Saving Toby

by Suzanne McKenna Link

  I sagged against a nearby counter. “Are they bringing him to the ER?”

  Dad nodded. “We can wait.”

  We waited, and when Toby’s arrival was confirmed, I walked to the curtained area where he was being treated. A man nearby was moaning in pain. I took a steadying breath before I pushed through the curtain.

  Bare chested and wearing only jeans, Toby was lying on the hospital bed staring up at the ceiling. He had an oxygen mask over his face and an I.V. tube attached to one arm.

  He glanced my way when he heard the curtain roll in its tracks. With a sigh, he put his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. He lifted the oxygen mask from his face, and I sensed he was about to object to my presence. Instead, he broke out into a wheezy, bark-like cough that lasted several minutes. The person in the next area groaned again. I moved to stand near him.

  He smelled like a campfire and looked even worse than I’d seen him earlier. Besides his unshaved face and unruly hair, he had swollen lips, a blackened eye, and a long, thin cut across his cheek.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not staying. I heard about the fire, and I wanted to make sure you were alright,” I said, doing my best not to convey any emotion. “Will you at least tell me what happened?”

  Without looking at me, he spoke in a croaky voice that was almost painful to listen to. “I lit the stove and threw dishtowels on it. I wanted to burn it down.”

  “Your own house?”

  “I know, it was a stupid thing to do. After I did it, I started to freak out.” His coarse voice remained eerily calm as he stared at the ceiling. “I realized I was burning down the only thing I have left of Julia. Of us." He draped an arm over his eyes. His knuckles, I noticed, were scraped raw. “I went inside and tried to put it out, but the flames were too big. That’s when the fire department came.”

  “You’re lucky you weren’t more seriously hurt,” I murmured. His expression was so tragic that I had to look up over his head to avoid getting emotional at the sight of it. There was a long, awkward silence between us, and I realized that he was seeing my bruises for the first time.

  “Oh, Jesus, Claude, your face! I can’t believe what that fucking asshole did to you.” He ranted, pulling at his hair. “I saw him follow you away from my house. Ray and I took off after him, but it wasn’t until I drove to your house that I realized you’d gone to the beach instead.” Defeated, he dropped his hands in his lap. “I never wanted you to get hurt.”

  I was hurt, but in more than a physical way. “I’m fine. And I certainly don’t blame you for what happened,” I replied. Not wanting him to look at me anymore, I edged near the curtain opening. Skimming the fabric with my fingers, I prepared to leave.

  I turned back, though. “What about that knife? Why did you take it from Devlin?”

  “It has my fingerprints on it,” he said. Just as I opened my mouth to question him, he continued, “It’s not how it sounds. I handled it, but only after Dev stabbed the guy.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He shrugged. “I knew you’d worry.”

  I met his eyes. “Worry. I suppose it’s unavoidable when you love someone.”

  He lowered his chin and let out a tired breath. He didn’t want my love, or any love. He’d already told me that.

  I pushed past my anger. “So you wiped the knife clean before you gave it to my father?” He shook his head and I stared at him blankly. “But that means…”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he mumbled.

  “Of course, it matters,” I said. “You weren’t there. You shouldn’t be punished.”

  “I’ve done plenty wrong.”

  “I won’t stand by and let you get arrested.”

  “Claude, just let it be,” he said.

  “No. I won’t. And I’m not listening to you anymore because obviously you don’t know what you’re saying,” I said, annoyed with his stupidity.

  He swung his legs over the side of the mattress and slipped off the bed. He came towards me, only to be stopped by the end of his I.V. tube. I could only stare as he yanked the needle out of his arm and came right up to me. He didn’t try to touch me, but his nearness was overwhelming and I began to shake. My nervousness only seemed to make him angrier.

  “Leave me alone,” he ordered, and yanked open the curtain. “Go.”

  I saw dark red flowing down his arm. Blood. A lot of it. “Your arm!” I shrieked.

