Saving Toby (27 page)

41.
Claudia

Thanksgiving neared. Students were frenzied with the reality
that there were only a few more weeks of the term to get the work finished. I
didn’t get caught up in that tidal wave. Other than visiting with Mom on odd
weekends, I had no distractions. I was on schedule with all my classes.

Dating someone like Toby had been a complete departure from
my sensible self. I’d moved through the months with him in a vaporous state
where emotions, and a whole lot of hormones, ruled. With distance from it, I
could see that now. His reaction to all that had happened shouldn’t have been
so surprising to me—really, it was only a rude and blistering reminder of our
innate differences. Our families and upbringings were so dissimilar. I was
raised to deal with problems in a more sensible and calm way.

I expected that a small part of me would continue to miss
him, but my life was now back on track and I was in control. It was the way I
liked it, neat and orderly. Everything was in its proper place.

“My roommate, Misha, is nice, but such a slob.” I complained
to April during one of our weekly catch-up calls. I picked up an empty yogurt
cup and chucked it into the dorm’s garbage pail. “How are Dario and your
family?”

She told me about everything going on at the DeOro house as
well as what Dario was up to, and, apparently tired of skating around the
topic, she asked the question.

“Don’t you want to know how Toby is?”

I lifted my index finger to my mouth and gnawed at a
cuticle. During our calls, I consciously tried not to pay too much interest in
what she said about Toby. I told myself I didn’t want to know, but this time,
April was bursting to tell me. Of course, I did want to know. It made me crazy
that school-wise everything was exactly as I wanted it, but no matter how much
I tried to put him out of my mind, Toby Faye inevitably crept back in—his smile
intruding on my concentration during a boring lecture, or the memory of his
arms holding me keeping me awake at night. I hated that.

“You know how he planned on joining the Marines?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“It’s not happening.”

“He changed his mind?”

“No, he failed the physical entrance exam,” she explained.
“He has some kind of hearing-related, balance issue.”

“Oh, no,” I sighed. “He must be so disappointed.”

“He took it pretty hard. After he found out, he was
desperate to get out of here. He quit AB’s and took some of the insurance money
from his mom’s policy.” As April explained Toby’s situation, I listened, disquieted
by the information. “Dario and I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t
change his mind. And then yesterday he took off.”

“Where to?”

“He didn’t really seem to know,” she said, sounding slightly
miffed. More calmly, she offered, “But don’t worry. You know him, he always
lands on his feet.”

“I suppose so,” I mumbled, looking out the large windows of
the common area that overlooked my favorite studying spot. I was several
hundreds of miles away from him. What would be the point of worrying? There was
nothing I could do about it.

Like a true friend, April sensed my apprehension and changed
the subject. “How’re the guys out there?”

Talking about guys was of little interest to me. I spent my
first week in California at my mother’s apartment, nursing my broken heart and
allowing myself to heal. I had decided that I would move on, make a point to
talk to guys on campus, and possibly go out if asked. When school finally
started, though, classes like the Psychology of Adult Development,
Administrative Problems in Aging, and the Science of Adult Development, took up
all my time. Not that I minded much—I was too engrossed in my studies. I told
myself that eventually, when I had time for it, there would be other
relationships—I would someday feel excited about getting close to someone,
again. Right now, I just didn’t. And that was okay.

I declared I had a ton of studying to do and ended the call
with April.

Although it was months later, talking to April about Toby
reminded me of the ache I felt before. I pictured Toby off on his road trip
with nothing holding him back. He was free to roam, unfettered by any
commitments. I didn’t want to acknowledge how much it hurt, the idea of him out
there—moving on, meeting other girls—knowing we would never move forward, and
how those emotions, the ones I tried to keep buried, still twisted my heart.

This news about Toby made me realize it was time to put my
proverbial foot down. I needed to let go of that last tie—the one, until now, I
was unaware I’d been holding onto. The hope of him contacting me. Wherever his
journey was taking him, I was no longer a part of it.

I resolved to stop checking my text messages so often and
looking for him online. I put him out of my mind, and I concentrated on a life
immersed in classes, term papers, study groups, and cleaning up after my
roommate.

