The Turtle Boy

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind. I’m going to ask you now to stay away from Pete’s dad, and this time I want you to promise you’ll do as I say.”

Timmy was buoyed a little by this new alliance in the dark world his summer had become. “I promise. He scares me anyway.”

“Yes, I’m sure he does. He had no right to speak to you or your mother like he did. I’m going to go over there and have a few words with him.”

Timmy felt something cold stir inside him, an icy current in the tide of pride he felt at his father’s bravery.

“Don’t.”

His father nodded his understanding. “He’s a bully, but only with kids. He’ll think twice before crossing me, I guarantee it. He owes all of us an apology and I’ll be damned if I’ll let him be until I get it.”

“Are you going to fight?”

“No. That’s the last thing we’ll do. You know how I feel about violence, what I tell you about violence.”

“But…can’t you go over there tomorrow?” Timmy gestured toward the rain-blurred kitchen window where the storm tugged at the fir trees. “It’s nasty out there. You’ll get drenched.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not exactly bone dry as it is.”

“But—”

“Timmy, I won’t be long. We’ll just have a little chat, that’s all.”

But Timmy wasn’t reassured. The storm was worsening, buffeting the house and blinding the windows. Lightning flashed, ravenous thunder at its heels, the sibilance of the rain an enraged serpent struggling to find entry through the cracks beneath the doors. It was the kind of weather when bad things happened, Timmy thought, the kind when monsters stepped out of the shadows to bask in the fluorescent light of the storm, drinking the rain and snatching those foolish enough to venture into their domain.

And his father wanted to do that very thing.

“Why don’t you wait until the storm passes?” he asked, though he could see the resolve that had hardened his father’s face when he shook his head and downed the dregs of his coffee.

“Timmy, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Timmy didn’t agree. There was plenty to worry about, and as he watched his father stand and steel himself against the weather and the things it hid, he felt his legs weaken. A voice, calling feebly to him from the far side of the sweeping desert of his imagination, told him that he would remember this moment later, that summoning it would bring a taste of grief and regret and guilt. And failure. It would etch itself on his brain like an epitaph, inescapable and persistent, haunting his dreams. He felt he now stood at the epicenter of higher forces that revolved around him in the guise of a storm, that this little family play was taking place in its eye, tragedy waiting in the wings.

“I want to go with you.”

Shrugging on his jacket, his father shook his head. “It’ll only agitate him further.”

“But you said he should apologize to me too, remember? You can ask him to apologize to me if I’m with you and I’d feel safer with you there.”

His father studied him for a moment, then a small smile creased his lips as he dropped to his haunches and drew Timmy close. He hugged him hard and the boy felt a comforting warmth radiating from his father, mingled with the smell of aftershave.

“Timmy,” he said softly, “I love you. You have no idea how hurt I am by what Wayne said to you. If I had been there I’d probably have punched his lights out, so I’m glad I wasn’t. Nobody has any right to speak to you like that and I don’t want you to ever take any of it to heart. Wayne Marshall is a sick man, and a coward. Remember that. Your Mom and I love you more than anything in this world and we’re proud of you. That’s all you need to know.”

He rose to his feet. The movement seemed blurry and strange through the tears in Timmy’s eyes. “Please,” Timmy whispered, but his father was already walking toward the door.

CHAPTER TEN

An hour passed.

Timmy sat in front of the television with Kim silent by his side.

His father had still not come home and the worry made him sick to his stomach. His inner voice chastised him for letting his father go alone, but he quelled it with forced reassurance.

And then the power went out, darkness thick and suffocating descending around them. Kim gasped and grabbed his arm hard enough to hurt. He winced but did not ask her to release him. He welcomed the contact.

His mother arrived downstairs following a candle she had cupped with one slender hand. The yellow light made her face seem younger, less haunted, and the smile she wore was as radiant as the flame she set on the coffee table before them.

“Don’t touch that or you’ll burn yourself, if not the whole house,” she told them. “I’ll set up some more candles so we can see what we’re doing. I don’t like the idea of losing you in the dark.”

Although she said it with humor, the phrase stuck with Timmy. Losing you in the dark. Was that what had happened to his father? Had he been lost in the dark? He was now more afraid than he could ever remember. Even more afraid than when he’d seen The Turtle Boy. He struggled to keep from trembling, something he was determined not to let happen. At least not while Kim was touching him.

“When’s Dad coming home?” he asked, and saw his mother stiffen.

“Soon,” she replied. “He’s probably managed to calm Mr. Marshall down and they’re discussing things man to man.” She didn’t sound like she believed it. “Wayne probably broke out the beers and the two of them are sitting out the storm and having a fine time.” She laughed then, a sound forced and devoid of hope. Timmy shivered.

“Why don’t you call and make sure?” he asked.

She sighed. “All right.”

He watched her, dread stuck like a bone in his throat as she picked up the phone and stared for a moment at the shadows parrying with the light. After a few moments she clucked her tongue and hung up.

“The phone’s out,” she told him.

Thunder blasted against the walls, making them all jump and Kim let out a little squeal of fright.

Mom sighed and set about placing pools of amber light around the kitchen. They made twitching shadows and nervous silhouettes of the furniture.

“I hope he’s okay,” Timmy mumbled and Kim scooted closer. She was now close enough for him to feel her breath on his face. It was not an unpleasant feeling.

“He’ll be fine,” she said. “He’s a big tough guy. Much bigger than Mr. Marshall. I bet if they got into a fight, your dad would knock him out in a second.”

Timmy grinned. “You think so?”

“Sure!”

“Yeah, you’re right. I bet he’d even knock some of his teeth out.”

“Probably all of them. He wouldn’t be so scary without those big white choppers of his.”

They both laughed and, as if the sound had drawn her, his mother appeared beside them and perched herself on the arm of the sofa. “You two going to be all right?”

They nodded.

“Good. I think I’m going to go see what’s keeping your father. Kim, if you want to come with me, I’ll walk you home. It’s not too far and you can borrow an umbrella if you like. I’m sure your mother is worried about you.”

Timmy’s throat constricted, his skin feeling raw and cold at the idea of being left alone while his mother and