  He looked down at the blood pooling on the floor. I rushed into the main corridor and called a nurse. Immediately, a scrub-clad woman followed me to Toby’s area. He sat impatiently on the bed as the nurse bandaged his arm and admonished him about removing the I.V.

  I didn’t want to exchange any more words with him. I quickly slipped out the curtained area and headed back towards my father.

  When I returned, Dad was chatting amiably with the woman detective. Upon seeing me, she nodded and turned to him.

  “Don, I’ll call you when I know anything new,” she said, patting my dad’s arm.

  “Wait, Detective,” I called urgently to her retreating back. She turned around. “I just learned that my boyfriend—I mean, Toby Faye, handled the knife that killed Velerio. But I swear to you, he had nothing to do with the stabbing.” I implored her to believe me. “He came home that night.”

  She looked at my dad as if seeking permission to respond. Dad nodded.

  “Let’s see what the crime lab report shows. You might advise him to hire a lawyer. Besides you, is there anyone who can attest to his whereabouts that night?”

  “Other than Ray Rudack, I’m not sure.”

  “We’ll ask around,” Dad said, and gave me a gentle squeeze. “Now, let’s go home.”

  Home. The word alone made me long for solitude, free of all the complications of the last few days. We said our goodbyes to the detective and started towards the parking lot.

  “I think by handing over the knife, Toby was hoping he’d be incriminated,” I said, as we walked. I stared into the distance at the parking lot lights.

  Dad glanced at me. “Why would he do that?”

  “He’s punishing himself. He blames himself for his mother’s death. He said some upsetting things to her before she had her heart attack.”

  “That’s a hell of a thing to live with. A whole lot of guilt.” Dad squeezed my hand. “Sometimes we’re tougher and meaner to those we love the most. A tragic event usually makes you realize how much someone means to you—and that you really ought to treat them better.”

  We arrived at the car, and, as my father opened the door for me, I thought about all the awful things I’d done and said to him in the last few months. How hard I’d tried to push him away. How would I feel if he was not here with me anymore, if he were suddenly ripped away from me? It was too awful to imagine.

  “Yes, sometimes it does,” I whispered.

  He gave me a hug and kissed the top of my head. My eyes started to leak again. At least this time my tears fell, not because I was hurt, but because I realized how much I loved my father.

  36. Claudia

  The following few days, I avoided thinking too much by tackling my room. Organizing all of my stuff was a necessary job and also a purposeful distraction.

  While I cleaned and packed up my childhood bedroom, the criminal case was broadcast all over the local news. The county prosecutor claimed they had enough evidence to convict. It looked like Ricardo Velerio’s murder was finally solved, and it seemed certain that Devlin Van Sloot was going to prison.

  I went through my closet and moved to my dresser. I sorted through each drawer deciding what would stay and what would come with me to USC, when I came across my favorite wool mittens. No use for those in sunny L.A.

  As I moved to tuck them back into the drawer, I thought how they would stay there, in the dark, ignored, until I came back, and remembered them. Instead of putting them down, I clutched them to me and lowered myself to the floor.

  Dad knocked and came into my room.

&
nbsp; “Hey,” he said, and when he saw that I was upset, he sat down on the bed facing me. “Are you alright?”

  “I feel so terrible for Toby,” I squeezed the mittens in my hands. “I feel like I need to do something.”

  “Listen, Claudia,” he said calmly. “It’s noble to want to help this guy, but you’ve been through a lot the last few days. You need to think of yourself for once.”

  “Dad, his mother just died. He has no one.”

  “He still has an aunt. And besides, what do you think you can do for him?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe nothing. He’s been so angry with me, explosive actually, and basically over everything. I don’t know if he’d even let me help him.”

  “I told you when you first met him that anger trickles down through families. He was raised in a house where there was a lot of mistreatment. He couldn’t help but absorb some of it.”

  “But I’m still not sure what I actually did to deserve his temper.”

  Dad eyed me. “Claudia, be honest with me. Did he hurt you?”

