“Jean-Philippe? Yes.”
Toby pulled his clinging shirt from his sticky body, fanning the fabric against his body.
“Sorry about the heat,” Mr. Joseph said. “I don’t feel temperature, so I have no use for air conditioners or heaters. And I’ve never had any visitors, so...”
“That’s okay,” Toby said. Outside, cicadas buzzed—it was shaping up to be a scorcher of a day.
“You look hot, are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?”
Toby eyed the bottle of rum. He wiped sweat from his forehead and ventured to ask, “Don’t suppose you’d let me have a sip of rum?”
“Well now, I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with your parents—or the law.”
“No one would have to know. Just a small taste.”
“It packs quite a kick for those who aren’t used to it.”
“Like whiskey?”
Mr. Joseph nodded. “Yeah.” He frowned. “You’ve had whiskey?”
Toby nodded. “Can’t say I liked it very much. Although it did taste much better with Coke.”
After a short deliberation, Mr. Joseph said, “Okay, just a taste. But don’t tell your parents.” He hopped up and went to the cupboard. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any Coke,” he said. “Maybe I should think about stocking up the fridge with some, now that you’re a regular visitor.”
Toby smiled politely, but he couldn’t lie—it was strange hearing Mr. Joseph say such a thing.
Toby Fairchild, a regular visitor of old Mr. Joseph. What would’ve Frankie thought about that? Toby wondered and the thin smile turned sad.
“What’s the matter?” Mr. Joseph asked as he sat down, placing an empty glass in front of Toby.
“Hmm? Oh, nothing.” Toby thought about how Mr. Joseph had been trusting enough to reveal secrets he hadn’t told anyone. It seemed only fair to reciprocate. “Well, I guess I was just thinking what my friends would think if they knew I was here, talking to you.”
Mr. Joseph nodded. “They don’t like me much, do they?”
“They just don’t know you,” Toby said.
“And they never will,” Mr. Joseph answered. He tipped a splash of the white rum into Toby’s glass. “There, see how you like it.”
Toby picked up the glass and sniffed. The smell reminded him of whiskey. He threw the small amount down his parched throat. Like whiskey, the drink was sweet at first, but with an undercurrent of fire that lit his throat and burned his gut. “Wow,” Toby said, coughing.
Mr. Joseph smiled. “Want some water?”
“Please.”
Mr. Joseph hopped up again, taking with him Toby’s glass. After rinsing it out, he filled the glass with tap water, then came back and handed it to Toby.
Toby gulped down the water. “It’s worse than whiskey,” he said afterwards.
“Perhaps. But I prefer it over whiskey. It’s the only rum I drink. I’ve tried other brands, American brands, even Jamaican, but they don’t sit well with me. Mrs. Stein stocks bottles of Barbancourt in her store, though I don’t think anyone else buys the brand but me. She’s a kind, considerate lady.”
“Why do you like drinking only this brand?”
Mr. Joseph shrugged. “I guess it reminds me of home, one of the few good reminders I have of the place. Not that I could ever afford to buy Barbancourt back then. Only on rare occasions. But I like the taste; it’s good strong Haitian rum. Also, and I’m ashamed to admit this, but drinking it helps me cope with the memories. The fear hasn’t diminished in all the years.”
“Why don’t you face your fears instead? Why don’t you go back home?”
“Back to Haiti?”
Toby nodded.
“I already told you. I can’t. I have grand-children and great-grand-children. Nephews, nieces; I made a vow to myself that I wouldn’t go back to Haiti until my family were gone. All gone.”
“I know, but why? Have you thought that maybe they won’t be as scared and ashamed of you as you think they would be? A lot of time has gone by since you left, maybe things have changed?”
“You think zombis are in fashion? That we’re walking the streets like regular folk? No, my country has a long history of superstition, and though some things may have changed, my people’s fear of zombis hasn’t—of that I’m sure.”
“Maybe not regular zombis, but what about savanes? Maybe they’ve been accepted into society? I mean, you’re practically huma...”
