We stopped inside a tired, old kitchen in the back of the house. The scent of woodsy cleaner intermingled with the spice of freshly brewed herbal tea.
In the back of the room, the hazy late afternoon sun shone through the glass sliders, illuminating little floating dust motes. The kitchen, while scrubbed clean, had mismatched appliances, Formica countertops rubbed thin in spots, and a tan threadbare braided foot rug in front of the sink.
A slight, pale-faced woman sat at a rectangular, cloth-covered kitchen table. Her back was bolstered with a bed pillow. At the sight of us, she self-consciously patted her teal patterned silk headscarf.
“You’d be taking care of my sister,” Mrs. Reitman said, motioning to the woman. She spoke across the room. “Julia, this is Claudia.”
I stepped forward and held out my hand. “Mrs. Faye.”
Her smile was slow, as if it took effort, but recognition lit her eyes. She gently grasped my proffered hand with cool, fragile fingers.
“Claudia Chiametti,” she said, sounding surprised, but pleasantly so. “You’ve grown into such a beautiful young lady.”
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s nice to see you again.”
When I was younger, Mrs. Faye taught catechism, and back then it was rare not to see her at church functions, selling raffles or organizing bake sales. Although I’d always known her to be petite, she appeared painfully frail. Illness had taken its toll. Her milky-white complexion and sharp, angular face was similar to that of some of the older Sterling residents, but I knew she had to be at least twenty to thirty years younger.
Bill Ramsey taught me that nothing was worse for a sickly person than seeing their sad condition mirrored in someone else’s eyes. I forced myself to smile.
“I hear you can use some help. Tell me what you need,” I said. Mrs. Faye’s appreciative smile softened her features.
The ladies asked me to sit, and we started to discuss the job. Light cleaning, some cooking, and assisting Mrs. Faye when needed.
“Someone is here every day until my nephew gets home,” Mrs. Reitman said. “He gets in around five o’clock. But he needs time to get out and unwind.”
“You remember Toby, don’t you?” Mrs. Faye asked.
“Of course.” I replied, quickly doing the math in my head. Four years of high school and two of college. “It’s been at least six years, though. I’m sure I wouldn’t even recognize him if I saw him.”
“That’s right. You went to Catholic high school.” Mrs. Faye nodded approvingly.
Mrs. Reitman pulled us back to task. “Julia needs wholesome, cooked meals. Can you cook?”
“I love to cook,” I said, anxious to show them I was flexible. “I’ll even find some healthy recipes for you!”
“This is going to work out better than I thought.” Mrs. Faye sounded delighted.
The front door creaked on its hinges, and then we heard the sound of heavy footsteps entering the house.
“That’s probably my nephew.” Mrs. Reitman motioned over her shoulder and stood. “Since you’ll be seeing him around the house, we might as well re-introduce the two of you now.”
On a mission, the brusque woman left the kitchen. Mrs. Faye finished the tea she’d been drinking and, with effort, pushed the cup aside.
“Let me take that for you.” Wanting to demonstrate my initiative, I rose from my chair and picked up her empty teacup. I moved to the counter and deposited it into the sink just as Mrs. Reitman bustled back into the kitchen.
“He’ll be in, in just a minute.”
Mrs. Faye spoke to me, “Toby works at that appliance and electronics store in town. You know, the one on Main Street?”
I nodded and tried to move back to my seat without breaking our eye contact. In my peripheral vision, I became aware of motion, but too late to stop myself, I bumped into a solid wall of body.
“Oh!” I gasped, surprised as I hit a warm, immoveable mass with my shoulder and bounced off. A pair of hands caught me around the waist and kept me from tumbling over.
The collision brought me eye-level with the angular chin of a guy’s face. His windswept, tawny brown hair was streaked with multi-hued highlights. The untamed waves softly framed a tan, handsome face.
“Excuse me,” I mumbled, looking up into a pair of almond-shaped, blue-grey eyes.
