Where We Belong (7 page)

“Library.”

“Emailing your friends from your old school?”

“Kind of. I guess. Computer stuff. You know. Web surfing and a little bit of social stuff.”

I didn’t have any friends at the old school. Not to the level where they’d miss me. But I didn’t want my mom to know that. And I didn’t want her to ever know about the traveling, because I knew it would only make her feel bad.

“That guy next door is not a nice man at all,” she said. Just out of nowhere like that.

My head came up suddenly, but she was looking down at Sophie, brushing, and she didn’t see.

“You talked to him?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You talked to him through the fence?”

“No, I went over there.”

“To say what?”

“We’ve got to figure out how to get Sophie spending more time with that dog.”

“We can’t. There’s no way. She’s his dog.”

“Yeah. That’s pretty much what he said. And no chance he’s going to part with the dog…”

“You asked him to give us the dog?” I heard my own voice come up, sharp.

“No! Not give. I would have paid him. Not right away. In installments, maybe.”

Then I was on my feet, and I didn’t even know how I got there.

“I can’t believe you! That’s his dog! That dog is his best friend! You don’t ask somebody to sell you their best friend!”

“I just asked. He can say no. And he did.”

“I can’t believe you even asked. What if it calmed his dog down to be around Sophie? Would you sell him Sophie?”

Then she was on her feet, too, nose to nose with me, and Sophie was still on the floor, squeaking.

“You do
not
compare your sister to a dog!”

“I’m not comparing Sophie to a dog. You know me better than that. I’m comparing that dog to a person. That dog is the only person waiting for that guy when he gets home from work every day. You think that means nothing? That’s his best friend. Not a used car.”

“We’re in a bind here, in case you hadn’t noticed. He could at least have been nice about it.”

“I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t have been nice to somebody who did that to me, either.”

I blasted out of the closet. And then I couldn’t quite figure out where to go.

I ended up stomping out back and lying on the lounge chair on the back grass. The breeze was cool, and I could feel it drying the sweat on my face. I thought about that closet and got claustrophobia, but in this weird, belated way. Like my whole life felt like that soundproof closet. Too close and too hot. No way to really spread your elbows or stretch out your legs.

After a while, my mom stuck her head out the back door and said, “I wish you wouldn’t be mad at me.”

“Could you just give me a little time?”

That’s a problem with my mom. She hates for anyone to be mad at her. Especially me. So she wants me to get over it in about a second. Or even just say I’m over it. But I need more time. Stuff gets tangled up in me, and I have to let it unwind gradually. It doesn’t help to rush it.

She must have gone in then, because I never heard another word from her after that.

I fell asleep for a while without meaning to. And that’s just… I can’t tell you how weird that is for me. I never take naps during the day. Half the time, I don’t even sleep much at night, and maybe that’s part of the problem.

I opened my eyes.

The sun was almost down. And my mom was sitting on the lounge chair, next to my hip. Watching me sleep.

“You still mad at me?”

She looked sad. And maybe even a little scared.

“How can I be? I’m asleep. I can’t be mad in my sleep.”

She smiled, but without really losing the sad look. She had her long hair in one of those loose braids that looked nice on her. Little wisps had come out of the braid and were falling around her face, but even that looked nice.

She started stroking my forehead, the way she’d done with Sophie. Except I didn’t have much hair to move out of the way.

“Where’s Sophie? You didn’t leave her in the closet by herself, did you?”

“Of course not. You know I wouldn’t do that. She’s asleep. I put her to bed.”

“Awful early. I wonder if she’ll sleep through the night.”

“Oh, God. Here’s hoping.”

Silence for a while. I let her keep stroking, because it felt nice.

Then she said, “I hate it when you’re mad at me.”

“I know you do. But sometimes people just have to get mad. I mean, that’s his dog, for God’s sake.”

She clapped a hand over my mouth, but gently.

“Don’t get yourself started again.”

I rolled my eyes, and she took the hand back again.

“You know I meant well,” she said.

“I know. I know you’re just trying to get us a place we won’t get kicked right out of again.”

“It seems kind of stupid, though. I swear, it seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I can’t remember why. For the life of me, I can’t remember how I talked myself into thinking it was good thinking.”

“It’s only been a couple of days. How do you know Sophie won’t hate the dog tomorrow?”

“Sophie? Lose interest in something? I mean, if she was ever interested in it to begin with?”

“Well. That’s a point.”

“I was thinking of seeing if we can find a black Great Dane. Do you think she’d notice the difference if it had regular ears?”

“I think she’d notice the difference if it was a litter mate. I think she’d notice the difference if you had that dog cloned. It’s not about what the dog looks like. It’s something on the inside of the dog she likes.”

“That doesn’t sound like Sophie.”

“Take my word for it. I’ve been watching them.”

“I feel like a complete idiot sometimes.”

