King Geordi the Great

by Gene Gant

  “His name is Charles Beck,” Sheriff Villanova replied. “He ran off from his home in Knoxville three years ago when he was sixteen, and he’s been homeless since. According to him, he’s been living in the forest preserve for the past two weeks. He says that yesterday he stumbled on your father’s abandoned car. That’s where he found the shirt, the boots, the cell phone, the gun, and the wallet he had on him.”

  “He had my dad’s wallet too?” Toff said.

  “Yes. The wallet had a driver’s license and two credit cards in the name Gerald Toffler.”

  “He robbed my dad!” Toff rose up to the edge of his seat, his expression agitated.

  “We don’t have any evidence of that, Sandor,” the sheriff replied evenly. “For now we’re holding him on assault charges regarding his encounter with you kids.”

  “So you’re saying my dad just parked his car, walked away, and left everything behind?”

  Sheriff Villanova didn’t answer. She took the sheet with the photo we’d initialed, placed it back in the folder, and put the folder aside. She never looked away from Toff, but something in her eyes softened.

  A tremor went up Toff’s left arm. He looked afraid. “Where’s my dad?”

  “Did you find Mr. Toffler?” Mom asked.

  “Sandor,” the sheriff said quietly, “I need you to look at another picture. We think it might be your father.”

  Toff’s whole face collapsed. “He’s dead,” he wailed in a low, shaky voice. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  “We dragged the lake to find the gun. We also found a body.”

  “Oh my God,” Dad gasped, putting his hand to his mouth.

  Toff’s back had gone rigid, arching tightly. I reached over and put my hand on his shoulder.

  “The body is at the county morgue,” the sheriff continued, speaking directly to Toff. “I can take you there if you want to do this in person. But the coroner has sent me photos that can be used for purposes of identification. It’s up to—”

  “Show me the pictures,” Toff said.

  The sheriff turned the computer monitor around to us. She used the mouse to open a file, and a slideshow appeared on the screen. The first shot was of the head, neck, and bare shoulders of a man lying on an examination table. His eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open, his dark hair draped in damp strands over his scalp, and his skin was a mottled gray. The facial features were distorted by bloating, but I still recognized the sad and lonely face of Mr. Toffler.

  His mouth hanging open, Toff reached out with his hand as other images of his father began to slide across the screen, but he stopped short of touching the monitor. “Dad….”

  “Sandor,” the sheriff said gently, “I need you to confirm the identity. Tell me the name of the man in these photos.”

  “It’s my dad,” Toff answered without looking away from the pictures. “It’s Gerald Toffler.”

  “Thank you. And I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  Toff kept staring at the pictures. He didn’t cry or scream. His face remained blank, and that was somehow worse than if he had broken down. I reached over and put my arms around him. Mom and Dad came over and put their arms around us both.

  “WHAT HAPPENED to him?” Mom asked. She was sitting on a sofa at the back of the office. Toff was lying with his head in her lap. He seemed dazed or shocked. “Did that Charles Beck murder him?”

  “We have no evidence of that,” said the sheriff. She had pulled a coffee maker off one of the shelves and placed it on her desk. As the coffee brewed, she set out three mugs. “I checked Mr. Toffler’s last financial transactions. The Sunday he left home, he used a credit card to fill his gas tank, get an oil change, and replace two tires. Given that and the luggage he had packed in the trunk, it appears he was planning to take a long road trip. My theory is that he changed his mind and turned down the road to the forest preserve. When he reached the entrance, he got out of his car, left everything behind, and went through the woods to the lake. There were footprints in the mud at the edge of the lake that matched the sneakers he was wearing when we recovered his body, and those were the only prints in that area. We found him about thirty feet from shore, in ten feet of water. His body was weighed down by a pretty hefty rock. He had it tied to his waist by a short rope. It appears he walked out as far into the lake as he could, dropped the rock, and pushed it along the bottom until he couldn’t get his head above water anymore. The coroner hasn’t ruled on the cause of death yet, but my guess is that he committed suicide.”

