I feel a tightness in my chest as he backs away. It’s more of a stab than an ache.
“I’m glad you’re back.” He smiles at me from the bottom step and waits.
He wants me to get inside. He’s not going to leave until I do. I wonder if that has anything to do with the night I was taken.
I turn to face him, and the cameras go off like a swarm of angry fireflies. “Thanks for staying with me last night. Thank you for bringing me home.”
Something meaningful stretches across Torrin’s face. Then he nods. “You’re welcome.” Then he lifts his chin toward my parents. “You better get inside.”
I know he’s right, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to say good-bye, however temporary it is. I know good-byes have no guarantee that you’ll see that person again. I know that good-byes can be permanent even if you don’t mean them that way.
When I step over the threshold and pass my dad, I turn to wave at Torrin. He’s still there, almost like he’s guarding the walkway. He’s watching me like he’s concentrating, but when I wave, he lets himself smile as he waves back.
His smile is what I’m watching when my dad steps in front of me and closes the door, sealing us inside. It’s darker with the door closed. It’s cooler too.
“Oh, Jade, are you okay?” My mom moves in front of me and settles her hands into the bends of my arms. She’s not barreling at me with a storm of tears and suffocating embraces. Someone must have talked with her about it yesterday, post my meltdown from being touched too much too fast.
Dad steps in around us, but he keeps a safe distance. He keeps his hands at his sides.
I don’t answer her because I think the question was a rhetorical one—a question a mother has to ask her child no matter what’s happened, from a sliver in the thumb to a ten-year kidnapping.
I don’t see my brother or sister anywhere. It isn’t until I find myself looking for them that I realize they don’t live here anymore. They’ve moved on. I’m twenty-seven, the oldest child, and still living here. I never really checked out.
“Welcome home, sweetheart.” Mom’s eyes are teary when she smiles at me.
I try to smile back, but it’s impossible. This isn’t home. It doesn’t feel like it anymore. When I think about what does feel like home, my stomach churns. I miss the house. I think I might even miss him.
There really is no hope for me.
NOTHING ABOUT THE house I grew up in has changed. The walls have a fresh coat of paint and my dad’s ratty recliner’s been replaced by a new one, but everything’s exactly how I remember it. All the same.
I should feel right at home, like I’m picking up where I left off, but I don’t. This house feels strange, foreign. I feel like a guest in someone else’s home, afraid to go through the cupboards or kick my feet up on the couch.
This house hasn’t changed, but I have.
It’s not really the house that feels foreign—it’s me being inside it, like I don’t fit. The way my parents have hovered over me all day, it’s like they sense it too and are trying to figure out a way to make me fit. No matter how many times they try though, I’ll never fit. My edges are too jagged.
It’s dinnertime, and the smells of prime rib and garlic have been rolling from the kitchen since this afternoon. It used to be my favorite meal: red meat, garlic mashed potatoes, and sautéed green beans. From the smells alone, I know it’s not my favorite anymore.
My brother and sister are supposed to come here, and Mom’s even set the fancy china on the table. The good wine’s been pulled out, and Dad has on his tweed blazer. The meal has the feel of a celebration, but my heart isn’t in it.
I know it should be, but that doesn’t change that it isn’t.
For my family’s sake, I’ll pretend to celebrate with them. They deserve their celebration, and maybe one day, once I manage to un-mess up myself, I’ll be able to join in.
“Do you need any help, Mom?” I call into the kitchen from my perch at the front window. The sheer curtains have been drawn, but I can still see outside. The media circus hasn’t shrunk in the eight hours since I arrived; it’s gotten bigger. Now big floodlights extend from the top of news trucks. Some of the stations are familiar local channels, some aren’t, and some of the bigger trucks have national stations stamped on their sides.
“No, sweetie, you just relax. It will be ready in five.”
She’s been telling me to rest all day, but I’ve spent the past ten years resting. Besides, I’ve got too much nervous energy to relax. I need something to keep my hands and mind busy.