“Don’t,” Mr. Joseph said, raising a hand. “Please, Toby, don’t say it. It’s not true, it’s never been true, and it’ll never be true. Just accept it, like I have, that I can’t go back and face my family, not like this. They’d be too afraid, too ashamed.”
“But... but what about me?” Toby said, voice soft. “I’m here, listening to you. I don’t think you’re a... a... freak.” Toby gulped down the rest of his water.
Mr. Joseph stared long and hard at Toby. Finally, a thin smile curled on the old man’s dark, wrinkled face. He reached out and patted Toby on the hand.
His touch was cold, but Toby didn’t pull away.
“I appreciate that, Monsieur Fairchild. I do.” Mr. Joseph flicked his eyes to the cheap-looking watch on his wrist. “What time are you meeting your lady-friend?”
Toby glanced at his own watch. It was almost one o’clock. “Shit, I’m gonna be late.” He hopped up. “Sorry to leave so suddenly.”
Mr. Joseph waved a hand. “Nonsense,” he said. “Go, have fun.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe?”
“I’m working tomorrow. But I finish at two, if you feel like dropping by in the afternoon.”
Toby turned and started for the back door.
“Toby?”
He stopped, turned around.
“Thank you.”
Toby nodded. Then he left Mr. Joseph’s house.
Standing outside Patterson’s, Toby felt a wave of sadness sweep over him. The last time he was here he had been happy and free, and neither he nor Frankie had any idea what was to come.
Taking a deep breath, Toby opened the glass door and stepped inside. It was deliciously cool inside the diner. He stood by the entrance taking in the familiar din of the crowd and the smells of burgers and onion rings. He spotted Gloria in one of the side booths over on his left. She was sitting with some friends, including Danielle and Emma.
He started forward, trying to put on a brave face. As he got closer, Gloria stood and he noticed her pained expression, like she had just gotten some bad news.
Toby’s gut went squirmy and he wondered why she looked so sad.
Maybe she feels bad about suggesting we meet up here? But I agreed, I didn’t think it’d be a problem, not until I actually saw the place again.
He started to notice eyes on him; kids and teens grinned at him, then turned to one another, giggling, whispering.
Toby itched to check his fly—had he left it open and was his member poking out?
Oh God, what is it—what the hell’s going on?
By the time he arrived at Gloria’s table, he was sweating, despite the cool air circulating inside the diner.
Gloria, wearing a short plaid skirt and white shirt, smiled thinly, briefly, and then she said, “Hey Toby.”
Toby nodded. Swallowed. Glanced at Gloria’s friends, who were looking at him like he had just sprouted another head.
Someone squawked like a chicken and a titter swept through the diner.
“Toby, come outside,” Gloria said and took Toby by the hand.
As she led him towards the door, he felt the stares, like knives jabbing into him. When they were out in the glaring sunlight and suffocating heat, Toby gasped, “What the hell’s going on?”
“I tried calling your cell, but you didn’t answer.”
Toby absently patted his shorts. “Oh yeah, I must’ve left it at home.”
Gloria sighed. “Come on, let’s get away from here.”
“But...”
“Please.” Gloria sta
rted down Main Street. Toby followed, and when they reached the corner, they turned right onto Longview Road.
“Where are we going?”
“People know.”
Toby stopped, looked at Gloria. “Know what?”
“It’s all over town—well, probably not all over, but most people I’ve run into today know.”
“Know what!” Toby cried.
Gloria sighed again, and Toby smelled vanilla on her breath. “About you and Mr. Joseph. That you’ve been spending time with him. That’s all the people in the diner have been talking about. Well, that and Warrick.”
Toby suddenly felt sick. The glaring sunlight and the heat didn’t help matters. And what was that about Warrick?
“What about Warrick?”
“You mean you haven’t heard?”
Toby shook his head. How could so much have happened in just a few days? And how come it seemed everyone in town knew about these things except for him? Had he been asleep for a week without realizing?
