Keeping Claudia (Toby & Claudia Book 2)

by Suzanne McKenna Link

  I could tell he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he shifted next to me and put his arm around me and rubbed my shoulder in a soothing manner. I didn’t feel like I deserved it, but I leaned into him, guiltily accepting the comfort he offered. “We got a long drive home. Let’s get out of here.”

  Al swooped Dylan up, hugging him like he’d never see him again, nearly bringing tears to my eyes again. When I moved to hug him, too, he crushed me against his wide, barrel chest.

  “Take good care of him,” he said, low and gruff in my ear.

  “I’ll try,” I replied, though I was the least likely candidate for the job.

  * * * *

  It was still light out when Toby, Dylan, and I left the correctional facility and marched together across the parking lot.

  “You going to tell me what happened back there?” Toby waited to ask until we reached the Jeep.

  I kept my face low, refusing to meet his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it right now,” I said.

  Though I might've liked to talk about it, to clear the air, Al’s words had been a hidden land mine, and I was still struggling with keeping a hold on my composure. The depth of such a discussion was the antithesis of the day. Besides, there was no gauging whether Toby would be open or mask his true feelings. When he didn’t press for details, I was selfishly glad for the reprieve.

  Toby put Dylan into his booster seat in the back of the Jeep, but before I could climb in next to Dylan, Toby’s snapped, “Sit up front.”

  I suspected he was going to coerce the truth from me, but I didn’t argue.

  “Little man is going to be hitting it hard as soon as we get moving. Aren’t you?” Toby tickled Dylan’s belly. The sound of the boy’s high-pitched squeal of laughter pierced the air, and I turned to watch the two of them.

  Having secured the safety harness over Dylan, Toby popped into the driver’s seat.

  “Toadee, do her now.” Dylan pointed a chubby toddler finger at me.

  “Tickle Claudia?” Toby eyed me with a devilish grin.

  Dylan nodded his head up and down with amusing exaggeration. “Yes, Corda. Tickle her.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Not me. You.” I pointed back at Dylan.

  Before I could stop him, Toby’s hands were at my hips squeezing exactly where he knew I was most ticklish. I squirmed in my seat, laughing despite my earlier tears. He stopped, letting me catch my breath, and looked over his shoulder at his nephew.

  “You think that’s funny?” He reached back and tickled Dylan again. The sounds of Dylan’s giggle was so infectious Toby and I laughed, too.

  Not two miles from the prison gates, Dylan’s eyes fluttered closed, and his blonde head lulled to the left. I wondered how it would be driving together without Dylan as the buffer between us.

  Toby confidently navigated the deserted roads heading away from the prison without the aid of a GPS.

  “Every time I leave Otisville, it strikes me that Al will never leave here. He’ll never marry and have a family other than what he already has, and that’s only Dylan and me.”

  “You’re a good brother to him.” I reached over and let my palm settle briefly on his shoulder, a short caress. My words were only a crust over the sentiment I felt about how Toby handled his relationship with his brother. He was kinder than anyone would expect him to be under the circumstances.

  Right before the exit onto the New York State Thruway, Toby started rooting around the interior of the Jeep.

  “Did I put my electronic toll pass in the glove box?”

  Before I could answer, he leaned over to get into the compartment. I tried to get out of the way, but his shoulder came into contact with my breast. Not seeming to notice, he fumbled through the glove box. His shoulder continued to graze me, and my face grew hot.

  He closed the compartment and leaned down, his right arm resting on my thigh as he stabbed haphazardly, probing the space under my seat. He continued driving, one hand on the Jeep’s steering wheel as he peeked over the dashboard to navigate.

  I watched the road with a nervous eye. “Maybe you should drive and let me look for it,” I huffed.

  This close, I could smell him. Already my body was warming to his, my mind making justifications to touch him. I had been ripped open and filleted, and he felt like the remedy for all that ailed me. I pushed back in my seat, resisting the urge to cradle his head in my arms and run my hands through his hair.