“I feel like that a couple times a day.”

“I mean around
you
, though. Sometimes I feel like you know more than I do. Like when we disagree about something, you usually turn out to be right. I feel like you’re more mature than I am. And it scares me.”

“I’m not more mature than anybody,” I said.

Even though I knew it wasn’t true. There might be a lot of things I hadn’t figured out how to be yet, but mature wasn’t one of them. I was feeling uneasy with this line of conversation. I had never said it out loud to her… not yet… but I knew exactly what she meant. And it scared me, too.

In fact, I think it scared me more.

After she went inside, I sat up on the edge of the lounge chair for a long time. It was getting near dark, but for some reason, I wasn’t moving. It was like I just couldn’t motivate myself to do anything but that.

Finally, a movement caught my eye, and I looked up to see Rigby staring at me through the fence, swinging her tail. Like if she just wagged long enough and patiently enough, she could dissolve the fence and walk right over and say hi. I smiled a little, without really meaning to.

I almost wanted not to look up and see Paul standing there behind her. I felt, for a minute, like I could avoid it.

But then I heard him say, “Oh, come on, Rig. Do what you came out here to do.”

I looked up. Locked into all that disapproval.

I sighed. Got up. Walked to the fence. Put my fingers through for Rigby to snuffle.

“I’m sorry about my mom,” I said.

It didn’t get quite the reaction I was hoping for.

He stood even straighter, like his shoulders were turning into something harder than shoulder material. Concrete or granite. His brow furrowed down.

“Here’s the thing about your little family,” he said. “I don’t want any part of any of it. Here’s what I want: I want to be left alone. I want quiet. I want peace. I want my life to be as uncomplicated as possible. You seem like a pretty nice kid. The rest of that gang over there, I’m not so sure about. But that’s not my point. My point is, it’s complicated over on your side of the fence. I want simple. I want calm. If you bring me any part of your life, then my life gets complicated, too. Get what I’m saying?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“I just want to be left alone.”

“I get that part.”

“You, yes. I believe you do. And I believe you’ll leave me alone if I ask you to. But you can’t make your sister quiet.”

“No, sir. I don’t think anything could make my sister quiet.”

“You can’t make your mom mind her own business.”

“Well… I’m not sure if that’s true.” I looked up from Rigby’s sweet face and into his not-so-sweet one. It was just barely light enough to see his expression. “I did yell at her quite a bit for it.”

He stood there, quiet, for a minute. I watched his face change. Not a huge change. Just a little. It went from set-like-a-rock to… almost… curious.

“And she took that from you?”

“More or less. Mostly. She did get mad at one thing I said. I said, ‘What if he came over here and told you Sophie kept his dog nice and calm? Would you sell him Sophie?’ She got mad and said I was comparing my sister to a dog. But I wasn’t. I was comparing your dog to somebody’s sister. Anyway, she hates it when I’m mad at her. So she really might not do it again.”

“You really said all that to her?”

“I did.”

He had this look in his eyes. Just for a second. Almost like… like he looked up to me or something. I know that sounds crazy. But just for a flicker of a second, it was there. Then he plastered over it again.

“I actually like the way you look at things. But…”

“You just want to be left alone.”

“Yes.”

“Fine. I can do that.”

“I know you think I’m the grumpiest old man on the planet. Most people do. I’m really not. Or anyway, I’m not trying to be. I just…”

“Want to be left alone.”

“Yes.”

“Fine,” I said. “No problem.”

He turned back toward his house. I watched him walk up onto his side stoop. It seemed like some kind of fake retreat, because he wasn’t going to go back in without the dog. Or at least, I didn’t think he would. I guess he could, but normally, he stayed out until she’d done what she’d come out there to do. All she’d done so far was wag at me through the fence.

“She means well,” I said.

He turned back sharply.

“Who? Your mother or your sister?”

“Both, I guess. But I meant my mom. She’s trying to be a good person. You know? She’s doing her best.”

A long pause.

Then he said, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

“I don’t know what that even means.”

“It means people like her do a lot of damage while they’re trying to be nice.”

“And people like you do a lot of damage while you’re
not
trying to be nice.”

My brain tingled, waiting to hear what he’d say. I wasn’t used to insulting grownups. But this grownup seemed different. I felt almost like I couldn’t miss with him. The ruder I got, the more he admired me.

“Not a bad point,” he said. “But…”

“You just want to be left alone.”

“Yes.”

Then he went inside. Without the dog.

That was the last conversation I had with Paul Inverness for three weeks. If anyone had asked me at the time, I’d have said it would be my last conversation with him ever. In my whole life, both before and since, I don’t think I’ve ever fallen quite so far away from being right.

Three weeks later to the day—three weeks of a new school and being way behind in my schoolwork—a Saturday again, I heard someone knock on the door.