“...vanished.”
“What was that?” Toby said.
“I said Warrick didn’t come home over the weekend. Nobody knows where he is. He’s just... vanished.”
Toby felt like he had been sucker punched—twice. “I need to sit down,” he said. He planted his butt on the curb, put his head in his sweaty hands and breathed a shaky sigh.
Gloria sat beside him. “You haven’t heard any of this?”
“No,” he sighed. Raising his head, he turned to Gloria, who was looking at him with an almost parental concern. “How do people know about me and Mr. Joseph? Did someone see me go into his house?”
Gloria shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. But I think it was Deb.”
“Deb?”
“She must’ve overheard you telling me about Mr. Joseph on Friday. Bitch likes to eavesdrop and then spread gossip.”
“Man,” Toby said. “I don’t believe this. What have people been saying?”
“Just the usual stuff.”
“Tell me.”
Gloria winced. “You really want to know?”
Toby thought about it for a moment. He looked to the other side of the street, to some kids zooming by on their scooters. He turned back to Gloria. “No, I don’t.” He could use his imagination.
“I’m sorry Toby.”
“Why? Why the hell should you be sorry? You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I know but...”
“And neither have I. So I’ve been spending time with an old man. Jesus, do people in this town really have nothing better to do with their time than spread stupid rumors? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care, let people think what they want.” Toby swiped an arm across his forehead, wetting the fine layer of hair on his forearm. The truth was, he did care. People were going to laugh at him, point their fingers at him, all the while wondering why a fourteen-year-old boy would want to spend time with a strange old man.
Gloria reached out and gripped Toby’s right hand. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
“I mean, poor Mr. Joseph. He’ll get it from this, too. He’s got enough to worry about. I wish people would just leave him alone.”
“People can be cruel.”
“Some summer this has turned out to be.”
“I’m sure this will all go away soon enough. Give it a few days, maybe a week, and then the kids in town will find something else to laugh about.”
Toby shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Still, I think I might just stay home for the next week or so. It’s not like I was doing much anyway.”
“Then they’ll win,” Gloria said.
“Let them win. I can’t be bothered with all these people staring at me, giggling.” Toby got to his feet.
Gloria did the same. “So, where do you wanna go?”
“Home,” Toby said, the word spilling from his mouth. “I just want to go home.”
The first thing Toby did when they arrived back at his place was put on the air-conditioning. He used the remote to amp up the cold and, while Gloria was taking care of business in the bathroom, he stood in front of the cold air, eyes closed, hair blowing. He thought of Mr. Joseph, sitting in his oven-like house.
Could he really not feel the heat? Toby wondered.
Everyone knows. Christ.
On the walk back home, Toby was certain everyone they passed was staring at him. He was positive he saw them grin, and he knew what they were thinking—“There goes that kid who likes hanging out with that old pervert”; “You think Toby bites the heads off chickens too?”; “I wonder why an old man would want to spend time with a fourteen...?”
“Better?”
Toby flinched, opened his eyes and turned to see Gloria standing in front of him. He nodded. “Want a drink?”
“That’d be nice.”
Toby led Gloria out of the family room and as they headed down the hall, Toby noticed the answering machine was blinking, letting him know there were five messages. He figured most would be his mom, so he was tempted to keep on going, but he stopped. “Mom rings me about three times a day, just to make sure I haven’t fallen into a coma.”
Gloria chuckled. “What are you gonna do? Moms, they can’t help but worry.”
Toby smiled as he pressed the ‘play’ button.
The first message was from his mom, wondering how he was doing, telling him to just take it easy, that she’d call again later.
The second message was from Suzie, asking Toby if he wouldn’t mind giving her a call.
“I bet she wants to finally apologize,” Toby said.
The third message was from Warrick’s mom, and her message sent a cold wave of unease through Toby.
“It’s Mrs. Coleman here, Warrick’s mom. I’m calling all of Warrick’s friends, seeing if anyone has seen or heard from him. I haven’t heard from him for days and I’m worried. So please, if you know or hear anything, call me at home. My number is...”
