Keeping Claudia (Toby & Claudia Book 2)

by Suzanne McKenna Link

  Clearly at odds seeing me, he struggled to appear casual but floundered in his uncertainty.

  “He—he’s not here.” He propped his mop against the doorjamb and kicked aside a pair of scuffed sneakers left nearby. “I’m dog sitting.”

  “I see that,” I said. “Ray, do you have a second? I need to ask your advice on something.”

  He regarded me. Apprehension and wariness married in the depths of his wavering gaze. “Um, I g-guess.”

  I motioned to the front door, hoping to quell his reservations. “It stopped raining. How about we go outside?”

  After a brief hesitation, he stepped past me and pushed open the door. Ray and I made our way to the road and, in silence, slowly walked down the street. A strong gust of wind blew, shaking the clusters of heavy, wet leaves on the trees along the road and sprinkling us with tiny droplets.

  “Have you seen Toby today?” I asked.

  Ray shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his head. “Not today. Last night, late, before he left.”

  “Where’d he go?” I stopped and faced him and saw his reluctance to answer. “Ray, please tell me. I haven’t been able to get hold of him, and I really need to talk to him.”

  “He needs s-some time to get his head together.”

  I pinched my lips together processing this information.

  “Is he upset about what happened last night and all the stuff that was dredged up about Lacie and her mother?” I asked, my roundabout way of getting more information.

  Ray’s eyes bounced around from my face to my shoulder to the street.

  My fingers curled nervously in my pockets anxious to pluck the story from him.

  “It’s not m-my place to talk about it, but even if it w-were, after all this time, I don’t see why that stuff matters,” he said.

  There was no malice in his tone, but I didn’t miss the implication that I was digging for something he felt in the big picture didn’t amount to much.

  Ray was loyal to Toby; it was plain to see. It was admirable.

  “You’re right, Ray. It shouldn’t matter, and the more I think about it, I realize it really doesn’t matter.” If Toby had slept with Jackie, however surreptitious, it was forgivable. With compassion, anything could be forgiven.

  I felt the overpowering need to reassure him and make restitutions.

  “I’m sorry, Ray. I haven’t been the most understanding of the friendship you have with Toby,” I said.

  He avoided my eyes and rubbed the back of his neck, a sign that I intimidated him even though it wasn’t my intention.

  “I take pride in treating people fairly, and when I look back at how I’ve behaved towards you, I realize I haven’t exactly been objective about you.”

  Ray still wouldn’t look at me. “Eddie and I never meant to cause trouble between you guys.”

  His apology stopped me in my tracks, and I abruptly turned to face him. “You’re not to blame for the trouble between us. That’s mostly on me.” I lowered my eyes. “As willful and confident as I may come off, sometimes I get scared, and I pull back. And last night, hearing about those other women, it shook me up.”

  “We all have demons.” Emboldened, he looked up, his eyes meeting mine for the very first time. “It’s nice to have someone who believes in us in spite of them.”

  Sage advice from an unexpected source. My gaze flittered over his face, settling on his clear umber eyes.

  “Y-you remember Big Stevie Norman?” he asked, and I nodded. Big Stevie had been a bully who terrorized our grade school. “In s-second grade Toby stopped him from beating the c-crap out of me. Toby and I weren’t even friends. I was n-no one, but he defended me and let me hang out with him. His d-dad and brother were nasty SOBs. His mom was the only good one. She was so t-tiny, but her heart was huge. She got through to him. Toby was never no saint, but even when he messes up, he always tries to make it right.” He continued, and in his focused praise of Toby, his stutter faded. “He’s helped Eddie and me out, more than we deserve. Because of him, we both got jobs. He pushes us hard. Eddie challenges him at times, but Toby doesn’t let him slack off.” Ray lowered his head again, his voice cracked with emotion. “He’s the best friend I ever h-had.”

  It was impossible not to be moved by Ray’s statement, and I didn’t even try to stop the tears that spilled from my eyes. As maddening and frustrating as Toby could be, there were so many wonderful qualities to love about him. Loving him had changed me irrevocably for the better, and it wasn’t only me who had been changed by knowing him. He seemed to have the same effect on all those around him.