He seemed just as stunned by our impact. We stood there, staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity while the warmth of his hands on me spread like a blaze up my torso and flamed my face. The spell was broken when his full lips parted and he said, “Claudia?”
That he knew my name set off alarms in my head. I struggled to reassemble my disjointed thoughts, and it took a moment to put it back together—where I was, who I was with.
Toby Faye.
Embarrassed at my inane reaction, I quickly regained my balance, and retreated several steps.
“Oh, hi. Sorry about that.”
“No problem,” he said, and seeming to recover from our run-in with little effort, he turned to his mother.
“Hey, Ma. What’s going on here?”
Mrs. Faye’s face brightened as her son moved towards her. “Hi, honey. I guess you remember Claudia. She’s going to help out with my care.”
At a safe distance, I looked him over. I hadn’t given Toby Faye a moment’s thought in many years and had absolutely no expectations about him, but he was clearly no longer that lanky kid from middle school I remembered. In fact, he didn’t look anything like I remembered. His chin was shadowed with a few days growth of manly facial hair. He was also much taller and had filled out. In well-fitted grey workpants and a plain white undershirt, I could see he had a hard, flat stomach that tapered down into a narrow waist. But it was his arms that drew my attention. Tight with substantial musculature, they were also bronze with a deep tan of someone who worked out-of-doors.
He rested both hands on his mother’s sloped shoulders. “I remember Claudia,” he replied. Once again, he turned those eyes on me.
His weighted stare felt familiar. Uneasy, I was reminded how, years ago, I’d felt his gaze every time I passed him in the halls of Sayville Middle School.
“I didn’t think you still lived around here,” Toby said.
“Yep, still here.” Though his comment was offhand, I felt slighted by it. “Have to say, I didn’t think you were still here, either.”
“I try not to be.”
Unwilling to sit idly by while her nephew and I caught up with each other, Mrs. Reitman interjected, “We’d like to have Claudia help out on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings, from five to ten. Do you have anything to add or any questions you’d like to ask before we make our decision?”
Toby leaned against the sink and crossed his arms, seeming to give the question serious thought.
Finally, he said, “One.”
His expression made me uncomfortable. I hoped he wouldn’t undermine my perfect interview.
“Mets or Yankees?”
I blinked and glanced at the two ladies. Mrs. Faye looked amused. Mrs. Reitman sighed.
“Yankees?”
Toby squinted at me. “Are you asking or telling?”
“Yankees,” I said, with more conviction. “Understand, my dad is a huge Mets fan. He considers my liking the Yankees a terrible disloyalty.”
“A girl willing to betray her dad over baseball, and for the Bombers no less. Now that’s hot.” He grinned. “You’re hired.”
Mrs. Faye laughed. Her laugh made me laugh.
Mrs. Reitman snorted. “Will this work for you, Julia?” she asked her sister.
Mrs. Faye answered with a nod, her eyes bright. Then the older woman turned back to me. “You’ll start Wednesday.”
“Sure,” I agreed readily.
“Good. Now that we have that settled, Julia, you should rest,” Mrs. Reitman said sternly. “You look tired.”
“Come on, Ma,” Toby urged. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
Mrs. Faye and Toby said goodbye and,
together, moved out of the kitchen. Mrs. Reitman folded her hands and waited until their voices became faint before speaking to me.
“My sister has stage 4 Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Normally this type of cancer is very treatable, but Julia’s health wasn’t so good going into it.” The older woman glanced down at her hands and stood up, exhaling a weighty sigh. “I’d take care of her myself, but I lost my husband three years ago. Now I’m the sole caretaker for my elderly mother-in-law.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
She looked at me. Frown and worry creases were depressed into the skin around her eyes. “You seem like a nice girl. And a strong one. I think your being here will help Julia regain her strength.”
It made me feel good that she thought I would make a difference. I hoped to. Understanding the gravity of the situation, I intended to do all I could to help.