Dad arranged for me to fly home for the Thanksgiving break.
I complained about the expense and the little amount of time that I would
actually have. He insisted, and I was secretly pleased about it. I spent the
weekend before the holiday with Mom feeling a little guilty that I would be
leaving her alone, but I think she felt she had won the bigger prize when we
decided I would stay on the West Coast for Christmas and the New Year.

On campus, the Sunday before Thanksgiving, I found a sunny
spot outside and lay with my laptop, writing a paper due before I headed out
for the holiday. My cell vibrated in my back pocket. I reached for it just as
the familiar musical ring tone “Something,” started to play.

I froze, almost too anxious to answer it, but I was too
curious not to.

“Claude?” The familiar deep voice crackled in my ear.

“Toby. April told me you left Long Island.”

“Did she tell you I flunked out of the Marine Corps, too?”
Without waiting for me to reply, he added, “I have some hearing problem that
messes with my equilibrium. Guess I took a crack to the head one too many
times,” he sort of laughed. “I’m useless. Damaged goods.”

“Have you seen your doctor?” I asked, quickly coming up with
plausible explanations. “Tinnitus is a symptom of Ménière’s syndrome.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m done. The Marines plan is shot to
shit. I can’t seem to get anything right.”

I wasn’t about to feed into his downward spiral. “Where are
you now?”

“I’m in Wichita Falls, Texas.”

“And what’s there?”

He was quiet for a long pause before he said, “Who the hell
knows. I heard about a job from a friend of a friend’s, but it didn’t work out.
I needed to get out of that house—to leave all the crap behind. I figured once
I got on the road, an opportunity was bound to come along and I’d be okay. But
nothing feels right,” he sighed. “I still feel like shit.”

“Maybe you aren’t meant to be there,” I said softly. “Go
back home.”

“No. There’s nothing left for me there, Claude,” he said, his
voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t have a reason to be anywhere. That’s a
fact. And, shit, it’s freaking brutal to know it. I honestly don’t know what
the hell to do with myself.” He let out a quiet, sob-like moan, and it broke my
heart.

“Oh, Toby,” I whispered, feeling helpless.

“I’m sorry. I’m so goddamn tired,” he mumbled. “I probably
shouldn’t have called, but I’m feeling pretty fucking low. I needed to talk to
someone, and all I could think of was you. I miss talking to you. I miss it a
lot.”

“I’m glad you called me,” I told him, wishing I could reach
through the line and touch him. “I’ve missed talking to you, too.”

The line went silent for a moment, and, detecting a little
edge of hope, he asked, “Can I come see you? If I drive straight through, I can
be there in a day or so.”

“Don’t come here,” I countered quickly. I rubbed my thumb
over the nail beds of my fingers in search of protruding cuticles until I found
one.

I heard him blow out. “Bad idea. I’m not thinking straight.”

Hearing him so shattered broke down the little resistance I
had. “No, no, it’s just that I’ll be back in New York on Tuesday,” I said,
resisting the jutting cuticle. “Do you think you can get back home by then?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He sounded hesitant, maybe even a little
leery, but interested.

I surged ahead. “All right, listen to me—go home. I’m going
to make some plans for us, and when I get there, I’ll come get you.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you in just a few days then.” I tried to be
upbeat. “Drive safely, please?”

“Okay,” he repeated, his response wooden just before he
choked and the sounds of a whimper came over the line before it went quiet.

I had to close my eyes and take a steadying breath before I
could continue. Once I regrouped, I knew exactly what I was going to do. I spent
the next hour making phone calls putting my plan into action.

42.
Toby

I drove home, the states on the way nothing but a blur in my
mind, all the while wondering what Claudia meant by “plans for us.” I hoped
that somehow, after hearing from me, she wanted me back. Made no sense, but I
wanted to believe it. I was that damn desperate.

I got home in the early morning hours of Tuesday. I left my
stuff in the car and barely made it through the door before I crashed on the
couch.

