Saving Toby

by Suzanne McKenna Link

  “Come on, Toby. Don’t be that way,” I stood up and went to him, but he yanked open my bedroom door.

  “Have a great life in California!” he roared, slamming the door shut behind him. The sounds of his footsteps were loud as he barreled down the stairs. When the front door wrenched closed, the house shook with the force of his anger. I ran to my window and watched as he strode to his Jeep, jumped in and tore out, tires screeching.

  Letting him go wasn’t easy, but I knew deep down inside I had to do this.

  Even so, as the red Jeep drove out of sight, I felt broken all over again.

  39. Toby

  The week following the funeral, I made myself go back to my job at the appliance store. It wasn’t like I was anxious to get back to work, but I felt like I owed that much to Abe. The old guy had really come through for me.

  I kept moving, going through the necessary motions. I got up, went to work, did my job, and when it was time to go home, I left.

  “If there’s anything I can do, just call,” the funeral folks said, one by one, as they left that day. I would never ask for their help, and, as expected, they had all faded back into their mediocre, Stepford lives leaving me alone. Each night, coming home to an empty house was a blatant reminder that Julia was gone, and I was on my own.

  One evening after work, I stopped at the Beverage Barn on Railroad Avenue to get a case of Blue Point Ale. My only plan for the night was to play my guitar and drink beer, but when I pulled up to the driveway that evening, Claudia’s car was in front of the house.

  Claudia was neither in her car nor in the house. I pulled out a bottle of beer and stashed the remainder of the case in the fridge. I saw her then, through the charred remains of the kitchen window. She was in Julia’s garden—the project that had started it all. On her hands and knees, she was pulling weeds. Her dark hair was twisted in a tight ponytail.

  My fingers twitched. I wanted to go over, set her hair free and watch it fall about her face. I wanted to trace the freckles that ran across the bridge of her nose. I wanted her to rise up on her toes to kiss me.

  Just as it had been back in school so long ago, she was out of my reach. Once again, unattainable. I would never have her again. Emptiness washed over me.

  I had tried to explain away my behavior, tried to pull her back to me, but the fallout was too much. She’d gotten a good look at the guy I’d camouflaged over the last few months, and she’d made it clear that loser wasn’t for her.

  Glued to my spot, I watched her like a voyeur, absorbing the sight of her like a junkie. She was my drug, and I was already starting to shake from withdrawal. I debated with myself about whether or not I should go out to her. Knowing her, after the way we left things last week, her conscience was probably bothering her, and I was sure her visit was a mission to make it right.

  I could’ve left. She would never even know I’d been home, but like an addict, I needed to get closer. I needed a fix.

  I moved through the back door and, without her noticing, stood silently nearby. She was absorbed in her work, oblivious to everything but what she was doing. I watched her for a few moments remembering the day we’d started the garden and how cute her dirt-smudged face was when she realized I was checking her out.

  “What’s the matter, not enough weeds in your own yard to keep you busy?”

  The spade in her hand jerked in surprise.

  “Oh, hey.” She stopped and glanced up. The motion revealed the bruise on her opposite cheek. It seemed to have grown in size, seeping from under her eye to the corner of her lip. Seeing it again, I felt both angry and devastated that I’d had a hand in letting it happen. But it was her look of uncertainty that slammed me. “I was waiting for you and well … I just figured...”

  I had to look away from her face, so I eyed the flowerbed instead. All of the plants were shriveled. Some were dead.

  “I let it go. I didn’t keep it up.”

  “You’ve had other things to worry about.” Claudia surveyed the garden, then looked back at me. “But it’s not completely gone. With a little bit of attention and some care, it can be fixed.”

  I popped the top off my beer. “Are you talking about the garden? 'Cause it kind of sounds like you might be talking about me.”

  A tight smile flitted across her lips before she turned her attention back to the flowers.

  I settled down at the top of the deck steps with my beer and watched her. Didn’t she know that when you broke up with someone, you were supposed to stay away from him? It would be easier if she stayed away—at least easier for me. She seemed unaffected, indifferent, while I was destroyed.

  I didn’t offer to help as she finished weeding. After a time, she stood and went to the side of the house, reappearing again with the hose and sprinkler. She moved about with a comfortable knowledge of the yard that depressed me. I’d blown the best thing I’d ever had—blown it big time. My head felt heavy, and unable to look at her anymore, I let it drop onto my forearms.

  I hadn’t heard her come up to me, but suddenly she was sitting down next to me. I took a sip of my beer and looked out into the yard. She reached out and put her hand around the bottle. I don’t know why, but I let her take it from me. Putting it on the other side of her, she eyed the cigarette pack in my shirt pocket.

  “I hate that you’re smoking again.”

  “What’s it to you?” I didn’t even attempt to hide my annoyance.

  “But you quit.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m back to doing a lot of shit I stopped doing.” When she sighed, the flames continued to rise. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

  “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry for yelling at you the other day. And for hitting you, too. You’ve been through a lot. It was …” she faltered. “It was wrong. I don’t usually go around hitting people. Even when I’m angry.”

