The Other Side(55)
“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.
The second set of rapid knocks sets her heart racing into overdrive and even I’m holding back on input at the minute, waiting for more information before I weigh in. Nina’s safety and self-preservation make me want to command, Open the door! Run away with Toby! but Nina’s concern for Toby is what holds me back.
In the end, self-preservation wins. It always does, it’s something I can’t ignore. I settle for, Open the door! and let her figure it out from there.
Though panic is rising, she listens and opens the door with a shaky hand after his third round of knocking. The scene that immediately follows would be almost comical if it wasn’t for the backdrop of heartbreakingly real emotion on both ends.
Nina reaches for Toby’s hand and yanks on it before words are exchanged. Her strength in this moment is spurred on by adrenaline and surges, sending him tumbling over the threshold and landing on his side at her feet. Forcing the door closed with an obstacle on the floor in front of it is difficult but not impossible.
“Jesus, Nina. Calm down—” Toby’s plea dies on his lips when he looks up at her face: tearstained cheeks; bloodshot, lifeless eyes; lips turned down into a hopeless frown, the depths of which he’s never seen. More than anything, that’s what scares him. He’s seen her sad before. She’s always been a melancholy individual, but the set of her mouth looks incurable, like hope has been traded in for an eternity of damnation and despair. I’ve been watching it progressively get worse for the past few weeks—Toby seeing the rare, happy Nina a few months ago and transitioning to this must be gut-wrenching.
Toby, in a single motion, jumps to his feet and reaches for her, but when she involuntarily flinches at the near contact, he freezes. “What’s going on?”
I can tell by the look of shock and horror in his stunned expression that this is not what he expected to find. He probably came by to check on her and find out why she left without saying goodbye, find out if she’s mad at him—which would kill Toby, by the way. Nina’s always been his constant supporter. Petty arguments and disagreements between the two of them never lasted more than a day or two before one of them called a truce. She’s never truly been angry with him.
She shushes him, “Shh,” like there are ears listening. She’s paranoid now. Being punished for anything and everything for weeks on end, when you already have a history of punishing yourself, will do that.
“What’s going on?” Toby repeats. His voice remains desperate, though his saucer-wide eyes have softened with compassion.