I must have been dreaming because I was fighting off a
faceless opponent. For some reason, I wasn’t able to punch back, and I was
getting the shit knocked out of me. I took blow after angry blow. Cornered, I
begged him to stop. He smiled, cruel and evil—my brother’s smile, one that said
he knew I had no more fight left. But still, he came at me. With a grunt, I
threw my arm out to deflect the blow and connected with him. The contact felt
bizarre—physically real—and I was surprised by the soft, almost girlish gasp he
emitted. I opened my eyes with a start. The house was dark, and I had no idea
what time it was. I saw a small figure hunched back away from me on the floor.

“What the hell?” I tried to sit up, but my head spun. I sank
back down and closed my eyes until the spinning stopped.

“It’s me,” Claudia’s voice came through the shadows.

“Claudia? Oh, Jesus. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she puffed. “I was trying to wake you, and you swung
at me. Caught me off guard.”

Would I ever stop inflicting pain on this girl? I was dying
to look at her, but I felt so damn embarrassed at the pathetic shape I was in.
Still, I was relieved she was there, that she actually still cared about me. I
pressed my palms into my eye sockets to stop the burning behind my eyeballs,
fighting to keep myself together.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I clamored.

There was a shuffling sound as she came forward and touched
my knee.

“I know,” she whispered, her voice gentle. “It’s okay.
Everything’s going to be alright.”

Soon after, Dario and April showed up with sandwiches. I was
extremely grateful. I was starving, and there was nothing in the house remotely
edible. They hugged me and patted my back with concern in their eyes, then
dropped into seats around the kitchen table as I wolfed down the food.

“Tomorrow,” Claude said sternly from the seat next to me,
“I’m taking you to meet with a counselor.”

After she made this statement, I looked around at each of
them. No one said a word.

“No—” I started, but Claudia interrupted me.

“You’ve tried it your way. It didn’t work out.” She looked
me square in the eye. “The appointment is tomorrow morning. And I’m driving
you. End of story.”

I looked down at my last piece of sandwich thinking of a way
out of it without pissing her off. I didn’t want to make her angry, but I
wasn’t going to see some shrink.

“Toby,” April said my name with a hint of Spanish accent,
and laid her hand over mine. “You can’t run from what’s hurting you.”

“We’ll get you through this, man,” Dario offered.

Every eye was on me. My stomach turned. Pushing my food
away, I dropped my head down onto my forearm.

There was an awful tightness in my chest and a stabbing,
burning pain behind my eyes. I wanted to get up. I wanted to run—but then
Claudia leaned over me from behind, pressing her warm face against my back.
That gentle pressure kept me in my seat.

“We’re all here for you,” she whispered.

43.
Toby

“This therapist came highly recommended, and he agreed to
see you right away.” Claudia explained, as she drove me to the appointment the
next day in her Camry.

Last night April, Dario and she had all stayed the night
with me, and I had felt calm then. Now as Claudia navigated the roads west
through Oakdale into Islip, I had a difficult time sitting still in the car. It
felt like a squirrel was gnawing at my insides. I opened the window for some
fresh air.

We pulled up in front of a private home in a nice
neighborhood. The squirrel, now frantic, was trying to dig his way out. “What
did you tell him about me—that I’m a sad sack of shit?” I muttered, staring
down at my fisted hands.

She grunted, exasperated. “I would never say anything like
that about you.”

I stole a quick look at her. No, she wouldn’t. Feeling
ashamed, I said, “I’m sorry. I’m nervous.”

She bit her lip. “I know, but it’s going to be okay. Come
on, let’s go inside.”

She stayed in the waiting room while I met with Robert
McCauley. His office was a converted garage in his home, and he was kind of a
geek. Forty-ish, sweater vest, loafers and glasses with full beard—I almost
expected him to take out a pipe and ask me, “Vat seems to be zee problem?”

Instead, he said, “Call me Bob,” and motioned to a small
leather couch below a window. “Have a seat.”

“I’d rather stand.”

“Okay, sitting is optional. As long as you’re comfortable.”

I stood beside the couch and pressed my hands deep inside my
jean pockets.

He cleared his throat. “I don’t usually take appointments
through any other person than a potential client, but Claudia was insistent and
actually, quite persuasive. What’s your relationship with her?”

Looking down at my feet, I said, “We dated, but we’re not
together anymore. I messed up.” I glanced at him. “I get angry. She’s trying to
help me. She thinks if I talk to you, I’ll get better.”

