Where We Belong (12 page)

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?”

“Nope. Just a posed picture of this woman.”

“I’d think his own wife or girlfriend or whatever would be right pissed.”

“He’s not married. He lives alone except for a dog.”

“Then I’d think he was having an affair with his brother’s wife.”

“I don’t think so. Because when she came to visit, he took the picture down. So if they were having an affair, she’d know how he feels. He wouldn’t have to hide it.”

“The very fact that she’d come to visit him without her husband seems to bolster my theory.”

“Oh, no. Her husband—this guy’s brother—he came, too.”

“Then maybe that’s who he was hiding the picture from.”

“Maybe,” I said.

But I didn’t believe it. I didn’t think that’s how it was. Paul’s life seemed too sad and empty for that. He seemed more like the kind of guy who would just sit in a corner by himself and feel what he felt and not act on it. Then again, what did I know? There could have been all kinds of things I didn’t know about those two. I’m just saying how it felt.

I read the title of the novel to her, and she repeated it back to me, which was sort of her way of saying, “Check.”

“It just seems weird to me. How there are these people who are alone, and they act like they’re alone by choice, like all they want is to be alone. And I believe them, because why wouldn’t I believe them? And then it turns out they don’t want it that way at all. Nobody tells the truth. Haven’t you noticed that?”

“Yeah, I might’ve noticed that,” she said. Then there was a pause, like she was waiting for me to read off another title. When I didn’t, she said, “Is this an actual person, or are you doing that ‘my friend has a problem’ thing?”

“No, he’s real. Not exactly a friend. Well. Sort of a friend. I guess. Do you think it’s weird that I only have two people who are even sort of like friends, who I even talk to at all like you’d talk to a friend, and they’re not kids? One is sixty-five, and the other is your age.”

“You don’t know how old I am, so how do you know?”

“Well. She’s you. You’re your age. Right?”

“I never talk about my age, so I’m not saying.”

Nobody said anything for a time, so I stuck my head out, and she was looking right at me. I pulled my head back again. I always felt like a turtle when I was doing inventory with Nellie.

“Don’t joke your way out of answering my question, though. Is it weird?”

I heard her sigh. “You must know you’re bizarrely mature for your age. Very little about your brain seems even remotely fourteen. You know that, right?”

I walked out from behind the shelves and sat in the big stuffed chair. Picked at a frayed spot on the cuff of my jeans.

“I think it’s because my mom acts sort of younger than me in some ways. But I’m not really sure it’s true, what you said. I mean, I feel fourteen enough. But I don’t have anything in common with anyone my age, and everybody says what you’re saying, so it must be true.”

I just sat there picking for another minute or so. Then I looked up suddenly and wondered what I was doing.

“What the hell? I didn’t even mean to sit down. We have inventory to do.”

I scrambled up again.

Nellie said, “It’ll hold. You want to talk, talk.”

“No. I don’t want to talk. I hate talking. I want to get this done for you.”

I found my way back to the spot where I’d left off. I always left the last book sticking out a little, so I wouldn’t lose my place. I pulled out the next book and held it in my hand.

It was
The Tibetan Book of the Dead
.

My heart nearly stopped.

“Oh, shit,” I might’ve said. Or maybe I just thought it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh. Nothing.” So I hadn’t just thought it. “Nothing.
The Tibetan Book of the Dead
. This one doesn’t exactly have an author. Just a translator. Can you use that as an author?”

She never answered the question. She just asked, “Have you read that one?”

I let out a little laugh that sounded more like a fast sigh. “No. I haven’t read that one. I know what it’s about, but I haven’t read it.”

“Is it about what it sounds like it’s about?”

“Pretty much, yeah. Understanding what happens when somebody dies.”

“Since it’s part of Tibetan culture, I’m surprised you didn’t read it cover to cover seven times at the library.”

“Not sure I want to read this one.”

“Want to take it home and decide? I owe you lots of books and money for all this work. It’s yours, if you want it.”

I couldn’t answer the question. I literally couldn’t. I just stood there with the book in my hand and couldn’t say a word.

Finally, I walked out from between the shelves. Still carrying the Dead book. Walked right up to her counter without ever looking at her. I was still looking at the cover.

“Have you lost someone you were close to?” she asked.

I was trying to decide whether or not to tell her when her head snapped up, and she smiled.

“Oh, look,” she said. “Cathy’s here.”

I looked, too.

She’d mentioned somebody named Cathy once, and I’d filed it away in there somewhere, but I hadn’t thought too much about who she was. I actually thought Nellie had an employee I hadn’t met yet.

Cathy walked in, grinning. I didn’t think she was an employee. It was Sunday. And besides, no one’s that happy about getting to work.

She looked Asian, or maybe half Asian, and her hair was no longer than mine. She was a little bit older than Nellie. Old enough to have laugh lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes.