Jay follows the dog, leaving me watching and forcing my legs to move forward.
The hall is small and short, and all of the doors are closed, but they have character. The house is old. Although the fixtures are new and the paint fresh, it’s designed like an older home. The doors are carved and made of hard maple. My fingertips glide along the wall and then dip to a door and back up to the plaster wall.
“Whose house is this?” I ask Jay to change the subject.
“Mine,” he answers without turning around and steps into a door at the very end. A door that’s closest to the end of the hallway and the opening to the living room. I grip the inside of the doorway, partly to keep me from running, but also to make sure Jay knows I’m not leaving as I lean out and take a look.
The ceiling is tall, taller than I imagined for the hallway being so small. A large ceiling fan whirls and the small gust makes the floor to ceiling curtains sway. They’re thin fabric with an organic quality to them.
Lots of browns. Dark brown floors, the tab top curtains and dark wood furniture are everywhere. The only hint of color is the dark blue sofa and matching love seat that sit in front of the large windows. With the curtains being so thin, I can see all the surroundings. Even through the gray of the sky and the slightly blurred view from the rain, it’s picturesque, with the field of green and mountains way back in the distance.
But it sends a chill through me. I decided I’ll stay, but I never really had a choice. The realization is sobering.
I focus on the furniture, on the living room itself. It’s almost like a cabin, but modernized with a comfortable feel to it. It’s homey, but barren in every other sense. There’s no artwork. Nothing hanging on the walls. There are no candles or knickknacks. No books or magazines. No throw pillows or blankets. There isn’t even a TV.
“Do you live here then?” I ask him, leaning back and looking over my shoulder to Jay. I still haven’t stopped gripping the doorjamb.
He looks at me hard for a moment, as if debating on telling me and finally he nods once. “It’s beautiful,” I say just above a murmur.
I look down the hallway again and gesture with a nod. “Which is your room?” I ask him.
His voice is empty of every emotion when he answers, “The basement.” My heart squeezes in my chest, and I have to tear my eyes away from him. All this time, I’ve been moving forward, trying to have a normal life. And Jay’s merely been holding on to the past.
I have to close my eyes as the German shepherd rubs against my leg, the feel of his wiry fur sending chills through my stiffened body as he pants and leaves the room, laying with a loud thud in the hallway.
“He frightens you?” Jay asks me, and I whip my head to him.
“He bit me.” I grit my teeth after saying the words because it’s not quite true.
Jay takes three large strides toward me, closing the space between us and placing his hand over mine, still clinging to the doorway.
“Toby,” Jay says with his eyes locked on mine although he’s calling for the dog. He whistles low as the large dog rises and trots obediently to wait by his master.
I only resist slightly as Jay pulls my hand down, crouching and making me bend at the waist. I close my eyes, but continue to breathe evenly.
He won’t hurt me. Not Toby or Jay. He won’t hurt me. I repeat this over and over in my head, focusing on breathing.
The dog’s tongue laps at my hand, feeling like rough sandpaper and I slowly open my eyes.
“He likes you,” Jay says without looking at me, petting the dog and releasing my hand. “I knew he would,” he says and pats the dog’s head before standing up. The moment he does, Toby stops licking me and sits, waiting for another order.
“He won’t let you leave,” Jay says as he shoves both of his hands into his jeans pockets and stares down the hall at the door to the basement. He takes in a heavy breath and looks at me. “He’s a good boy, but he won’t let you leave.”
I nod my head once, searching Jay’s eyes for sympathy or guilt, but there’s nothing there. The dog pants for a moment, and Jay waves him off with his hand.
“You didn’t seem to mind the dogs before,” Jay says as he turns his back, leaving me in the hall to watch as Toby stretches along the dark hardwood floor in the opening to the living room. The fan is on, and the faint breeze ruffles his fur.
It’s only when I turn, pulling my eyes away from the dog that I register Jay’s words. “What dogs?” I ask him as my heart beats harder.
I take a look at him as he walks into a nearby room. He picks up something small off the dresser, and I recognize it instantly. I’m stunned as I take a step into the room and realize it’s not just any room.
This is my room.
“If you could be anywhere you’d like, where would it be?” he asks me.
I shift on the floor, my shoulder feeling numb. I pick at my broken nails and look at the floor where I’ve been picking at the ground. There’s never anything to do. Nothing but talk to Jay.
I can’t stand it when he’s gone. It’s the fear of not knowing if he’ll come back. The fear of not knowing what I’ll become if his father takes him away from me forever.
“Hey,” I hear Jay say softly, “just talk to me.”
I stare at him, bewildered. He’s different today. Softer in a lot of ways. “If you could go anywhere at all, where would it be?”
I pull my legs into my chest, feeling my back stretch as I close my eyes. “In a castle in Ireland,” I say jokingly with a smile. Deep down my heart hurts because I know what I really think. Back home with my family. But I’m not allowed to talk about that. Jay doesn’t like it when I bring them up.
“Ireland?” he asks with curiosity. I shrug my shoulders and let out a small sigh.
“There’s a picture from one of my books at home. It’s a room in a castle.” I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment as I remember it’s from a fairytale. I won’t tell him that. I’m already younger than Jay. I don’t want him to think of me like I’m a little kid although that’s exactly how he sees me.
“I thought you’d say Disneyland,” he says and laughs at me, rolling onto his back and passing the ball back and forth between his hands. It’s odd to see anything at all in the room. The ball moves from palm to palm rhythmically and I see a smile grow on the boy’s face. He looks so young, smiling as he lies on the ground, fiddling with a baseball.
It was a present, he told me, a present for being good.
I sit up on the floor, my palm brushing against the concrete that’s all too familiar. “Do you think he’ll let us go outside and play with it?” I ask him.
He stops his wrist in mid-motion, gripping the ball tightly in his right hand and almost dropping it.
“There is no outside, little bird,” he says and then looks up at me, a small smile trying to curl his lips up, but it’s so sad. I swallow the lump in my throat as he adds, “But we can pretend to be anywhere.”
Although my heart breaks and tears fill my eyes, Jay sits up and hands me the ball, forcing it into my hand and sitting cross-legged across from me.
“Tell me about your room, Robin. I want to know all about it.”