  When he looked back up, Ray had tears in his eyes.

  “I think you’re the best friend he’s ever had, too, and I’m so glad he has you.” Without allowing myself to over think it, I gave Ray a hug. His rigidness told me he was unaccustomed to such displays, but before I let go, his hand briefly patted my back.

  “I … um, thanks,” he mumbled, his gaze once again alternating between the ground and me.

  In retracing our steps to the front of his house, the sky grew increasingly darker, and I left Ray’s losing hope that I’d find Toby before the storm descended on us.

  * * * *

  The rain restarted on the short ride home, cascading from the skies in large raindrops that hit my car with hail-like thumps. When I walked in the door, Dad was staring at the television, listening to the updates on the storm hitting the East Coast. I’d heard the news in the car. Forecasters were predicting high winds with power outages. High surf warnings came with flooding and beach erosion, not only to Long Island, but also all along the northeast coast. After the devastation of Superstorm Sandy, many panicked at the mere prospect of severe weather. I could feel the pulse in the air; my neighbors scurried around outside, battening down the hatches, taping windows, and securing anything that could become projectiles.

  “I need to check the pump in the basement to make sure it’s running,” my father said, watching the computer-generated red and yellow storm graphic swirl across the map of the northeast. Long Island stuck out of the Eastern seaboard like New York’s pinkie finger.

  “It’s supposed to be that bad, fifty to sixty mile-per-hour winds and a lot of rain,” I recited what I’d heard earlier.

  It wasn’t unusual for heavy rains to pool in the streets of our neighborhood, but during Nor’easter storms, the strong gale force winds could entice the Great Sound Bay to rush forward, hurdling the bulkheads. Floodwater crept down the streets and up around the edges of our property, bogging our lawn and saturating everything in the vicinity with its brackish waters, and stranding us. Inside, however, was another concern. We had a sump pump, but sometimes even that couldn’t keep up with the deluge of rainwater that backed up our sewer lines, especially when we lost electricity. Then it was all hands on deck to keep the overflowing waters from overtaking our basement. In our neighborhood, stress was as much a part of the storm as the clouds.

  This time around, Dad’s injury would make it difficult to deal with strenuous charge of keeping the house water-free.

  “Dad, let’s go to Aunt Gia and Uncle Vinny’s. You can’t do what you used to do,” I said. “Go pack for a night or two. I’ll check the pump and make sure it’s working, and then we should go.”

  “Okay,” Dad agreed, remarkably compliant. “You talk to Toby today?”

  “No, he’s not answering his phone,” I said.

  “Service at the Pines is sketchy at regular times. During a storm, it’s likely to be worse,” he said, his eyes never leaving the TV.

  “He’s over at Fire Island?” I moved in front of the screen, forcing him to acknowledge me.

  “Yes. Last night after he carried you to bed, he said something about babysitting a house in the Pines. Now move over.” He gestured with an impatient hand.

  Toby was at Delfino’s beach house. While I’d been out chasing my tail, my father had known where he was all along.

  “You shouldn’t drink so much you
need to be carried to bed.” His attention returned to the news.

  “What about you? What’s with all the bottles in the kitchen? You have a party last night?” I asked, depositing myself onto the couch beside him.

  “No. I was alone and sober, which is more than I can say about you. I hope it was worth it.”

  “Is it ever worth it?” I pressed a palm to one eye socket.

  “No, it isn’t.” Dad flicked off the television and stood. “Eat a banana and drink a lot of water. Where’s the number to that physical therapist?”

  Surprised, I peeked at him through one half-closed eye. “It’s on the refrigerator. Why?”

  From my seat on the couch, I saw him search the few items clipped to the front of our fridge. “I think it’s time I give it another try.”

  I was afraid to respond, afraid the thin-walled bubble of hope that swelled in my chest would burst. He left the room only to come back moments later with an empty cardboard box in which he began loading the empty bottles that sat next to the sink.

