Saving Toby (4 page)

6. Claudia

On Monday, after two long lab sessions, I had just enough
time to make myself a quick sandwich before heading over to the Fayes’ house
for work.

I was glad when Mrs. Faye told me that Toby was running some
errands and I wouldn’t see him until later. He had done his best to make amends
on the walk home, but I had mixed feelings about our interaction after that
last unpleasant night.

I had to coax Mrs. Faye to eat. She managed a little, and
when she couldn’t eat anymore, I straightened up her bedroom while she flipped
on the TV.

“Wow, a new television,” I said, admiring the small, sleek
flat-screen set attached to the wall on the other side of her bedroom.

“Toby says everything in this house is so old and tired. I
guess he’s right. I haven’t had any interest in improving things around here
for a long time. Too long,” she admitted with a sigh. “Toby got the TV at work.
Said Mr. Bernbaum gave him a decent employee discount.”

Everyone knew AB’s. The store had been around forever. I was
surprised Mr. Bernbaum had hired Toby. I’d heard he was very selective about
employees. I dusted her dresser, mildly interested.

“How long has he been working there?”

“He’s only been home about a month—since he found out I was
sick,” she said, lowering the volume. “He’s been in Florida for the last year
and a half.”

“What was he doing for work while he was there?”

“Let’s see,” she put her hand up and began ticking off a
list. “First, there was building houses, then landscape work, and then pool
installations,” she sighed. “He hasn’t quite found his niche yet. And now he’s
talking about the military.”

“He’s going to enlist?” Boot camp would be perfect for an
aimless guy like him.

Mrs. Faye raised her thin shoulders in a shrug. “He hasn’t
mentioned it since I told him about the re-diagnosis, and honestly, I’m glad.”

“Re-diagnosis? You’ve had this before?”

“I’ve been in remission for a few years. But these things
happen. It’s just a setback. I’ll be fine.” She waved her hand in nonchalance.
“I didn’t even want to ask Toby to come home.”

“You shouldn’t have had to ask,” I blustered.

“I didn’t. He came home on his own.”

Embarrassed by my gaffe, I murmured. “That’s good.”

“Yes, it is. But though I’d like him to stay, he won’t.
Being here only seems to make him restless. Too many bad memories, I suppose.”

“You mean Mr. Faye’s death?”

“Mostly. Despite what everyone seems to think about my
husband, he loved his boys but the relationship between him and my oldest son,
Al Junior, was terribly strained.” Mrs. Faye fingered the remote distractedly.
“Al Junior was such a handful when he was little. Sitting still was a difficult
concept. We never had him tested, but looking back, I’m sure he had one of
those attention disorders. To make matters worse, I was anemic when I was
pregnant with Toby. I didn’t have the energy to deal with a busy toddler. My
husband didn’t tolerate misbehavior. He was tough on our oldest, but it was
because that’s all he knew. His own father was a stiff physical disciplinarian.
Toby was a much easier child, such an easy disposition.”

She smiled when she spoke of him. “He and his father had a
less complicated relationship. But you can’t treat your children so differently
without them noticing. It makes siblings angry and resentful towards each
other.”

“Do the boys not get along?” I forgot about cleaning, giving
her my full attention.

“No, not really.” She shook her head. “When my husband died,”
she stopped and tightened her mouth. “Well, when my husband died, things got
bad. I let so many things slide. The boys fought. A lot.”

I’d never really thought about what Toby was going through
back when I knew him in school, but now his quiet moodiness made sense.

“Al Junior has been doing a great deal of reflecting since he
was sent away, and I can see he’s changing. It’s my hope that one day my boys
will get along, but there’s a lot to do to get them there. That’s why I refuse
to let this cancer defeat me. I have work to finish.” For the first time, Mrs.
Faye’s voice was strong, firm. “Toby is a much gentler and more compassionate
soul than his brother, but he holds onto that bitterness like a hungry dog with
a big, meaty bone.”

The Toby I had been around for the last few weeks appeared
quite comfortable in his skin, smug with confidence. Not in the least like the
bitter person his mother was describing.

“With all that Toby’s been through, I would’ve understood if
he hadn’t come home, but he did, so that means there is hope.” She sniffled and
blotted her nose with a tissue. “But I know the moment I’m feeling better,
he’ll take off, looking for something to make him happy, something he’ll never
find out there.”