  “Hmm, what’s this?” He produced what appeared to be a melted starlight mint, the cellophane wrapper covered with unidentifiable lint-like matter. “Candy. Bonus. Want it?”

  Pushing his hand away, I laughed. “No. That’s disgusting. You seriously need to clean your car.”

  “Yeah, some day.” Toby tossed the candy into the back and dug into the driver’s door pocket. “Got it!” With a triumphant grin, he held it up the electronic tollbooth device. He pressed it to the hook and loop attachment on the windshield as Dylan’s whine drew our attention to the back seat.

  “Do you have to be back at a certain time?” he asked. “We could stop and let him run around a little bit. Then he’ll probably sleep the rest of the way.”

  It probably would’ve been better that I got home sooner, but I couldn’t resist the extra time with them.

  “Sure. I’ll call my father,” I replied.

  We breezed down long winding country roads into a quiet, rural neighborhood. Spring equinox had passed, and the days were getting longer. Though it was late afternoon, there were still several hours of sunlight left.

  “Julia’s mother, Grandma Edith, lived near here. There’s old elementary school nearby we used to play at when Al and I were little.”

  A few moments later, he pulled alongside a fenced schoolyard, and we got out. Toby directed us through an opening in the fence and to an empty playground made of colorful tubes and wooden bridges and ladders. Dylan took off ahead of us. Toby and I fell into step together, following him.

  “How’s it going with the band? I’m so out of the loop.” I stood sentry behind Dylan as he climbed a ladder to a raised platform.

  Toby positioned himself at the other side of the wooden plank, where Dylan would end up eventually, his eyes meeting mine across the way. “I’m quitting.”

  My attention momentarily shifted away from Dylan to Toby. “Why? You love playing.”

  “I do, but the band’s contract with the Monkey is up. I’m done with the bar scene and working for Pace. Besides, I never aspired to be famous or make a living out of it. The other guys are more interested in the band succeeding than I am. I was only looking to get out of the house and have fun.” He snuck up to the end of one of the bright tubes Dylan traversed and whooped. Dylan screeched gleefully, made an about face, and rushed the other direction.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he continued. “I’m grateful for the experience, but I never planned on making a career out of it. The nightclub, the drinking and partying, and the whole business end of it gets old. It doesn’t appeal to me anymore. Anyway, my last gig will be an eighties night at the Monkey in two weeks. Kind of like ‘Toby Faye, the Farewell Tour.’”

  “Sounds like fun,” I said, a cautious hand out to steady Dylan as he scaled the top level.

  “You never much liked the Monkey. It’ll be more of the same, and I’d rather you not come.”

  I nodded, accepting his request.

  Toby picked up his nephew and walked toward a row of swings set away from the tubes and planked play configuration. “How about a ride on the swings?”

  “I go high.” Dylan pointed to the sky.

  Toby slipped the boy into a swing made for smaller children with extra straps and motioned to the regular swing next to him. “Sit. I’ll push you, too.”

  The wide, black strap seat curled around my hips. It’d been forever since I’d been on a swing. “So you’re just going to let it go? You’re never going to play again ever?”

  “I wouldn’t say ever, but ri
ght now, I’m too busy. I have several projects in the works, and my side jobs have steadily been increasing. I’m sure Bones won’t let me slack off for long. He’s been pestering me to play with some local group. As long as it isn’t a long-term commitment, I might do something like that.”

  Toby pushed Dylan’s swing and then stepped behind me, easily tugging my swing in reverse before I felt his hands at my back. He pushed firmly, launching me forward and up into the air. The wind whooshed through my hair and a little bubble of laughter rose in my throat and left my body weightless.

  “How about playing baseball?” I called back to him.

  “Maybe,” he said half-heartedly.

  It had been said on a whim, but I immediately regretted opening my mouth. Just like the AutoCAD class, church, and his friends, I was once again offering my unheeded advice. I had to stop trying to orchestrate his life. I concentrated on pumping my legs and making the swing go higher.

  “I forgot to call my dad,” I said, and letting go of the swing, I vaulted off mid-swing like I used to do when I was in elementary school and nailed the landing.

