Where We Belong (42 page)

I wound down for a minute. But I knew I wasn’t done. Rachel seemed to know that, too. So I kept going.

“I need to explain why I’m doing this,” I said. “I’m not the kind of person who does stuff like this. I don’t want to be a person who meddles. But I’ve been thinking about it for six months. And I thought… maybe this is something
he
can’t do, but
I
can. Because if I tell you how he feels, and you don’t feel the same, nothing has to change. You can pretend this never happened. He won’t be hurt, because he won’t know. It’s a huge gamble, but it made sense in my head. And I’m not asking you to say it’s right. But… does it make sense in your head, too? Do you understand why I decided to come here?”

She looked up from her cup, but not at me. Out the window. That straight line of her long nose made her face different from everybody else’s, but in a good way. I thought it was good, anyway.

“I think you care a great deal for Paul and want what’s best for him,” she said.

“Do you think that really was the reason? What he told me? Sometimes I think he’s just too scared, but he didn’t want to admit that.”

“I think there can be more than one reason.”

“Oh. Right.”

Then I wondered why I hadn’t thought of that.

“But I’m still not…” she began. She sounded like me all of a sudden. Like she couldn’t get a thought to come out whole. “I’m just… I don’t want to seem that I don’t trust you, Angie, and what you’re saying. But I can’t picture Paul telling you this huge thing.”

“He didn’t. Exactly. It was sort of a thing I saw for myself.”

“How did you see it if I couldn’t?”

“Because I knew what was happening when you weren’t around, and you didn’t. He had this picture of you on the bookcase. The only picture of a person in the whole house. That I ever saw, anyway. And when you came to help him pack, he took it down.”

I watched wheels turn behind her eyes for a minute.

“And that’s why you thought you’d already met me,” she said.

“Right. And he was giving me this look like, ‘Don’t.’ So I didn’t say anything. But then later, when he was in the new place, it was the first thing he unpacked. That picture. And he saw me notice it. And he said something about how this was the problem with having people around. You know. In his life. They notice things and start to know things about him. So I told him something about me, to make him feel better. And that’s how we started talking about stuff like that out loud.”

I watched her set her teacup on the end table. Then she dropped her head into her hands.

I waited for what felt like a long time.

Then I asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yes and no. It’s just…
that
sounds like Paul. What you just said. And now I think that what you’re saying is right.”

I swallowed a couple of times and decided this wasn’t going well. It made my stomach weigh a hundred pounds.

“Is it really so terrible?”

She didn’t answer for a long time. So long that, as I watched the sun come through her front window on a slant, lighting up little dust specks, I kept expecting to see the slant of the light change. I don’t think it really did, though. I think time just stretched out.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” I said. I think my voice startled us both. “I knew there was a chance this was the wrong thing to do. But I thought there was a bigger chance it was right. And good. And there was just no way to tell while I was sitting at home. It’s like what Paul taught me about fishing. He said sometimes the fish are biting, and sometimes they’re not. I said, ‘How do you know?’ He said, ‘You drop a baited hook in the water and see if they bite it.’ He said if there was a way to tell before you left the house, he’d bottle it and sell it to fishermen all over the world.”

She smiled just the tiniest bit. I thought maybe that was a good sign. But if so, it was a small good sign.

I waited again for her to talk. I was beginning to think she’d forgotten how.

After a long wait, she said, “All those years he didn’t settle down with anybody else. I think I wanted to believe it wasn’t my fault.”

“It
wasn’t
your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault.”

“Maybe. But that’s not the way it feels.”

“I’m sorry. I guess maybe this was wrong.”

“I don’t know. Maybe not. The truth was the truth even before you told it to me. And anyway, I think part of me already knew.”

“I hope you won’t tell him I was ever here. I can’t really stop you, I guess. But I really think it would be nice for him to not have to know.”

“I won’t tell him,” she said. “So he won’t be embarrassed. And so he won’t lose your friendship. Which I think has been a good thing for him.”

“I should go. I need to catch that last bus. I thought I could stay with Aunt Vi, but if she’s gone… The last bus leaves at six.”

She looked at her watch.

“I’ll make up my guestroom for you,” she said.

“What time is it?”

“Twenty-five minutes after five. Even if I drive you, it’s rush hour. You’ll never make it.”

“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.