Collared

  I twist the handle and push the door open. Cool air washes over me. The room’s dark, so I can’t see much, but I can tell that the curtains are the same. I remember them because Torrin opened a can of soda that exploded all over them, and no matter how many times Mom washed them, the dark stains couldn’t be totally removed.

  I search for the overhead light switch and turn it on.

  Light floods the room, and I blink a few times to make sure I’m seeing what I think I am.

  My room’s the same. Nothing’s changed. It’s almost like a shrine the way the stuffed animals are still arranged on the rocking chair stuffed in the corner of the room and the way the blankets look like they’ve been ironed free of all wrinkles. My dresser’s in the same spot with the little glass swan figurines I kept on it. The pictures of my friends and family are still there, propped on my vanity. The corkboard with all of my random junk—old movie ticket stubs, bandanas from homecoming games, more photos—is still hanging beside my closet.

  It’s like a seventeen-year-old girl walked out of this room this morning and was expected back after school. It’s kind of creepy. I should feel at ease in my old room, but I think I’d be more comfortable in Connor’s-old-room-turned-guest-bedroom.

  Something’s missing though—or a few somethings. All have to do with a certain person. The pictures of Torrin are missing from my nightstand. The soccer trophies he gave me are gone from the windowsill. The corsages from the dances we went to together have disappeared.

  They held on to me—but they let him go.

  Except for the stuffed elephant sandwiched into the stuffed animal pile on the chair. Torrin won it for me at the fair that fall I’d been taken, but they didn’t know that.

  That’s the first place I wander toward. I pull the elephant free of the other animals and look at it. I’m sure it hasn’t changed—it’s an inanimate object after all—but it doesn’t feel as soft. Its face isn’t as sweet as I remember it being.

  When I hug it, it doesn’t make me smile and get ready to fall asleep.

  I hear footsteps climbing the stairs. From the lightness of them, I guess they’re my mom’s. She’s probably coming to check on me, but I’m not ready for her. I’m not ready for any of them really. I’m not ready for this.

  I close my door before she reaches the hall.

  “SHE’S GONE. I can’t find her. No one can find her.”

  That’s the first thing I hear as I wake up the next morning—my mom’s frantic voice, her footsteps matching.

  “We’ve looked everywhere and nothing. Oh my god, it’s happened again, hasn’t it? Someone’s taken her?” She chokes on her words. “We’re never going to see our baby again.”

  I blink, but it’s dark. Except for the slice of light coming from beneath the door, I can’t see anything.

  Another set of footsteps moves with my mom’s. These are less hysterical and more pronounced sounding. I hear them stop outside the door, and I start to sit up. The sleeping bag slides down me.

  The door gently slides open, and light blinds me for a second. When I can see again, I see him. He’s crouching in front of me, his head brushing the bottoms of my sweaters and shirts hanging in my closet.

  “She’s here,” he calls to my mom, who comes rushing into the room. Her eyes are red, and her foundation’s messy from the tears she’s crying. He clasps his hands in front of him and smiles at me. “Cozy in there?”

  I sit up a little more and rub my lower back. I can practically feel the impression the sneaker left there from sleeping on it for so long. I rest my back on the side of the closet. “What time is it?”

  My mom hovers over Torrin, looking at me with her red, puffy face.

  “Time to get up and start the day.” Torrin checks the watch on his wrist.

  It looks like it’s almost ten o’clock, which is really late for me to sleep in. Although if you count actual sleep time, I only got five hours.

  “What are you doing in there, Jade?” Mom scans the sleeping bag and sees the pillow. She looks almost horrified. “Did you sleep in there? All night?”

  I shrug. “Some of it.”

  “Why?” she asks.

  “My bed”—I nod toward it—“was too soft or something. I couldn’t sleep.”

  She looks back at my bed. Nothing’s been disturbed on it.

