Where We Belong

by Hyde, Catherine Ryan

  “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

  “It’s no inconvenience. Except… where are your mother and your sister?”

  “Home.”

  “You came here by yourself?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You don’t need to call me ma’am. Rachel is fine.”

  “Sorry. That’s a bad habit of mine. I call all kinds of people ma’am, whether they want me to or not. I think I just bend over too far to be polite.”

  “You bought your own bus ticket and rode all this way alone.”

  “Yes… Rachel.”

  “How did you get here from downtown?”

  “More buses. And some walking.”

  “Why didn’t you just call me on the phone?”

  “Well. I didn’t want to steal your phone number from Paul. And I didn’t want to tell him I was about to talk to you. And I didn’t know your last name…”

  She gave me an odd look. Almost half amused.

  “You don’t know my last name?”

  “No. How would I?”

  “Do you know Paul’s last name?”

  “Sure. It’s Inverness.”

  “And so is mine.”

  Then it hit me. And I hit myself. Literally. Smacked myself in the forehead with the palm of my hand.

  “I can’t believe myself. That’s just about the dumbest thing I ever did. But, honestly… even if I’d had your phone number… I don’t think I would have said a thing like this over the phone. How could I? I needed to get on a bus and come all the way back here and sit in front of you and tell you to your face.”

  “All right,” she said. “Then I’d say making up the guestroom is very little trouble compared to that.”

  She served dinner late. Almost eight o’clock. Which was okay with me, because I’d had pizza pretty late in the afternoon. She made spaghetti with meat sauce, and it was good. She was a good cook.

  We mostly talked about Rigby.

  “I miss that dog so much,” I said. “Don’t tell anybody I said this. Because I know it would sound weird. But sometimes I think I miss her more than Paul does.”

  “You don’t. Nobody misses her more than Paul.”

  “That makes sense in my head. But it feels like I do.”

  “The inside of you misses her more than the outside of Paul lets on.”

  “Oh. That makes sense, yeah. She was a really good friend of mine, though. I really don’t have many friends. Paul and I have that in common.”

  “You and Paul have a lot of things in common.”

  “Really? What else?”

  “You’re both very smart. And very cautious with your thoughts and feelings. And you like to keep your pain on the inside, where no one can get to it but you. And you have high standards, for yourself and for everybody else. Paul really only had the one friend, before you, his dog. Imagine how hard it would have been for him if you weren’t there.”

  “He has you.”

  That fell pretty flat. Stopped the conversation in its tracks. It was obvious she wasn’t going to say anything. So I did.

  “I guess you don’t feel the same way he does. If you did, I think you’d have said so by now. Or been a little happier. Or something.”

  A pause, during which I was sure the pause was proving me right.

  “It’s not as simple as you make it sound, Angie. I don’t know how I feel. For fifty-one years, I’ve felt friendship for him. I don’t know what will happen if I try to see him in a different light. It might take awhile to figure that out.”

  “I’m sorry. Seriously. I apologize. It’s none of my business. Which I guess is a weird thing to say now When I just made it my business. But it isn’t. I came here so you’d know, not so I’d know how it might turn out. I’ll go back to that place now where it’s none of my business. And I won’t ask you about it again, or bring it up in any way. I promise.”

  I expected her to say something about that, but she never did.

  We ate without talking for a long time.

  “I’ll drive you to your bus in the morning,” she said.

  “That’s a very nice offer. Thank you. But it’s awfully early. I hate to make you get up so early.”

  “I get up every morning at four o’clock.”

  “Really? Why? Oh, I’m sorry. That came out wrong. You can get up anytime you want. None of my business.”

  “It’s just very quiet at that hour. And it’s my favorite time to meditate. But I’m done by four-thirty. So why not let me drive you?”

  “Thank you. That would be very nice.”

  There was a clock in the guestroom, by my bed, and it ticked. At first, I thought I’d never get to sleep with all that ticking. Then I woke up suddenly, and it was ten minutes to eleven. And I thought I could hear Rachel talking.

  I got out of bed and made my way in the dark to the wall between our rooms. Put my ear to the plaster. But I still couldn’t make out words. It just sounded kind of buzzy.

  First I thought, She’s calling my mom to rat me out. But she wouldn’t do that so late at night. Of course, I hoped she wouldn’t do it at all.

  Then I thought, She called Paul.

  Or she’s having a dream.

  Or she talks to herself.

  Part of me wanted to find out. Maybe go out in the hall, closer to her room. Listen at the door.

  I didn’t.

  I went back to bed. Over and over, I said to myself, “It’s none of my business. It’s none of my business. It’s none of my business.”

  I knew I’d probably never find out. But I really hoped she was talking to Paul.

  Eventually I got back to sleep, but never for very long. I don’t think I slept more than forty-five minutes at a stretch.

  “You don’t have to park and come in,” I said. “I’ll just jump out here. You’ve done enough. Believe me.”

  She pulled into a loading zone and shifted into Park. Let the engine idle.

  “You have your return ticket?”

  “I do. Yes.”

