Saving Toby (24 page)

Unable to move, I stared at them until a shadow came over
me. Crouched low, I turned quickly, ready to strike. Ray looked at me, his face
shadowed.

From behind me, Toby yelled, “Take her home!” For some
reason, he was still with Devlin’s motionless body. I wanted to look back, but
I kept my eyes on this new threat. I stood Ray down with my glare, silently
warning him to keep his distance. Again, Toby yelled, “Ray, you fucking take
her home. Now!”

“Come on, Claudia. It’s al-al-right,” Ray coaxed, but I
wasn’t falling for that. Not again.

“Don’t touch me!” I hissed.

“Toby wants me to t-take you home,” he urged.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I snarled. He tried to
take my arm, and I punched him in the face.

Ray moaned as he stumbled backwards, a hand over his eye.

The beach was quiet once again. All I heard was Toby’s heavy
breathing as he came closer.

“S-s-she won’t let me t-t-ake her,” Ray stuttered.

Toby was next to me, kneeling down. “Claude, come here,” he
reached for me.

I launched into his arms and buried my face into his neck.
In the safety of his embrace, I unraveled and began to weep.

He pressed my head into his shoulder and stroked my hair.
“Shh, it’s okay now, baby. It’s okay.” Putting an arm under my legs, he cradled
me against him, and I felt him lift me as he rose to his feet.

Carrying me, Toby walked to the parking lot and let me down
just long enough for me to climb into the passenger seat of the Jeep. He slid
in after me. Ray jumped into the driver’s seat and started to drive us up the
block, towards my house.

With an arm around my waist, Toby gently tugged my chin
upwards to examine my face.

“Are you hurt bad?” he asked, his eyes scanning me.

I twisted my head away from him. “I just want to go home,” I
cried.

Toby pressed his chin to the top of my head. His heart beat
in frenzy under my cheek. With my head tucked low, I heard him exchange words
with Ray.

“You got it?” Ray asked.

“Yeah,” Toby answered.

At the house, Toby held me tight to his side as we headed up
the walkway. Before we even got to the front door, my father came storming out
of the house.

“Dad!” I cried and twisted towards him.

“What the hell did you do to my daughter?” Dad roared,
ripping me from Toby’s arms. Shaking and dizzy, I leaned heavily on my father.

“Dad, no,” I tried to interrupt him, but he wouldn’t listen.

“When I’m through with you, you’ll be sorry you ever existed,”
Dad barked.

Toby bowed his head and took my father’s blast.

“You do whatever you need to do. Arrest me now, if you
want,” he said, and then reaching into his pocket, pulled out a palm-sized
object and handed to my father. “This will make it easier.”

Toby stood and waited for my father’s reaction, but Dad,
apparently taken aback by Toby’s quick surrender, shook his head. “That’s not
necessary. I know where you live.”

Accepting that, Toby turned and walked back to his Jeep. He
and Ray drove away. As the taillights on the Jeep disappeared up the road, I
looked down at my father’s hand.

“What is it?” I asked.

Dad held open his palm for me to see. “A knife.”

35.
Claudia

Dad put in a call to the precinct to pick up Devlin and
drove me to the emergency room at Good Samaritan Hospital. I didn’t initially
want to go, but I had several cuts on my face and could feel, as well as see,
numerous bruises all over my body. If Toby hadn’t shown up when he had, I would
also be having an internal exam. It was too terrifying a thought to dwell on.

It was a grueling few hours at the hospital. Everything was
documented and my statement taken by detectives. I had to relive all that had
happened in full detail. While I withdrew under my father’s protective wing,
Dad was all over it; he took names and made phone calls, all the while,
snapping at the hospital staff as well as his colleagues. He was determined as
hell to make Devlin pay for what he’d done.

We were finishing up with the petite, dark-haired woman
detective when Dad’s cell rung. I watched his expression for clues about the
call. After a few ‘yeahs’ and ‘uh huhs’, he hung up.

“Is there news?”

“Devlin Van Sloot is in custody, but there’s been another … 
er, development,” my father said, quietly. “A small house fire was called in.
At the Faye house.” He held up his hand when I jumped. “The fire was contained,
but Toby is being treated for smoke inhalation.”

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

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.

“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 and 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.