Keeping Claudia (Toby & Claudia Book 2)

by Suzanne McKenna Link

  “Hands on your hips, and shake what your momma gave you!” she shouted over her shoulder. In perfect rhythm to the music, she demonstrated the dance step, swinging her hips from side to side.

  Damn, she was so freaking cute. Chuckling to myself, I leaned my shoulder against the door settling in to watch the show from the hallway until a little old lady with close-cropped silver-white hair tapped my back. “Excuse me. I’ve got my dancing shoes on, and I’ve come to dance.” I stepped aside and pulled the door open for her.

  “Come on, sweetie.” With a wink, she swung her arm through mine and tugged me along with her. “Have some fun with us. The ladies will get a kick out of dancing with a handsome young stud muffin like you.”

  “Oh, no,” I started to protest, but her grip tightened on my arm. She was surprisingly strong for an old bird, and my only choice, other than yanking my arm from her vice-like grip and possibly fracturing her tiny hand, was to follow her inside.

  “I’m Stella,” she hollered over the music as she dragged me towards the front of the room.

  Claudia laughed when she saw me. “Oh, good, some new victims, I mean participants, for our Macarena class. Okay, let’s take it from the top!”

  Poor Stella tried to help me out, prompting me as the steps changed, but my feet seemed to have grown two sizes larger since I walked into the room. It took a few run-throughs of the entire dance before I sort of found my rhythm.

  At the end of the class, Claudia said, “Make sure you mark your calendars for next month’s dance class. We’re going to do the Cha Cha Slide!” for which there was a rousing murmur of approval.

  I waited back with Stella, who not only thanked me for dancing with her, but also insisted on introducing me to a few of her little old lady friends. Over her petite gray head, I watched Claudia interact with the seniors. They gravitated towards her, and you could see the mutual respect and admiration they had for her and she for them. I realized then, that not only did I love her for how good she’d always been to me, but I also loved her for how good she was to others. Being kindhearted was as natural to her as breathing.

  “Toby,” she called, breaking me out of my spell. She was standing next to a tall, burly older man, who I assumed was a senior resident. He had a thick head of wavy black hair, peppered heavily with gray and was dressed in one of those shiny nylon warm-up suits old guys seemed to wear and thought they looked cool. His jacket was unzipped halfway revealing a large gold cross around his neck. He was straight out of the retiree version of Goodfellas.

  “Toby Faye, this is Vito Ricci. I met Mr. Ricci when I first started at Sterling.”

  As I took Vito’s hand to shake it, he said, “We love this little lady.” His grip was tight as he looked at me.

  “There’s a lot to love about her.” I met his gaze, accepting the implied warning.

  Vito smiled and clapped the back of my hand with his other, thick hairy one. “Claudia’s talked about you for a long time. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, but it’s time for my bridge group,” he said, and pulling his hands from mine, he winked at Claudia. “See you Monday, doll.”

  I kind of liked that Claudia had a wise-guy sentinel watching over her, even an elderly one. By the way the residents responded to her, I was certain there were others around the place that watched out for her, too.

  She acknowledged Vito with a wave and turned to me. “All this time I’ve been trying to get you to dance, and all I had to do was request the Macarena to get you up on your feet?”

  “Uh-uh. I hate line dancing. That was all Stella. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. What do they feed these people? They have remarkably strong grips for geriatric folk.”

  “You sure looked like you were having fun,” she said.

  I pressed my lips together, failing at my attempt to hide my grin. “I plead the fifth. I’m just happy no one broke a hip.”

  “You’re terrible.” She shushed me with a giggle and took off her microphone. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

  She led me through the same doors Stella had dragged me through earlier and out the main entrance doors. It was bright outside, and Claudia closed her eyes and angled her face upward, worshiping the warmth of the sun, and freeing me to openly gaze at her. My fingers itched to trace the freckles across her nose.