Whatever it was that Toby was looking for, Mrs. Faye seemed
to believe it was here, right under his nose. She wanted very much to help him
find it. Seeing how much Toby’s being home meant to her, my frustration with her
son began to ebb.

“Oh, dear, Claudia, honey. I’m sorry. You must think I’m
crazy to rattle on this way!”

The story had moved me, and I sort of felt like I needed to
do something to help her resolve the dilemma, though I didn’t know exactly
what. I sat on the edge of the seat across from her bed.

“It’s fine, Mrs. Faye. If there’s anything I can do to help
the situation, just ask.”

“You’re such a doll,” she patted my hand affectionately.
“And so easy to talk to.”

I smiled. People often told me that.

When it was close to ten o’clock, I went down to the
kitchen. I was writing a grocery list at the kitchen table when Toby came in.

“Hey,” he approached cautiously. “We still okay?”

He was acting as awkward as I felt. I got up and tacked the
list on the refrigerator, putting my back to him.

Remaining impassive, I said, “Well, that night certainly
left an impression.”

I heard him blow out a breath. “Come on. Don’t hold that
against me. Despite a moment or two of bad judgment, I’m not a bad guy.”

I turned around and eyed him. “Keep your creepy friends away
from me, and I’ll let it go.”

“I can do that,” he said. Stepping closer, his eyes swept
over me. The closeness alarmed me. I wanted to move away, but I didn’t want to
be obvious.

“Is Julia sleeping?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered, but puzzled, I returned, “Do you always
call your mother by her first name?”

“Saying ‘Mom’ makes it sound like I have a normal family.
And the truth is I never felt much like a kid.” He shrugged and looked away,
into the other room.

“I got a little family history tonight.”

“And you haven’t run for the hills yet?” Toby snorted. “What
did my dear mother say about our lovely family?”

I didn’t want to say too much. “She told me things were kind
of rocky between you, your brother and your father.” We caught each other’s
eye. He looked away again. Poor guy. There was no doubt the topic made him
uncomfortable.

“Hmm, yeah. Surprising, but we survived,” he said and began
tracing a knot in the wood molding with his finger. “Julia’s had to deal with a
lot more crap than she deserves.”

“You’ve had it rough, too,” I said. “I didn’t realize until
tonight that this was the second go-round with your mother’s cancer. Dealing
with it can’t be easy for you either.”

“Nothing about this is easy.” Frazzled, he ran his hand
across the top of his head. “Being home again, watching her wasting away while
she goes through chemotherapy and radiation. It’s hell.”

I was beginning to soften, almost reached out to touch him.
But didn’t.

Instead, I said, “If it’s any consolation, it means a lot to
her that you’re home.”

He shifted his feet restlessly. “I need to be here. I just
wish there was more that I could do. With my aunt, you, and the church women
doing stuff for her, I feel useless.”

Without his normal confidence and joking banter, this tough
guy looked lost—more like the boy I remembered. Fully acknowledging the
situation of what he was dealing with, there was no way I could continue to be
distant.

I laid a hand on his shoulder resisting the urge to shake
some sense into him. “You’re not useless. You support her in many ways, and
more importantly, you make her smile,” I told him. “Your mom is an amazing
person and much stronger than you think.”

“Yeah, she’s a tough one. But I don’t know. This time around
the cancer seems to be kicking her ass.” The last few words came out with a
crushing weight, and blowing out a shaken breath, he turned his face away from
me.

My need to offer comfort was strong. I thought I should
probably hug him. Although I swayed towards him, I couldn’t bring myself to do
it. For some reason, getting that close to him scared me.

In the end, he was the one to lean the last few inches into
me. I automatically responded by putting my arms around him. My cheek met his
hard, warm shoulder, and his face rested against the crook of my neck. His
breath fanned my skin, and musky aftershave invaded my nostrils. I tentatively
patted his back in attempt to comfort him, but the intoxicating scent coupled
with our contact made my body respond in a vexing way. I released him from the
embrace and forced myself to look at him while trying to conceal my body’s
muddled reaction.

“You’ll both get through this.”