“What would you like to drink, Jade?” Dad calls from the kitchen.
It’s a strange place to find him. Dad used to spend the hour leading up to dinner in his chair, watching the evening news.
I can guess why he doesn’t keep that tradition anymore though.
“Water, please,” I say.
“I picked up some of your favorite kind of soda.”
“Water’s good.” I haven’t had a soda in ten years. It would probably tear my stomach apart now.
“Why don’t you take a seat, Jade? Sam and Connor will be here any minute.”
I turn away from the window. The cameras are still firing. Not as much, but they’re still going off. “Where do you want me?”
“In your usual seat,” Mom says as she settles a glass bowl of mashed potatoes on the table.
I stare at the table. I can’t remember where my usual seat was. I know it was close to my dad, but was it to the right or the left of him?
Mom catches me staring and pulls out the chair to the right of my dad. “Here you go.”
I take a seat and wait. It’s so quiet in the house now. Without Connor’s alternative music blasting from his room and Sam and her friends giggling behind her bedroom door and Mom’s jazz streaming from the kitchen and Dad’s nightly news echoing from the living room, it’s silent.
Now that I’m home, my parents seem to have no idea what to say to me. I don’t exactly know what to say to them either.
“Look at this beauty,” Dad trumpets as he carries in a huge roast.
He sets it right in front of me, and I have to scoot my chair back from the smell. It’s almost offensive now. The pools of red-stained grease below the meat have me squirming in my seat.
Outside, the noise level rises right before the front door explodes open. Connor wanders into the living room first, looking a little shocked, but his face clears when he sees me.
“Hey, Jade.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and takes a seat in what I guess is his usual seat. I can’t remember that either.
For a brief moment, I look around, wondering who Connor’s talking to. I catch myself right after. Me. I’m Jade. I spent ten years being called by a different name, but still—searching the room for a Jade when I was born with that name and was probably called it dozens of times every day for seventeen years?
I don’t need another confirmation that transitioning into normal life is impossible for someone like me. I’ve had enough of those already.
Dad claps Connor on the back and heads toward the front door. I hear hushed whispers that sound like Sam and Dad are arguing about something.
I’m sure that something has to do with me.
Dad comes back into the dining room first, his brows drawn in a hard line. Sam follows a minute later. She doesn’t look at me at first. Like yesterday at the hospital, she looks totally put-together, like nothing could touch the shine on her shoes or wrinkle the silk of her dress.
“Hi, Jade.” Her voice is stilted, but she finally looks at me. For a second.
I’ve changed into one of my old outfits Mom brought down for me earlier, but everything’s too big now. So she pulled out an outfit of hers and let me try that on. I feel strange wearing my mom’s khaki trousers and cashmere sweater, and I must look it by the way Connor’s staring at me.
Actually, it isn’t my clothes he’s staring at.
“What happened to your neck?” he ask
s, studying the fresh bandages.
I’m about to answer him when Mom comes in carrying the green beans. “Connor.” She shakes her head.
Just like that, he looks away and takes a drink of his water.
“It’s from a metal collar I wore. Sometimes it would dig into my skin and make me bleed. I bled a lot the day they came to get me.” I don’t realize everyone’s gaping at me until I look around the table. Well, Sam’s the only one gaping. Everyone else is just kind of wide-eyed.
“Who’s ready to eat?” Mom’s voice rings through the room, and everyone except me nods.
So I guess they’re happy to have me back, but they aren’t ready to hear what happened. Maybe they never will be.
Dad takes his station at the head of the table and cuts into the roast. The sawing noise the knife makes as it cuts into the meat makes my stomach convulse. The sight of the bright red meat makes me close my eyes.
I’ve never been so keenly aware that the chunk of meat I was about to eat came from a living, breathing animal. The blood pooling into Mom’s china serving plate is the same blood that kept that animal alive. I’m about to eat its flesh.
