The Other Side(52)

She can’t help the smile that creeps into her normally guarded expression. “He really is.”

Lifting my backpack from the floor by the door, I heft the strap over my shoulder and tell her, “I’m happy for you. And Joey.”

Her eyes finally lift from the floor to meet mine. Her hand reaches out toward me but then retracts just as quickly. “Thanks, Toby.” I think she’s going to say more, but we just end up looking at each other awkwardly for a few seconds. Everything is back to normal it seems.

I turn and exit, leaving behind our oversharing exchange, but I can’t help feeling like a shift is happening, and in the end, I’ll be forced out when I’m no longer needed.





Chapter Twenty-Five





Present, April 1987

Toby



It’s Saturday. I’ve already done my rounds of the house and helped Mrs. Bennett chase away the imaginary bear she was convinced was trying to climb in her bedroom window. It’s cold outside, so I’m drawing in my room until Alice gets home later. They’re playing at the Mammoth Events Center tonight and I’m going along so I can finally see her perform. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked forward to something like I’m looking forward to this. To seeing Alice in her element.

I’m an hour into a pencil drawing of Spider-Man suspended mid-air between two skyscrapers, when there’s a knock on my bedroom door.

Cliff doesn’t wait for me to answer. I think he knocks with one hand while the other is already turning the knob for entry. I’m desensitized to it now.

“What?” I ask without looking up, pencil shading a web.

“I’m bored,” he announces like it’s my job to rectify his predicament.

“So do something,” I offer.

“I’m hungry. Let’s go to QuikMart and get some pizzas.”

I never go anywhere with Cliff, but he sounds down. I found out from Johnny a few days ago that Cliff’s dad got into a fight in prison and there was a weapon involved. Which means his dad has new charges brought against him and an additional sentence. He won’t be a free man until Cliff is well into his thirties. Cliff didn’t take the news well and spiraled and has been a bigger jackass than normal. Ditching school, vandalism, drugs, shoplifting—he’s teetering about a hair’s breadth above rock bottom.

I’m sitting on my sleeping bag with my back resting against my propped-up pillow, legs outstretched.

He steps in and kicks my socked foot with his boot. Not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to get my attention. “C’mon, Toby.”

My eyes move to his dirty boots on my sleeping bag. “Boots off my bed,” I command and he steps back onto the linoleum. “I don’t have extra money this week.” I don’t. Joey needed diapers yesterday.

“I do.” I know he’s lying because his lips are moving.

I keep drawing and he takes my silence as disbelief.

“I do. My grandma sent me some this week for my birthday.” He’s really selling it.

I set my pencil down and look up at him, tilting my head so he knows I’m not buying it. “Your birthday is months away,” I challenge.

“She’s old, she forgets.” He pulls a wad of bills out of his pocket as proof.

I sigh and rub my eyes because they’re sore; dim lighting and deep concentration are a bad combination. Against my better judgment, I set my pad of paper and pencil on the shelf next to me and grab my shoes. “Wait for me downstairs. I need to use the bathroom before we go.”

Obeying the request by heading directly to the front door tells me he’s desperate to get out of the house. I pull a thermal on over my T-shirt and grab my sweatshirt off the hook on the wall before I step out and padlock the door behind me. I try to talk myself out of this field trip while I pee. It doesn’t work, and minutes later we’re stepping through the door of QuikMart. Cliff walks to the refrigerated section with the soda and grabs a root beer, while I walk to the frozen section and pull out a Canadian bacon Party Pizza. It’s the cheapest pizza they have and it’s on sale again. Bonus. Cliff walks up next to me and I hold the door open while he decides. After an agonizingly long internal debate between cheese and sausage—I know it’s happening because he touches each of them at least six times—his hand finally commits to the sausage. When we turn to walk toward the counter, I notice my least favorite QuikMart employee is working. The guy always gives me a hard time and I’d rather not have to deal with him today, so I tell Cliff, “I’ll wait for you outside, this guy’s a dick.”

Cliff takes my pizza and says, “Okay, I’ll be out in a minute. I’m gonna grab a candy bar too.”

The second Cliff meets me on the sidewalk, chaos erupts, and it becomes glaringly clear why I should always say no to Cliff.

“Stop!” QuikMart Dick yells.

At the same time, Cliff yells, “Run!”

I hesitate, but only for a split second before I find myself running next to him like an idiot. “What did you do?” I ask as adrenaline courses through my veins.

“Stole a pack of cigarettes,” he says, his short, thick legs struggling, and failing, to keep up with me.

QuikMart Dick is gaining on us and when he shouts, “Stop or I’ll shoot,” I look over my shoulder.