  “Nice dismount, Chiametti.” Toby kept pushing Dylan on the swing.

  “Why, thank you, sir.” I curtsied and moved a few feet from them to dial home. I was dismayed to find out Uncle Vinny had left, and my father’s buddies had come calling.

  “When are you coming home?” Dad asked, clearly several drinks into their visit.

  I assured him I’d be back in a few hours and disconnected. Toby had taken Dylan out of the swing, and back on his feet, the little boy made a beeline for the slide. Toby and I trotted after him.

  “Here I come,” Dylan announced. We stood side by side at the end of the slide.

  “I’m ready for you.” Toby squatted down and opened his arms wide, a joyful smile on his face. He was having fun. “How are the folks?” he asked.

  “My mother told me she’s seeing someone.”

  “Ah, so there won’t be any great reunion in your parents’ future?”

  I shrugged. “I suppose there’s always been that seed of hope they could work it out, but it’s never been more clear what an absurd fantasy that is, especially since my father got injured.”

  He shot me a look before pivoting back to Dylan. “How so?”

  “Not being able to work has changed him.” I knotted my fingers together. “After all this time, he is still having difficulty getting around. He’s sworn off going to physical therapy. Said he’d do it at home, but hasn’t. It’s like he stopped wanting to get better.”

  “Maybe he has,” he said. “He can’t go back to work, and you do everything for him. What’s his incentive?”

  “You sound like my mother.” I sighed with annoyance. “Am I supposed to ignore him when he’s closed up in the house all day? I mean, yeah, his buddies come over, but all they ever do is hang out and drink too much. I worry he might have a drinking problem.”

  “Believe me, I know what an alcoholic looks like, and your dad isn’t one,” he said. “He’s probably just depressed. You want me to talk to him?”

  “Thank you, but no.” I smiled, grateful for his offer, but considering their history, I couldn’t begin to imagine a mental health conversation between the two of them. “He would have a kitten if he knew I was talking to you, or anyone, about this. Not that he’d ever admit it, but you’re probably right about him being depressed.”

  “He’s a prideful guy.” Toby looked like he wanted to say more, but he only caught and released Dylan from the slide once again. “Are you going to tell me about Boston? What’s the deal with the job?”

  “I got to see the new facility, and well, it’s everything I ever wanted.” My face warmed with my blustering. “We’ll... um, I’ll be going back in a few weeks for a formal interview.”

  “That’s great, Claude. I’m happy for you,” he said.

  We made eye contact, but he quickly broke it to race after Dylan on the playground. The sentiment sounded honest, but still I wondered if he really meant it. Dylan’s laughter peeled through the early spring evening, answered by Toby’s deeper chuckle, and a smile curled my lips. It was hard to tell who was having more fun.

  When I caught up to them, Toby asked, “Did I ever tell you about my grandmother, the one who used to live around here?”

  “No. You’ve never talked about any of your grandparents. Tell me.” Recollections of his past were so rarely shared. I slipped my hands in my pockets, anticipating the chance to take a trip down memory lane with him.

  “Edith Hill was one tough old broad. She had uncompromising principles and a backbone of steel. Kinda like someone I know.” He gave me a sideways glance and laughed when I lightheartedly punched his arm. “Anyway, when I was younger, Edith used to tell me, ‘Toby, when you do a job, be it big or small, do it well, or don’t do it at all.’” He shook his finger, feigning a little old lady voice and making me smile. “I took it as a reason not to do something, but now I understand what she meant. It isn’t about doing a job well for someone else. It’s about doing a job well for yourself and taking pride in doing something to the best of your abilities.”

  “I think I would’ve liked Grandma Hill. She sounds pretty smart.”

  We followed Dylan to a low, blue crawl tube.

  “She was, and she would’ve like you, too,” he added. “She died before I was old enough to really appreciate her advice, but damn, I sure miss those lemon cookies she used to make.”

  With a groan, I rolled my eyes. “I don’t believe there’s a cookie on earth that you’d pass up.”