  Torrin doesn’t look back because I think he knows. I think he understands that I couldn’t just crawl into my old queen bed and fall fast asleep on my first night home. It was too open. Too exposed. Right now, the closet is more comfortable than the bed.

  “Are you hungry? I saved some breakfast for you.”

  I haven’t really eaten anything since I was found. I’m not hungry though. “No, thanks. Maybe later,” I add when I notice her frown. I know she’s trying to help—I know she wants to help—but the thing is, none of it actually helps. “I’m sorry if I scared everyone hiding out in here. If I’d heard you come in earlier, I would have said something, but I must have passed out pretty hard.”

  Mom bites her lip, still watching me like I might disappear. Then she straightens up. “I’ll give you two a minute. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” She pats Torrin’s shoulder a few times. “Thank you for finding her.”

  Torrin watches her leave the room. He’s in the same clothes as yesterday, and that white square looks extra bright today. They must bleach the hell out of those things because I’ve never seen anything so white. It doesn’t seem possible it could stay so clean.

  “You need a cell phone,” he says like he didn’t just find me stuffed in a closet like a scared little child.

  “Why?” I reply.

  “Because I called last night to check in, and when I asked if I could speak to you, your dad told me to do something to myself I’m pretty sure would be frowned upon in my profession.”

  I tore off the bandages around my neck last night, and even though he’s not staring at the blend of scar and scab, I can tell he’s having to force himself not to. I lift the corner of the sleeping bag and tuck it under my chin. “Well, you made it through the door this morning. No bullet holes from the looks of it.”

  “I made it in because your dad’s at work and your mom called me when she couldn’t find you.” He’s freshly shaven today, unlike the serious shadow he had yesterday, and for some reason, this makes him seem even more priest-like. “I fully intend to be out of this house when your dad gets home from work because hollow points just aren’t a good look on me.”

  When I smile, he looks kind of relieved. I wonder if he’s trying to be careful too—watching what he says and does because he’s afraid of upsetting me.

  “Hey, I’ve got a really great idea,” he says suddenly. I lift an eyebrow. “We should take a trip to the zoo soon. You know, whenever you’re ready to crawl out of the closet and brave the big, bad world again.”

  “The zoo?” Kind of the last thing that I thought would be his great idea.

  “You used to love the zoo. Maybe you still do.” He backs up from the closet, waiting for me to peel myself out of it. When I do, he pops up. “Besides, the animals have lots of experience with being stared at by masses of people, so maybe they can offer you some advice.”

  I stretch my arms above my head. “Good one.”

  “I’m a witty guy.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, and when he sees what I’m wearing, he turns to look out the window.

  My old pajama bottoms wouldn’t stay up anymore, and the old boxers I stole from Torrin that I used to sleep in during the summer had disappeared with the rest of his stuff. So I threw on a cotton sundress. It still kind of hangs limp on me, but at least it stays on.

  I don’t know why seeing me in it makes him uncomfortable. Bony knees, knobby elbows, prominent collarbones, and boobs that have shrunk to the point that a bra’s just a formality are all that’s showing.

  “What about today?” I pull a long cardigan off of a hanger and slide into it.

  He stays at the window. ?
??Today today? Are you . . . you know, ready for that?”

  I know what he’s asking. Am I ready for the people, the noises, the sights, the damn media? Of course I’m not ready for any of that, but I doubt I’ll ever be ready, and my life isn’t just going to come back together on its own.

  “I’m ready for the zoo.” I’m surprised by how convincing I sound.

  He turns around once he notices my sweater, and he sits on the edge of the windowsill. “Wow. You’re really taking the bull by the horns, aren’t you?”

  I roll my hand. “I think you’re mistaking that for the bull prodding my ass with its horns, but yeah, something like that.”

  When I head back into my closet to dig through the pile of old shoes, I have to go all the way to the back to find the ones I have in mind. I have a million pairs of Converses, and even though my favorite ones went missing the night I did, I have plenty of backups. I want the black ones back, but I settle for the navy pair.