He was quiet for a few moments before he let his eyes meet
mine.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to dump my problems on
you.”

“It’s fine,” I replied, trying to steady my pulse. “Talking
about things helps you through them.”

“Thanks, but it’s not my M.O. to be so open about my
troubles.” He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair again.
“Anyway, I should go say goodnight to the old lady. I’ll see you Wednesday?” He
gave me a half-hearted, lopsided grin.

My stomach fluttered. “Yes. Wednesday.”

7. Toby

On Wednesday, I had to deliver a refrigerator to an older
couple’s house. Hauling out their ancient one, some slimy water spilled on me.
The smell was so foul I nearly hurled.

Abe Bernbaum just shrugged when he heard.

“That’s the job. If you want to do something different, use
your brains.”

Pissed off, I couldn’t wait to get home and into the shower
to scrub the nasty off me.

Freshly showered and dressed, I slipped in across the hall
to check on Julia. She was sitting up, reading in bed when I came in. I was
relieved to see that she looked rested.

“What’s on the agenda tonight, Ma? Strip poker, male dancers,
and Jell-O shots?”

She laughed. “Oh, no, something even more exciting.
Claudia’s making me soup!”

“Soup! I love soup. Maybe I should stay home, too.”

Her laughter was strong. “No, no. Go out and have some fun. Give
me a hug and then get out of here. I’m in good hands.”

My stomach growled when I smelled the sautéed onions and
garlic in the kitchen. At the table, Claudia was busy chopping carrots.
Stopping at the doorway, I put my palms on either side of the opening. I had
stepped up my weight training, and I knew my arms looked powerful. Flexing, I
leaned forward into the room.

“What are you making?” I asked, willing her to look at me.

“I found a recipe for this soup loaded with cancer-fighting antioxidants.”
Claudia glanced up, but only briefly. “It’s going to kick your mother’s immune
system into high gear.” This made her smile and, in turn, made me smile.

Focused on her chopping, she appeared uninterested in my
presence. I don’t know how she managed to be so sexy and so damn cute while
making Julia ‘cancer-fighting’ soup, but she was.

I wanted to keep talking to her.

“Listen, a guy who graduated with me, Jim Ryan, is having a
party this Saturday,” I said.

“My friend April mentioned it,” she replied.

“April DeOro?”

“You remember April?”

“Sure. We were good friends in high school.”

“Good friends?” she asked doubtfully.

“After Ray and Dev, I understand your shock.”

“I’m not shocked. She just never mentioned you two were
friends.”

“Well, ask her. We had some good times together.” I leaned
against the doorway. “She still with Dario?”

“Yes. In fact, he and I go to Stony Brook together.”

“I should give him a call.”

“You should. He’s a good guy.”

“Unlike my other friends.”

Claudia simply smiled.

“So.” I crossed my arms over my chest and flexed again. “You
going?”

“Maybe. If April wants to,” she shrugged. “Are you?”

“Oh yeah. It wouldn’t be much of a party without me.”

“Too much,” she giggled and shook her head. “I guess I’ll
see you there.”

“Definitely.” I hoped the party would be an opportunity to
impress her. So far, she wasn’t giving me anything to work with.

* * *

I spent another night looking for a quick thrill with Dev
and Ray. I took a few pulls from the bottle Ray offered, but it wasn’t long
before I was feeling out of sorts. I wanted to go home and try to make a little
more headway with Claudia.

Dev pulled into an unbranded gas station the next town over.
I was planning on cutting out when the gas station attendant came out to pump
the gas. The Hispanic attendant’s English was limited, his speech broken and
choppy.

Dev lasered in. “Yo, speaka da English, man.”

It was sort of funny and at first, I laughed. But then Ray
joined in, rolling his window down. Both of them started hassling the guy.

“Hey, you,” Ray called out. "Go back to M-mexico.”

I grunted aloud. The guy didn’t even look Mexican. He was
too dark.

“Where’s your legalization papers,
Paco
?” Dev cackled.

The guy was smart enough to ignore them, but I could tell he
was uncomfortable and probably intimidated by us.

I bowed my head and avoided looking at him. “You sound like
assholes,” I grumbled.

“If he lives here, he should speak the fucking language,”
Dev shot back.