2. Toby
My new uniform felt a little itchy, but I was whistling as I pulled inventory from the stockroom to load the small delivery truck that belonged to AB’s Appliance and Electronics.
"What are you so chipper about this morning, Mr. Faye?"
Abraham Bernbaum, the owner, stood next to me, checking over my list. He was dressed in his own 'uniform' of creased khakis, plaid button-up, and despite the warming temperatures, a sweater vest. I looked down at his gray, balding head and figured him to be about five foot, five inches. Similar in height to Claudia Chiametti.
"Possibilities," I replied, not able to keep the smile from my face.
"Regarding?" he prompted.
"A girl I used to know." Sort of, in the loosest of definitions.
"One of the young ladies in here last week?"
He was talking about two old girlfriends that had stopped by when they heard I was in town. They'd left me their numbers. I wanted to tell Abe, "been there, done that," but I knew the old codger would only 'tsk tsk' me with the disapproving face I'd already seen more times than I cared to count.
"No. Someone different," I said. Changing the subject, I reminded him about my schedule next week.
"Yes, yes, you have to leave early for a doctor's appointment on Tuesday. How is your mother doing, by the way?"
Canned reply. "Julia is good."
He made the face, and I knew he was put off by my use of Julia's name.
"Give your mother my regards," he said. Finally, he left me to continue alone.
It had been only a month ago that I'd come into the store looking for work. Abe sized me up with a calculated eye and offered me the position. I could tell he saw a sturdy guy, six-foot-one, that was strong enough to move the large, heavy boxes that the delivery job required. It was only minimum wage plus tips, but Abe had agreed to be flexible about me coming in late or leaving early whenever Julia had treatments or doctor visits. Abe had been cool about it because he knew my mother. I didn't ask how. I didn't want to know.
Until yesterday, I'd considered coming back home only an obligation, something I needed to do because I was all Julia had. Behind bars, my brother would be no help.
Taking care of Julia was not something new. Coming home, I assumed I'd just fall back into routine. The rotating flock of churchwomen volunteering care shifts during the week was unexpected. There was even talk about hiring someone from the local adult home to cover a few nights so I could go out, too. I pictured having to move around some mom-type lady in shapeless scrubs and told Julia it wasn't necessary, that between the Internet and Major League Baseball season starting, I didn’t really need to leave the house. But she knew me well—knew I’d lose my mind if I stayed holed up for too long.
Dreading the return to an unremarkable existence, I had tried to come up with some good things about being back, like the weather this time of year being so much cooler on Long Island than it'd been in Florida. After busting my ass the last eighteen months taking whatever jobs that would keep me afloat—most of which involved hard, sweaty labor intensified by the southern state's blistering heat and mind-altering humidity—the milder weather here was a definite plus.
After yesterday though, the cross island breeze held no light to Claudia Chiametti.
She used to sit in the front row of every class and raise her hand to answer the teachers’ questions. I used to stare at the back of her head, at the shiny brown hair that poured down her back like dark liquid. Sometimes she twirled it around her fingers, and the teacher's voice would fade away. In the hallways, I kept my eyes peeled for even a glimpse of her, hoping for a smile to float my way, even if it was only in my general direction. My body responded to the curve of her lips, tensing in a way that left me almost unable to walk.
Once, in seventh grade, I dropped my science folder in class. Red pen-slashed tests and class notes scattered in every direction. I was furious, but noticing, Claudia laughed and helped me chase down every last page. When she moved closer to hand me the papers, I intended to say something funny to make her laugh again, but her nearness made me lose my nerve. Not visible from our usual distance, up close, I could see a trail of freckles across her nose, and her creamy caramel skin looked so smooth. I could almost imagine touching it. Even though her smile was friendly, I was intimidated by her eyes. Clear and bright blue, like a cloudless sky, I was afraid that just by looking, she would be able to see all that I tried to hide—the shame and embarrassment I felt about my family, the most common subject of the town gossip back then.
