Authors: Suzanne McKenna Link
Saving Toby (28 page)
I hadn’t been to Mrs. Faye’s gravesite since I’d left the
East Coast. I wouldn’t have the opportunity again until the spring or summer
since I was staying in California for Christmas. My mother always bought
decorated pine branches to lay over the top of my grandparents’ grave at the
holidays, so following tradition, I picked one up at the garden center before
Toby drove me to his mother’s grave early Friday.
Toby was wearing a black leather bomber jacket with the
collar up against the cold while I was bundled in my winter coat, scarf, and
mittens. He was quiet that morning, watching me from under his thick lashes as
he squatted on the snow-dusted, cold ground. I leaned over the grave and cleared
away some leaves before placing the fresh pine blanket in front of the
headstone.
“Julia Marie Faye, beloved wife, mother and sister,” it said
next to, “Alfonse Faye, Sr., beloved husband and father.”
“I know you’re at peace, but I miss our talks,” I spoke
aloud to Mrs. Faye, as I often did when I visited my grandparents at the
cemetery. I could see my breath in the cold air.
“Do you want to say something?” I asked Toby, but he shook
his head. I touched the frosty, smooth tombstone, and my eyes watered. “Merry
Christmas in heaven.” Quietly, I prayed that she could somehow make her
presence known to Toby so he wouldn’t feel so alone.
He stood as I walked over to him. Taking off my red wooly
scarf, I wrapped it around his neck.
“I’m fine,” he protested.
“Your mother said you need to wear it.”
“Okay.” He smiled and let me tuck it under his collar.
“She still watches over you,” I whispered, when I was done.
He nodded and we started down the aisle.
“She likes when you talk to her,” he said. “She told me last
night.”
“Oh, yeah?” Smiling, I glanced at him sideways. “What else
did she say?”
“That you’re going to be terrific with a family some day.”
The words caused me to misstep. Toby grabbed my arm,
preventing me from tripping.
I turned to face him. I remembered the day Mrs. Faye had
spoken those words to me. He hadn’t been in the room. “You overheard your
mother tell me that?”
“No.” He looked at me and shook his head. A slow grin cut
across his face. “I told you, we talked last night,” he repeated and took my hand
in his.
Bemused by this, I continued to let him hold my hand as we
walked back to his Jeep.
We met April and Dario for lunch, and, conscientious student
that I am, I begged off to follow-up on a few teacher emails and do some course
reading before I spent the rest of the evening with Dad.
On Saturday, I helped Dad do some early Christmas shopping
for my aunt and cousins. Dad was silly, making me laugh as he picked out some
hideous outfits, and again when he suggested boxing gloves to ward off the guys
at USC since he couldn’t be there to keep them away. I made him try on hats in
every store we entered. Some were rather ridiculous, but he was a good sport.
We finished our expedition in the food court—we both secretly relished the
sublimely bad food there. Our time together was easy, and it felt like old
times before everything got so difficult between us.
Since Dad had to work that night, I didn’t feel guilty about
spending my last night with Toby, April, and Dario. Everyone came over to my
house, and we made popcorn and watched a movie. It was a good night.
Toby hesitated to go after April and Dario left.
I stood up and handed him his jacket. “I’m sorry I have to
ask you to go,” I told him. “I booked a 7 a.m. flight to get the cheaper
airfare, and I need to get some sleep.”
We stood at the door as he pulled on his coat. It had not
been an easy few days. While I had been eager to help him, and I was so glad
that he had finally let me, it was complicated to be around him again. At
times, it was difficult to separate my compassion for him apart from my love
for him. I was aware of every touch, even the most minute, and I tried to be
careful not to let any contact between us linger.
It would have been easier to move on and get over Toby Faye
if only I stayed away from him. As things stood now, I couldn’t separate myself
from him, not entirely. I would continue to do whatever I could to help him,
not just for Mrs. Faye’s sake, but also because love didn’t just end.
I was returning to California with a sense of relief. I had
witnessed a shift in Toby’s mood and felt confident that he was doing better.
He’d even made us laugh by cracking a few jokes. It was a good omen.
“Oh, wait,” I held up a finger and grabbed my bag. I pulled
out a small box wrapped in Christmas paper. “I want to give you this now since
I won’t see you for the holidays.”
He took it from me and bowed his head. “I don’t have
anything for you.”
“Stop it,” I said. “It’s just a little something. I saw it
and thought of you. Open it.”
He removed the paper slowly, until finally he revealed a
black velvet box. He flicked his eyes to me before pulling the hinged cover up
to reveal the silver oval pendant inside. He seemed unsure.
“St. Jude,” he read the stamped words over the figurehead.
“Is this guy like a saint of lost causes or something?”
Taking it from him, I smiled. “Sort of. St. Jude is the
patron saint of lost hope,” I proclaimed clasping it around his neck.
“Um, thanks,” he touched the pendant, now nestled against
his tee shirt.
“Please, don’t take it as an insult.”
“How can I be insulted? It’s an accurate description. I’m
pretty desperate,” he murmured.
“I only meant to encourage you. And, really, you already
seem so much better,” I told him. “I think you’re on the way to being your old
self again. The guy I remember.”