I expected him to say more about her, but Bob only nodded
thoughtfully and murmured, “Okay.” He took a few minutes to jot down some of my
basic information, phone number and address, family members' names, and then he
put his pen down and faced me. “Successful therapy is based solely on your
desire to improve your life. Positive change doesn’t just ‘happen.’ You have to
want it. And thusly, you need to make it happen.”

“I’m going to tell you now, looking inside one’s self can be
extremely difficult, and at times, you might want to give up.” He leaned
forward. “But, here’s the silver lining: I promise you, if you see this
through—let me work with you and assist you in sorting out what’s going on in
your mind—your therapy will help you understand why you’ve done the things
you’ve done. You’ll learn how to avoid making the same mistakes over again and
make better choices for yourself.”

“Okay,” I mumbled back, realizing that without deciding to
do so, I’d sat down.

He sat across from me, and, with nothing separating us,
asked about the events of my life and how I ended up here. I admit, I wanted to
shock him so I threw it all out there. He listened, hands folded together with
his index fingers straightened and pressed against his lips, never even
blinking as I told him about the drinking, the fights, and the beatings I’d seen
and endured, and Julia’s sickness and unexpected death. I even told him all
about Velerio, Devlin, and the legal case that followed.

“You’ve had a pretty rough time of it. Tell me how all of
this makes you feel.”

“I don’t like talking about my feelings,” I said.

Hunching forward like we were discussing a football play,
Bob said, “Growing up like you did, that’s not uncommon, but it’s important for
you to open up. You’ve been holding onto your emotions. You have to let them
out. Show them. Have a good cry.”

I shot to my feet. “No. I won’t do that.”

“Alright, then,” he leaned back. “Tell me how you feel,
physically.”

“Physically?” The question seemed safe enough. Considering
my answer, I moved to the corner, away from him and briefly scanned over his
framed credentials. I didn’t read them, only noticed that one was imprinted
with Princeton University. I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. “I’m
tired.”

The words alone felt heavy. Too heavy. I knew Bob was
looking at me, and though he didn’t ask me to, I could sense he knew I would
need to say more. I had to release the weight.

“I’m tired of everything. I’m tired of feeling like I should
be somewhere but not knowing where that is. Tired of losing everyone who’s ever
been important to me.” Abruptly I felt restless, and I strode back towards the
couch. As I stood there, the steam left me, and I sunk back down into the
cushions and bowed my head.

“I’m tired of being alone.”

It was then that I folded. A feeling so powerful crashed
over me. The tears came forcefully, stealing my breath and strangling my words.
I quaked under the weight, drowning in it, until finally, it began to subside
and eventually, sputtering and winded, it released me.

“That was a good healthy cry,” Bob nodded with approval as
he handed me a box of tissues.

He sounded so goddamned proud, that even though snot was
running down my face and I had a headache the size of Texas, I felt like I’d
gotten something right. And I felt … better.

After I’d mopped my face with half a box of tissues, he gave
me a homework assignment. I was to picture my life as I wanted it to be. He
told me to spend the next week thinking about it and to write down some details
so I would have a clear image of it in my head. We scheduled another meeting
for the following week.

My face must have looked like I’d been exposed to shrapnel
when I walked out of Bob’s office, but Claudia didn’t mention it. Instead she
took me grocery shopping. As we picked out food to restock my house, she kept a
light conversation going, mostly by herself. I expected her to ask me about my
time with Bob. She didn’t, and I was glad. I didn’t feel much like talking, but
I also didn’t want to be alone.

For Thanksgiving, Claudia invited Joan and me for dinner.
Joan made my favorite sweet potato pie, and we joined Claudia and her father at
the Chiametti house, along with several aunts, uncles, and cousins.

El Capitán
was in a generous mood. Joan’s and my
presence was easily accepted, and we felt welcomed at their family’s holiday.
Claudia’s Italian relatives were an amusing bunch of characters, clashing one
moment, laughing the next. Watching them interact was entertaining in itself.

Claudia and her father buzzed around like a well-rehearsed
team getting drinks and making sure everyone had what they needed. Before the
food was served, we all sat and held hands around the table while Mr. Chiametti
said a prayer for the meal.

