CHAPTER ELEVEN GLIMPSES

1964

“We brought you a housewarming present!” said Mom, excitedly walking through the front door. She held a large present wrapped in shiny orange and green paper, big enough that she had to wrap her arms around it as if giving it a hug.

“What is it?” Toby asked as she set it on the otherwise bare dining room table. He always asked that when he got a present, which was silly because the whole point of having it wrapped was to hide the surprise until he opened it. It was similar to the way he said, “Hi, it’s me,” when he called his parents on the telephone. Who else would it be?

“You’ll have to open it and find out,” Mom said, as always.

While Mom and Dad watched, Toby tore off the wrapping paper. “A sewing machine?”

“That’s just the box.”

He ripped open the taped lid and looked inside. He pulled out another wrapped present, this one in shiny blue and purple paper.

“Obviously, your mother has a lot of time on her hands,” Dad said.

It took eight wrapped boxes to get down to the real present: a top-of-the-line coffeemaker that he absolutely loved. Although he’d bought Mrs. Faulkner’s house when she passed away, so Mom and Dad were right next door, and having his own coffeemaker now gave him one less reason to visit, so maybe it wasn’t such a great present.

While he was cleaning out his room, he’d found the undeveloped roll of film from when he’d taken pictures of Owen. He’d kept it hidden in his bottom drawer. The set of drawers went with him to his new house, and he left the roll of film where it was. He’d probably never take the pictures in to be developed, but he liked having it as a souvenir.

1965

“Toby. Toby. Toe-bee.”

Owen growled.

“No, that’s not even close. Just say Toe. Toe.”

Another growl.

“Maybe I could learn to growl in your language.”

1966

“That’s…that’s great news,” said Toby with much more enthusiasm than he felt.

“He won’t say anything, but your father is so excited he can hardly see straight.” Mom grinned. “He’s been hoping to get this job for going on six months now. It’s the opportunity we’ve been waiting for since before you were born.”

“Well, congratulations.”

“We’re going to miss you like crazy. You could come with us.”

“I think I’m kind of old to be moving across the country just to be close to my parents.”

Mom gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You’re never too old. It also works out great because your aunt Jean is out there, so we’ve got somebody to scope things out while we make the moving arrangements. It’ll be nice to see her more than once a year.”

“Yeah.”

“You look upset.”

“Well, I am, kind of.”

“It’s going to be hard, but it really is a great thing for your dad. And don’t worry, I’ll make him keep a bedroom open for you. And we both know he’ll complain about it, but I’m going to put up all of your posters and toys and everything.”

“You don’t have to go that far. Just put them up right before I get there and pretend you had the room that way.”

“Are you okay with this?”

“Yeah, sure, of course. It’s great news. Seriously.”

“We can’t wait.”

“Wow. Las Vegas. That’s…not close.”

“We’ll come back to visit. I promise.”

1967

“Hi.”

Toby stood there until the awkward silence became unbearable. “Hi,” he finally repeated.

“Sorry. I thought you were talking to somebody else.”

“No, just saying hi.”

“Do I know you?” the woman asked. She took a long drag from her cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly.

“No, not yet. I was just seeing if you wanted to dance.”

“With you?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Yes.”

“This is your first time talking to a woman, isn’t it?”

“No, not at all. I’m just, you know, nervous.”

“Well, I need a man who’s confident.”

“Oh. Okay. Sorry to have bothered you.”

“I wasn’t ruling you out. I was just saying that you have to be confident.”

“Do you want to dance?”

“You’re really not very good at this.”

“I guess not.”

“Practice. But on somebody else.”

1968

Toby opened the February issue of Argosy magazine and flipped to the page he wanted to show Owen. “This kind of looks like you,” he said, holding up the Bigfoot photographs taken by Roger Patterson and Bob Gimlin. “His fur is a lot darker, and your face is different, and you’ve got claws, but…I don’t know, I think there’s a resemblance.”

No.

“You don’t think so?” Toby looked back and forth, comparing Owen to the photographs. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. This was in California, anyway.”

“I quit.”

“No, you don’t,” said Mr. Zack.

“I’m pretty sure I do.”

“Nope, you don’t. Do you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you, Toby, are what is considered a ‘valuable employee.’ Therefore it’s not in my best interest to let you quit. And so we will begin what experts refer to as the ‘negotiation process,’ wherein I make a counteroffer and we go back and forth until a mutual agreement is reached. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like I need to watch your every move.”

“That’s a good tactic regardless of the situation. So you’ve asked for a ten percent raise. You knew coming in here that you weren’t going to get ten percent. I’ll offer you two percent.”

“I quit.”

“Seriously, I can give you five.”

“I deserve at least eight.”

