Page 38 of Borrowed
“Don’t wander,” she said, without looking at me.
I smiled too wide.“I live here.”
The inside smelled like old wood and lemon cleaner.The new stink of all the construction that kept happening and stopping.The lies of trying to make it whole.Trying to make it better than the home that burned.The air had that stillness like the walls had been holding their breath waiting for me.Or maybe for him.
I wandered to my room before she could say anything else.
My door still had the crooked sticker that said “Keep Out,” but the ink had bled with age like it was crying.
Inside, nothing had changed.
Same yellow wallpaper.
Same twin bed.
Same shelf by the window where I used to keep?—
“Trumpet,” I whispered.
Careful not to wake him.
I crossed the room fast, knees giving a little under the weight of memory.
There he was.Stiff little body, glass eyes gleaming.His ears were cocked like he still heard me, like he remembered.
“Did you miss me, baby?”I picked him up gently, kissing the soft part between his ears.He didn’t twitch.Of course, he didn’t.
Next to him, Delia sat with her front paws tucked, chin just so.Regal.She always was the prissy one—my little princess.
“I told you I’d come back,” I said to them both, setting them carefully in my lap as I sat down.“Did Father find his cat?I hope you guys didn’t tell.”
Trumpet said nothing.
Delia didn’t blink.
Good little bunnies.
I felt warmer with them on me, like old memories were being pressed into my skin.
Footsteps creaked behind me, heavy and hesitant.Father.I didn’t turn around.
“How are you?How is Toby?”he said, voice deep, rough like gravel in a jar.
I blinked.
A chill trailed over my shoulders.
My lips parted, and I waited—Toby?
Was he here?Was he standing behind me?Could Father see Toby, too?I looked at the corner of the room, the one with the shadow that never quite went away, even at noon.Why was Father talking to Toby?He didn’t like talking to me.That must be why.Father liked cats like Mila.I liked bunnies.
I smiled.Good.Toby needed love.
Father didn’t know Toby was hurt.
“It’s okay,” I whispered to the corner.“He didn’t mean anything.He’s just old.He’s mad at you because of his cat.Father likes cats.”
Toby didn’t answer, but I felt his breath on my neck.