I know I’ll never eat meat again. I’ll never dine on the pieces of an innocent animal ever again.
When Dad puts the first slab on my plate, I shake my head.
“You love roast, Jade,” he says, the knife in his hand dripping red grease.
“No.” I keep shaking my head. “I don’t.”
Mom wets her lips across from me and looks at Dad. She doesn’t know what to do. I know she planned this meal for me. I know she wanted it to be special. I hate that I’m ruining it for her, but I can’t eat that. I can barely stand to sit in my seat with it staring at me.
For ten years, I’ve eaten food that came from a can or a bag: rice, beans, tuna, peas, green beans . . . I might have liked bloody meat in a different life, but not this one.
“Here, trade plates with me.” Connor leans across the table and grabs my plate before setting his empty one in front of me.
I send a small smile his way, and he shrugs back like it’s no big deal. Dad goes back to cutting the roast, and I distract myself by scooping a mound of potatoes and green beans onto my plate. I already know I won’t be able to eat much of it, but for Mom’s sake, I’ll try. My appetite has disappeared ever since I was rescued. I don’t know why, but it’s like I can’t stomach anything anymore.
“What are you studying in school, Connor?” I ask as I squirm on the chair, trying to find a comfortable spot. This chair’s so hard. Back at Earl Rae’s, the chairs had pads covering the seats.
He shrugs again while Dad grumbles.
“A little bit of everything right now,” Connor answers.
“Are you a junior now?” I glance at his U-Dub sweatshirt, wondering if he ever sees Rory anymore. They used to be friends, but who knows if that’s the case anymore.
“Senior.”
“Who should be graduating with the rest of his class in a week,” Dad adds under his breath.
“I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up yet. It’s a big decision.” Connor takes a drink of his water. “I’m leaving next week for Europe to spend summer quarter taking a course in ancient Scottish history.”
I nod while Dad grumbles, “Because just think of all the job opportunities out there for people who spend a summer learning about Scottish history.”
“Ancient Scottish history.” Connor lifts his fork.
Dad grumbles again.
Sam is silent down the table from me. I feel her anger directed at me, but I can’t figure out its source. I’ve been gone for ten years—what could I have done to piss her off so badly? She can’t still be mad about the time Torrin and I turned the sprinklers on her and her friends when they were camping out in the backyard.
“What have you been up to, Sam?” I try a bite of the mashed potatoes. I’m sure it’s the same recipe, but I feel like I’m choking down rubber cement.
She tenses when I say her name, then she picks up her fork. “I graduated from University of Oregon three years ago with a double major in International Business and Economics. I work for Boeing in Federal Way as an international liaison. Two years ago, I married Patrick, who I met in college.” She lifts her left hand, and a ring sparkles from her finger. “He works for Microsoft in Redmond as a software developer. We had our daughter last year. Her name’s Maisy.”
Sam lists this all off like she’s reading a grocery list, so it takes me a second to catch up. She’s married? She has a kid?
“So that means I’m an aunt?” The words sputter from my mouth as I try to work that out.
Sam lifts a shoulder.
“Are Patrick and Maisy coming to dinner too?” I ask, but the table’s only set for five.
Sam shakes her head. “Patrick and I aren’t ready to explain all of this to Maisy yet.” She makes “this” sound like a lurid thing.
“How old’s Maisy?” I ask, swirling patterns into my mashed potatoes.
“Fourteen months.”
I feel my forehead crease. Explaining “this” isn’t why Sam left her family at home. She doesn’t want me to meet them. She doesn’t want them to meet me. Is she ashamed of me? Embarrassed? Does she think I’m ruined now? A potentially bad influence? A black hole that will suck everything that gets close into its vacuum?
“Congratulations,” I say before trying the beans. They go down a little easier, but I know I won’t be able to eat more than a few bites.
“Thanks.” Sam picks at her plate, but her appetite looks as absent as mine.
“Jade, sweetheart . . .”
