Saving Toby (22 page)

30.
Claudia

I had not slept well since the night Toby and I had fought.
After my talk with his mother, despite the time zone difference, I fully
expected him to call that night. I waited, fighting the fatigue of the last few
days.

Just as I began to doze, my cell chimed the familiar melody
of “Something”—the ring tone I had set for Toby.

I reached for it and, apprehensive of his mood, I whispered,
“Hello.”

“Claude.” By the way he said my name, I knew there was
trouble.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Julia. She had a heart attack.”

My head spun, and I fell back against the couch. “How is
she?”

“Not good,” his voice faltered. “They don’t think she’s
going to make it.”

“Oh, no,” I whispered, tears already falling from my eyes.
“What happened?”

He didn’t answer right away, and then he cursed. “She fell
on the steps after we had a fight. The doctor isn’t sure if the fall caused the
heart attack or the heart attack caused the fall.” His breathing was heavy.
“It’s my fault. I said some terrible shit. She was coming to talk to me when
she fell.”

“You can’t blame yourself.”

“There’s no one else to blame. I knew she wouldn’t be able
to handle it, but I let it fly. I didn’t hold anything back.” His voice
hitched. “Jesus, Claude, I was so awful.”

I tried to refocus him. “I’m going to try to get on a flight
right away, but I want you to stay at the hospital with Aunt Joan. As soon as I
get in, I’ll come directly to you.”

At the airport, I was put on standby, but no seats were
available until the next morning.

It was late afternoon on the East Coast when I finally
arrived. Dad met me at the airport and drove me to the hospital. Standing with
me at the entrance to the ICU, he grabbed my hand and said, “Breathe, Claudia,
breathe.”

“I’m scared,” I told him.

“I know. This won’t be easy,” he said, and kissed my
forehead.

I grabbed his arm. “You’ll stay?”

“Of course,” he patted my hand. “I’m not going anywhere.
I’ll be right in the waiting room if you need me.”

I nodded, recognizing the unfailing constancy that was so
much a part of who my father was, and now, how grateful I was for it. Leaving
his side, I entered the ICU. Through the glass partition that faced the nurses’
station, I could see Aunt Joan’s figure.

I crossed the threshold into the room. The sterile
atmosphere with the steady beeping and buzzing of monitors was intimidating.
Mrs. Faye, with her eyes closed, looked so small on the oversized hospital bed.
Tubes ran every which way from her body to various machines attached to the
wall behind the bed.

Standing at her bedside, Aunt Joan looked up at me and
attempted to smile, but it faded into a trebly frown. I rushed to her side,
hugging her and whispering comforting words until finally, I turned to face
Mrs. Faye. I reached for her hand as I leaned in to kiss her cheek. For an
instant, her fingers stirred gently against my own as if she were greeting me,
before she settled, motionless, once more.

I glanced around for Toby.

“Where is he?” I asked, knowing Aunt Joan would know whom I
meant.

Joan moved to the bedside and gently brushed the baby fine
hair off of her sister’s forehead. “Toby came to the hospital with Julia. We
were beside ourselves when we got the prognosis. But then I had to tell him
that Julia had requested not to be resuscitated, too. That was not easy. He
didn’t take it well.” Her fingers moved downwards, smoothing out the sheet over
Mrs. Faye’s stationary form. “The last thing my sister said to us was that she
was ‘so tired.’” Joan inhaled a steadying breath.

“She has been ill more than half of her life and has had to
rely heavily on others to help her do so much. Add in the heartbreak of losing
her husband and seeing her oldest child imprisoned—you can understand her
exhaustion.” Joan shook her head, the hopelessness in her voice unmistakable.
“My nephew is justifiably devastated. To lose both parents...He left, but I
just couldn’t go after him. I need to be here.”

I told her I understood and went out to report to my father.
I found him staring, uninterested, at a television screen in the corner of the
quiet waiting room. When he turned to me, his mouth pinched downwards into a
frown.

“It’s that bad?” he asked.

I nodded.

Standing, he hugged me. I allowed myself a moment to grieve
over Mrs. Faye’s condition before I gathered myself together.

“Toby’s very upset. He left. I need to go and bring him back
here.”

“Okay. Let’s go get him.” Dad seemed willing, but after
years of conditioning, I automatically refused his help.

“
Mia bella figlia
, I won’t let you do this alone.”

His endearment, “my beautiful daughter,” made me realize
this wasn’t a time for a power struggle between us. It was a time to rally. We
would find Toby together.

Inside the car, Dad told me a warrant had been issued for
Devlin Van Sloot’s arrest.

“He tried to run us over with his car,” I blurted out.

“What?” Despite his surprise, Dad kept the car steady.

“If you promise to stay calm, I’ll tell you everything I
know about that night.”

Dad nodded, and I relayed all that Toby had told me about
the stabbing incident.

“This is far more serious than I thought. You’ll both need
to be extra careful until he’s apprehended,” Dad said in warning.

Now that my father was aware of Devlin’s threats, he would
be more protective of me, but, for the first time since I was little, I was
comforted by it. Mostly, I was relieved to be rid of the heavy secret.