  I had understood her anger and her need to hit me, but wondering where this was going, I kept quiet.

  “And,” she continued, “I understand what you’re going through. I can’t compare my situation to yours, but I know what it’s like to lose someone.”

  “If you think losing a grandparent compares to what I’ve gone through, you are seriously mistaken,” I snorted. “You couldn’t possibly know anything about what it’s like to be me. My whole family is wiped out.”

  “Your brother…”

  “As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a brother.”

  She hesitated, obviously picking her words carefully before continuing. “Um, well, it’s true, my experiences with death probably don’t compare in your eyes, but it’s the pain of losing someone that I empathize with,” she said quietly. “And, though it’s not death, my parents’ divorce was like losing someone, too. What makes a difference is that I had someone to talk to. I had someone to lean on.”

  “I thought you were my someone. My bad.”

  I saw the quick intake of breath and knew my words hurt her, but I didn’t care.

  “I really wish I could be your support and make you happy again,” she choked.

  I grabbed her hand. Pressing it against my chest, I looked into her eyes. “Claude, you can make me happy.”

  She bowed her head. “I can’t make you happy—that’s too much to ask of me. It’s too much to ask of anyone.”

  I dropped her hand. I wasn’t even angry with her, just annoyed that I’d even gone there, opening myself up to the pain.

  “You’re right.” Frustrated, I stood up and grabbed my beer from next to her. “Well, thanks for coming by.”

  I went in the house hoping she would leave, but she followed me inside.

  “You…” She stopped mid-sentence as she caught sight of the fire-damaged kitchen. “Oh.” She covered her mouth.

  I’d forgotten she hadn’t been in the house since the fire. I hadn’t fixed anything. The flames had eaten through the interior wall and surfaces of the back part of the kitchen. I saw it now for the first time through someone else’s eyes—the blacken
ed stovetop, dull and sooty, the burned back wallboard up over the sink and around the window. The ceiling was scorched like a Rorschach test, an uneven inkblot fanning out overhead and the once yellow, checkered curtain that Julia had hung over the window, now an uneven curl of melted fibers. The harsh smell of fire lingered.

  The burn of embarrassment crept up my neck. I couldn’t look at it. And I didn’t want to witness Claudia’s expression as she looked at it either. I went into the living room, away from the reminder of the spectacular feat I’d performed that day.

  I dropped down on the couch and picked up the television remote. Claudia continued to follow me saying nothing about the kitchen.

  She pulled out a folded paper from her back pocket and held it out to me. “My father gave me the name of a counselor. He comes highly recommended.”

  “So that’s the real reason you’re here.”

  “You need to talk to someone.” Her jaw was set in determination.

  I ignored the paper in her hand. “Claude, just stop. I don’t believe in all that emotional, psychobabble shit,” I told her.

  Sitting down on the coffee table in front of me, she ran her hand over the smooth surface absentmindedly before looking into my eyes.

  “Counseling can help you come to terms with your mother’s death. It will help you sort out the guilt you seem to have. And the anger. Despite how you feel about it, you should do it,” she whispered softly and touched the back of my hand. “It will help you put your life back together.”

  I stared down at my worn work boots. “What life?”

  “Toby, look at me,” she said.

  My heart punched against my chest. Her face was soft and full of emotion, and it weakened me. I closed my eyes and concentrated on her fingers touching my hand.

  I had to ask. “If I go, will that change anything for us?”

  She took a deep breath but remained quiet.

  “Jesus, Claude. Can’t you lie to me, just once?”

  “I won’t lie to you. After what’s happened, I really don’t see it changing anything for us,” she said. “But I still care for you. I want to help you get back on your feet.”

  I pulled my hand away and ran it through my hair. “I’ll think about it,” I said, without conviction.

  She stood. “I should go.”

  “No, don’t.” I grabbed her hand and kept her from moving away. As much as it hurt to have her there, it was worse for her to leave, to be alone. “Stay for a little longer. Please.”

  She closed her eyes and sighed. “Will you let me make you an appointment?”

  “Sure,” I shrugged, only agreeing to keep her with me. She made the appointment, but she must have known I never intended to go.

  40. Claudia

  I sent most of my stuff on ahead to the campus, which only left two large suitcases for Dad to load in the car. I was nervous about leaving. Though I’d done everything I needed to do, I still felt things were unfinished here, but I was out of time. I had to be on campus in a week, and I had promised my mom that I’d spend my last available week with her.

  I checked my bedroom over one last time. This room, in this house, was the only place I’d ever lived in. Even though I was ready to go, I knew I would miss it. Dad came up behind me and hugged my shoulders with one arm.

  “Did you ever think this day would come?” he asked.

  “I prayed for this day, and now that it’s here, I’m sad.” I turned and gave my dad a tremulous smile. “Daddy, I’m sorry I’ve been so impossible the past few months.”

  “Baby, you grew up a lot in those months, and you’ve stuck your neck out for what you believe in,” he replied. “And now my little bird is leaving the nest.”

  My stomach rolled with nerves. He must have seen it on my face.

  “You alright?” he asked.

  Despite the nerves, I smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I got this.”

