Page 38 of You Belong Here

Delilah seemed shell-shocked.

The chaos of the last day was catching up to all of us. I was crashing hard in the aftermath of the adrenaline rush that had kept me going since the dropped call at two in the morning.

Now my limbs had gone heavy, but my brain was still racing, like it was stuck on the edge of some unknown precipice, out in the night.

We said goodbye to Maggie, cleaned up the boxes of pizza, prepared to spend the night in the house together.

A sharp buzz cut through the room, making me jump. It was the dryer in the basement, the alert old-school and grating, audible all the way upstairs.

Delilah stood quickly, stepping around me, dropping a balled-up napkin on the table.

“I’ll get it,” I said, but she pressed her lips together.

“I’ve got it, Mom. It’s just the basement.” She smiled like she could see right through me. But she was right. I was scared to let her out of my sight again. Terrified she’d disappear the second I looked away. Everyone has to let go—

And yet look what happened when I did.

I watched as she headed for the hall. There were so many things I wanted to ask her. I longed for the days when she would come home from school and tell me everything, the words spilling forth without prompting.

Trevor ruffled her hair as she passed, which made her grin like he was bringing the old Delilah back.

I didn’t want to ruin it with my questions: Why were you staying here instead of at the dorm? What were you hiding from?

There would be time. For now, I just wanted to savor the moment.

The three of us were camped out in the living room for the night. Safe and protected.

Trevor had turned on the television for something to fill the silence—like he was also trying to prevent his mind from spiraling closer to the almost that had existed only hours earlier. The laugh track from an old sitcom drifted through the space, familiar and comforting.

It was unspoken but understood—we weren’t leaving her tonight.

Delilah fell asleep first, head on the arm of the sofa, while I curled up in my father’s recliner. I lowered the volume on the television down to zero, the light from the screen dancing across our faces.

Trevor was prepping a spot for himself on the floor, in the place the coffee table once was. He’d brought a decorative pillow in from the futon and draped a throw blanket across Delilah.

I caught his eye over her head in the flash of the television light. Held his gaze for a long moment. I knew we were thinking the same thing: how close we had come and how lucky we were.

Sometime in the night, or maybe the dark of predawn, I heard the creak of the screen door. My eyes jolted open, and it took a moment to orient myself: My parents’ house. In the living room, on my father’s recliner. Delilah safely on the couch beside me .

I felt my pulse slowing, seeing her there, so close. I watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, keeping time.

But there was a blanket heaped on the floor and no sign of Trevor.

I rose from the chair, walking toward the window. Saw a figure moving down the street, head down, shoulders forward. Like he couldn’t sleep and needed to walk it off.

I couldn’t blame him. I’d done the same thing my first night here in August. And we’d been through a lot more today.

I watched him until he disappeared from view, then retreated to the chair and quickly fell back into a deep and powerful sleep.

I woke to the sound of my cell buzzing on the coffee table.

I frowned, reaching for the phone. I had two missed calls from an unknown number.

The spot where Trevor had slept was still bare. Maybe he’d relocated to the futon in the office on his return.

But I was nervous, imagining who could be calling from an unknown number. I thought of the memoir email again, and the way they’d implied that it had something to do with an old crime, witness accounts, in a small town. As if it was about this place and me. As if they were watching.

The phone suddenly rang in my hand—a third attempt from the unknown caller. I peered over at Delilah, still asleep, grateful that she slept like the dead.

I slipped out the front door and was startled to find Trevor sitting on the porch in running gear.

He raised a hand in greeting as I tentatively pressed accept on the phone.

A crackle of static. And then: “Beckett? Can you hear me?”

“Mom?” I responded. Her voice sounded tinny and distant.

“Oh, good. We just saw your email. Beckett, we thought you understood, you can’t stay at the house while—”

“Oh my God,” I said, unable to keep the anger from my voice. “Are you kidding me right now? Delilah was lost!” Finally here was a place to unleash my pent-up stress.

Another crackle of static; when she started speaking again, I had to strain to hear her. “She says Delilah was lost. I’m putting her on speaker.” She must’ve been talking to my father. “Is she okay?” she asked, her voice booming from the speakerphone option.

