Where We Belong (50 page)

We reached the car in silence, and she got in and opened the passenger door. I sat down and put on my seatbelt, wondering if I should press the issue further.

Just as she was pulling out of the space, she said, “I might’ve thought that. Yeah.” Then, a block later, “But I’m not really sure what it changes.”

I didn’t answer. Because I wasn’t sure, either. It changed something in me. But I wasn’t sure it changed anything in my real estate goals.

I more or less resigned myself to the fact that we were taking our newly found worldview and moving it back down out of the mountains.

I dropped her at work and drove back to the apartment. I limped upstairs, leaning heavily on the railing. Got the newspaper off the table. Found a marking pen and circled the listing. Drew three big arrows pointing to it. Underneath that, I wrote IT’S BACK, in big block letters.

Then I limped downstairs and slowly made my way up to Paul’s back door. I left it on the porch, tucking one end under the door so it couldn’t blow away.

I looked out the window an hour later, and it was gone. He’d taken it inside.

I sat on the edge of the couch for most of the day, hoping. Until it was time to pick up my mom.

Then I sat on the edge of the couch all evening, trying to hope less obviously.

But I didn’t hear anything from Paul.

Two days after that, I was still more or less on the edge of the couch when I heard footsteps on the stairs. It was mid-afternoon, not quite time for my mom to be home. I ran—well, hobbled fast—over to the door so I could open it when he knocked.

But no knock ever happened.

Instead, I watched as a note appeared under the door. Sealed in a lavender-colored envelope. I grabbed it up and sat back down on the couch with it, my hands shaking. I slaughtered the envelope, getting it open.

It wasn’t from Paul. It was from Rachel.

Everything fell and sagged in me. I knew then that I might as well slump back on the couch and breathe. Because that sudden change of heart I’d been counting on in him wasn’t going to happen. I’d thought the fact that the house was back on the market might mean something to him. But as I sat there, Rachel’s note sagging onto my lap, still unread, I felt stupid for having thought so. I was the only one who cared about that ugly, rundown house. I had no idea why I’d ever expected anybody else to share my enthusiasm.

I lifted the note and read it.

It just said she was up visiting, and she wanted me to know. And that she’d try again to talk to him.

But I felt like I had a pretty good idea how that would turn out.

The following day, mid-morning, I walked into town.

It was a stupid thing to do, on a number of levels.

First, my ankle wasn’t really healed enough for that long a walk. My knee was partly scabbed over, partly still infected, and it hurt every time I bent it. And the whole point of the walk was what my mom called a fool’s errand.

I’d gotten it in my head to go see that house one more time. To say goodbye before we left town. Except, underneath that, maybe to get a feel for whether I’d ever belonged there or not. Like maybe the answer could have changed.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t thought of any of this before my mom left for work. And then, after she did, I just couldn’t hold the idea back.

I was hobbling uphill toward town when a car pulled up beside me. I purposely didn’t look. Because if a weird guy is following you in his car, you shouldn’t encourage him.

“Angie,” I heard. In a voice that was very definitely Paul’s.

He had his passenger window open, so I hobbled over and leaned on his car. I wanted to talk, but my heart was too thumpy, and I couldn’t quite catch my breath. Because I didn’t know if he was there to hurt me or to be nice to me, and I couldn’t stand the waiting to find out.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said.

“Why do people do that? All these people driving around trying to find me. Like I’m somebody important to find.” I was talking over my fear. Making very little sense. “Last time, it was to tell me bad news. Are you going to tell me bad news?”

“No,” he said.

So I opened the passenger door and got in.

We sat in absolute silence for a weird length of time.

Then I heard something move in the backseat. I whipped around to look. He had a dog back there. If you could call him that. He was more of a puppy, but at least half grown, and absolutely huge. Lying down, he filled the seat completely, from one door to the other. He was definitely a Great Dane. But not black, like Rigby. An even silvery-gray color, like a Weimaraner. He was incredibly skinny. Painfully skinny. You could see every knob of his backbone. Every one of his ribs. When I looked at him, he turned his eyes away. His ears were long and uncropped.

“Oh, my God. You got a new dog.”

“I did.”

“Where did you get him? Him? Her?”

“Him. I went all the way to Sacramento, to get him from a breed-rescue group.”

“He’s so skinny.”

“I know. They tried to fatten him up. Now I’m trying to fatten him up. But he has issues around food. It’s like he’s scared of it. He’s scared of everything. Apparently, he’s been abused and neglected. But he’ll come around.”

“What’s his name?”

