Saving Toby (2 page)

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, but 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.

“I went on a job interview yesterday.”

His dark brows came together. “What kind of job? What about
your schoolwork and Sterling?”

“It won’t interfere with either,” I said, picking up a slice
of bread off the kitchen table and lifting the lid off the pot.

He shook his wooden spoon at me. “You’ll get bread in my
gravy.”

Ignoring him, I waited until the bread absorbed the zesty
sauce, saying, “It’s an aide job, three nights a week at a private home. I
start tomorrow night.” I folded the whole piece into my mouth. The taste was as
delicious as the smell.

“Where is this job?”

Chewing slowly, I leaned my hip against the counter and
looked him right in the eyes. I swallowed hard.

“Remember the Fayes? On Roosevelt Avenue?”

Without pause, my father said, “You are not working for Al
Faye.”

I rolled my eyes. “Dad, the man’s dead, and Mrs. Faye is
very sick.”

“Well, that’s a shame.” Dad pointed. “Set the table. If I
remember correctly, there were two boys. One’s a convicted felon. Where’s the
other one?”

“Toby is still there.” I went to the cabinet and took out
dishes.

“What’s his story? He’s been in trouble?”

“I don’t think so. You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“Ah, probably just a matter of time before we arrest him for
something.” Dad added some salt to the pot and tasted it.

“That’s not a nice thing to say,” I chided him.

“I don’t want you there, in that environment,” he said.

“Unless the older son breaks out of prison, I think I’ll be
safe.”

“In seriously damaged families like theirs, the residual
effects always spiral down to the kids. The older boy was ruined, and, mark my
words, if there is trouble to be found, the younger boy is going to find it,
too.”

“I’ll only be doing some cooking and cleaning three nights a
week. How much trouble can
I
find?”

He put the pot on the table. “Why do you need a job?”

My father’s upbringing was steeped in tradition. My
grandparents were off the boat from Italy. Like all the men in his family, my
father was upright, moral and fiercely protective of what belonged to him.
Timeless, admirable traits perhaps, but the tradition of male dominance over
the home was such a throwback to the Old Country, it should’ve stayed there. My
German mother was fifth generation American—liberal and open minded. She raised
me to be independent. Being an obedient wife was not something she ever aspired
to be. How they got together, I’ll never understand.

With my father, I learned early on that it was easier to do
as I was told. I also figured out that if I really wanted something, I had to
dig my heels in and be stubborn, more so than him.

“
Please,
Dad. At Sterling, I don’t actually get to do
anything but play games with the residents.” For good measure, I laid a hand on
his arm. “With this job, I’ll be hands-on. I’ll be helping Mrs. Faye do so
much. It’s great career training.”

He stroked his thick, dark mustache thoughtfully.

Finally, he said, “I’m going to call Mrs. Faye and get the
details.”

I hated that he felt it necessary to check up on me, but it
was a small price to pay for the toehold.

After dinner, I called April.

“I don’t get it. Why do you want to work?” she asked. “If my
parents gave me gas, clothing and going-out money, you wouldn’t find me
working.”

April had gone right from getting her hairdresser’s license
to working full-time in a salon. Her large Cuban family expected her to support
herself and pitch in on finances.

I tried to explain. “If I’m lucky enough to get him to go
along with USC, I don’t want to push it by hitting him up for cash while I’m
there,” I said. “Besides, it’s about time I start making my own decisions. I’m
tired of being a marionette.”

“You’re like Pinocchio-
ette
,” she teased. “You just
want to be a real girl.”

April had a way of twisting things to make me laugh at
myself. It was good. I needed to lighten up sometimes.

“I saw Toby,” I told her.

“You did?” April’s voice went up an octave. “How’s he doing?
And how does he look? I bet he’s even better looking now than he was in high
school.”

“He’s doing okay, I guess. We didn’t get a chance to talk
much.”

“And?”

I didn’t want to give her ammo, but I also knew she wouldn’t
let it go until I spilled it.

“He’s very good-looking,” I grudgingly confessed.

“Ohh, you and a hot guy under the same roof,” she purred.
“This job could prove interesting. I mean, you haven’t been out with a guy
since Fast Phil.”

I groaned at the mention of the name. Phil was a guy I’d
dated briefly my freshman year in college. It ended before it had really
started because the guy was all hands.

Despite my long dating hiatus, April’s speculation about
Toby Faye did not thrill me.

“He might be good-looking, but we have absolutely zilch in
common. And, really, I’m far too busy with school and my volunteer work to
entertain your crazy pair-ups.”

“Chica, why you always have to spoil my fun?”

* * *

On Wednesday, I headed over to the Fayes’ for my first
evening of work. Mrs. Reitman was there to greet me and show me around the
house. Leaving me with a list, she departed for the night.

While Mrs. Faye slept, I decided to start with some cleaning
in the kitchen. The refrigerator was full of plastic and foil wrapped food
dishes, compliments of the church ladies, I suspected. I pulled everything out
to the kitchen table, chucked a few suspicious items, and began scrubbing the
inside of the refrigerator.

“What’s going on in here?” I jumped at the sound of Toby’s
deep voice.

Shielded from his view by the door of the refrigerator, I
leaned back to peer around it and saw him grinning at me.

He eyed the table and turned back to me. “Someone’s awfully
hungry.”

“I can never resist the urge to raid an overstocked
refrigerator,” I joked.

“Cool. I like a girl with a good appetite,” he said, as he
began lifting foil covers to inspect the contents before he leaned back against
the counter and faced me.

Avoiding his gaze, I turned back to wiping down the inside
of the fridge.