  We both laughed.

  He got kind of quiet, and I could feel him looking at me. “What’s going on with Berger?”

  I inhaled sharply, startled by the question. What could I say to him about Andrew that wouldn’t be weird with a capital W? “I’d rather not talk about him.”

  Though his eyes narrowed, he shrugged it off with a simple, “okay.”

  “I have good news about Sterling, though. The board approved my program.” I dangled a change of topic.

  He took the bait. “What kind of program?”

  “That dance program I petitioned for back around the holidays. It gained enough interest to run. I’m not getting paid to do it, but I’m really excited to work with the residents again.”

  “Sounds fun,” he said. “Good luck with it.”

  “Thanks.” I breathed out my first full breath in his company. “What’s up with the brothers Rudack? I haven’t seen Eddie in a while. Is he okay?”

  “You don’t have to worry about Eddie. He’s fine.” Toby kept his eyes on Dylan. “I might be committing career suicide, but I brought him and Ray to work with me a few weeks ago, introduced them to Sal Delfino, and asked him to put them on the payroll.”

  “They’re really lucky to have you for a friend.” I touched his arm.

  He glanced at my hand. “They’ve been through some tough shit. They needed someone to give them a break. Ray never fails to surprise me, though. He’s really pulling his weight. Eddie is a pain in my ass, but he was a little kid when his father cut out. He never had a role model.”

  “You’re his role model,” I said.

  “Yeah, I suppose.” He shrugged away my comment. “I’m lucky. Despite all the bad stuff, I have supportive people in my life like Abe and my aunt.”

  “And you still have me,” I said, watching his face. His eyes stayed on his nephew, who pushed past him to scale a ladder. “I mean, I hope you know I still care, and I would like it if we could be friends and see each other every now than.”

  When his eyes came up, they were guarded.

  I rushed ahead to fill the growing silence. “I remember what you said. I just thought maybe, after some time—”

  “Claude—” My name was stiff on his lips, offering no latitude.

  Dylan whizzed past us. Toby went to go after him, but I grabbed his arm and cut him short.

  “I know that I hurt you, that you’re disappoi
nted with me, but all along you were my friend, Toby. My best friend. I really miss talking to you. This awkwardness between us. It feels terrible. Please say you’ll at least try.”

  He chewed his bottom lip, not responding.

  “Just try. That’s all I ask,” I whispered, holding his gaze.

  Finally, he said, “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.”

  I let go of his arm and smiled at him until his gaze skittered away. His whole body went rigid.

  “Where’s Dylan?” he barked, and without waiting for a reply, he started running towards the opening in the fence we’d come through earlier.

  “I’ll check the other way,” I said and darted in the opposite direction, the two of us shouting out Dylan’s name.

  I hadn’t gotten to the other side of the schoolyard when I saw Dylan crouched near a stray cat in the brown dormant grass.

  “He’s here,” I yelled out to Toby, catching the boy’s hand before he touched the cat. “That’s a pretty kitty, but we don’t know if he’s friendly.”

  We began walking back to the play structure when Toby came running up. He grabbed Dylan, his face livid as he wrenched the little hand from my grasp. “What did I tell you about running off?”

  Dylan’s cherubic little face fell, his bottom lip quivering as his eyes filled with tears. Toby’s reaction startled me. To a small boy, he must’ve seemed like an angry goliath.

  I knelt down beside Toby and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Tension made his arm tight like a cable.

  “Dylan’s fine,” I said to him and then to Dylan. “You scared Uncle Toby when he couldn’t find you. You can’t run off like that ever again. Okay?”

  He sniffled and shook his head. “O-tay, I don’t.”

  I squeezed Toby’s arm. With an audible release of breath, he loosened his deathlike grip on Dylan. Hastily he scooped the boy up and started walking. “It’s getting late. Let’s go.”

  We got Dylan settled in his car seat, and ten minutes into the ride, his little blond head lulled to the side of this car seat, fast asleep. I waited several minutes before I dared to ask, “Want to talk about what happened back there?”