  “This isn’t too much too fast? Busting out of the hospital yesterday and going to the zoo today? The world isn’t going anywhere if you want to take your time easing back into it.”

  I hear the concern in his voice. I know I would see it on his face if I glanced back. He’s right—this is too much too fast, but it would feel that way even if I stayed stuffed in my closet for the rest of the day. At least at the zoo, I can enjoy fresh air and be with him.

  I work up the only kind of courage I have left—the pretend kind—and slip into my old Cons. “I’ve got ten years of making up to do. I can’t afford to waste a single day.”

  TORRIN ISN’T JUST a priest—he’s a ninja priest.

  I don’t think a single reporter figured out I’d left my parents’ house—that’s how good he is.

  After brushing my teeth and hair, I found him sitting on the bottom stair, waiting for me. Mom voiced her protests, but she didn’t blockade the door like Dad would have if he were home. I was surprised she hadn’t called him yet, with Torrin being there and everything, but maybe she’d noticed how I was most at ease when he was around.

  He’d parked his truck down at his old house—he’d cleared it with the new owners, I guess. Then he led me through the maze of fences and yards we had to have run hundreds of times to each other’s houses—because why take the sidewalk when this was so much fun?

  We crawled into his truck and disappeared down the road without anyone noticing. Torrin didn’t stop checking his rearview mirror until we hit the freeway though.

  “I didn’t think priests were allowed out from behind an altar, and here you are, taking me to the zoo.” The cars whirring by don’t make me as nauseated as they did yesterday. I still can’t look out the side window for long, but I can stare through the windshield no problem.

  “Please, most of my time is spent just like this—with people.” He jets into the left lane and pushes the truck faster. I feel like it’s about to rattle apart right here in the middle of I-5. “I spend a couple hours a week behind an altar. The rest of the time, I’m out here with the rest of you.”

  “Helping people?” I guess.

  “Trying to.”

  I look at him. He sees me from the corner of his eye. “You’re good at it.”

  “Yeah?”

  I crank the window down an inch to let in the fresh air. It smells good. Like rain and green plants. “Yeah.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I became a priest. To help people.” He rolls down his own window a little.

  The dueling breezes play with my hair, whipping it around my face. I haven’t felt wind in my hair for an eternity.

  “What are the other reasons?” Even though I’ve accepted he is a priest, I’m not sure I understand it. He’s still the Torrin I remember, but the priest part just doesn’t fit. It would be like me running for politics—totally unexpected. Out of nowhere.

  “There are lots of them.”

  “What’s one of them?” I press.

  He exhales like there’s some war being fought inside him. I don’t think he’ll answer. He has a right to keep his secrets—god knows I should be able to empathize with that.

  His hand dangling over the steering wheel curls into a fist. “The woman I wanted to spend my life with was gone. I wasn’t in the mood to find a backup.”

  My chest does that thing again—contracting like someone just hit me in the ribs with a hammer. When Torrin glances at me, it looks like someone’s swinging a dozen hammers at him too.

  I can’t keep looking at him watching me like that. I know we’re feeling the same thing—the ache of what could have been. The pain of accepting it never can be again.

  I find myself focusing on the dashboard. I don’t notice it right away, but when I do, I touch the bright coral smear running down the front of it. “You never cleaned it.” I trace my finger down the dried nail polish, reliving the moment like it was happening right now.

  “I could never bring myself to.” Torrin’s eyes land on the stain from the bottle I accidently spilled when I was painting my toenails on a drive to the beach. “I couldn’t bring myself to just . . . erase it.”

  I don’t know a tear’s slipped out until it falls onto my arm that’s still reaching out, touching the stain. It’s only one tear, no more are coming, but Torrin doesn’t miss it.

  He sighs and clenches the steering wheel a little harder. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. How to act around you. I don’t think I’m doing anything right.” His knuckles are white when we exit the freeway. “This is all very surreal. What happened. You being back. I’m totally lost.”

