Where We Belong (24 page)

In my head, I told him I was sorry. But also that I was not putting him back.

“What if I came out here to fish by myself? How would I get him in the net?”

“Here’s what I do. I come out into the lake and cast into deep water. Then I open the bail and let out line as I walk back to shore. And I fish from shore. If I catch something, I reel it in and then turn and throw it onto the ground as far from the lake as I can. He can flop around all he wants, but you’ve still got him. Even if he comes off the hook, you’ve still got him. But if he can flop back into the water, he’ll be—”

Then he had to stop talking, because he’d hooked another one.

It didn’t matter, because I knew the end of the sentence, anyway. I knew, if he flopped back into the water, what he’d be.

Then I caught another one.

Then Paul caught a third.

I didn’t catch a third.

Then no more nibbles. No more tugs.

We stood there for another half an hour or so. I didn’t mind the time going by. I wasn’t bored. I just watched the way the mountains looked, reflected on the surface of the water, and the way that reflection rippled when a wind gust came up. I watched long-legged birds wading around near the shore.

I was on vacation. And I was happy.

Paul said, “Funny how they won’t be biting. And then all of a sudden, they are. And then all of a sudden, they’re not again. We might just as well call it a day.”

While we were driving home, Paul asked, “You want me to gut those for you?”

“I will. I mean, I think I can. I mean, I just will. Maybe you could teach me.”

“You take three of the five.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s fine. You have three mouths to feed at your house. I have two still left from this morning. So I’ll take two, and that’ll be two meals each for Rigby and me.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” he said.

When we got inside his house, something was beeping.

Paul was in the kitchen, dumping the fish into his stainless-steel sink. It didn’t seem like he heard it.

“What’s that beeping?”

“It’s my message machine. Let me wash my hands, and I’ll come see what it is.”

I leaned on the table instead of sitting. Because my cutoffs were still wet. The beeping made me nervous, but I wasn’t sure why.

A minute later, he came out, drying his hands on a dish towel, and hit a button on the machine.

“Paul,” a voice said. A woman. With a trace of an accent. “Call me. Okay?” Pause. “Call me.”

We looked at each other.

“Rachel?” I asked.

“Yes.” Long silence. Then he said, “Is it just me, or did that sound… not good?”

“It definitely sounded not good.”

“Okay, I have to call her.”

“Want me to go?”

“I haven’t given you your fish yet. I have to show you how to gut them.”

“I could wait outside.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. You don’t have to go. I just have to call her right now.”

He picked up the phone and punched the number in by heart. Which made sense, since it had been his house, his number, for decades.

She must’ve been close to the phone.

“Rachel. Yeah. Are you okay? You sounded—”

Then it must have been her talking. For a long time.

I watched him. I just stood there and watched him listen. What else could I do? The more he listened, the older he looked.

After a while, he said, “I’ll come down.”

Silence on our end.

“No, I can put her in a kennel.”

Silence.

“Well, no. You’re right. Not if it was that long. But I can work it out. I might even have a dog sitter for her. Right here.”

More silence.

“Rachel, are you sure?”

Silence. The silences were starting to hurt. I felt like someone was sitting on my chest. And I didn’t even know what the hell was going on.

“But what about
you
, though?”

More hurt.

“Okay. I don’t know what to say. Will you call me if you change your mind? And if you don’t change your mind, will you call me the minute you know more?”

Quick silence.

“Okay. Can I call you every day?”

Medium silence.

“Okay. I’ll call your cell. Bye. Take care, okay?”

He clicked the off button on the phone. But he didn’t put it down. He just stood there, not moving, not talking. Not looking at Rigby or me. Just looking at the phone like it must have something more to tell him. Even though there was nobody left on the line.

I wanted to ask, “What is it? What’s wrong?” But I didn’t want to burst him out of this delicate moment. It felt like that thing about never waking a sleepwalker. It felt like it might be dangerous.

I had time to think, He does have all the same feelings everybody else has. When he acts like he doesn’t, that’s a lie.

He looked at me. His eyes bored right in.

“Something wrong with Rachel?” I asked.

“No. Dan. Something’s wrong with Dan.”

He didn’t say what. Not right away. I just waited.

Then, finally, “He has stage four stomach cancer.”

“And they just now told you about it?”

“They just now found out.”

“What’s going to happen to him?”

“They’re not sure yet. He’s going in for surgery day after tomorrow. They’re pretty sure it’s metastasized. But they’ll know more when they get in there. I wanted to go down, but she insisted I stay. That I stay and enjoy my retirement. I should be down there, though.”

We stood in that painful silence for another space of time. Minutes, from the feel of it. But the feel of things can be a lie.

Then he said, “Come on. Let’s get you those fish.”

