t talk. I remember thinking that whatever we would say next was almost guaranteed to take us into some kind of dicey area or another. So we just ate.

  After maybe five minutes of that, he took the first step.

  “It’s not so much that I regret the way I shared my thoughts with you in those late-night calls,” he said.

  Then he didn’t go on right away. And I didn’t know what to say. Except that they were less thoughts and more feelings. I said nothing at all.

  Then, after a while, “It’s more like I got tired. I felt like there was nothing covering my nerves. They were getting sandpapered. I had to close up just to get some rest.”

  “That makes sense.”

  We ate in silence for another few minutes.

  Suddenly, I surprised myself by saying, “Did you…”

  But then I couldn’t finish. I never should’ve started the sentence, and I couldn’t keep going.

  “Did I what?”

  “Never mind. None of my business.”

  “No. I didn’t talk to her. How could I? At a time like that?”

  “Yeah. I guess I see your point.”

  We ate in silence until there was nothing left on the table to eat.

  I looked down at Sophie and wondered how I would get her back to the house to get her dressed and ready for school.

  “Sophie,” I said. “The van will be here soon. Let’s go get you dressed. When you get home from school, I’ll take you for a walk with Rigby. But right now, she needs to stay here with Paul. Thanks for breakfast, Paul.”

  I stood up from the table, not sure whether I should try to take hold of any part of my sister. I decided to first try walking to the back door. With great assurance. Like I was sure she would follow.

  She followed. In absolute silence. And calm.

  When we got up to the apartment, my mom was awake. Sitting up. Looking panicky.

  “Oh, God,” she said. “Oh, God. Was that a total disaster?”

  “Strangely… no.”

  “Why? Why was it not a total disaster? How was it not?”

  “I really have no idea. It just wasn’t. I’m not going to look too closely at why it wasn’t. Because I’m just so glad it wasn’t. And I suggest you try it my way for now.”

  I was the one who went down the driveway to meet Sophie’s van after school. We stood on the dirt and gravel for a minute, waving as Mr. Maribal drove off. Well, anyway, I was waving. Then we turned to go up the driveway, and Sophie took off. Sprinted, in her awkward way, for Paul’s back stairs.

  I handled it differently than I’d been handling things all along.

  I caught up with her and flying-tackled her onto the driveway. I landed on top of her, and heard and felt all the breath come out of her. It tore a hole in the knee of my jeans and scraped up my hands, and I could tell right away that she had a scrape on her chin that was going to bleed some. But it all seemed minor compared to being sent away to live in an institution.

  “Now you listen here,” I hissed, straight into her ear. “You want to see Hem? Then you work with me. You play by the rules. You mess this up, and you’re going to lose. We all are. You take things in your own hands, it’s going to ruin everything. I don’t know how much of what I say you understand, but if you only get one thing I ever say to you, this should be it. I will get you in to see that dog as much as Paul will let us. So you follow my lead. You walk up there with me, nice and calm. Otherwise, you’re going to end up getting just the opposite of what you want.”

  I lifted up off her and sat her up and watched her struggle to get her breath back. I felt bad. But I had to remind myself how much worse things could still get.

  “You okay? You ready to go see Rigby?”

  I reached a hand out, but she didn’t take it.
I wasn’t sure why I’d ever thought she would. I took her by both elbows and helped her to her feet. A little blood from her chin dribbled onto her T-shirt.

  I wondered if I should have led with the tough stuff. Back when we first moved in. But there wasn’t much point in hashing over the past.

  We walked up the rest of the driveway together, nice and slow. Up Paul’s back stairs. I wasn’t really fooling myself into thinking she’d understood me and was doing what I’d asked. It might just have been that I’d knocked the wind out of her, both literally and figuratively.

  I rapped on the back door. Rigby said, “Woof.” Twice. The door opened, and Paul looked us both up and down, Rigby wagging behind him.

  “Oh, dear. What happened to you two?”

  “We had a little tumble in the driveway.”

  “Both of you?”

  “It’s kind of a long story.”

  “How about an adhesive bandage? And something to clean up that chin?”

  “That would be nice. Thanks.”

  We came inside, and Sophie shadowed the dog while Paul got me a plastic bottle of something to spray on her chin. Some kind of disinfectant for wounds.

  “This shouldn’t sting too much. What about your hands? Do they need anything?”

  I looked down at my scrapes. Held them out for both of us to see.

  “They’re fine. They’re not even bleeding.”

  “You should go wash them, though. Looks like you ground a little dirt in.”

  While I was in the bathroom washing my hands, I noticed my knee was bleeding some. But the jeans more or less covered that up. So I was hoping Paul wouldn’t notice. I didn’t want to complicate things any more. I just wanted to get out on that walk.

  Paul was waiting for me with a cotton ball and the spray stuff and an adhesive bandage, and I was grateful that he’d known better than to try to do anything to Sophie himself.

  She didn’t give me a hard time, though. She was lying on the dog bed in Paul’s bedroom, with Rigby. Rigby was relaxed, and so was she.

  I got her chin cleaned up and covered, and Paul held out his hands to take the paper wrapper and the cotton and the spray stuff back from me.