Where We Belong (4 page)

After I put her to bed, I locked myself in the bathroom. I took a long, long shower, almost until the hot water was gone. Like everything that had just happened would wash off. It did make me feel better, though. Some better.

I got out and wrapped up in a towel and wiped steam off the mirror with my hand.

My lip was swollen under the butterfly bandage, and it still looked a little bloody. I wiggled the tooth right behind it with my tongue, and then with my finger, and it scared me how loose it was. I didn’t know if it would tighten up again on its own or if I’d lose it. That would be a major disaster. It’s not like we could afford cosmetic dentist visits.

I heard a light knock on the bathroom door.

“I’ll be right out, Aunt Vi.”

“It’s me,” my mom said.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Did you have an okay day?”

“Pretty much like most of them,” I said.

We sort of had a deal that we each wouldn’t tell the other any more than necessary about any bad days. We’d never said such a thing out loud, but it was a deal all the same.

“I have some great news for you.”

“Good. I could use some.”

“I got a job. I’m going to be working dinners at that nice Italian restaurant on Sixth Street. It’s kind of expensive. And you know what that means.”

Good tips. That’s what it meant. The higher the bill, the bigger the tips.

“That’s great,” I said. “Maybe we can afford our own place.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, hon. Anyway, I start next week.”

“That’s good, Mom.”

“You sound—”

“I’m fine. I’ll be right out, okay?”

A pause. And then I guess she must have walked away. Because I never heard another sound after that.

After I got dressed again and dried my hair with Aunt Vi’s blow dryer, I wandered out to see where everybody was. I could hear Mom and Vi talking to each other in low voices.

When I stuck my head into the kitchen, they both stopped talking and looked up at me. Like I’d caught them doing something wrong.

“Why didn’t you tell me the police came?” my mom asked. Like it was my idea they should come by.

She didn’t say anything about my lip, but maybe it was just the light. The light from the living room was bright behind me, and probably she just didn’t see.

“You didn’t ask,” I said.

I guess that was a bad-attitude thing to say. I didn’t mean to have a bad attitude. I was just tired. I can live through everything or I can answer for everything, but sometimes both is just too much for one day.

Nobody said anything, and nothing happened, except it got real clear to me—real fast—that they weren’t going to finish their talk with me standing right there listening. I ducked out of the kitchen again, and through the living room toward the front door.

I heard Aunt Violet say, “I just don’t think—”

And my mom cut her off and said, “Please, Vi. Please, I’m begging you. We need a little more time. We’d literally be out on the street if—”

That was when I slammed the front door. With me on the other side. It was dusky and cool out, and I felt free somehow, being out in it. Or freer, anyway.

I looked at the house next door, pulled in a long, deep breath, drew my shoulders back, and marched over there. And knocked.

I heard big, impossibly deep woofs from Rigby. Just three.

The door opened.

The man was wearing pajamas and a nice burgundy-colored shiny bathrobe, even though it wasn’t too late. Rigby was swinging her tail back and forth like she’d known me all her life. Her tail kept hitting the back of the guy’s thighs, but he didn’t act like he noticed.

His eyes narrowed when he looked at me. Just a little, but still…

“Yes?”

I almost lost my nerve.

I had to fill up with breath again. I had to re-straighten my shoulders.

Before I could speak, he asked, “What happened to your—”

I didn’t let him finish.

“That was a mean, horrible thing to do.”

He chewed on his lower lip for a moment. Just studying my face. Then he said, “I apologized, so I thought we’d be through with that.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

“I don’t know as much as you seem to think.”

“You know what you did.”

“I honestly don’t.”

“Calling the police on us like that. When you knew I was doing my best with her. It was mean and awful.”

“I didn’t call the police.”

That fell to the stoop and just lay there a minute. I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I didn’t really believe him. But it’s pretty strong stuff to call a grownup a liar. That’s a pretty radical thing to take on.

“Well, who did, then?”

He stepped out onto the stoop, and Rigby came out with him. She sat down near my left side, and I put my hand on her back, and it made me feel better.

“Look around,” he said, pointing up and down the street. “What do you see? The surface of the moon with just these two houses on it? Or neighbors as far as the eye can see?”

Then I felt incredibly stupid. Because it should have occurred to me that anybody could have called the cops. Just because I hadn’t met any of the other neighbors didn’t mean they couldn’t hear the ruckus.

“You really didn’t do it?”

“Let me tell you something about me. When I think something is the right thing to do, I do it. And if you ask me if I did it, I’ll tell you the truth, because I thought it was the right thing. I’ll tell you I did it, and I’ll tell you why I did it. I won’t do something and then lie about it. I did not call the police. I put in your earplugs, and read the news online instead of watching the TV news, and had a roast beef frozen dinner with mashed potatoes. And that’s all.”

“Oh,” I said. And when I said it, all my tiredness caught up with me, all at once. I almost could have melted into a little puddle on his stoop. “I’m sorry. Seriously. Very, very sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

“This is a really nice dog,” I said, rubbing her enormous shoulder blades.

“Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“Did you name her after the song?”

“What song?”

“Everybody knows that song. About the people. Who are lonely.”

“I just like the name Rigby. Now if there’s nothing else…”

But there was. I swear, it was because I was so tired. I felt like one big raw nerve. I swear, I wouldn’t have said this on any other day. I would have filtered it out. That evening, I was fresh out of filter.