“And, I’m thankful for all of you who are sharing this meal
with us today,” he said and glanced at everyone, his eyes coming to rest on me.

Claudia, sitting beside me and holding my hand during the
prayer, gave my fingers a gentle squeeze. I felt out of place, but I wanted
very much to belong here.

They put out a traditional spread, but that was after we’d
run through a round of antipasto and a macaroni dish. All in all, way too much
food, but after being on the road, everything tasted so good. I ate through
every course.

Not long after dinner, Claudia and I went to April’s house
and met up with Dario for dessert with the DeOro family. Not such a different
gathering from the Chiamettis, but if possible, the volume at the DeOros was
even louder.

“Eat,” April’s mother and aunts said as they pushed plates
of food and desserts at me. Though I was full, I kept plugging away. Claudia
sat beside me occasionally rubbing my back and smiling as she teased me about
how much food I put away.

As I’d done at Claudia’s house, I watched the large family
interact—joking, hugging, and even arguing with each other. I’d never had a
family holiday that was so loud, crazy and messy. And, man, was I envious.

I drove Claudia home after we left April’s house.

“Come in,” she said, inviting me back inside. It appeared
that most of her extended family was still there, but I was feeling
uncomfortably bloated and more emotional than I cared to admit.

“Go spend some time with your dad,” I told her.

She hesitated to leave the Jeep.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m so full—I think I need to lie down.” I sighed and
patted my distended stomach. “Or maybe throw up.”

“Your stomach isn’t bottomless after all,” she said,
laughing as she hopped out. “Try some peppermint tea.”

A light flurry fell, and her long hair blew in the wind.
Waving a mittened hand at me, she smiled. Her grin made me happy. As I watched
her run to the house, I realized then that until just now, I hadn’t seen her
smile in a long time. The thought made me feel guilty because I used to love
making her laugh.

I grabbed my guitar and went into Julia’s bedroom to lie on
the bed. Joan had cleared the room of most of the personal items, but I still
went there when I wanted to talk to Julia. I lay down for a few minutes and
tried to feel her presence.

“Ma,” I said out loud. “You said you’d see me through this.
I could use some help right about now.”

I thought about what Bob had asked me to do—picture my life,
as I’d like it to be. Resting my guitar over my stomach, I plucked through
chords as I thought about what would make me happy. What didn’t make me happy
was working random jobs. And, being alone.

Work wise, I wanted to do something that interested me, and
like the Chiamettis and DeOros, one day I wanted to be surrounded by a family.

Putting aside my guitar, I found a notepad and pen in
Julia’s night table. As I lifted the pad out of the drawer, a photo fell out
from between the pages. I was surprised to see it was one of Claudia and me,
with little Dylan. I was holding her possessively around the waist. Each of us
concentrated on the other, staring with intensity. The picture was taken only
hours before we’d been together—our one perfect night.

Flipping it over, I noticed Julia’s loopy handwriting on the
back. She had written one word.
Family.

I turned it back over and stared at it—anyone looking at it
might assume we were a young family. Warmth crept through me as I imagined what
it might be like to set up a home, to have a family … with Claudia. Being able
to touch her again and hold her every night. I remembered how it’d been to hold
her that night we’d slept together in her bedroom, how her body fit so
perfectly against mine. It was the closest I’d ever felt to someone. I missed
that. I missed her.

I choked back a wave of emotions as the now familiar burn of
tears stung my eyes, but despite it, I laughed that I’d found this picture at
this particular moment. It didn’t feel like a coincidence at all.

“You left this for me, didn’t you, Ma?” I murmured. “You
would have liked me to stay with Claudia,” I said quietly. “I was better with
her.”

Until these last few days, I’d forgotten a lot of the small
things, like how amazing the sound of Claudia’s laughter made me feel. It
didn’t matter how much I missed her, though. The way she’d been looking at me
since she’d walked in the door the other day, I could tell she only saw me as a
broken guy who needed her sympathy. I wasn’t someone who could take care of
her. Hell, I was a freaking mess.

I knew then what I wanted my life to be like—what would
really make me happy. Feeling a little more optimistic, I tucked the picture
under the strings of my guitar neck where I could see it and began to scribble
out a rough draft of my homework assignment.