I shake my head. Letting Alice down kills me more than Johnny’s sigh just did.
He rubs his lips together; he’s thinking, but I have no idea what those thoughts are. I can take a pretty good guess though, and in the pit of my stomach, I know my friendship with his sister is over. He’s protective. As he should be. Finally he nods. It’s a solemn gesture, disappointment or pity, I can’t tell. Either suck. And then he says to Johnny, “The door can wait. Take your time,” and disappears behind me down the hall toward the stairs.
I want to argue my story. I want to tell him what really happened, but nothing I say is going to erase the image of me in handcuffs from his mind. Alice deserves better than me. She always has. I’ve been living in a fantasy the past few weeks. Guys like me don’t belong in fantasies. I suddenly feel like I’ve lost everything. Again. I’m too sad to sweat, even though I’m as nervous as I’ve ever been.
“The door will be fixed before you get home tonight!” Johnny yells after Taber.
We all stand silent until Taber reaches the second floor and returns to his apartment. When privacy is achieved, Officer Jefferies says, “Johnny, I just need you to sign this paperwork so I can release him to you.”
Johnny backs away from the doorway, and we follow him into the kitchen where he signs the form in triplicate on the counter, and Jefferies uncuffs me. Paperwork and handshakes are traded between Jefferies and Johnny. “Thanks for bringing him home instead of down to the station, I appreciate it.”
Jefferies nods and then turns to head out, but before he leaves, he says, “I don’t ever want to see you in the back seat of my cruiser again, Toby.”
“Understood,” I say and I mean it.
When the door shuts behind him, I hear Johnny mumble, “Jesus Christ, I need a drink,” and notice Cliff’s bedroom door is shut. I can hear his TV playing. Johnny scrubs his hands up and down his face and runs them back through his hair. It’s an act of frustration, and his face looks ancient, like he’s lived a thousand lives consecutively and they’ve all been miserable. “What were you thinking, Toby?”
I shrug.
“Why would you steal?” he asks. Before I can answer, he adds, “As if dealing with this one wasn’t enough?” while gesturing to Cliff’s door. “Did he put you up to this?”
I shake my head. He didn’t. He’s a moron who makes horrendous choices, but this choice was entirely mine.
He crosses his arms and leans back against the counter, and even though he looks dead tired and monumentally disappointed, he also looks intimidating. I don’t often notice his size, but right now I feel two feet tall. “Shit.” He heaves in a breath and a rattling cough forces him to release it. “What am I supposed to do?” He’s talking to himself, not me.
“Am I fired? Do you want me to move out? I can move out if you want me to.” I mean it. If I have to live my final month on the street, so be it. I don’t want to, but I’ll make it work.
He rubs the thick, dark scruff on his chin. “No. That’s not what I meant, Toby. You’re just better than this. You don’t steal. You don’t break the law.”
“I broke the law every Friday night when I drank at Dan’s,” I correct him.
He shakes his head. “That was my fault. I should’ve told Dan sooner. He just assumed you were older because you looked it. And you were with me.” Picking up his pack of cigarettes off the counter, he shakes one out and lights it. After an agonizingly long first drag, he clutches it between his knuckles and points it at me. “Promise me this is the last time, Toby.” He pauses when I don’t answer him. “Look me in the eye and promise me I don’t have to worry about you ending up in jail.”
Guilt. So much guilt, but at least I don’t have to lie because I don’t have much time left. “I promise. But why do you care? This isn’t what we do, Johnny. We coexist—you’re my landlord, my employer.”
He walks toward the fridge, grabs the toolbox from on top of it, and heads for the door, probably because I’ve just made him uncomfortable, but he stops before he shuts the door and ends this. “Everyone cares about someone, some of us are just shit at showing it.”
That’s where it ends when the door closes behind him.
He’s right though, some of us are just shit.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The road to Hell is paved with good intentions
Past,June 1985
Nina’s Protector
Ken is different.
But so is Toby.
Toby has always been a clever kid. Crafty. I would say sneaky, but to be sneaky there has to be motive and devious intent. And Toby isn’t devious, he’s straightforward and to the point. He doesn’t have any cards up his sleeve; they’re always out on the table. Even I think he would benefit from holding some of them a little closer to the chest, but I also admire him for putting it all out there. What you see is what you get.
Speaking of clever and crafty, it’s brought him to Nina’s front door. He’s found her. I’m not religious, but I may have just shouted,Thank God!like I was literally giving thanks to a sentient being for the intervention. He’s knocking on the front door, while Nina’s watching him with her hand frozen on the living room curtain she’s pulled aside to peek out.
Her heart is racing out of excitement, something her depression hasn’t allowed in a while. But it’s also racing out of fear. Fear that someone will see Toby here and tell Ken. Fear about what Ken would do to Toby.