We drove to the Fayes' house, but there was no sign of the
Jeep.

“There’s one other place I want to check.” I directed him to
Ray’s street. We spotted Toby’s vehicle in front of the little gray prefab
house.

“I’ll get him,” Dad said, unbuckling his seat belt.

I touched his arm to stop him. “No. I need to do this.”

Complying, Dad stayed seated while I got out of the car.

Two other cars were parked on the lawn closer to the house.
I could hear the steady hum of a television show with a laugh track from
outside the door.

I rapped on the dirty screen door.

Someone shouted, “We’re in the kitchen.”

Hesitantly, I stepped inside. A guy who looked a lot like
Ray, but younger, was sprawled out on a faux suede couch, fast asleep with the
television on. Moving towards the sound of voices, I went to the left and found
the kitchen.

As I stepped into the dimly lit room, it became ominously
quiet. Toby was sitting at a small, round table next to an ashtray overflowing
with cigarette butts. A collection of beer cans was scattered across the table
surface. Next to Toby was an older woman wearing a ton of eye makeup—Ray’s mother?
Alongside her was his sloppy friend, Ray.

These were not people I’d ever imagine myself comfortable
with. Ignoring Ray and the woman’s stare, I fixed my eyes on Toby. His
grey-blue eyes flashed a momentary expression of surprise before he lowered his
head and blew out a heavy breath. I couldn’t understand how they could just sit
around so unaffected. Didn’t they know about Mrs. Faye’s condition?

“Is this your girlfriend?” the woman asked, her raspy voice
thick and smoky.

Ray eyed me with a dopey grin. “Not anymore, she ain’t.”

Confused by his comment, I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Shut up,” Toby snapped, as he rose from his chair and moved
toward me. Our eyes locked, and my view of the room was blocked by his looming
figure. He grabbed my shoulders and pushed me backwards. I almost tripped over
a case of Red Bull as he cornered me in the pantry alcove. Accosted by a thick
smell of frying oil that permeated the area, my stomach rolled.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice low and
edgy.

I was shocked at how he looked—bloodshot eyes, wrinkled
clothes. It was obvious he hadn’t touched a shaving razor in days.

“What are
you
doing here?”

“I’m doing what I do best—nothing.”

“Don’t you think you should be at the hospital?” I spoke
loudly, not caring if the others heard me.

Toby cupped a hand over my mouth silencing me and shook his
head, no. They didn’t know about his mother.

With a bearish grunt, he lowered his hand to my neck. His
eyes dipped down to watch his hand’s movement over my body as he continued to
drag a heavy palm down across my collarbone and then over the outer swell of my
right breast. Despite everything, my body warmed under his touch. I had to
close my eyes. I wanted to push his hand away, but I needed to bring him back
to the hospital with me. This was the easiest way to get him to cooperate.

“Damn,” he murmured, an inflection of awe in his husky
voice. When I finally opened my eyes, I could see how stirred up he was.
Without another word, he pressed me backwards. The hard ridges of the pantry
shelving dug into my back as he tugged a handful of my hair, forcing my head
back and my face upwards. Holding me in place, his mouth closed over mine, and
he kissed me hard.

His overgrown beard felt like gritty sandpaper on my face,
but like magnets drawn forcefully together, my body was incapable of staying
away from his. My response to his kiss was automatic.

“Yo, this ain’t no Commack Motor Inn,” Ray yelled, cackling.

As I pulled away from Toby, my face burned.

“Please, let’s get out of here.” I grabbed his hand and
implored him to come with me. Willingly, he followed me as I led him outside to
the back door of my car. Hoping he’d just assume I wanted to crawl into the
back seat with him, I slid in first, moving over to make room for him. He bounded
in after me, but as soon as he saw my father, he jerked to a stop.

Toby turned to me with an accusatory stare. “What the hell
is this?”

From the front seat, my father commanded, “Shut the door and
buckle up.” I sensed Toby realized this was not open for debate, but still I
was surprised, as well as relieved, when he actually did as he was told.

As we got onto Sunrise Highway heading towards the hospital,
it was obvious Toby was furious with me. I tried to hold his hand, but he shook
me off. The entire trip he stared out the window, his whole body bristling with
anger.

Dad dropped us off right at the hospital’s entrance and went
to park the car. I squared off in front of Toby and took both his hands in
mine.

“I know this is hard, but I’ll stay with you,” I whispered.

Without another word, Toby followed me up to the ICU. At the
entrance to his mother’s room, he halted, and his face lost all color.

Two nurses were attending to Mrs. Faye, who was noticeably
struggling to catch even shallow, little breaths. I could feel there wasn’t
much time left.

Aunt Joan came forward and took Toby’s hand. “I think she’s
been waiting for you,” she said and led him over to the bed.

Toby bowed his head and moaned, “Oh, God” before slumping
down in the chair at Mrs. Faye’s bedside. Laying his head near his mother’s, he
took her limp hand and pressed it to his face.