  I pressed my lips together. “He did something really awful, and it hurt me, but he never physically harmed me.”

  “What did he do?”

  I shook my head. I would never tell him. All I could manage to say was, “He broke my heart,” before I crumbled.

  My father pulled me up to my feet and onto the bed to sit beside him. “It’s all right, baby girl. It’s all right,” he murmured, and rubbing my back, he soothed me. “What can I do to make it better for you?”

  I didn’t have to think about the answer.

  “Be okay with letting me go to California,” I said. “I need this more than ever.”

  As he usually did, Dad stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay with letting you go, but if this is what you really want and need, I’ll support your decision.”

  I bit my lip.

  “What else?” he asked.

  “The trial. I don’t want to testify.”

  He visually stiffened.

  “No—”

  “Dad, you said it yourself, even without the added assault charges, Van Sloot is going to prison.”

  “Claudia, he needs to be held accountable for what he did.”

  “I know that, but it’ll only draw things out and hold me here longer. I really need to put this behind me.”

  Dad blew out and shook his head.

  “I don’t agree with this, but I can’t make you do it.”

  I pressed my lips together, only marginally relieved.

  “There’s more, isn’t there?”

  I sighed, unable to meet his eyes. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

  “Not a chance.”

  In a small voice, I whispered, “I want so much to go, but I’m terrified to leave.”

  “Oh, bella faccia,” he laughed in exasperation. Raising my chin to make me look him in the eye, he said, “Despite the constant waterworks, you’re much tougher than you look. You have a way of digging in and getting it done. I’ve always been proud of that,” he smiled. “And really, you got this, kid.”

  I wiped my face with the back of my hand and hugged him. “Thank you, Daddy,” I whispered.

  * * *

  Dad insisted on attending Mrs. Faye’s wake with me and held my arm as I entered the funeral home. He gave me the strength I needed to face the death of the woman I’d come to love.

  The room was crowded with beautiful flower arrangements, and many of the churchwomen I’d seen at the house were there. Toby stood at the front with his aunt. Despite the scabbed-over cut on his cheek and the yellowy remnants of a blackened left eye, he looked handsome in a black suit and white dress shirt. The blue-grey of his checked tie matched his eyes.

  Dad sat in the back row and left me to greet the women I knew. While I embraced the warmth of the church ladies who seemed to understand how much Mrs. Faye had come to mean to me, I could see how ambivalent Toby was about accepting the touches, pats, and the occasional hugs put upon him. It was easy to see he was still angry.

  I stayed back, but from across the room, Toby’s eyes met mine. Neither of us smiled, but I couldn’t look away. Then I felt my father’s hand on my shoulder. Dad motioned with his chin for me to go up and pay my respects.

  “I’m going,” I whispered, more to myself than him.

  Swallowing hard, I regained some of my composure and knelt down in front of Mrs. Faye’s casket. I hated the cakiness of the makeup the funeral home used on her. I’d never seen her with lipstick or bright pink cheeks. Draped in a light blue dress, her slender hands were folded over each other and wrapped with a string of rosary beads. Even though I knew her soul was in a better place, I was still so bereft at losing her.

  “I want to help Toby, but I can’t. He won’t let me,” I whispered through my tears. “I hope you can forgive me for not being able to do more.” I bent over, kissed her cold cheek a final time. “Rest in peace,” I said and turned away.

  I moved into the receiving line behind a few older people. I could hear them reminiscing about Mrs. Faye, but I also heard them murmuring about my attack.

  They say he got there just in time.

  Look at the bruises on her face.

  When it was my turn, I moved towards Aunt Joan and hugged her.

  “Oh, honey, your face. I’m so sorry about what happened to you,” she touched my cheek.

  I didn’t want to talk about it. Shaking, I took her hand in mine. “I’m fine, really. How are you?”

  “Managing,” she said, her expression stoic and very much like Mrs. Faye’s. “Thank you for taking such good care of my sister. Julia adored you.” With a rush of emotion, we hugged each other.