  “Monday is the first day of spring, but I heard they’re predicting snow next week.” Her lips rounded into a pout. “I can’t believe it. It’s too late in the season for snow.”

  “That’s terrific. Snow’s good business.”

  “It’s not terrific.” Claudia’s eyes popped open. “It’s nearly Easter! I was hoping the weather would be warmer, and preferably without snow, for April’s bridal shower. Oh, hey! What are you doing for Easter Sunday?”

  “Aunt Joan invited me over.” I couldn’t change my plans. My aunt would be by herself.

  “There’s a sunrise mass at Corey Beach, six-thirty.” She twirled a piece of her hair. “Dad and I have gone the last few years. It’s a nice way to start the day. Care to join us?”

  She was too cute to turn down, and I found myself saying, “Sure, sounds good. Text me the info.”

  Chapter 34 • Toby

  It was dark when I arose Easter morning. I couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, getting up early on Easter, not even when Julia had tried to bribe me with a basket of candy and guilt me into going to mass with her. I’d never felt remorseful about not going because I didn’t have an interest in hearing about how Jesus died and rose to save us.

  I got up and got dressed—a button-up shirt and my nicest jeans—and swigged down a few mouthfuls of coffee and headed out the door.

  I was going to sunrise mass at the beach because Claudia had asked. Maybe Jesus, God or whoever, was speaking to me through her. She was a better mouthpiece. I was at least somewhat interested in listening.

  The sky was light gray, the final touches of night fading as I jingled Dan’s keys on my way to his motorcycle. My Jeep for his Harley, a fair swap for the day. He needed the extra passenger room. I was flying solo.

  The edge of the sun had just broken the horizon when I arrived at Corey Avenue, the small-town bay-front beach. A crowd of about fifty people gathered under the shelter of the long weathered, wood pavilion, more on the beach, and more were arriving. I parked and looked for Claudia. As I was walking toward the pavilion, I caught sight of Claudia’s car pulling into a handicap spot next to the curb. By the time I got to the car, Claudia was out and opening the door for her father.

  It was insane that after all this time he still needed assistance.

  I stepped forward just as she reached for him and cupped her elbow. “Let me,” I said.

  “Oh, thanks. Happy Easter.” She pecked my cheek with a hasty kiss and moved aside.

  I stood in front of El Capitán and crooked a finger. “Okay, old man, get out of the car.”

  “You trying to be funny?” His eyes sparked with impatience.

  “Do you see me laughing?” I crossed my arms. “You can do this on your own. You don’t need your daughter or anyone else, so let’s go. Get out of the car.”

  “He hasn’t ever done it by himself. He needs help.” Claudia harrumphed and tried to worm her way past me.

  I put out an arm, easily restraining her from intervening. “No, he doesn’t. If you don’t stop babying him, he’ll never get better.”

  I could see she was torn between being loyal to her father and seeing my point.

  She stayed back but called to her father, “Come on, Daddy. You can do this. You’re stronger than you think.”

  Claudia cheered him on, and her father hoisted himself from the car. It wasn’t pretty, but he did it on his own. I offered him his cane, which he snapped from me, and without another word, shuffled past us. Claudia shut the car door and fell into step with me, the two of us trailing behind him.

  She sighed. “Thank you for that, but now he’s probably not going to talk to me for the rest of the day.�
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  “Your father would rather be permanently crippled than let go of you. Just think, if he’s not able to take care of himself, how are you going to feel when you have to leave for Boston, or wherever you go?” I followed her up a small set of steps into the pavilion, lowering my voice. “If you’re serious about getting out of that house, you need to let him do for himself. He needs to see that he can. Stop coddling him.”

  “I am not coddling him,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Whatever,” I said.

  She stopped next to her father, planting herself between us. On the sand, I recognized Dean, the young pastor from True Word, the church whose band I’d rehearsed with. He welcomed the crowd as overhead, an American flag near the pavilion whipped in the wind and below placid waves rolled ashore.