“I wish you hadn’t gotten her ears cut. I know you’ll say it’s none of my business. And probably you’re right. She’s your dog. It’s just that… this puppy gets born, and she’s exactly the way she is, and I don’t get how anyone can think the way she’s born is wrong somehow. And anyway, I like the way they look with the big ears that fold over.”

I braved a look at his face. It didn’t look much different than it always had. I couldn’t read anything from his eyes.

“Are you done?”

“I just feel like it’s our job to take care of them. You know? And when you take care of someone, you should love them the way they are. Not try to make them different.”

Pause.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“No. Yes. Just one other thing. It’s painful for them. Puppies trust people, and I don’t think we should do anything that hurts them unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Another pause.

“Done?”

“Yes. Done.”

“I didn’t crop her ears.”

I looked down at the dog… well, almost more like…
over
at her. Her ears came up into my line of vision. I looked at those ears like I’d suddenly see them whole again. Then I looked up at the neighbor man. Figuring he’d make some sense out of that sentence if I only gave him time.

“I got her from a breed-rescue group when she was eight months old. She was already cropped. I would have preferred an uncropped dog, but I liked this dog’s temperament.”

“Oh,” I said. Feeling both very stupid and even more tired. “I guess I owe you another apology, then.”

“I guess you do.”

“I apologize.”

“See? It can happen to the best of us.”

“What can?”

I honestly didn’t understand what he meant. I thought he was still talking about ear-cropping. Like ear-cropping can happen to anybody at any time. Which didn’t make a lot of sense.

“You don’t know us. So you shouldn’t have judged us over something you don’t know a damn thing about.”

“Oh. Right. I did say that. And then I just turned around and did the same thing twice, didn’t I?”

“You did. So maybe next time someone makes a bad assumption about your family, instead of taking it personally, maybe just reflect on the fact that anyone can jump to a wrong conclusion. Even you.”

I knew there was something important in there, but I was too tired to really think it out just then. I knew what he meant, but my brain was in this serious shut-down mode.

I scratched my head. I don’t know why. It didn’t itch.

“I guess I’ll have to think about that,” I said.

“Goodnight,” he said.

“I’m sorry I bothered you.”

“Goodnight,” he said again.

Then he walked back into his house, with Rigby following close by his side, and shut and locked the door. Leaving me standing there on the stoop feeling like the world’s biggest and most hopeless fool.

The next day was Saturday, and I slept weirdly late.

When I got to the kitchen table, Mom and Aunt Vi were eating scrambled eggs and rye toast in absolute silence. My mom rose to her feet and met me halfway, holding me by the chin and turning my head into better light.

“Vi told me about your lip. Poor baby. That’s not gonna need a stitch, is it?”

“It’s fine. It’ll heal fine.”

“Because you know if it needs a stitch or two, we’ll find a way.”

“I know that,” I said. I did know it. I also knew she’d be awfully relieved if it didn’t.

“I’m so sorry it was such a rough day yesterday, baby. And I wasn’t here.”

She threw her arms around me and held me close. And I tightened up a little. I tried not to, but then I sort of did, anyway. It’s not that I didn’t want her to love me. I did. It’s that I didn’t like anybody feeling sorry for me. If I was going to get hurt, or have a hard time, I wanted to do it all alone, with nobody looking.

“I’m fine,” I said, and she took the hint and let go. “Where’s Sophie?”

My mom pointed toward the backyard.

I walked to the window and looked out. Sophie was folded into a sphinx position by the fence. Waiting. Rigby was nowhere to be seen.

“It’s Saturday,” I said. To no one in particular.

“What about it, honey?” my mom asked.

I turned around, surprised to hear her so close behind me. She was at the stove, trying to light the flame under the cast-iron skillet. Blowing on it to get it to catch. Which it finally did.

In the skillet was one more helping of eggs.

“These might be a little dried-out, honey. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d sleep so long. You must’ve been exhausted. What about it being Saturday?”

“The dog’s owner probably doesn’t work on Saturday. So he might not let the dog out.”

I was looking out the window again by then, at Sophie, even though she hadn’t moved a muscle. Still, part of me thought it wasn’t right to leave her too long by herself. On the other hand, she wasn’t moving, and she wasn’t going to move. That’s one thing you can count on with Sophie. Once she locks onto something, you’ve got some time.

“He’ll have to go out sometime, at least to pee,” my mom said, sounding a little nervous.

“She,” I said. “The dog is a she. And then, after she pees, she’ll go right back in again.”

I couldn’t hear anything at all from Vi, but I heard my mother say, “Now, Violet, I’m here to take care of it. I promise you that. Now just breathe. Please.”

I looked over my shoulder at Aunt Vi. “What do you know about that guy next door?”

Aunt Vi seemed to mull that over. “Not too much, honey. Why?”

Then I wondered why the question should’ve needed mulling. She either knew or she didn’t.

“Seems kind of grumpy,” I said.

“You talked to him?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I never talk to him. All I know is his name. Paul Inverness. And that he’s a loan officer at a bank. I don’t know which one. I don’t know one other thing. Just name and line of work. Matter of fact, I’ve lived here fifteen years and haven’t said more than ten sentences to that man.”