He looked at me, his expression deadpan. “That guy had a lot
of issues.”
I smiled. “No more cross country road trips?”
He shook his head.
“No, I think the therapist will be more than enough
adventure for me.”
“Toby,” I held his eyes. “You’re going to be okay. I can
feel it.”
He stepped closer and reached up to hold my face.
“Claude…” He said my name in that achy way that made my
pulse quicken.
The touch of his warm hands on my skin, and the smell of his
leather jacket swarmed my senses. It was the first advance he had made towards
me since I’d been back. I stood still, frozen, as we looked at each other for a
charged instant until I pulled his hands away. Shaking my head, I whispered,
“Nooo, nooo. You can give me a hug. But that’s all.”
Letting out a breath, he wrapped his arms around me and held
me tight, rocking me gently. “Thank you for the present and, mostly, for taking
care of me,” he said.
I pressed my cheek to his, feeling the slight stubble of his
beard. “I am so happy you finally let me.” Stepping back, I looked into his
eyes so that he could see that I meant it.
He cleared his throat. “Would it be okay if I call you every
once in a while?”
I knew how hard it was for him to ask.
“You’d better,” I replied.
At my next meeting with Bob, I shared the vision of my
life—a family, a great job and a life that included Claudia. While he listened
attentively as I told him how I planned to improve myself and how I was going
to win her back, Bob suggested that I let go of the Claudia-part of my vision
for now and concentrate on other aspects of my life. He claimed that because
Julia was gone, I was unconsciously placing my need for family onto Claudia.
“Let her go,” he’d said. “We need to heal you and build you
back up before you can fully love anyone else. You’ll never have a healthy
relationship until you first love yourself and feel good about who you are.”
This was the opposite of how I saw this going.
“No, Bob,” I refused. “If I let her go, I’ll lose her. For
good.”
Bob was calm. “Toby, you want Claudia back for the wrong
reasons.”
I got what he was telling me, and I wanted to believe Bob
knew what he was talking about. It felt like I’d just gotten her back, and now
he was telling me to let her go. I was sure if I did, she would find someone
else and be totally happy, forever—without me. I decided not to talk about
Claudia to him anymore.
Bob suggested I reach out to my aunt and even Al Junior.
Joan, I knew, had lots of friends, but much like I’d not
thought of Claudia and her pain, I hadn’t really thought about how losing Julia
had affected my aunt, either. She had lost her husband years ago, and she had
no children. She and Al Junior were all that were left of my faded and
splintered family—an old widow and a convicted murderer. Certainly nothing to
brag about, but they were mine.
Bob assigned me more homework—visiting Joan and having
dinner or doing something with her at least every other week. I was to keep in
mind that she, too, was alone. He felt that by reaching out to her, I would be
surprised how good it would feel to support someone else instead of focusing on
my own problems.
Joan was ecstatic when I called and asked if I could come to
see her. She made a huge meal and fussed over me. Later, she wrapped up the
leftovers for me to take home.
She lived in old condominium that she obviously couldn’t
keep up with. I made a mental list of the things that needed to be done, and
the following Saturday I went back with supplies and some of Big Al’s tools.
Over the next few weeks, I fixed a leaky faucet, patched a hole in a wall,
changed light bulbs in her ceiling fixtures, and got her computer working
again. Each time she made dinner and told me stories about Julia. It was
through these stories that I came to understand how much Julia loved my father.
“You must have the wrong woman,” I laughed when Joan told me
Julia had asked my father to marry her.
“Oh, yes, your mother, when she was younger, she was
different. Before she immersed herself in faith, she drank socially and was an
impulsive romantic.”
My mother drank? My mother impulsive?
“We all knew Al wasn’t the best choice, but your mother, how
she loved that man,” Joan said. “She thought he would change. And he did try
hard to make it work and keep her happy. I had such hope when, early on, he
stopped drinking—even went to AA meetings. But the responsibility of being a
parent and supporting a family proved to be more than he could handle. He
turned back to the booze. And then that night happened.”
Clenching my jaw, I remembered Julia crying. “Why the hell
did he get behind the wheel of his truck in that condition?”
“You probably didn’t understand how depressed he was.” My
aunt pursed her lips, and a nauseous feeling started to build in the pit of my
stomach.
“It’s about time you knew the truth.” Joan sat down next to
me with a soft grunt. “When your father took to turning the living room into a
boxing ring, your mother gave him an ultimatum—sober up or get out. The
accident was his way out.”
I stared, unable to believe it.
“Didn’t anyone try to stop him?”
“Understanding the depths of depression isn’t easy. And Al
Faye wasn’t open to letting people help him.”
I closed my eyes and put my head in my hands. This was yet
another thing to add to the list. Bob would be all over it. How was I supposed
to keep up with all this crap?
“How could my mother keep that from me?”
“She thought you were too young. She tried to protect you
from the truth.”
Heat crept up my neck. “Protect me from the truth?” I
snapped. “I started taking care of her, the house—everything, when I was
twelve. But I was too young to know my own father killed himself?”