“Can’t give you eight. Do you have a wife or kids to support that you haven’t told me about?”

“I’ve got a pet.”

“Cat or dog?”

“Neither.”

“I can give you six. And you’ll take six because you love working here and I love having you work here and it’s generally pleasant for everybody, and also because most other bosses are a lot meaner and less entertaining than I am.”

Toby thought that Mr. Zack often tried a little too hard at the “entertaining” part, but he was right, there were probably a lot worse bosses out there. At least Toby never got yelled at or pushed around here at the grocery.

“Seven.”

“Six and a smile.”

“Seven and a punch in the face.”

“Seven and a smile. See? That’s much better than being unemployed.” Mr. Zack patted Toby on the shoulder. “You’re a good kid. I’m surprised some fine young lady hasn’t scooped you up.”

“I don’t get out much.”

1969

“Where have you been? Do you know how worried I was?” Toby demanded.

Owen just stared at him.

“Three days! Three days you’ve been gone! I thought you’d gotten hurt or moved away! I don’t expect you to write me a note, but you could have done something!”

Owen pulled apart his lips, showing his teeth.

“Oh, so you’re mad at me now? I’m not the one who disappeared for three days. Where were you?”

Owen pointed to the left.

“What were you doing?”

Owen made doggy-paddle motions.

“You were swimming? You went swimming for three days?”

Thumbs-up. Yes.

“You were not swimming for three days. Where would you even go? Did you find a pond or something?”

Yes.

“You didn’t need to be gone that long. You could have figured out a way to leave a message, or at least told me beforehand that you were leaving. You know, it’s not that short of a walk out here. I’ve got a lot of better things I could be doing than trekking all the way out here just to find an empty cave.”

Owen tapped his heart with two talons. I’m sorry.

“Well, you should be. I don’t have anybody else, you know.”

Owen furrowed his brow and curled his index finger.

“No, I’m not mad. Not mad anymore. Just don’t do that to me again, okay?”

1970

“It’s a brand-new decade, Owen. Everything is going to change. The world is ours for the taking, buddy. I can’t believe I brought this party hat all the way out here and you won’t wear it.”

1971

“Listen to me,” Toby said. He tapped his ear. “Listen. What I have to say is very important. Do you understand?”

Yes.

Toby felt sick to his stomach. He should have confessed this years ago. Or he shouldn’t confess it at all. What if it destroyed everything?

“You remember that day, right? A long time ago? When I fed you?”

Owen curled his hand into a fist and licked the air.

“No, no, not ice cream. I mean way back. Well, maybe your first ice-cream cone was before this, but I mean that time I gave you other food. People food. You know, not food that people eat, but people food. Kids like me. Remember that time?”

Yes.

Toby felt his eyes welling up with tears. “I need to share something with you. You have to promise not to get mad. Do you promise? You sure? You have to promise.”

Owen promised.

“When I did that, when I led you to their bodies, I wasn’t thinking about you. I was going to blame you for what happened to them.” Toby let the tears fall. “I wouldn’t do it now. If the police found out, I’d confess everything, I’d let them know that you had nothing to do with their deaths, but at the time I was scared and I didn’t know you and I just wanted a way to get rid of them where they wouldn’t be discovered.”

There was no reaction.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t even be telling you about this. You may not even understand me. I just—I’ve felt bad about this for a long time, and I needed to get it off my chest. It was a horrible thing to do. We weren’t friends back then, but even so, I would’ve let them gas you or whatever they would’ve done. But not anymore. I swear.”

Toby bit the inside of his cheek and looked into Owen’s eyes. He couldn’t always tell what Owen was thinking. Usually he could make a guess, but this time he had absolutely no idea. He didn’t know if Owen was ready to wail in misery, bite his face off, or shrug and return to his cave.

“Can I have a hug?” Toby asked.

Owen gave him one.

1972

“Damn it! You little bastards get out of here!” Toby shouted after the laughing, fleeing kids. He could understand them egging and toilet-papering his house if it were Halloween or April Fools’ Day, but it was Lincoln’s birthday, for crying out loud!

“Bye, weirdo!” one of them shouted back.

Weirdo. Yeah, that was appropriate, but he wasn’t sure how he ended up being treated like a crazy old man. He wasn’t even thirty.

One of the kids, Joey, had ridden his bike over a couple of times to talk about baseball. Toby had no interest in or knowledge about baseball, but he faked it. Then the kid’s mother had told Joey to stay away from him.

He got a towel from the linen closet and went outside to wipe off his front window. He grimaced at the smell. These eggs had gone bad quite some time ago—you almost had to admire their commitment to keep them around that long.

Almost.

“Little bastards,” he muttered under his breath as he wiped away the slime.

“Toby.”

“Oh my God! It’s your first word!”