Collared(31)

My dad clears his throat. “This probably isn’t the best time to have a conversation on the front stoop.”

“My God, Mike, invite them in.” Mom peeks her head out from behind him and waves us in.

Behind us, the roar grows.

Torrin and my dad have some kind of stare down. I’m not sure who wins, but my dad steps aside to clear the doorway so we can come in. I stay planted on the porch with Torrin.

“I better get going.” Torrin backs down the first step. “I’ll check in with you later.”

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.