The Turtle Boy

On the porch, Pete’s father still had a firm grip on the collar of Timmy’s T-shirt, but he held Kim by the hand. Timmy felt strangely jealous.

“Sandra, I found these two snooping around back at Myers Pond,” Mr. Marshall said firmly, as if this should be reason enough for punishment. Timmy’s mother stared at him for a moment as if she didn’t think so. Her gaze shifted briefly to Kim, then settled on her son.

“Didn’t your father tell you not to go back there?”

Timmy nodded.

“Then why did you? And I suppose you dragged poor Kimmie back with you, back into all that mud and sludge? Look at your sandals. I only bought them last week and you’ve wrecked them already.” She shook her head and sighed. After a moment in which no one said anything, she looked at Mr. Marshall. “You can let them go now, Wayne. I don’t think they’re going to run away.”

But he didn’t release them and Timmy thought he could feel the man’s arms trembling with anger. In a voice little better than a growl, he said, “Sandra, it’s not safe for kids back there. I don’t think I have to remind you what happened a few years ago. I know I certainly don’t want Pete back there and it’s becoming blindingly obvious that your son has taken the role of the neighborhood Piper, leading everyone else’s kids back there to get into all sorts of trouble.”

A hard look entered Mrs. Quinn’s eyes. “Now wait just a second — ”

“If you had any sense you’d send this little pup away for the summer like I sent Pete. It’s the only way to keep them out of trouble. I mean, what was your son doing back there on the other side of the trees? With a girl? Is this the kind of thing you’re letting him do behind your back?”

Timmy’s mother straightened, her eyes blazing. “Just what the hell are you saying, Wayne? That because we don’t shelter our boy and scream and roar commands at him around the clock that we’re doing a bad job? Is that what you’re saying? How about you mind your own business and let me raise my child how I see fit? Or would that be asking too much of you? He’s eleven years old for God’s sake, not a teenager.”

“Just what I expected,” Mr. Marshall said with a humorless smile. “All the time strolling around like you’re Queen of the Neighborhood, better than everyone else. Well, I’m afraid your superior attitude seems to be lost on your kid.”

“That’s rich coming from you. At least Timmy doesn’t live in fear of me.”

“Maybe he damn well should live in fear of you.”

“Watch your language in front of the children.”

“Fuck the children!” He wrenched Timmy’s collar hard enough to make the boy gasp. “You don’t keep a watch on them. You don’t care what happens to them. You let them wander and that’s how they get hurt. It’s bitches like you that make the world the way it is.”

The trembling in his arms intensified, spreading through Timmy and making him queasy. He tried to pull away but the man held firm. When he looked up he saw that Mr. Marshall’s face was swollen with rage.

“Let them go.”

He didn’t.

Timmy’s mother took a step forward, teeth clenched. “I said, let them go, Wayne. Let them go and get the hell off my property or we’re going to have a serious problem.”

Mr. Marshall dropped Kim’s wrist. Timmy felt the grip on his T-shirt loosen. They went to his mother’s side. Mrs. Quinn tousled their hair and told them to go into the kitchen. As they did, Timmy heard Mr. Marshall mutter darkly, “We already have a problem. But I’ll fix that. You’ll see.”

CHAPTER NINE

After Mr. Marshall stormed off, Timmy’s mother made the kids some lemonade and ushered them into the living room. Timmy noticed the ice clinked more than usual as she set the glasses down on coasters for them, her smile flickering as much as the lights. She switched on the television and changed the channel to cartoons. Spider-man twitched and swung through the staticky skies of the city. Rain drummed impatient fingers on the roof. Kim scooted closer to Timmy and, though pleased, the boy guessed the image of Mr. Marshall’s hands bursting from the trees was still lingering in her mind. Those hands had terrified him too. Even when he realized it was his friend’s father that he was looking at and not the mangled squash countenance of The Turtle Boy, he hadn’t felt much better. Or safer. Though Pete’s dad had never been the friendliest of people, it seemed he’d become a monster since the start of summer.

They watched cartoons for a few hours until Timmy’s father came home, cheerful though soaked from the hissing downpour. With a degree of shame, Timmy watched his father’s good mood evaporate as his mother related the day’s events. Kim shrank down further in her seat.

Eventually his father sat at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee and called him over. His mother ferried a basket of laundry into the den and Kim watched with fretful eyes as he swallowed and slowly obeyed.

“Your mother tells me you were down at the pond today?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Timmy felt as if his chin were the heaviest thing in the world. It was a titanic struggle to meet his father’s eyes.

“Didn’t we discuss this? Didn’t I ask you to stay away from there?”

Timmy nodded.

“But you went anyway.”

Timmy nodded again, his gaze drawn to his shoes until he caught himself and looked up.

His father stared for a moment and then shook his head as if he’d given up on trying to figure out some complicated math problem. “Why?”

“We were trying to find The Turtle Boy.”

He expected his father to explode into anger, but to his surprise he simply frowned. “This is the kid you said you and Pete saw?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you really did see a kid down there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was everything you told me about him true, even the stuff about the wound he had?”

“It was horrible. He kept dipping it in the water. Said he was feeding the turtles.”

His father nodded and poked his glasses back into the red indentation on the bridge of his nose. “It sounds like one of your comic book stories, but I believe you.”

Timmy was stunned. “You do?”

“Yes. And I think the reason Mr. Marshall is so mad is because he’s been drinking like a fish the past few weeks. It doesn’t help to have you hanging around with his kid and making trouble.”

“But I wasn’t making tr—”

“I know, but the way he sees it you are. Wayne is going through a tough time, Timmy. His wife passed away, he started messing with…well, with bad stuff I don’t really want to go into. He drinks too much and it’s starting to get to him, to make him crazy, so I think it would be better to avoid him from now on.”

This had never occurred to Timmy. His mind buzzed with possibilities. “But what about Pete?”

A sigh. “Son, I think it’s time for you to start making new friends, like Kimmie there. Now wait — before you get upset. If you wanted to play with Pete I wouldn’t raise a hand to stop you, but I found out that Wayne put his house up for sale this morning. And with the way things are developing around here, he’ll have it sold in a heartbeat, especially at the low price he’s asking for it. So I don’t think they’re going to be our neighbors for much longer.”

Timmy was appalled. “It’s not fair. Pete’s my best friend.”

“I know,” said his father, clamping a hand on Timmy’s shoulder. “And God knows he’s not having an easy time of it either. It’s not right what Wayne’s putting him through.”