“Scout. That was his name when I got him, but I’m thinking I’ll keep it. Because it’s so different from Rigby. I think it’s important to be clear that the new dog is completely different from the one you lost.”

“Scout.” I reached my hand out to him. He sat up fast to get out of the way.

“Give him time.”

“Does he let you touch him?”

“Barely. But he’s getting better with me. Like his ears?”

“I do. Very much. Very handsome ears on the dog. Why were you looking for me? What did you want to tell me? Or was it just to show me the dog?”

I heard him pull in a long, deep breath and let it out again. I watched his hands tighten on the steering wheel, then relax. The whole thing seemed to take a long time. But I just waited.

“This morning…” he said.

And paused. I could already tell this speech had been rehearsed.

“…I woke up very early. It was still dark. The wee small hours of the morning. And the love of my life… the woman I’ve loved since high school… was in my bed with me.”

He stopped, almost like he couldn’t go on. I wanted to shout something about how wonderful that was. I didn’t. I shut my mouth. For a change.

“I watched her sleeping for a long time. I don’t even know how long. Could have been hours. And the same thought kept coming back. Over and over and over.”

Another long pause. Painful for me. But I waited.

“I thought, What kind of fool… what kind of
idiot
… would feel
anything
for the person who helped this happen… except gratitude?”

Tears sprang up, sudden. Just out of nowhere. I told them to go away. I clamped on them. But a few got loose. I didn’t wipe them away again.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you with what I did,” I said.

“See, you’re doing that thing again. Don’t. You’re doing that Angie thing where someone is trying to let you off the hook, and you keep jumping back on it.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

We sat in silence for a time. I don’t how long of one. Scout shifted in the backseat and sighed a deep, sad sigh.

“That’s so wonderful about you and Rachel,” I said. More silence. Then I said, “Oh, my God. You just told me another really sensitive personal secret.”

“Yes,” he said. “The irony of that is not lost on me.”

“Was there something better I should’ve done? What would you have done?”

“I think I would have gone a different route. If I knew somebody who wasn’t doing the right thing, I don’t think I’d do it for them. I think I’d use more of a bayonet-at-the-back approach. Get behind them, see if I couldn’t drive some action.”

“I have no idea what that would even look like.”

“I’ll show you exactly what it looks like.”

He shifted into Drive and headed for town.

I didn’t ask any questions.

I had a few. But I didn’t ask them.

He pulled up in front of the pharmacy and cut the engine.

“Before I do this,” he said, “if she had a house, could she be trusted to keep up the payments?”

“If she didn’t, I would. I’d get a job and help.”

“That’s what I needed to hear.”

He jumped out of the car and disappeared inside the pharmacy.

I looked back at Scout. “What the hell?” I asked him.

A minute later, Paul was there again with my mom in tow. He opened the passenger door.

“You sit in the back with the dog,” he told me. “Don’t try to pet him. He won’t bite you, but it’s best not to scare him.”

I got out, leaning most of my weight on my good ankle, and opened the back door. Scout jumped up into a sit. I eased into the backseat beside him, and he drew back against the door on the opposite side, pulling his paws in so they didn’t touch any part of me. Treating me like I was a flow of molten lava coming almost all the way up to where he sat. I looked at him, and he looked away.

Then we were moving, and Paul was talking, more or less nonstop. But not to me. To my mom.

“You’re not ashamed of the fact that you’ve never had a loan before. You take pride in being a first-time buyer. You’re ready to move up to the middle class. You didn’t try to buy in the past because you knew your own limitations. You didn’t feel ready. Now you feel ready. It’s not your fault that your income is low. You could work full-time, but your responsibility to your special-needs daughter comes first. That’s why you work two-thirds time instead of full-time. She’s enrolled in Special Education in public school, so there are no extra expenses incurred by her situation. Your older daughter is unusually mature and responsible and is seventeen now. She’s a good help to you. If you can wait until she’s eighteen for her to work part-time and contribute, that would be preferable, but she’s ready to step in at any time if more money is needed.”

“Okay…” my mom said.

I had no idea how she’d gotten a break from work. I had no idea how hard he’d pushed her to get her to come. I had no idea if she was excited or intimidated. There was so much I didn’t know.

“Let me do most of the talking. If I’m looking at the loan administrator, I’m carrying the dialogue. If he asks you a direct question, I’ll turn to you. That’s your signal to talk. Be direct. Be polite. Don’t be subservient. Banks need to make loans. It’s a big part of their income. His job is to get people into mortgages.”