  “And enough money to get something to eat?”

  “I had some change from the bus fare. Yeah.”

  “I think you were right to come.”

  I looked at her face, but she didn’t look back. She was looking at her hands on the steering wheel. She had nice hands. Not like someone who was older at all.

  “I was?”

  “I think so. I feel like something was stuck for a long time, and you knocked it loose. I have no idea where it will go from here, but I think anything is better than being stuck for fifty years.”

  I took a deep breath, one that felt like it had been waiting for me to take it for a long time. I had no idea what to say. I don’t think she did, either.

  “I’ll come visit soon,” she said.

  “Good. That would be good. Thanks.”

  I jumped out.

  And started the long, slightly scary job of making my way back home.

  3. Unlocked

  By the time I walked home from the bus station, it was almost five in the afternoon. I opened the door with my key. Sophie was asleep—or, at least, asleep-looking—in the middle of the rug. My mom was sitting at the kitchen table with her back to me.

  “I’m home,” I said, kind of sing-songy. Like Ricky Ricardo telling Lucy he was back from the club.

  Nothing. Not a movement. Not a word.

  I have to admit that really iced me down. I knew she’d be mad, but I thought she’d be blustery, yelling-at-me mad. I didn’t expect the great nothingness.

  Then I saw what she had in front of her on the table. But I was hoping I was wrong. Because I was still hanging over by the door, not wanting to get closer to her.

  I went closer. And it was just what I was hoping it wasn’t. My father’s wallet, watch, and wedding ring were sitting on the table in front of my deadly silent mom.

  “You went into my locked trunk? That’s, like, the only privacy I get.”

  “I don’t think that’s our bigg
est issue here, kiddo.”

  “I had the key with me. How did you get in? Did you break the lock?”

  I heard her say something, but I didn’t hang around to make out what it was. I sprinted to the other end of the apartment. Around the room divider. The metal trunk was sitting on my bed, its lid wide open. Sophie could have been shredding my Himalayas book if she’d gotten it in her head to. I took a quick inventory, to make sure everything was still there. Everything that wasn’t on the table in front of my mom, that is.

  It all seemed to be there. But then I thought of Nellie’s note. And then I couldn’t breathe, until I remembered I’d taken it with me. At least, I thought I had. I plowed through zippered pocket after zippered pocket of my backpack, and when I wrapped my hand around it, that’s when I let myself breathe again.

  I flipped the lid of the trunk closed and took a good look at the lock. She’d broken it.

  I stuck my head around the divider again.

  “Nice,” I said. “Now I have not one place in this whole house where I can keep anything safe.”

  “I’m not letting you make me the bad guy here,” she said. Still deadly calm. “I want to know where you were.”

  I dropped my backpack onto the rug and shoved the note into my jeans pocket and walked to the table and sat. It hit me hard how tired I was.

  “Well, I’m not going to tell you. Because I can’t. Because it’s somebody else’s privacy involved. All I can tell you is that I had a chance to do something to help somebody, and I did.”

  “Where, though? In what location?”

  “I went back home.”

  “Bad place for a girl your age.”

  “I was a girl a lot younger than this in that city, for a long time, and I survived to talk about it. Why did you break the lock on my trunk? How was that going to get me back?”

  “I was looking for clues on where you might’ve gone. I figured you had some kind of secret. I thought you’d run off with some boy… or… person… and maybe I could find you.”

  “I left you a note saying I’d be back today. How is that running off? And there’s no… person. I’m not with anybody.”

  She levered her chin in the direction of the objects on the table.

  “Why were these in your trunk?”

  “I’ve got a better question. Why are they in our house at all? You told me they were stolen.”

  “You’re trying to twist things back onto me again. How did they get in your trunk?”

  I sat back. Folded my arms over my chest. Now I was getting pissed. And now the anger was making me extra icy and calm, too.

  “I put them there.”

  “Why?”

  “So you’d eventually notice they were missing. And then you’d know that I know that a lot of what you told me about Dad was a lie. And then you’d have to tell me why we have the things you said got stolen off him that night, and what really happened. I wasn’t stealing these things. You want them? Fine. Take them. They’re yours. But tell me the story you should have told me all along.”

  “It was a robbery.” But her icy calm had turned into more of an anxious, defensive thing.

  “With nothing stolen.”

  “Attempted robbery.”

  “Mom. All you have to do is type his name into a search engine, and it brings up the newspaper stories.”

  I expected her to say something. Maybe not much of a something. But something. “Oh.” Or “Crap.” Or something.

  Nothing.

  “Did it have to do with the gambling?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you should have told me that.”

  “You were six.”

  “So instead, you told me he was just minding his own business. Like all you have to do to get murdered is just walk out on the street. You don’t even have to make a bad choice to bring it on.”

  “Well… you don’t.”

  “But what’s going to scare a six-year-old most? I’d rather think he did something to bring it on. Something I could avoid doing. Instead of making me think the world is not only viciously violent but completely random.”

  “It is,” she said.