Claudia was never caught up in that obnoxious pecking order that was so much a part of life in the school halls. She was friendly—quick to lend notes or a pencil, to me or anyone else who needed something. Although she was nice to me, I never felt like I had any right to like her. She was one of the ‘smart girls,’ and I was a backwards, skinny kid with bruises all over. She was too perfect.
Even back then, small and starting to develop, it was obvious she would be a beauty. She was beautiful, in that classic kind of way. The little girl body was now curvy in all the right places. Just the way I liked it.
To come home and practically have her fall into my arms was a fucking dream. My imagination was already working overtime envisioning some extremely rude stuff I’d like to do to her—stuff I guarantee she’d never considered doing with me.
Claudia was a major plus to being back. The motherload. She'd be on my turf, which gave me home field advantage.
After the hard physical labor of installing pools in Florida, I was in good shape. Even fueled that Claudia was seeing me at my best, I had to admit I was still sort of intimidated by her. She seemed as close to perfect as any girl I’d ever known.
Out behind the store, I loaded the truck for my first round of deliveries, the whole time considering how best to approach Claudia. I knew I could get with her because hooking up with girls was something I was good at.
A loud noise echoed through the cargo hold and startled me out of my musings. Something had smacked the outside of the truck. I looked up from my clipboard to see a familiar face grinning up at me from below the loading dock.
“Fuck me. I thought that was you, motherfucker!” Devlin Van Sloot yelled inside.
“Hey, dirt bag!” I called out to him. Without invitation, he climbed aboard. Big and strong as a heavyweight boxer when we graduated, Dev was thicker, but had somehow managed to maintain his fighter’s build.
“When did you get back in town?” he asked, whacking me solidly on the back. The long scar over his right eye was white against the ruddiness of his fair skin. A broken bottle smashed against his forehead during a late night fight years ago.
I hadn’t seen him in over a year, so I filled him in on my return and Julia’s condition.
“Abe gave you a job, huh? That Jew never even trusted me in the store.” His eyes scanned the contents of the truck, and a hand came to rest on the box of a GE washing machine. “Any chance this thing could fall off the truck?”
I laughed and shook my head. “Fuck, no. Abe double checks everything, and I need this job.”
He shrugged, b
ut continued to survey the appliances. “We should go out. You, me and Ray. Take your mind off your mom’s thing. What d’ya say?”
“Yeah. Wednesday after work is good,” I said.
“I’ll come by and get you.” He threw a jab at my shoulder and hopped down off the truck bed.
I leapt down to see him off just as guys from Dean’s Landscaping pulled up next to us and the usual four crewmembers piled out of their big red truck, heading for the coffee shop next door. As was becoming our routine, they waved to me, and I returned the gesture.
“Where’s fucking immigration when you need it?” Dev grumbled as the Latino men walked by.
He hadn’t changed one bit.
“You still hate everybody?”
Dev grinned. “Yeah, but I’m no hypocrite. I hate everyone equally.” The comment was exactly what I remembered about him, and I laughed. He pointed at me. “I’ll see you Wednesday. It’ll be like old times.”
“Old times? Hell no,” I raised an eyebrow. “You’d better bring a new game.”
“I might just do that,” he said.
“Okay. Now get away from my truck.” I waved him off to start my round of deliveries.
3. Claudia
Dad was making dinner when I got home the next night. The savory aroma of simmering tomato and basil alighted my senses. My mother used to say my father was a good-looking man, but she thought he was handsomest in the kitchen. He was a sight—tall, solidly built, with full head of black hair graying at the temples. He kept his mustache bushy and thick so that his upper lip disappeared under it. Completely confident in his surroundings, he stood before the stove with one of my mother’s old aprons tied around his waist. The flowery apron, however, didn’t make my father any less intimidating.
“Bella faccia, baby girl.” He kissed the top of my head when I came over to peek in the pot. “Chicken cacciatore.”
“Smells good,” I said, and gave him a quick hug. He was in an amicable mood, so I figured I might as well throw it out there.
Saving Toby Page 2