She sounded tired, her voice dry and crackly.
The fourth message was his mom again (“Just seeing how you’re doing, guess you must be asleep, or have the TV up too loud. I’ll see you soon. Bye, darling.”).
The last message sent a spike of fear and anger through Toby’s gut.
There was a long period of silence and then a voice, deep and obviously distorted: “We know.” Another pause. “Nigger fucker.” Then the phone went dead.
“Assholes,” Gloria muttered.
Toby went to press the ‘delete’ button, but Gloria reached out and stopped him. “No, could be evidence.”
Toby frowned. “Huh?”
Gloria shrugged. “I mean, it can’t hurt to keep it, just in case. Maybe the police will want to hear it.”
“It’s just a stupid prank call,” Toby said. Still, he took back his hand, Gloria let go and they headed into the kitchen.
“Coke?” Toby asked. Gloria nodded.
As Toby grabbed two cans from the fridge, Gloria said, “You know, thinking about the police and all, maybe they’ll want to speak to you.”
“Glass?”
“No.”
Toby handed Gloria the frosty can and led her back into the family room. “But it’s only a prank call,” Toby reiterated. “I doubt the cops...”
“No, I mean about Warrick. You did talk to him a few days ago. And the way you said he was acting... maybe the cops will want to talk to you about him.”
Toby’s gut, already tight and feeling queasy, went into overdrive. As he sat down on the couch, Gloria sitting next to him, he nodded, cracked open the can, and said, “Yeah, you’re right. What if I was the last person to see him...?”
“He’s not... dead,” Gloria said with uncertainty. She popped open the can and took a long drink. “He probably just ran away from home, or is off with Dwayne and those guys, drunk.”
Toby nodded. “Yeah, that’s probably it.” He sipped his Coke. “Still, it is kinda strange. I mean, he was acting weird. He could be a pain in the ass sometimes—hell, most of th
e time—but I hope nothing bad has happened to him.”
After that, they sat in silence. Toby switched on the TV, just for some background noise. After much slurping and a few furtive burps from both parties, Gloria said, “So, what were you doing this morning?”
Toby almost lied—but then he remembered who he was with. “I was over at Mr. Joseph’s. He was telling me more about his life back in Haiti.”
“So he’s really a nice guy? He’s not a little bit weird?”
Toby chose his words carefully. “Well, he spends most of his days inside, reading. He hasn’t got any friends. I think he’s very lonely.”
“Yeah, but I can’t imagine being in his house, talking to him,” Gloria said. “After all the years of hearing the rumors and stories, and, well, being kinda scared of him...”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“Not that I believed those rumors. Well, not really. I guess a small part of me wondered if some of the stories were true. I guess not, huh?”
Toby finished off his drink and turned to Gloria. His closest friend, the only person he could truly trust. He gazed at her soft, lightly tanned skin and warm eyes. He leaned over and kissed her. Gloria was initially stunned; her cold, Coke-riddled lips remained tight, but they soon loosened and she let Toby in.
They kissed long and passionate, their tongues exploring each other’s mouths. Toby’s head swam, his shorts were suddenly much too tight, and his heart pounded.
As they kissed, Gloria reached down and grabbed Toby’s left hand, which was resting on the couch. Her touch was cold, but nice, and Toby was only vaguely aware of her raising his arm—until it landed on her right breast. Her hand went away, and Toby, tongue still swirling, could hardly believe where his hand now lay.
His mind, clouded with pleasure and excitement, wondered—what was he to do now? What did she want him to do?
As they continued to kiss, Gloria’s hand snaked towards his bulging crotch and when she tentatively started caressing the hardness through the fabric of his shorts, he let out a groan. He felt self-conscious for doing so, but Gloria didn’t seem to mind.
Toby cupped his hand around her breast; felt the slightly stiff material of her bra under her shirt, but underneath was soft and springy.
The Awakening Page 33