  I was slumped in one of the chairs by the sheriff’s desk, trying not to cry. Dad sat in the chair next to me, staying nearby. I was glad he was there.

  Sheriff Villanova poured coffee in the mugs. “Where is Mrs. Toffler?” she asked.

  “She died about thirteen years ago,” said Dad.

  “Then who is Sandor’s next of kin?”

  Dad exchanged looks with Mom and then with me before turning back to the sheriff. “He told us his father was the only living relative he knew of.”

  Sheriff Villanova frowned as she placed the carafe back on the coffee maker’s heating plate. “I’ll have to notify Children and Family Services about Sandor’s situation. They’ll have to make arrangements for his care.”

  “Do what you have to do, Sheriff,” Mom said. “But Sandor can stay with us for the time being.”

  “I’ll be sure to let the social worker know that.” The sheriff picked up two of the mugs, handed one to Dad, and carried the other to Mom.

  “Thank you,” Mom said as she accepted the mug. She took a sip and then frowned. “Sheriff, doesn’t this business about carrying a rock into the lake and drowning seem suspicious to you? Why would someone go to such lengths to commit suicide when he had a gun?”

  “If you’re implying that Mr. Toffler was murdered,” the sheriff answered, “the same question applies. Why would the killer go to such lengths when he could have just used the gun? Suicidal people are usually distraught. Who knows what goes through a person’s head when he decides to kill himself?”

  Mom shrugged, seemingly conceding the point. “When will we know the official cause of death?”

  “That depends on the coroner,” said the sheriff. She went back to her desk, sat down, and picked up the third mug. “He’s thorough, but he tries to wrap these things up as quickly as possible.”

  “But once the coroner has ruled, he’ll release Mr. Toffler’s body to the next of kin,” said Dad.

  “Yes, that’s usually how it goes.”

  “What about Mr. Toffler’s possessions?” Dad asked. “His car, luggage, wallet… when will those be released?”

  “I’ll have to hold those until the investigation is complete and Charles Beck has been tried. That could take several months. But I won’t hold them any longer than I have to.”

  Mom looked down at Toff, who had closed his eyes. She stroked his forehead with her fingers. “Do you need anything else from us?”

  “No, Mrs. Quintrell, I have everything I need for now.”

  “Then my husband and I are going to get these boys back home.”

  Walking out of the sheriff’s office, I leaned against Dad, and he slid his arm around my shoulders.

  JESS WAS sitting on our front porch when Dad turned the car into our driveway. She got to her feet as Dad shut off the engine and we climbed out of the car.

  Mom and Dad gave Jess a quick greeting as they passed her and went into the house. Jess stood face-to-face with Toff and me. She kept studying Toff’s face, trying to assess his feelings. Toff still looked the way he had in the sheriff’s office, empty and emotionless, as if something in him had been shut down.

  “Oh, Toff,” she said as she threw her arms around his shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”

  “How did you know?” I asked her.

  “The sheriff sent photos to a detective here in Memphis for me to do an ID on that guy we fought in the woods,” Jess replied. “The detective told me about Mr. Toffler.”


  Jessica didn’t seem as if she would ever let Toff go. I knew she was grounded. Either she’d skipped out on her punishment or Mrs. Sanchez had granted a temporary reprieve. More likely the latter. Either way, I wasn’t surprised to see her. Toff closed his eyes as he rested his head against her shoulder and took in her comfort.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Jess,” Toff whispered.

  “Where else would I be?”

  Chapter 16

  I SAT on the bench at the little wooden picnic table in our backyard. The table was in the shade beneath a big Japanese maple tree, but there was no breeze and the afternoon sun was relentless, heating the air to a steamy ninety-seven degrees. I didn’t care about the hot and humid conditions. Tears streamed down my face.

  Toff was asleep in the guest bedroom. He hadn’t cried once. I couldn’t stop.

