The Other Side(73)

Johnny looks back to Mr. Street. “How’s your blood count? Have they talked to your doctor?”

I’m beginning to think I’m in an alternate universe. How does he know all of this?

“They’ve drawn blood, I’ll know more soon. They’ve put a call into Dr. Thomas. Take Toby home. He needs you right now.” He’s putting my needs ahead of his fear.

Johnny nods. “Do you need anything before we go?”

Mr. Street’s brave smile emerges, and he holds up the photo in his hand. “I have everything I need.”

Johnny puts his arm around me and guides me toward the door. I want to fight, but I can’t. So I go with him.

At the door Mr. Street says, “Thank you, Toby. You saved my life today. Go get some sleep. And when you wake up, talk to Johnny. He’s a good listener.”

I nod, or at least I think I do.

“Johnny?”

Johnny looks his way. “When Toby wakes up, talk to him. He’s a good listener.”

Johnny nods.

We walk out of the hospital side by side. When we hit the fresh air outside, I consider making a run for it, but the pull is short-lived because I don’t have the energy. I promise myself that when we get home, I’ll get my second wind and leave from there.

In Johnny’s truck, I close my eyes.

Just for a minute…

When I open them, we’re parked in front of the Victorian on Clarkson.

I wasn’t supposed to come back here.

Ever.

But I’m so tired that I can’t stick to the plan.

I shuffle inside ahead of Johnny because he walks behind, probably in case I fall. Two flights of stairs feel like twenty-two when you’re navigating them half asleep. When we reach the apartment door, I stand to the side of it and let Johnny unlock it because I don’t have keys to this place anymore. I left them behind earlier knowing I’d never need them again. Unlocked, I drag myself through the open door of my bedroom.

I hear Johnny say, “You need to eat something before you go to sleep, Toby,” but I ignore him and shut the door behind me.

I contemplate kicking off my shoes and getting comfortable, but then decide I don’t need to be comfortable for this and sling my backpack to the ground. Lying down on the sleeping bag, I unzip my backpack and with trembling hands pull out the pill bottle.

Open it.

Shake out a handful.

Put all thirty-one pills in my mouth.

And close my eyes.

Alice flashes across the back of my eyelids.

Her words ring in my ears.

Tears spill out.

This wasn’t the plan.

I’m supposed to be alone.

Not in this house.

I didn’t want it to end like this with Johnny just outside the door.

But I know better than anyone that sometimes you don’t get what you want…





Part Two





There are two sides to every story.

This is The Other Side of Toby’s.

The side that lends perspective.

And changes everything.





Chapter Thirty-Eight





Past, 1985

Tiffany



I know I should be on my way home.

I know I’ll pay for this.

And that it will hurt when I do.

Because when he’s not happy with me, it always does.

When I showed up at work tonight, my boss, Roger, told me there was an error and that Shannon and I were both on the schedule for the eight to four shift. He only needs one of us. I work the front desk at a motel in Capitol Hill, and it’s not a two-person job. Shannon beat me here by five minutes. I understand, but I’m still a little sad. This motel isn’t paradise, but it’s my escape. That’s just been taken away for tonight.

So, I’m going to find another escape. I walk several blocks before the soft glow of kitschy script in ancient neon, Dan’s Tavern, beckons me.

The internal battle within begins when I grab the long brass pull on the heavy wooden door and heave it open: You shouldn’t be here. He’ll know you’ve been drinking. This is a bad idea. Go home!

I ignore the warnings, and as a direct result self-preservation, and walk inside. Even though I’m knee-deep in a terrible decision, I can’t seem to stop. Two steps in, my hands are shaking so bad that I have to cross my arms over my chest to hide my nerves.

Eyes are roving, I can feel them assessing me. I’m an outsider and they all know it.

I sit down at the free table in the corner. The table is a barrel with a glass top and the two chairs are horseshoe shaped and covered in fake maroon leather. They’re both sporting duct tape repairs to what I’m guessing are cracks underneath. Once seated, I quickly realize that this isn’t the type of establishment with a waitstaff and that I should’ve ordered something at the bar before I sat down. Head bent down, I know their stares are still on me. I’m getting hot. I don’t like scrutiny. I don’t like attention. Good or bad. I should leave, this was a bad idea.

But before I can stand up.

He sits down.

He’s younger than me but not by much.

“Do you mind if I sit with you for a while?” He’s not smiling, but he’s not leering either.

Yes? No? I don’t know. “I don’t mind.” I’m not smiling either, I’m too nervous.