  Claudia leaned closer, and I could smell her scent, a mix of fresh laundry and coconut. “Okay, so maybe I am coddling him … a little. It’s not easy to see that so close to the situation, but you’re right. I need to let him do more for himself.”

  I held my smile in check. “Good. Admitting I’m right is always a good way to start the day.”

  Her snort of laughter turned a few heads our way. I grinned but kept my eyes straight ahead, charged that I could still make her laugh.

  The mass was exactly how I liked it, quick, and afterwards, we followed the orderly crowd down the ramp, passing an older woman wearing a silly pair of pink fuzzy bunny ears. She held a basket, offering candy to the departing crowd. I snagged a Tootsie Roll and said, “Happy Easter.”

  “Go on, take a few more, Toby.” The sweet, fructose-pushing woman brandished the basket. I obliged and joined Claudia in line to greet the pastor.

  Claudia did a double take. “You know that woman?”

  I slipped her a piece of candy and shrugged. “I met her once but don’t ask me her name.”

  “The people at this church are very friendly,” she said. “But I’m surprised my father likes to come to this Mass. The one time I dragged him to their non-denominational service, he said the pastor was irreverent and the music too loud.”

  We approached Pastor Dean with his jet-black Elvis hair and dark-rimmed Buddy Holly glasses, and Claudia greeted him politely, “Happy Easter, and thank you. I enjoyed the service.”

  “Thank you. Nice to see you,” he replied, smiling warmly before he turned and grasped my hand with both of his. “Toby, my good man, loved your music last week. We’re counting on you coming back.”

  “Thanks, Dean. I’ll be there.” I shook his hand, deciding at that moment to do it.

  I started moving away, noticing Claudia’s father at the car, waiting, but she caught my arm, drawing me to a stop.

  “What was the pastor talking about?”

  “Bones and I rehearsed with their church band last week.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly turned an unexpected corner.”

  “Don’t get too excited. I’m going to church, but not to worship. Everyone in the band is on a rotating schedule. Small commitment, low pressure, and perfect for me right now.”

  “Volunteering your talent at church smells a lot like veneration.” She rose on her toes, a cute grin of victory on her lips.

  “You keep that up, and I might have to renege on it,” I teased.

  “No, you won’t,” she said. “Underneath that tough exterior beats a heart of gold.”

  I smiled because she’d always been able to find something good in me.

  “You have breakfast yet?” she asked. “I’m going to make strawberry cream stuffed French toast. Why don’t you join us?”

  Since she’d made it for me last year, it had become one of my favorites, and the fact that El Capitán wouldn’t be thrilled with my company was like the whipped cream on top. “Drooling already. I’m as good as there.”

  I pulled up behind Claudia’s car in the driveway with both her and her father watching as I cut the bike’s engine and dismounted. Her father hobbled into the house, but Claudia’s eyes stayed fastened to the Harley.

  “What are you doing with that?” she asked.

  “I lent Dan the Jeep for the day, and he gave me his bike.” I patted the Harley’s seat. “How about I take you for a quick ride before breakfast?”

  “Motorcycles are dangerous,” she said.

  If I closed my eyes, I could picture the words coming out of her father’s mouth. It was a near perfect imitation of him. Still, she came over to the bike.

  “There’s risk in everything—starting something new, letting something go. Just getting out of bed in the morning, you could fall and break your neck, or take a bite of your breakfast, only to find out somebody dosed it with poison when you weren’t looking.” I swung my leg over the smooth leather seat and gripped the black handlebars.

  Folding her arms over her chest, she laughed at my comparisons. “Getting on that bike has a far greater percentage of risk then eating my morning bowl of Rice Krispies. Besides, you don’t have a second helmet.”

  “You can wear my helmet, and I’ll drive slow just around the neighborhood.” I met her eyes. “Things that are most worth doing usually have a greater element of danger.” I put out my hand for hers. “Come for a ride.”

