Page 14 of Borrowed

T he house looked smaller than I remembered.

That red porch swing still leaned too far to the left, crooked like a mouth mid-sentence. Father never fixed it, he said, ‘It added character.’

I used to think that meant he liked it.

Now, I think he just didn’t care enough to make it right. The only thing saved from the old burning house. Maybe that’s what happened with me and Toby. Our parents’ love gave us character.

The wind moved through the long grass at the edge of the yard, and for a moment, I saw us there in the distance, far away from this fake home…Toby and me.

He had a grass stain on his shirt, and he was shouting about burying treasure, and I was laughing because he used a soup spoon to dig. That moment shimmered like cellophane over the real world. I blinked, and it popped.

Mom’s car door slammed behind me. She was already clutching her purse like it might run off if she let it breathe.

“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.

Cold and sweet.

Like the way honeysuckle smells before a storm.

Behind me, Father shifted his weight.

“You doin’ all right?” he tried again, softer. “They said you were improving. Sorry about your roommate, kid.”

I stroked Delia’s glass eye with the pad of my thumb.

“She’s hungry,” I murmured. “You didn’t feed them. That’s why she’s mad.”

Father didn’t say anything.

And from the kitchen, I heard Mother drop something glass. It didn’t break.

Not this time.

But I could feel her flinch all the way down the hallway.

“She’s mad,” I said again, firmer this time.

Father didn’t move. I could hear him swallowing like he was trying not to spit something out…words or bile, I wasn’t sure.

I traced the seam at the back of Delia’s neck where the fur stopped matching up just right. That was Toby’s fault. He’d helped me with her. He helped make her mine forever.

“You said you’d protect them,” I whispered to the shadow. “You promised.”

Father stood like he was balancing on a wire, teetering between backing out or stepping closer. I didn’t care either way. He wasn’t important here. Not like him.

Then I felt it.

That cold little nudge behind my ear, the one that made my skin stiffen and my lips twitch like I’d just remembered something sweet and wrong.

“You’re late,” I murmured.

A low hum slid down my spine, Toby’s laugh. The one that sounded like it was coming from underwater.

“You talk too much,” he said. “He doesn’t deserve to be talked to. He will give you more marks.”

I giggled. “I missed them.”

Father cleared his throat. “Tabitha?”

That name tasted like rot. Toby always said it didn’t suit me. It was Tabby.

“You shouldn’t let him call you that,” Toby whispered, leaning against the inside of my skull like he owned the place.

Maybe he did.

“Don’t worry,” I told him aloud, stroking Trumpet. “He’s going to forget I’m here soon. They always do.”

“Is your Mother okay?” Father tried again. His voice was trembling now.

Toby laughed louder. “He wants to ask if you’re gonna snap again…if you’ll scream about rabbits and blood. But he’s too scared to say it. Coward.”

I snorted. “He’s scared of everything. He doesn’t have his mean cat now.”

“Tabitha,” Father said again, this time like a warning.

I stood, letting Trumpet and Delia rest on the bed like they were sunbathing.

“She’s not okay,” I said brightly. “She thinks I’m going to set the house on fire.”

“Are you?” Father said, jaw tight.

“No,” I said, tilting my head. “That wasn’t me.”

“Like Mother, like child. You will next.” Toby hissed.

I smiled. “Maybe it will be this time. Do you want to burn?”

He didn’t laugh at that. Neither did Father. He backed up a step like I’d lifted a knife. His bandages are getting burned with a crispy corner. The black butterfly floated above us. It looked tired. Maybe it remembered the smoke, too.

“When will you come back to us?” Father said to me.

Toby smiled, the bandages conforming to his handsome face.

“I never left, Father.”

* * *

Mother walked into the room, giving Father a look that had him leaving without any more words.

She didn’t say anything. Just stood there, her hands tight around her rosary like she thought it might strangle her instead of save her.

“We’re going to church,” she said finally. “Now.”

Toby was already pacing. He hated church. He said it burns.

“She thinks it’ll fix you,” he said, laughing darkly. “Like you’re a cracked plate she can glue back together with her holy water.”

“I like church,” I whispered, tugging on the dress that felt like silk. “It smells like old books and guilt.”

Mom watched me closely as I slid the bunnies into my tote bag, their stiff ears peeking out like bad secrets. She didn’t argue. Not out loud. But her mouth was a hard line the whole drive there.

Toby rode in the back seat. Legs crossed. One hand dragging lazily along the window fog.

“You remember what happened last time?” he said.

“I only screamed a little,” I said.

“He tried to drown you in the lake.”

“Oh. Right.”