  After a few moments, I pulled back and stepped aside to let the next guest talk to her. Bracing myself, I moved towards Toby. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw April and Dario. Relieved, I turned to acknowledge them.

  While Dario hugged me, April coasted into Toby’s arms and held him tightly. She rubbed his back and whispered in his ear. Toby pressed his face into her shoulder, letting his grief show. I felt jealous that she could so easily do what I could not. As he had spent a night in the arms of Ray’s mother and was now allowing April to comfort him, it was blatantly apparent that it was me, and only me, that he didn’t want.

  When April stepped back, Toby nodded to something she said just before Dario pulled him into a hug, and April grabbed me.

  “Come outside.” April took my hand. We all left the warm room and gathered in the foyer lounge.

  “How are you holding up?” I heard Dario ask Toby.

  He blinked slowly and shrugged. “I hate these things,” he said, pulling at his collar. He looked peakish.

  “Let’s get you some water,” April said. Dario followed her to the water cooler behind us. The two of them moved together effortlessly, and, again, I felt jealous of my friend. Toby and I would never get to that level of couplehood.

  Dario handed me a little triangular paper cup with cold water in it. I sipped the water as April and I sat down on an overly embellished settee and Toby on a matching embellished chair. He did not look at or talk to me.

  April said to me, “We have to get together before you leave. When are you going?”

  “Next week,” I told her. “I decided to go early and spend some time with my mother.”

  Without saying anything, Toby stood up and walked away. We all watched as he went out the back entrance of the funeral home. I twisted my mouth, willing myself not to cry. April hugged me.

  “Try not to worry. Dario and I will be here. We’ll keep an eye on him,” she said.

  A moment later, Dad came out and asked if I was ready to go. I nodded, and he said he would get the car.

  I hugged my friends goodbye and made my way towards the back entrance. Outside, the night air hadn’t cooled much, but everything was wet from the humidity. Toby was leaning with his shoulder against a portico column, smoking a cigarette a
nd staring out into the back parking lot.

  I stepped behind him and pressed my hand to his back. His body tensed at my touch, and I choked back a cry of frustration.

  “I’m leaving. I wanted to say goodbye,” I said.

  Without turning around, he mumbled, “Okay.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. I hated his unrelenting stubbornness. After what he did, how did he justify being so horrible to me?

  As I went to move away, he caught my forearm. Flexing his warm fingers over my skin, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  His voice had a subtle inflection of anguish. Though I suspected he really meant it, the rift between us felt like a continental divide. With all that had transpired between us in the last few days, there was no fixing it. We could never go back.

  I bit my lip and nodded my head. “Yeah. I’m sorry, too.”

  And then I left.

  37. Toby

  At the end of Julia’s funeral service, after the last few stragglers walked away from the burial site at St. Lawrence Parish Cemetery, Claudia’s father came up to me and told me to stop by the house the next day to discuss what was happening with the investigation.

  I arrived after dinner, and the old man told me to have a seat at the kitchen table. He made himself a cup of decaffeinated coffee and asked me if I wanted some. I refused. As he sat down across from me, I wondered if Claudia was upstairs and if she knew I was there.

  “I spoke to your boss, Abe Bernbaum—who, by the way, spoke very highly of you,” he said. “And, lucky for you, he has an excellent memory. He remembers running into you on the street the night of the stabbing. It puts you away from the scene of the crime. And being that Abe’s an upstanding business owner and a respected community member, I’d say your alibi is secure.”

  My head felt heavy, and I leaned forward over the table.

  The sound of his cup touching down onto the table made me look up. “I’ve heard the whole story, and I’m aware Van Sloot was threatening you. But the fact is, you continued to put yourself, and more importantly, Claudia, at risk,” he sighed. Suddenly, his chair scraped against the floor. He stood and paced the floor like a caged animal. “I understand you’ve been through a lot and that my daughter cares for you, but it’s taking a lot of restraint on my part not to kick your ass.”