“So, what do you think of all this?” he asked.

Brushing hair from my face, I said, “I think the amount of
food in here is obscene.”

Toby just laughed and shook his head. “I mean, I haven’t seen
you since middle school, and now you’re here in my house, cleaning the
refrigerator.” He crossed his arms and eyed me. “Kind of strange, no?”

Flushing, I scrambled to reply. “I guess. But I’m glad I can
help your mom. She’s really sweet.”

“Yeah. She is.” He nodded. “So, what have you been up to?
Going to college?”

“Yes, I’m at Stony Brook right now,” I said. “But I just
applied to transfer.”

“Not happy over at the Brook?”

“SBU is great, but I’d like to try someplace new,” I said.

He opened his mouth to reply, but we were startled by a loud
bang
at the front of the house, followed by the crashing sound of the
front door opening and slamming against the wall.

“Yo, Faye. Where you at?” The loud booming voice seemed to
shake the house.

“Shit.” Toby’s eyes widened, and he bolted out of the
kitchen. I followed.

“Hey, man.” A big stocky guy with blond hair was leaning up
against the door. He looked like he’d been drinking.

“Dev, man, you can’t come crashing into my house like that.”
Toby’s voice was low and serious. “Julia is resting.”

“Oh, sorry,” he snorted. “Are you ready?”

Toby shook his head. “I didn’t even have a chance to eat or
change out of my work clothes yet.”

“Hey, who we got here?” The big guy saw me standing in the
kitchen doorway.

I ducked back into the kitchen without replying.

“Leave her alone,” I heard Toby tell him. “She works here.”

“What kind of work is she doing for you?” I heard him snicker.
“You dog.”

Scrubbing finished, I started to put the food back into the
refrigerator, trying not to listen to them mumble to each other. The door
opened and shut. Toby reappeared in the kitchen.

“That was Devlin. He’s a little crazy, but he’s okay.”

He seemed to want to talk more, but I had finished with the
refrigerator and closed the door.

“I’m going to check on your mother,” I said, using the
excuse to escape the kitchen. That was the most I’d ever spoken to Toby. Though
he seemed nice enough, his friend Devlin was a reminder that we didn’t have
much in common socially.

I ignored Toby’s presence in the house as I concentrated on
getting Mrs. Faye settled into a large easy chair in her bedroom and served her
dinner. I would be glad when he was out of the house and I could spend the rest
of my shift with her only.

We talked as she ate, but soon rowdy voices and the distinct
pungent odor of marijuana wafted up through the narrowly open bedroom window
overlooking the backyard. I glanced out and saw Devlin and another questionable
looking guy sitting on the outdoor table set. They were passing a joint and
joking around, some of their crude comments loud enough for me to hear.

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Faye frowned. “
Smells
like Toby’s
old high school friends are here.”

I didn’t respond, instead straightened the pill bottle
collection on her night table.

Toby came into the room. His hair was wet, and he had
changed out of his work clothes into loose-fitting jeans and a tee shirt. With
a slight swagger in his step, he smiled at me as he passed by. His cologne
mingled with the smell of shampoo and tickled my nose.

I hadn’t quite reconciled this new version of Toby with the
boy I remembered. The way he held himself, his shoulders back and chest out, he
appeared to be much more self-assured. No doubt, many girls found him
appealing, but honestly, if I hadn’t been so startled by his transformation, I
wouldn’t have given him a second look. He had street attitude written all over him.

“Hey, Mama Bear,” he said, running his hand over her
shoulder. “You’re not ready? I thought we were going out dancing tonight.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The laughter in her voice belied her
frown.

“You better watch this one.” He motioned to me. “She has a
big appetite. She cleaned out our refrigerator.”

Corny, but I couldn’t help smiling.

“Claudia, honey, you’re welcome to whatever you want when
you’re here,” Mrs. Faye reassured me, oblivious to the teasing.

“Am I included in that whatever?” He winked at me.

“Don’t be fresh,” Mrs. Faye warned her son.

“Hey, look at her, she’s beautiful,” he pointed at me and
grinned. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

I felt embarrassed by the attention, but I forced myself to
smile at his comment. He kissed his mother on the cheek and told her he’d be
home by ten.

“Wait. I need to talk to you,” Mrs. Faye called to Toby as
he started to leave. He halted waiting for her to go on, but she looked to me.
“Honey, could you give us a moment alone?”

“Of course,” I nodded and left the room. I pulled the door
closed behind me. I didn’t mean to listen in on their conversation, but the
door was thin.

“Those boys,” Mrs. Faye said. I imagined her shaking her
head. “Promise me things will be different while you’re home this time.”
This
time
? Had he been away? At the sound of Mrs. Faye’s pleading voice, I felt
fiercely protective of her. I wouldn’t be able to tolerate him if he upset her.

Toby chuckled. “Okay, Mom. I promise, I promise. I’ll keep
it on the down-low, Scout’s honor.”

I rolled my eyes at the thought of Toby as a scout and
jumped back when the door swung open, catching me by surprise.

“I guess you heard. I’ve been properly chastised, so you can
go back in now, but be careful,” he cautioned, making a show to be formal as he
held the door for me. “She takes no prisoners.” He made a slicing motion across
his neck.

“Oh, go on, get out of here,” Mrs. Faye laughed, apparently
in a better mood. “And behave yourself!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he saluted her and turned to me. “See ya
later,” he said, and very casually flicked a lock of my hair as he walked by.

Stunned by his boldness, I stared after him as he proceeded
to shuffle down the stairs, whistling.