“Yes, she’s fine now. She was lost in the woods for a full night, Mom. So excuse us for using your house as a base of operations. Fortunately everything turned out okay!”

“Beckett, we’re not mind readers! Oh my God, I can’t believe she was lost out there… All you said was that you couldn’t find the spare key.”

“Well, I got in,” I said.

“Okay, good,” my mother said.

“Delilah has her own key,” my father said, practically shouting. “The spare should be in the weathervane. Haven’t touched it in years.”

A chill worked up my spine. If they’d given Delilah a key years earlier, who knew how long the spare had been missing? But there was no point mentioning that to them when they were on a different continent.

My mother cleared her throat. “How long do you think you’ll be staying?”

“Not much longer,” I said. I was anxious to leave. To leave this place behind, hopefully bringing Delilah with me. Nothing good ever happened here.

“Can we speak with her?” my father asked.

“She’s sleeping,” I said. “Talk to you later. I’ll tell her you called to check in.

” And then I hung up. It was far more generous than the truth, which was that they had called to check in on me, wondering what I was doing in their house while they were gone.

Like I was a teenager, not to be trusted with their things.

Trevor peered over his shoulder, ran a hand through his hair, as I tried to shake off the interaction. “So,” he began, “I guess it wasn’t the best time to mention that I was here, too.”

I laughed despite myself. “Probably not. They really don’t like surprises.”

Trevor flinched, and I knew I’d struck a nerve. The biggest surprise of his life was currently sleeping inside. How easily time could contract with a phrase—bringing us right back.

I tried to lighten the mood, move us past it. I gestured toward the house. “They’re probably worried I’ll use an antique dish as an ashtray or something. Not that I even smoke.”

He grinned. “I do know better than that. But I can’t believe the things your father has just sitting in his office,” he said. I thought he would’ve gotten along with my father in another version of our life.

“He always had a good eye. I’m sure he’ll come back from Peru with plenty from the markets in town. The good stuff is in the attic,” I added with a smirk. “They boxed up the valuables before they left.”

I sat beside him on the top porch step, mirroring his posture. Arms resting on knees, staring out toward the mountains.

“What are you doing out here?” I asked.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, eyes unfocused in the distance. “I keep thinking about how close we came. God, we’re so lucky.” His voice cracked, and I reached a hand over, patted his knee.

He laced his fingers over mine and closed his eyes at the rising sun. “I wish sometimes…” He trailed off, letting the thought go unfinished.

I turned to face him, waiting—then rested my head on his shoulder with a sigh.

“I’m thinking of taking her home for a while,” I said.

He nodded once. “That’s a good plan.” He waited for a beat, then two. “It is really beautiful here.”

My phone chimed with a text then, and I felt the laughter in his chest. “Are you sure your parents aren’t watching us right now?” he asked.

“God help me if they figure out how to text from whatever network they’re on,” I said as I pulled away.

I opened my messages and felt the air rush from my lungs.

Automated Alert: Wyatt College is on lockdown. All students to remain in place until further notice.

“What’s the matter?” Trevor asked, leaning close to see.

“There’s something happening on the campus,” I said.

“What? What’s happening?”

I shook my head. “The school’s on lockdown.”

I heard the sirens starting up in the distance. A faint cry coming closer. I stood from the porch, walking slowly down the steps.

I wasn’t the only one. A neighbor stepped out from her front door across the street. Another at the house beside hers.

There was more than one type of siren coming closer—a police cruiser, yes. But also: the horn of a fire truck. And then the cry of an ambulance.

I squinted into the distance until I could see the red and blue lights flashing over the trees.

The screen door behind us creaked open, and Delilah stepped barefoot onto the front porch, eyes hollow. “Mom? What’s going on?” she asked, scanning the horizon.

“I don’t know,” I said.

I felt the sound reverberating in my chest—that adrenaline of fear coursing through my bloodstream. I watched as the vehicles approached, one right after the other. They whizzed by, leaving a gust of wind in their wake—heading for campus.