Another attendant came out. He must have been watching from
the kiosk.

“Listen, guys, we don’t want any problems. I’ll finish
taking care of your gas, and if you need anything else, you deal with me.”

He took over the transaction, filling Dev’s gas tank and
handling the money, wrapping up the exchange quickly.

Dev took his change, but instead of turning back toward
town, he pulled into a dark lot across the street and parked the car with the
lights off.

“What are you doing? Let’s get out of here,” I said.

“I told you my old man got laid off from the roofing company
last year. Those wetbacks are the reason he can’t find any work. He says, ‘Ain’t
nobody want to pay an American a decent wage when he can get three illegals for
the same price.’
Now he sits in his damn recliner, chain-smoking two
packs a day.”

I turned to Dev. “You have no idea if the guy’s here legally
or not. Just because his English sucks doesn’t automatically mean he’s
illegal.”

“Ah, your d-d-dad’s better off staying home collecting
unemployment,” Ray threw in.

“Shut up, Ray,” Dev snapped, then eyed me. “There is no way
that guy is legal. Immigrants like him are stealing all our jobs and getting
the benefits of our taxes for free. Who do you think pays for that guy’s hospital
stay or his little
enchiladas’
education?” Dev sounded just like his old
man. “My father is a miserable bastard since he got laid off—yells at me as
soon as I walk in the door. I’m so fucking done with it.”

The gas station’s lights blinked, then went dark. We watched
as the two attendants left, the manager in a car and the other guy on foot.

Dev got out of the car and crossed the street.

Some shit was about to go down. A quick rush of excitement
began to uncurl inside me as I watched from the car.

Dev approached the attendant from behind and, even from a
distance, we could hear him mouthing off. Rushing ahead, further down the
street, Dev got in the guy’s face. The little dude seemed to be doing
everything he could to avoid a fight, but Dev wouldn't be ignored. He shoved
his shoulder into the guy as he tried to get past. Before long, Dev had the guy
cornered against the brick wall of a closed shop.

Ray and I looked at each other and hustled out of the car to
catch up with Dev.

As Ray and I came upon the scene, the dark-skinned attendant
was clearly anxious. Baring his teeth like a feral dog, he weaved side to side
looking for a route past Dev.

Dev was too quick. He blocked every path to escape. Out of
the corner of my eye, I saw a quick flash of metal. The attendant had pulled a
knife and was clutching it in his fist.

Given the growing hostility from locals against immigrants'
right to work, it didn’t surprise me that this guy would be prepared to defend
himself. None of us made to leave, but we backed up a step. The attendant tried
to take advantage of our hesitation by charging past us, but Dev twisted and
hit him with high kick to the stomach. The little Hispanic careened backwards against
the brick.

The road next to us was quiet, and no cars were coming, but
I still looked around, trying to figure out what the hell to do.

“Come on, man. I know some girls,” I threw out, trying to
persuade Dev to cool it and leave the guy alone. I didn’t want to get into a
scrap with the pint-sized gas attendant, but even as I thought it, I instinctively
clenched and unclenched my fists.

Dev glanced over his shoulder at me. At the same moment, the
guy sprung forward and jabbed the knife in his direction.

“Ah, shit!” Dev clutched his side.

The guy shrank backwards holding out the bloodied knife,
seeming almost as shocked as we were.

“Son of a bitch!” Darkness took over, and I stepped up to
the guy. Seeing me, his eyes went wide with fear, and he dropped the knife just
as I grabbed him and hit him in the stomach. He grunted and crumbled to the
ground as if a wrecking ball hit him. Satisfied, I turned back to Dev. He was
gritting his teeth as Ray inspected the wound.

“It’s not that bad,” Ray said. “But we need something to
stop the bleeding.”

I quickly yanked off my shirt, and bunching it up, I pressed
it against the slice in Dev’s side.

“Shit. He’s getting away!” Dev swore.

I looked back over my shoulder and watched the terrified guy
scamper away as fast as he could.

“Forget him!” I said. “We have to get you back to the house
and see how bad this is.”

“I’m fine,” Dev snapped and shoved me away. He stooped to
pick up the knife, gave it the once over, and stuck it in his pocket. “Let’s
get the car. He can’t get too far before we catch up with him.”