  My back was to the house. I heard the door open behind me. Someone was approaching, footsteps swishing over the grass. I wiped my forearm across my face.

  “Honey?” Mom sat down beside me and took my hand. She didn’t say or do anything else for the moment.

  “I don’t understand.” I wiped my face again. “I don’t understand how Mr. Toffler could do this to Toff.”

  “I only talked to Mr. Toffler a few times over the years, but I do know he was a very haunted man.”

  “I don’t care if he was haunted. You don’t abandon your kid because you got trouble. You deal, you get over stuff.”

  “That’s not always so easy. And we don’t know everything he was struggling with.”

  “What’s Toff supposed to do now? How’s he supposed to live?”

  “We’ll get that worked out. Try not to worry.” She squeezed my hand gently. “You’ve had a lot to deal with yourself the past few days. Do you want to tell me about it?”

  I sniffed noisily and rubbed the back of my free hand over my runny nose. “I need a tissue.”

  “Let me bring you some.” She started to get up.

  “No. Don’t go.”

  She settled next to me again and waited.

  After a few moments, I said, “I’ve been getting mad at Toff a lot lately. Sometimes he wanted stuff from me that I didn’t want to give, that kept me from stuff that I wanted.”

  “And you didn’t tell him how you felt, did you?”

  “I couldn’t. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

  “So instead you hurt your own, and then you got angry at him for it. This is exactly what I was telling you earlier, honey, about being honest. It’s okay to say no if that’s how you feel. And the people in your life, the people who are important to you, deserve to know how you feel.”

  “Well, as you just said, that’s not always so easy.”

  “But you complicate your life and your relationships when you’re not open and honest.”

  I sighed and leaned against her shoulder. “Mom, is Dad home?”

  “He went to the museum to check on a few things, and then he’s going downtown. We got a call from Family Services about Toff. Your dad’s going to meet with one of their social workers.”

  “Are they going to take Toff away?”

  “No, honey. Not now. There’s a lot that has to be worked out for him, but he’ll be fine here with us while we get that done.”

  “And after everything’s done, what happens to Toff then?”

  Mom put her arm around me in a hug. “Son, I promise you, Toff is going to be fine. Just make sure that you be there for him, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  LATER, IN my room, I lay across my bed and tried to sleep. But I was too tired and emotional for that. The tears came again.

  I cried so much because I hurt for Toff, because I knew that if my dad died, it would destroy me. I cried because I was terrified at the idea that Toff would get taken away now and I’d lose him for good. Yeah, I was being selfish again, thinking about my feelings when I should have been thinking about the feelings of my friend—my boyfriend. But knowing how much I’d hurt over the death of my dad helped me to understand what Toff was going through. And my fear of losing Toff helped me to understand how much I loved him.

  The sound of Dad’s car in the driveway caught my attention. I sat up and wiped my face with my hands. In the few minutes it took for him to park, shut off the engine, and work his way inside, I’d managed to compose myself. As I walked along the hall, I peered into the guest room. Toff was still sleeping. Good. He needed the rest. He would have to muster a lot of strength for what was coming.

  Mom and Dad were talking in the living room, their voices low enough that I couldn’t make out distinct words and get a sense of their topic. I wasn’t interested in eavesdropping anyway. When I entered the living room, they stopped talking immediately. Dad hadn’t even shut the front door yet; he stood there holding the knob in his hand, with Mom standing in front of him. Both of them turned to me. I offered a little wave and went, “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hi, Geordi.”

  I walked right up to Dad and stopped, waiting. Dad shut the door, and then he waited too. A little smile turned up the corners of Mom’s mouth. “I’ll go get dinner started,” she said as she headed for the kitchen.

  “Let’s sit down,” Dad said, and he led me to the sofa where we both sat. “How’re you feeling? Your mom told me you were pretty upset this afternoon.”

  “Yeah, but I’m better now.” It was hard to look at him. “Did you talk to a social worker about Toff?”