Just the way my mom says it, I know she’s hesitant to mention whatever she’s going to. She’s walking on eggshells. Everyone at the table is. I hate it. I just want them to act like nothing happened, to treat me like the same person they remember me as, to not think of me as a victim who was kidnapped but as their sister and daughter.
“When should I reschedule your meeting with the detectives?” Mom asks.
My fork freezes above the beans. “I don’t know.”
“Next week?” she asks gently.
Dad stops cutting into the roast and sits down.
“I don’t know.”
“You have to talk to them sometime,” she presses.
I nod like I know, but really, I don’t. Why do I have to talk to them? Why is everyone so concerned about me talking to someone? Earl Rae is dead. I’ve been found. What more do they need to know?
“I’ll let you know.” I take another bite of beans as a distraction. This dinner is like enduring slow torture, and I’m not the only one who feels that way. It looks like everyone feels the same. Even my “usual” chair feels like it has sprouted thorns.
“Do you want me to put together a little get-together with some of your old friends?” Mom’s holding her fork, but she hasn’t touched her plate. The only ones eating are Connor and Dad. “I know they’ll be eager to see you.”
I can barely remember the names and faces of my old friends. I know I had some. Good ones. But their faces are blurred out of my memory, their names buried in the attic of my mind.
I swirl my beans around on the plate. “I’ve seen Torrin.”
Mom and Dad exchange a look.
“Maybe some friends who aren’t old boyfriends who went and became a priest,” Sam says under her breath.
“A lot’s changed in ten years, Jade. I know you weren’t here to change with it, but you’ll have to find some way to catch up.”
I know what my dad’s talking about. Or who he’s talking about. He wants me to accept that Torrin’s not a part of my life anymore. He wants me to let go of whatever part of him I’ve held onto.
“Don’t worry, Jade, I’ll take care of arranging some kind of get-together.” Mom glances at my plate. Worry touches her eyebrows. “I was also looking into a way for you to work on your GED so you can start applying to colleges. You could probably even start your freshman year i
n the fall.”
My head spins, and I numb out the rest. My GED. College. Career. I haven’t seen the inside of a classroom in a decade. What if I can’t pass the GED? What if no college wants me? What if I don’t even want to go to college?
I don’t know. Up until now, I haven’t even considered it possible. Does the person I am now still want to go, or does she want something else?
I don’t know—big goddamn surprise.
Mom’s moved on to talking about old friends—who married who and who’s off at med school—and I suddenly feel like someone’s just come up behind me and wound their fingers around my neck. I can’t breathe. I can’t talk. The invisible fingers tighten, and I jolt out of my chair.
Everyone stops talking and stares at me.
“I’m going to excuse myself.” My voice sounds strained, like those fingers aren’t as invisible as I thought. “Thanks for dinner.”
I don’t wait for them to say anything; I just leave the dining room. I don’t miss the way Sam watches me leave though—like I’m a grenade that’s pin is gradually being pulled. Or the way Connor stops chewing and looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t. Or the way my mom leans her head into her hands and the way my dad looks out the window like he’s at a loss.
They’re as uncomfortable around me as I am around them. I don’t know how long this will last. I don’t know if it will ever pass. All I know is that I can’t sit in that chair, at that table, any longer.
Once I hit the stairs, I lope up them. By the halfway point, I have to slow to taking them one sluggish step at a time. I haven’t climbed stairs in years. The treadmill I used to walk on didn’t have an incline option, so the stair climb feels like sprinting up the Himalayas.
When I reach the second floor, I pause to catch my breath before continuing down the hall. I haven’t been in my bedroom since arriving home—I’m not sure if it’s still “my bedroom”—but it’s the only place I can think to go where I can close a door and have some privacy.
I glance in the room that used to be Sam’s. It’s been turned into a gym. Connor’s room has been turned into a guest room. The door at the end of the hall is closed. My room. I wonder what it’s been turned into. A storage room? An artillery room for Dad’s gun collection? A sewing room?