  I glanced around the house once more. I wouldn’t be back for months if I even came back for the holidays. Dad and I were still trying to figure all that out.

  “Christmas in California is nice, and if you came, it’d be the first time in years that I’d be able to share it with both of my parents,” I’d said.

  “I’ll think about it,” Dad had replied.

  That was more than I’d expected.

  Dario and April had seen me off the night before, but I’d not spoken to Toby since my visit to his house. Dario had told me he’d had a preliminary meeting with the D.A. on Devlin’s case.

  This morning, I sent a text to let him know I was leaving and that I hoped everything had went well. He hadn’t responded, so I wasn’t totally surprised to step outside and see the red Jeep at the curb. Toby was leaning against Dad’s car with his arms crossed, wearing a pair of mirrored sunglasses. Dad said he’d forgotten something and disappeared back inside the house.

  “I’m glad you came by,” I said as I made my way over to him. “I’m anxious to know how you made out with the lawyer.”

  He removed his sunglasses. “They set a date for the trial. I’ll have to testify, but I haven’t been charged with anything.”

  I exhaled. “What a relief.”

  Toby nodded his agreement and then motioned towards my suitcases next to Dad’s car.

  “So, this is the big day?”

  “Yep, the big day.” The bare exchange left an awkward silence between us. Uncertain what to say next, I blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

  “Jesus, don’t do that. I didn’t come for an apology.” He looked over my shoulder, his stance becoming rigid. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”

  I almost apologized for apologizing, but caught myself. Instead, I reminded him, “Don’t forget your appointment with the counselor next week.”

  “I’m not going.”

  “Toby, we went over this. You have to go! You need to talk to someone.”

  “Stop it, Claudia. You’re leaving. You don’t get a say in what I do any more.”

  He was pushing me away. I supposed it was inevitable, and he had every right to, but I didn’t like it.

  “I didn’t mean to come on so forceful,” I atoned. “I just worry about you.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me. I made other plans.”

  I wrapped my arms around my midriff. “What other plans?”

  “I joined the Marines.”

  “You enlisted?” The words came out rushed, critical.

  He shrugged. “Yeah. Nothing stopping me anymore.”

  I hadn’t seen this coming. I bit my bottom lip, quelling the need to say more.

  “I should go,” he said.

  The finality of the moment, and of us, filled me with growing trepidation.

  I met his eyes. “You’ll stay in touch?”

  He looked away.

  “No. I probably won’t.”

  “No?” I hadn’t expected a complete severance.

  With a forced smile, he patted my arm. “Go be great in California. It’s what you really want.”

  Before I could prepare for it, he gave me the briefest of hugs, kissed my forehead, and left without looking back.

  His departure was so immediate; I was stunned that he was actually gone and that I was alone.

  There are moments in life that stay with you. As he drove away, I knew this was one of them. With vivid clarity, I would remember the day Toby Faye walked into my life as much as the day he walked out of it.

  41. Claudia

  Thanksgiving neared. Students were frenzied with the reality that there were only a few more weeks of the term to get the work finished. I didn’t get caught up in that tidal wave. Other than visiting with Mom on odd weekends, I had no distractions. I was on schedule with all my classes.

  Dating someone like Toby had been a complete departure from my sensible self. I’d moved through the months with him in a vaporous state where emotions, and a whole lot of hormones, ruled. With distance from it, I could see that now. His reaction to all that had happened shouldn
’t have been so surprising to me—really, it was only a rude and blistering reminder of our innate differences. Our families and upbringings were so dissimilar. I was raised to deal with problems in a more sensible and calm way.

  I expected that a small part of me would continue to miss him, but my life was now back on track and I was in control. It was the way I liked it, neat and orderly. Everything was in its proper place.

  “My roommate, Misha, is nice, but such a slob.” I complained to April during one of our weekly catch-up calls. I picked up an empty yogurt cup and chucked it into the dorm’s garbage pail. “How are Dario and your family?”

  She told me about everything going on at the DeOro house as well as what Dario was up to, and, apparently tired of skating around the topic, she asked the question.

  “Don’t you want to know how Toby is?”

  I lifted my index finger to my mouth and gnawed at a cuticle. During our calls, I consciously tried not to pay too much interest in what she said about Toby. I told myself I didn’t want to know, but this time, April was bursting to tell me. Of course, I did want to know. It made me crazy that school-wise everything was exactly as I wanted it, but no matter how much I tried to put him out of my mind, Toby Faye inevitably crept back in—his smile intruding on my concentration during a boring lecture, or the memory of his arms holding me keeping me awake at night. I hated that.

  “You know how he planned on joining the Marines?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s not happening.”

  “He changed his mind?”

  “No, he failed the physical entrance exam,” she explained. “He has some kind of hearing-related, balance issue.”

  “Oh, no,” I sighed. “He must be so disappointed.”

  “He took it pretty hard. After he found out, he was desperate to get out of here. He quit AB’s and took some of the insurance money from his mom’s policy.” As April explained Toby’s situation, I listened, disquieted by the information. “Dario and I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t change his mind. And then yesterday he took off.”