I moved behind him to lay a hand on his shoulder, a gentle
reminder that he was not alone. Aunt Joan gave me a fleeting smile of
gratitude.

Time ticked by. At some point, Toby’s shoulders wilted under
my hand. With eyes closed, he appeared to have fallen asleep. He looked
completely wiped out, and I felt a pang at the cruel twist of fate that was
stealing his mother from him. I decided that despite my own sadness, I would
try very hard to be strong for Toby. I would be his rock.

I had no idea how long it was, an hour, maybe less, when the
monitor over Mrs. Faye’s bed flat lined. Toby’s head snapped up, and a nurse
who’d been keeping watch stepped over and flicked off the electronic device to
stop the droning noise. Because of Mrs. Faye’s DNR request, there would be no
further medical attention. The nurse gave us a slight nod as if to acknowledge
Mrs. Faye’s departure from our world. Toby’s face registered no emotion, but Aunt
Joan bowed her head and began to cry.

I stood looking at Mrs. Faye’s now lifeless body and Toby’s
blank expression. So shaken by my own sense of loss, I leaned weakly over Toby
and hugged him from behind. His aunt shuffled closer and took one of his hands
into her own. Holding him, I kissed his temple and whispered, “It’s going to be
okay.” But my words were shaky at best. We remained motionless, all of us dazed
in our grief, for several long moments.

Within my arms, Toby’s body began to shake violently. I held
tight, rubbing his chest, and tried my best to calm him.

Suddenly he shook off his aunt’s hand and hunched forward,
away from me. I fought to hold onto him, but he growled, “Let go,” and pushed
my arms away.

“You made me watch her die. Are you happy now?”

The harsh words ripped a hole in my already fragile
composure, and I began to cry as he left his mother’s bedside. I could only
watch as he rushed the ICU entrance door in the main hallway. Shouldering the
large windowed door open, it protested his force with a screech. Visitors in
other ICU areas turned to stare. I caught sight of him clutching his stomach
just before the door swung shut.

31.
Toby

I threw open the door of the nearest bathroom, and it
crashed against the tiled wall. My body was too heavy to keep upright. Feeling
myself buckle, I gripped the metal handicap bar next to the toilet and dropped
to my knees. Claudia came in and started to run water. Hiccupping through her
tears, she pressed a wet paper towel to my face. My stomach rolled violently.

“Don’t!” I shoved her hand away. My body shook with spasms
as I threw up, over and over, until I was completely empty.

I gulped air, all the time feeling as though someone was
holding me underwater. This is what it must feel like to drown—lungs burning,
struggling for air—an overpowering need to fight, kick, and get free. Pushing
Claudia away, I managed to get back on my feet and took off blindly down the
corridor.

Outside, I started to walk east, towards home. I didn’t
actually want to go back there, but I was afraid that if I stopped moving, I
would be unable to keep my head above the water.

Houses were dark, neighborhoods silent, when I finally
slowed. Exhausted, I forced myself up the last step to the door of the place
I’d always gone when I couldn’t go home—Ray’s. His car wasn’t out front, but I
banged on the door anyway. After several minutes, a light came on, and Diane
opened the door and stared at me.

“Cripes, Toby. You know Ray’s on late shift this week,” she
carped, but I guess she saw how fucked up I looked. “What’s going on? You all
right?”

“No,” I managed to get out before all the walls closed in on
me. I bent over, gasping for air. Diane opened the door and helped me inside.

“What the hell happened?” she’d returned from Ray’s bedroom with
the bottle of tequila he kept stashed there.

Opening a cabinet, she fished out a glass and pushed a drink
into my hand. I stared into the amber liquid and said, “Julia’s dead,” and
tossed back the shot. The alcohol burned, but the fire was welcome. I had
another.

I didn’t want to talk, but the tequila loosened my tongue.
Once I started, I told Diane everything—the fight, the fall, and afterwards,
the bone-chilling, deathly look on Julia’s face.

“She’s dead. And it’s my fault.” I groaned, mashing my forehead
on the table.

Diane reached over and stroked my hair.

“No, it isn’t. Kids say shit that upsets their parents all
the time. You couldn’t help that she couldn’t handle it.”

Wrestling a tremendous sense of guilt, I drank to shut it
out. I don’t know what time it was when Diane led me back into her bedroom and
made me lay down. My shirt was wet, and despite the warm weather, I shivered. I
tried to take it off, but my arms were useless. The room suddenly began to
rock. With a hand on my chest, Diane stilled me.

“I’ll do it,” she said. “Just lie back.”

I was too wasted to do anything but comply. After she pulled
off my shirt, she removed my sneakers. And then I must have started to bawl.
The next thing I knew, she was lying next to me, hugging me and rubbing my
back. I couldn’t seem to control myself. I pressed my face into her neck and
closed my eyes.

“Don’t leave me,” I moaned, barely audible in my fucked-up
state.

“Poor baby,” she murmured. Her fingers ran over the back of
my head, smoothing out my hair as she kissed my forehead. I burrowed in
tighter, afraid that if I didn’t keep touching her, I would disappear.