I followed him into the kitchen, my legs wobbling a little.

“I would take care of Rigby if you wanted to go down there.”

“I know. I tried to tell her that. Do you mind if I don’t teach you this today? How to clean them? Do you mind if I just do it?”

“Fine. I don’t mind.”

I sat at the table and watched his back. He was working with his hands down in the sink, so I didn’t have to see any blood or guts.

“Can I ask you a question?” I said, kind of quietly.

“I guess so,” he said. Without turning around.

“I know you don’t like your brother, but… do you love him?”

He didn’t answer for a long time. Long enough that I thought he never would.

Then he said, “Yes.”

That’s all. Just yes. Nothing fancier than that.

It got quiet in that kitchen again.

A minute later, he spoke up, and it was loud. Too loud. It startled me.

“I’m going down there.”

He wiped his hands on a white dish towel, leaving it smeared with bright red fish blood. He hurried into the living room. I got up and stood in the doorway and watched him punch buttons into the phone.

“Rachel, listen. Please. Just listen. I’m the only living blood family he’s got. And it’s going to be a big job to take care of him after surgery. And you don’t have family close by. Please. Don’t argue. Just let me come. If you won’t let me come for you, or for Dan, let me come for me.”

The first silence of the second phone call. It didn’t hurt quite as much as the earlier ones.

“Angie will take care of her. Won’t you, Angie?”

He looked at me, his eyes different. Deeper than before. Like a cave you can suddenly walk further into.

“Yeah. Sure I will.”

“For as long as she needs to. Right, Angie?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t matter how long. All summer if I need to.”

“She could stay here with Rig all summer if she needed to.”

“Oh, wait,” I said, and motioned for him to cover the phone.

“Rachel, hang on just a minute.” He pressed the heel of his hand on the mouthpiece. “Problem?”

“I couldn’t take her to my house. They don’t allow pets.”

“You could stay here.”

“Okay.”

He put the phone back to his ear, then thought better of it and covered the mouthpiece again. “Would your mom let you stay alone?”

“I think so. I’m not positive, though.”

“Are
you
okay staying alone?”

“Are you kidding me? When am I not alone? And in charge of my sister to boot.”

“I’ll pay you.”

“You don’t have to pay me.”

“Of course I’ll pay you. Don’t be silly.”

“Paul. We’re friends. You don’t have to pay me.”

He stared at a spot around my chin for a second or two, and I had no idea what he was thinking.

“We’ll work something out,” he said. Then he put the phone to his ear again. “I’ll leave in the morning,” he told her.

“Right,” he said.

“See you then,” he said.

“Rachel?” he asked.

Silence. I had a funny feeling it was silent on both ends of the line.

“Never mind. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I watched Sophie wolfing down her trout. Eating the usual way. With her fingers.

“Did you check hers really carefully for small bones?” I asked my mom.

“Stop changing the subject. Back up. Why are you not getting paid for this?”

“He offered to pay me. But I said no. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to eat my fish while it’s still hot.”

We ate in silence for a long time. The only sound was Sophie making a little noise on every chew. She always ate with her mouth wide open. It was kind of gross, but I figured she couldn’t help it. So I just didn’t look in. My mom was smoldering, and I was trying to ignore it. I was also trying not to let it affect my appetite or upset my stomach. It was my second high-protein meal in one day. I swear, all that protein was going to my head. My brain felt clearer than it had in months.

When I finally swallowed the last bite, my mom broke her vow of silence.

“Okay. You’re done. Why did you say no to money, again?”

“Because he’s my friend. You don’t charge your friend for doing a favor. Especially at a time like this.”

“You do if you need the money. If he was really your friend, he’d know you needed it. And he’d insist.”

“He did insist. Or anyway, he tried. I turned him down. He does stuff for me all the time. I ate lunch there almost every day from the time we moved here to the time Sophie and I went on the school-lunch program. What did you think we were eating all day? You never even paid attention. He taught me how to fish. He’s loaning me a fishing pole and enough tackle to get me started. Which is how I brought home this great dinner. Which you haven’t even bothered to thank me for. You’ve been in such a rotten mood lately, I hardly even know how to deal with you anymore.”

The room went quiet for a bit. Except for the Sophie noises.

My mom took a bite of her fish. It must have been really cold by then.

“It’s very good. Thank you. It’s just that we could really use some extra cash.”

“We can always use extra cash. And you always try to solve the problem by looking at me. There are child-labor laws, you know. If we’re not eating enough, you’re supposed to get a better job or something. Or a second job. Or a cheaper place to live. You’re not supposed to look at me like it’s my job to feed us. I learned to fish so I can bring home food. And you don’t even appreciate it.”

“I don’t see how fish will solve our problem.”

“
I
do! We can
eat
it!”