  “Yes. He’s going to stop by tomorrow to talk with Toff, your mom, and me. Your mom and I have to go through a certification process so we can keep Toff here until Family Services finds him a foster or adoptive home.”

  “Uh… can’t you and Mom adopt him?”

  Dad laughed, a quick, amused sound. “Did you really just ask me that? Come on, Geordi. We adopt Toff and your boyfriend becomes your brother. Exactly how is that supposed to work?”

  “Oh. Yeah. I guess it wouldn’t work.” The fear started swelling in my chest again. I took a deep breath, trying to force it down. “Where will Toff go? Who will he live with when he leaves here?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m sure the state has plenty of good people lined up who want to foster or adopt a kid. And Toff is a bright, likable boy. He’ll find his way into a good home.”

  “What if it’s a home in another city?”

  “I see where you’re going with this, son. If it comes to that, we’ll work something out so you and Toff can see each other.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” I took another breath. “Dad, the other day… what I said… I didn’t mean it. I don’t hate you.”

  “I know that, Geordi. And I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble when I posted those pictures on Facebook. Who beat you up over that, by the way?”

  “Carson.”

  “Why would Carson beat you up over some pictures?”

  “Because in the very first one, where you’re telling everybody to meet my new boyfriend, it looks like Carson and I are the boyfriends. At least that’s what his dad thought. And his dad gave him a hard time, thinking Carson’s gay.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  I presented my still-battered face to him, framing it between my upraised hands. “Does this look like I’m kidding?”

  “I’m sorry, Geordi. I didn’t think the pictures would be taken that way. And I’m surprised Mr. Meyer would take that attitude with Carson. I’ve never known him to say or do anything to indicate he was so homophobic. He seemed very open-minded when I told him you’re gay.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe Mr. Meyer’s open mind slams shut when it comes to his son being homo.”

  “I’ll have a talk with Mr. Meyer, get this whole thing cleared up for you.”

  “No, Dad. Don’t.” I looked squarely in his eyes. “Can I be honest?”

  “Please.”

  “I’m sorry for saying that I hate you, and I’m sorry for hurting your feelings. But Dad, you’ve got to lighten up. I don’t need you to run every si
ngle bit of my life. You jump the gun on things and make decisions for me, and it’s driving me crazy.”

  “Geordi, this nation has come a long way. Despite how it’s evolved over the years, the United States… and most of the world… is still a place where it can be very hard to be black and very hard to be gay. You’re an intelligent, strong, capable boy, but you’re starting out with society already having two strikes against you. I don’t mean to make your life miserable, son. It’s just that you’re precious to me, and I don’t want things to be difficult for you. I’m trying to cushion you from the blows, so to speak.”

  “But I’m not a little kid anymore. I don’t need you. Well, I mean, I still need you for some things. I’ll always need you for some things. But you have to let me make my own decisions and work out my own problems. How else am I supposed to grow up if I don’t do that?”

  Dad nodded. “You’re right. I suppose I have been overbearing with you in some regards. I think it comes from the way I was brought up. My father thought it took toughness to make a boy become a man. He never showed affection to Ronnie or me, never helped us through any problems we faced, but he was quick to come down hard on us when we got out of line. When I fell in love with another boy—”

  “Whoa! Back up, Dad. You had a thing for a guy?”

  “Sure, Geordi. When I was fourteen, I went head over heels for a boy who lived down the street from me.”

  “Did he feel that way toward you?”

  “Yes, he did. You might say we were a couple for nearly six months.”

  “Wow. Do you still know this guy? I mean, is he still around?”

  “Yes.”

  I took a moment to catch my breath. “Do I know him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who…?”

  “His name is Steve. Grevney.”

  “Dr. Grevney? My doctor? You had a thing with my doctor? Jeez. I knew you guys grew up together, but I didn’t ever even think…. Does Mom know about this?”

  “Yes, I mentioned it to her.”

  “And she’s okay with that? Wait. Dr. Grevney… he’s married. His wife is the receptionist at his office. How could he be married to a woman?”