It had been close to eight thirty when we’d first hopped out
of the car. I was torn. The darkness inside me was howling to go on the chase
with the guys, but I knew I needed to let this go. To keep my promise to Julia.

I made a decision.

“I’m not going.”

“Are you shitting me?” Dev snapped, and without waiting for
me to answer, he yelled, “Find another way home. I gotta get this guy.”
Grunting and holding his side, he hurried to his car. Ray glanced over his
shoulder at me, but followed Dev. Ray barely shut the passenger door before Dev
gunned the engine, and the car shot off. I stood alone, panting in the dark.

I started the walk home, taking Middle Road towards town.
The two-lane road that wound through the south side of town had very little
traffic. I wasn’t bothered by the cold as much as I was worried that I looked
like a shiftless loser walking around shirtless, at night.

As I got closer to town, I passed streets with big, pricey
homes and wondered what the people inside were doing.

Up ahead, a thin old man was walking a little, fluffy white
dog on a leash. I gave him a wide berth, intending to walk by him quietly, but
then he looked up at me. Too late, I realized I knew him.

“Mr. Faye?” he called, and I turned to face Abe Bernbaum. I
could hardly meet his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Walking home.”

“Where’s your shirt?”

Felt like I was on trial, but still, I answered. “My friend
needed to borrow it.”

“Where is this friend?” Abe looked over his shoulder, back
in the direction I’d been walking. The dog jumped up on my leg and licked my
hand.

I shrugged and reached down to pat the dog’s head. “He had
to leave.”

Abe eyed my tattooed shoulder, then snapped the leash, pulling
his dog off me. “You kids today, running around looking the way you look and
getting your bodies
branded
and
pierced
.” His mouth turned down, which
made his face look like it was made of clay. He hastily waved a hand at me.
“Ah, don’t get me started.”

I stood there looking at him. He’d not said anything that I
could add to, so I asked, “You live around here?”

Abe didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked me over as
he’d done the day he hired me. I was sure he was considering why I’d want that
information.

“Yes,” he finally said. “Around the corner.” He didn’t point
or suggest
which
corner, and I knew then, he didn’t trust me to know.

It was clear that he, in his expensive loafers, and I,
shirtless like a thug in the hood, lived on opposite sides of town.
Whatever
.
He was my boss; I needed the job. There was nothing nice I could say, except,
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, don’t be late,” he said, then called to his dog.

* * *

At work the next morning, I wheeled air conditioners on a
rolling cart to the delivery truck. Devlin pulled up in the back parking lot
across from the truck. Holding his side, he slowly got out.

“Crazy night,” he said. “We found the guy.”

I kept working. “Yeah, what happened?”

“Messed him up a little. The little bastard deserved it
after slicing me. My side is fucking killing me.”

Squinting in the sun, I turned to eye him. “How bad?”

“Not deep, but probably should’ve had stitches,” he said,
lifting his shirt to show me his bandaged stomach.

“No. How bad did you hurt
him
?”

“Ah, he’ll live. But maybe now he’ll know not to mess with
the working man.”

He reached behind him and withdrew an item from his back
pocket.

“Check this out,” he said, tossing it to me. He snickered when
I caught it, and I realized it was the gas attendant's knife in my hands, the
blade folded away.

I depressed the release button on the black handle. The switchblade
popped open, and I could see dried blood on the blade. It was a serious weapon.

“Why the hell are you carrying this around?” I folded the
blade down and tossed it back to him.

“It makes me feel bad ass. And it’s a cool souvenir of the
evening’s festivities,” he said, tucking the knife back in his pocket. “We on
for that party Saturday night?”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Asshole, you left me standing
at that goddamned gas station last night.”

“Don’t be so fucking sensitive, man.”

“Dude, you’re a psycho,” I said. “You’re all over the place.
Spitting fire one moment, planning parties the next.”

“You’d be bored with any other friend,” he smiled. “I keep
it exciting.”

I looked at my unpredictable friend and realized he was
probably right. During high school, Devlin could twist even the smallest event
into all out chaos—and I had eaten it up with a spoon because it made me forget
the shit happening at home.

He slapped my back. “I’ll make it up to you at the party.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” I said. “Now get the hell out of
here. Some of us have to work.”