  “I hardly think riding a motorcycle qualifies something most worth doing.” She gave the shiny, black bike between my legs a pointed look and sniffed.

  I dropped my hand. “You’re not the same girl who left here almost three years ago, the one who played it safe and avoided anything outside your realm of comfort because your father lined your world with warnings. Don’t go back to being that girl.” She stood taller, shoulders back—the response I expected. “Despite what you might think, I would never put you in any situation that I didn’t feel I could safely bring you through. All I’m asking is that you put aside what you think you know and be a little adventurous. Take a chance. Live a little.”

  She stared at me as if I were asking her for more than a ride on the motorcycle.

  Because who was I kidding, I was.

  Once more, I held out my hand. “Come on, come for a ride.”

  This time, she took it.

  “Atta girl.” A massive feeling of triumph swept over me, and smiling, I drew her towards me.

  Helmeted and straddling the leather seat behind me, I started the engine and revved the throttle. The bike responded with a powerful and deep rumble that vibrated between our legs. Claudia grabbed my hips.

  “You’ll have to hold onto me,” I shouted over my shoulder.

  “I am.”

  “No, tighter.” I settled my weight onto the seat and tugged her arms around me so that her hands were strapped tight across my stomach. The position forced her to lean her whole upper body into mine, her lower half snugged around my backside and thighs. We hadn’t even budged an inch, and already the ride had become dangerous—for me.

  She gasped as we zoomed down the block. Despite the noise, the motorcycle rolled smoothly across the pavement. I slowed at the corner, checked for traffic, and then pulled out. I took us through town, moving my feet and shifting gears. She started to protest when I hit an open stretch of road and picked up speed. I didn’t stop. She burrowed her face into my back, her fingers digging into my waist. The wind danced around the two of us, and my pulse raced with the increase.

  “Okay?” I shouted back to her, loud enough for me to hear above the rumble of the bike’s modified muffler.

  “Yes,” she hollered, holding me tighter.

  I didn’t have a specific destination in mind, but when I circled around riding through the neighborhoods, I saw the tombstones dotting the grassy area beyond the fence. I turned into the Saint Lawrence Cemetery, drove to the back, and stopped the bike beside the row where Julia slept in her eternal resting place.

  Claudia didn’t question it. She hopped off the back, took off the helmet, and meandered toward the headstone bearing both my mother’s and father’s nam
es.

  When I caught up to her, she was sitting, crossed legged in front of the grave.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said and knelt down beside Claudia. “Look who came to visit with me.”

  “Don’t mind him, Mrs. Faye,” she addressed the grave. “I never told him we talk quite often.”

  I peeked at her. I hadn’t known that.

  “Does it ever feel like she actually answers you?” I asked.

  “I haven’t ever gotten a call, text, or email.” She leaned back on her hands. “But yes, your mom speaks to me in many ways: through the voice of others or in the words of a song. Sometimes I see something that makes me feel her, like when I’m with you.”

  “I wish I had your faith. It’s hard for me to believe in something I can’t actually see.”

  Her eyes strayed heavenward, and she inhaled deeply. “Sometimes the belief comes first. You need to believe it to see it.”

  A smile crept across my face. I wanted to embrace that logic.

  “This is new.” She picked up the little white, winged statue that sat on the lip of the headstone. It was a sleeping baby angel, cradled in its own large wings. “Who do you think put this here?”

  “I did on my last visit.” I fidgeted under her expectant gaze. “It made me think of Bella.”

  I heard the quick intake of her breath before she pushed the statue back on its granite perch and stood. “Take me home now.”

  “Claudia?” I sprang to my feet.

  “Please, just take me back.” She rubbed her arms as if fighting off an abrupt chill.

  I brought her home. As soon as the bike stopped, she vaulted off as if she couldn’t stand to be next to me a second longer. She held the helmet out to me, but I grabbed her arm.

  “What’s wrong? What did I do?” I knew I’d fucked up. I just wasn’t sure how.