Bob had made me understand that, despite my grief at losing
Julia, deep down inside, I was angry with her for always needing my help, for
relying on me at such a young age. We were working on it, but still the force
of my anger overwhelmed me.
Joan rested a hand on my shoulder. “My sister wasn’t
perfect, but she tried hard to be a good mother. And though she never
apologized for loving your father, she didn’t want you to be like him. She
hoped that, by protecting you, it would give you a chance to become a man
without the same weaknesses.”
I went home that evening, grabbed a flashlight, and went out
to the barn. The overhead light had burned out a while back, and no one had
ever bothered to change it. I sat in the dark, aiming the beam of light over my
father’s work area. Over the years, Al Junior and I had used some of his tools.
Some were gone for good, others dotted the worktop, carelessly thrown without
any regard for our father’s ordered system.
I flipped through the years in my mind, trying to recall a
few good memories of Big Al. Back when I was a kid, I liked being with him,
following him around like a shadow, stoked by any attention he’d give me. I
remember him patiently showing me how to use the tools in his workshop. He’d
been so proud of his work, and I had tried very hard to mimic his motions. But
always later, he would drink. With slurred snarls, he became someone else,
someone mean. I remembered the last time he’d spoken to me. It was after Al
Junior and he had battled. Things were broken, and Al had stormed off. For the
first time, Julia had reamed my father behind closed doors. She was careful to
keep their conversation private, but whatever she’d said had silenced him. He
had left their room without a word and retreated to the barn. I waited a while
and then went out there.
Unless he granted permission, the barn was off limits to us
as kids. It was the one place Big Al was fussy and meticulous about. The mix of
sawdust and oily wood stain filled my nose. I loved the way it smelled in
there.
My father wasn’t working that night, though. I found him
sitting in an old, decrepit lawn chair, staring vacantly at his workbench. He
didn’t seem to notice me, but all of a sudden, he spoke.
“Learn how to use these tools,” he’d said, without looking
at me. I remember feeling proud that he had put the order to me. Somehow that
meant he preferred me over my brother. Then, in a strange, disembodied voice,
he told me to get out.
Two weeks after that night in the barn, I woke up to Julia’s
crying. The police were at the door. Big Al was dead.
It hurt to think Julia thought I wasn’t strong enough to
handle the truth, but she had also seen me get into fights, struggle through
school, and plow through a pile of crummy jobs. I reinforced all her fears by
running away and putting as much physical distance between us as I could, out
there ‘looking for my place.’
I avoided things that required too much effort or anything I
had to invest myself in. She had been right when she told me I wouldn’t just
stumble upon my happiness out on the road.
Now, seeing a long, empty future staring me in the face, I
was ready to make changes.
I picked up a hammer that was lying on the worktop area.
Gripping the handle and liking the feel of the weight in my hand, I scanned the
pegboard wall with the light beam until I found its permanent marker outline
and put it back where it belonged. I walked back to the house feeling
unsettled. It was useless to try sleeping. It would be after midnight West
Coast time, but I texted Claudia anyway. A minute later, my cell rang.
“Hey. Is everything okay?” her voice was sleepy. I had woken
her.
“I found out some stuff about my dad,” I sighed.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Sorry, I know it’s late, but yeah, I do.”
“It’s okay. I’m here.”
I sunk down heavily into the couch, took a deep breath, and
told her everything.
One by one, Bob had been going through each of my family
members and making me think about the relationships I had with them and how
they affected me.
When it came to Al Junior, I told Bob about the letters he
had written me, but that I never read. I also told him how Julia tried to
encourage me to visit him, but that I’d refused to go. I could not think of one
good thing to say about my brother.
“I’m sure somewhere along the way, Al must have been nice to
you,” he said.
“I’m pretty damn sure that’s not so,” I replied.
Bob shuffled papers in his lap, and I sensed he was going to
tell me something I wasn’t ready to hear. I braced myself.
“You need to visit Al and give him a chance to make amends.
And to reopen a relationship with you,” he said.
“No way.” I wasn’t ready to see Al. I could picture him
laughing at me and asking me why I’d bothered coming. “I won’t bend over and
let him stick it to me.”
As usual, Bob refused to accept my resistance. “Toby, you
don’t need to be afraid of your brother. He isn’t a physical threat to you
anymore.”
“I know that.” I let out a nervous laugh. “I can’t say why,
but the thought of seeing him still makes me uncomfortable.”
Bob leaned forward, and the motion inexplicably made me
tense. “He was your big brother, and he should have been looking out for you,
not hurting you. But I think you’re reacting now, not so much to the physical
pain, but to the way he made you feel, deep inside.”
I hated when Bob hit me with crap like that. I didn’t want
the session to end in another embarrassing cry fest, but that familiar,
telltale lump formed in my throat. I tried to clear it.
“When you see him, it’s possible he might try to hurt you
with his words, but you’re in control. You choose whether to let him hurt you
or not hurt you.”
“Is this really necessary? I really don’t see the point.” I
sighed, restless, barely holding myself together.
“To grow we have to endure some discomfort.”
Facing Al Junior would be one of my most difficult hurdles,
but I was climbing out of the hole. I wouldn’t let Al block me from getting
out.