  “Here, let me help.” I rose and tried to take over the task.

  “I got it,” he said, refusing to surrender it to me. “Listen, I need to make some changes. First is no more alcohol around the house.”

  The bubble of hope expanded.

  “Okay with me,” I said, noticing that my father looked tired, like he’d been up all night. I bit my lip. “If I never see another drink, it’ll be too soon.”

  The empty bottles clinked as he hoisted the box on his hip.

  “Dad,” I called to him. “I’m not going with you to Aunt Giana’s. I’m going to the Pines.”

  “With the storm, ferry service will have been suspended,” he said.

  “There must be another way. I have to get over there,” I said.

  He sighed and shook his head. “Claudia—”

  “Dad, I need to talk to Toby.” My voice cracked. “Something happened, and I need to make it right.”

  The stern set of my father’s expression said no, but his eyes seemed conflicted.

  “I’ll call my buddy, Russell, with Marine Patrol. If he says he can get you over there and back safely, then you can go. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait until the storm passes.”

  I hovered over my father’s shoulder, fingers crossed, as he made the call.

  “Thanks, Russ. I owe you,” Dad said and hung up the phone. “There’s a small window of opportunity to cross the bay. Russell will meet you at the ferry terminal in fifteen minutes. Go. I’ll ask Uncle Vinny to come pick me up.”

  “Thank you, Daddy!” With my heart racing, I hugged and kissed my father, pulled on my rain slicker, and rushed out the door.

  “Be careful and listen to what Russell tells you,” Dad called after me.

  I gave him the thumbs up and sped-walked down the road. It was raining pretty hard, and the bottom of my jeans were saturated by the time I reached the marina. I didn’t care. It was a small price to pay to get over to Fire Island. What I wouldn’t have given for a pair of wings to fly across the Great South Bay.

  The sky was an ominous shade of gray, and there was a constant and growing shh-ing as a thickening breeze rustled the newly minted crop of spring leaves. The parking lot was empty as were the ferry terminal booths. Brown’s River, a normally busy marina, was a veritable ghost town. Vacant slips dotted the bulkhead from missing boats that had been plucked from the soon-to-be mutinous water. The choppy water wasn’t reassuring, but Russell had granted me passage. As a marine officer, he knew better than most.

  I stood at the edge of the bulkhead scanning the area. On the pier, south of the terminal, a man in an orange slicker waved his arm. I ran towards him.

  “You Chiametti’s kid?” he shouted over the winds. He was a shore man, visibly calloused and sturdy from a life on the water. I nodded, and he spit over the side of his stalwart, weathered vessel. He gave me a begrudging look. “You sure about this? The bay is rolling, all white caps.”

  The boat wasn’t very big. Going across wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. We’d get tossed about for sure.

  “I can handle it,” I said.

  “Get aboard then. We need to get moving.” His voice was gruff, and with a hasty wave, he signaled me forward. I scuttled to get aboard. He motioned for me to take a seat in the chair aside him.

  “I’m Claudia,” I hollered over the sound of the boat’s loud engine. “Thank you for doing this.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he said, gripping the wheel. “It’s going to be a rough ride.”

  Once we cast off, we exchanged no further pleasantries. With hands fixed, one on the throttle and the other on the wheel, his eyes steeled on the water in front of us, Russell motored the length of the inlet. It was difficult to sit still with the waves rocking the boat, but I knew the mild disturbance we felt here was nothing compared to what we would encounter in the open bay. We passed the jetty, and disorderly waves circled the boat only allowing Russell to nudge the speed up a bit. Despite our slow advancement, I was unable to stop sliding across the slippery upholstered co-pilot chair. I stood up and shuffled behind it, hanging onto the back of the seat.

  The bay was an unending series of white caps, twisting and angry, throwing the boat side to side, jostling us forward and backward with every few yards we acquired. A few minutes into the ride, the bow sliced through a tall wave, and the boat went airborne. Suspended weightless for a few breathless milliseconds, my feet left the deck. The boat thumped back down onto the water; the crashing force of the return buckled my legs. I fell to my hands and knees battling the wild churning of my stomach, urging me to vomit.