  I pushed the chair back, and the squeak made her jump. I got to my feet.

  “This is getting us nowhere.”

  I walked back to my little bedroom area and picked up my damaged trunk. I was halfway to the door with it when she tried to stop me with words.

  “You do not walk out that door.”

  My first urge was to keep going, but I stopped to challenge her instead.

  “Or…?”

  “Let me tell you how it’s going to be, kiddo. From now on, you do not walk out that door unless I know where you’re going. Or you relinquish all the rights you’ve earned over the years. I am the mother, and you are the kid.”

  “Really? Starting when?”

  “Watch it, kiddo. Watch yourself. You’re still under my roof.”

  I set the trunk down at my feet.

  “Your roof? How do you figure that? How did you earn us this roof? This is not your roof, this is Paul’s roof, and the only reason you get to live under it is because of me. I got us this roof. Now let me tell you how it’s going to be. If you ever invade my privacy again, I’m leaving home. I’m old enough to be an emancipated minor. I’ll work and take care of myself and live someplace where something I own gets to be mine and only mine.”

  Then I grabbed up the trunk again and walked out. It wasn’t a very graceful exit, because I had to lean the trunk on the railing of the landing to close the door behind me. But she didn’t say a word or try to stop me.

  But it did occur to me that she might have some words by the time I got back.

  I hauled the trunk up Paul’s back stairs and knocked.

  “Angie?” he called through the door.

  “Yeah, Paul, it’s me.”

  “Come in.”

  I found him in the living room, playing Solitaire on the coffee table.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Where’ve you been? Your mom was a bit upset.”

  “She didn’t come up here, did she?”

  “No, she just called on the phone and asked if I knew where you were. Which is marginally okay. What’s that?”

  “Oh. This. This is like the one scrap of privacy I’ve had for my entire life. And my mom broke the lock on it while I was gone. I was wondering if you could fix it. You said once a long time ago that you had a garage shop. You know. With tools, where you could make things.”

  “Let’s take a look at it.”

  I set it on the rug, and he turned on the lamp on the end table and leaned in and examined the damage.

  “Can you fix it?”

  “In practical terms, no. Almost everything can theoretically be fixed. But sometimes it requires parts. See this little metal piece right here? That snapped when she pried it. This is an old trunk, and the lock mechanism is something that was made especially for it. So I think you need a new trunk.”

  “I spent all my money.”

  “Even your secret stash?”

  “What do you think I was traveling on for the last two days?”

  “Ah. Well. Does it have to be a trunk? Or does it just have to hold things and lock? I have some big wooden boxes out in the garage. A lot of different sizes. Part of a project I never got around to finishing.”

  “But do they lock?”

  “Any wooden box can lock. You just have to go to a hardware store and buy a hasp. I could put that on for you. And then you could lock it with a small padlock.”

  “That might be good.”

  “Come take a look at what I’ve got.”

  So we walked down the back steps together and up the slope to the garage. He let us in through the door near the woodshed. Turned on the overhead light.

  “I’ve got to get this cleaned up,” he said. “So Rachel can get her car in.”

  “She’s coming for a visit?”

  “She is. She called me and suggeste
d we visit more often.”

  “When did she call?”

  “Last night. When you were gone.”

  I swallowed the big excited-but-nervous thing and said nothing.

  He headed for the far end of the garage, the shop end, and I followed him. He pulled an old sheet off a big pile of stuff that turned out to be nice-looking pieces of lumber, wooden dowels… and big wooden boxes.

  “Any of these look big enough?”

  “This one would be great.”

  I touched it. Ran my hands around the edges. It was heavy, dark wood, nicely finished. Smooth and rounded at the edges and corners. It was not as tall as my old trunk, but it was as wide and almost as long.

  “This would be perfect, if you really don’t mind parting with it.”

  “Not doing anybody any good down here. Except maybe the spiders.”

  “I’ll walk down to the hardware store in the morning. I think I’ve got that much change left.”

  But only because Rachel fed me dinner and breakfast and gave me a ride to the bus station. Of course, I didn’t say so.

  “So,” he said. “Total state secret? Or are you dying to tell somebody where you’ve been? So long as that somebody’s not your mother?”

  I pointed straight up to remind him she was on the other side of the garage ceiling. I didn’t know if she could hear through the floor, but I was in no mood to take chances.

  He dusted off the big wooden box with a corner of the sheet and handed it to me, and we headed upstairs.

  When we were far enough away from the apartment, I said, “It had to do with the… situation I was telling you about. Where I was a total coward. That situation kind of stayed on my mind since we talked about it. I wanted to make it right.”

  Which was the truth. It just wasn’t the whole truth.

  “So, you saw her?” he asked, as we walked up the back stairs.

  “I did.”

  “Was it terrifying?”

  “At first. It got a little easier as we went along.”

  He opened the back door for me.

  “And by the way,” I said, “I think my mom knows. Because she said she thought I ran off with some boy, but then she changed boy to person.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. Yeah. That sounds like mom-speak for ‘I’m on to you.’ How do you think she figured it out?”