  I don’t know why he’s apologizing. The only time I’ve felt like life hasn’t siphoned every last drop of emotion out of me is when I’ve been with him.

  “You’re treating me exactly like you used to.” My fingers fall away from the dash. The good memories have turned to painful ones, a spilled bottle of nail polish included. “I’d rather have you act like nothing happened and I’m the same person you remember than have you second-guess everything you say and do.”

  His knuckles loosen around the steering wheel. He rolls his fingers, popping them.

  “Just do what comes naturally to you.” I turn in my seat to face him. “I’ll do what comes naturally to me, and maybe things will get easier.”

  We’re stopped at the light leading to the zoo, and he looks at me. His forehead is folded into creases. “What comes naturally to me?” He doesn’t pause long enough for me to reply. “I’m not sure that would be helpful to either of us.”

  It’s not my chest that hurts when he says that—it’s my stomach. It’s not really pain though—it’s something else. I haven’t felt it in a long time, and I know I shouldn’t feel it right now. Not with him being what he is, me being what I am, and the world being zeroed in on what feels like my every move.

  I can’t let that look in his eyes keep doing this to my stomach. I can’t let the way his chest is rising and falling harder now affect mine.

  The light changes, thankfully, and his eyes move from me to the road. The air inside the cab takes a while to clear though despite the cracked windows.

  “That’s when I started to fall in love with you—after my dad died and you acted the exact same around me. You treated me the same as you had every day before. Still rubbing it in my face when you scored higher on a test. Still knocking on my door and seeing if I wanted to shoot hoops. When everyone was understanding of me wanting to lock myself in my bedroom, you got me to play basketball.” He smiles at the windshield like he’s watching the twelve-year-old versions of us playing a game of Around the World. “You brought me back . . . when everyone else just kind of left me behind.”

  I find my eyes drifting back to the nail polish stain. “And when did you finish falling in love with me? When I finally let you win a game of one-on-one? Or was it the night we . . . you know?” Thinking about that night makes me blush. Talking about it makes me shift.

  Torrin glances at me for a moment. “I’ll neve
r finish falling in love with you.”

  My chest kind of seizes, and I don’t know what to say because I’m not sure what he means. So I stare out the window, and he gets back to looking out the windshield. Torrin winds around the parking lot a few times before settling on just the right place. It’s angled right in front of an exit, and he backs into it—he wants to be able to make a quick escape.

  “I brought along some essentials.” His voice is back to normal, but he’s careful not to look at me.

  “Like snacks essentials?” I guess.

  Back then, Torrin couldn’t make it two hours without eating. I used to keep a packet of Skittles in my purse just in case the hunger hit him hard and we weren’t within arm’s reach of a container of Pringles.

  “Like incognito essentials.” Torrin dumps the contents of a paper bag onto the seat between us and grabs the sunglasses first. He slides them onto my face, tucking the sides behind my ears carefully. Next he flops one of his old ball caps on my head.

  The third item he leaves on the seat.

  “The scarf isn’t an essential?” After tucking my hair behind my ears, I find myself rubbing my neck. The bandages are off, but it hasn’t healed. It never will. I’ll always have a thick, uneven purple scar circling my neck to pique people’s attention. Some of them will assume I tried to hang myself, and the others will recognize my face and be surprised the scar’s as angry looking as it looked on television.

  “It’s up to you. I wanted to bring it just in case . . .”

  I reach for the turquoise pashmina scarf and twist it around my neck. My fingers shake at first when I feel something tightening around my neck, but then Torrin loosens it. Sliding it around and positioning it just so, he finds a way to leave it loose while still covering the scar.

  “Thank you.” I clear my throat when his fingers brush my neck as he finishes adjusting it.

  He smiles his you’re welcome. I remember him doing that a lot. “There. Now you’re free to roam the zoo without having to worry about a swarm of reporters documenting your every move.”