  “Hold on,” Russell yelled as if that weren’t my intention.

  I stayed down, squatting out of the wind and rain, not unclenching my teeth until the engine slowed and the boat steadied a bit. My stomach calmed with the rescinding waves, and I pulled myself upright.

  We had reached the other side. The harbor at the Pines was deserted. Despite the tie-off, Russell’s boat bobbed up and down, making my transference to the dock tricky. Russell assisted me, but even with his help, I tumbled onto the wooden pier once again on my hands and knees. Struggling against the winds, I got back on my feet.

  With the boat bucking at the ties, Russell cupped his hands around his mouth. “You got fifteen minutes tops before we need to head back.”

  Fifteen minutes? I doubted I could convince Toby of anything in such a short time.

  “Head back now. I’m going to stay,” I yelled.

  He raised a hand in objection. “You can’t. Your father will have my head!”

  My impulsive decision would make Dad angry with me. And with Russell, too. I felt badly for the unavoidable verbal battering the marine patrolman would take when he returned without me, but my mind was made up.

  “Tell my father I’ll be with Toby, and I'll be okay.” Bracing against the elements, I turned away from the boat and ducked under the overhang of one of the marina storefronts on the main boardwalk. I pulled out my cell. No signal. My phone had officially become nothing more than a glorified flashlight.

  I’d only been to the Delfino’s beach house once, and I staggered along the wooden walks under the darkening sky, trying to remember the left and right turns to get there. The rain came down harder, carried by the whipping winds, and pelted my head and shoulders. I trudged along, spying familiar landmarks, and wondered how Toby would react to my unexpected appearance.

  Telling Russell to go was a wise decision. It took me almost twenty minutes to find the right house. It looked different than I remembered. In the dark, I couldn’t construe exactly what it was, possibly the wide masking tape that crisscrossed the front window like a giant asterisk in preparation for the storm. If the interior lights hadn’t been on I wouldn’t have seen it. With renewed energy, I picked through the downed branches on the path that led to the front door and spied Toby through the tape strips on the window. He was sitting on the couch with an acoustic guitar in his lap. I was
about to knock on the door, but hand lifted mid-rap, I stopped. The soft melody he was playing caught me in its spell. I watched him play until the sky lit up like a camera flash, and I screamed.

  The door whipped open. Toby filled the passageway, worry etched in his eyes.

  The worry quickly rearranged into fury.

  “Claudia, what the fuck?” He seized my arm and jerked me inside. Under the force of his tug, I stumbled into the front room as he threw the door closed against the furious wind. “Ferry service was cancelled hours ago. How the hell did you get over here?”

  “I got a lift.” Rainwater rolled off me, forming a puddle on the wood floor.

  “Do you hear those winds? They’re over fifty miles per hour!” He jabbed a finger towards the window. “Whoever brought you, I’m going to kick his ass.”

  “I’m well aware, but I can’t go back.” His inhospitality spiked my own temper. “Would it be asking too much for you to get me a towel?”

  He grunted but left the room and returned with a stack of what looked like new, fluffy white towels. There was a new sea blue club chair next to the door. Toby covered it with one of the towels and motioned for me to sit. “Who told you I was here?”

  “My father. He arranged my trip with a friend from Marine Patrol.” I kept my eyes on him as I unzipped my raincoat. “When the storm is over, you can take it up with him.”

  “It must have been some ride over the bay,” he said, sidestepping my hissing reply.

  “An adventure I’d rather not repeat.” I bunched my cold, sodden coat in my hands. He took it from me and handed me a towel in exchange. Sighing, I dropped down onto the edge of the chair while he hung my coat on a hook behind the front door.

  “I’m glad I finally found the house. It’s a mess out there, and so dark, I got lost for a while.”

  “You shouldn’t have come over. Whatever you have to say, it could’ve waited.” He put a hand on his hip. “After seeing the state you were in last night, I figured you’d be nursing a hellava hangover today. What the hell where you two drinking?”