Ocean Village Fort Pierce
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The house on the corner of Sixth Avenue and South Ocean Boulevard was a mansion. The second-floor balcony that looked out over the ocean was wide enough to hold five or six people standing side by side, with room for another two sitting down.
There were three balconies in all: one off each bedroom; one off the living room, which ran along the front of the house and faced south onto the beach; and one off the back of the house, facing north towards the river. They’d been built for entertaining—and there would be plenty of it tonight. It was the Fourth of July, after all.
Toby had moved into the house four months ago. He’d rented it sight unseen from an estate agent who specialized in short-term leases, but he wasn’t disappointed when he arrived at last night’s appointment. He’d known exactly what he was getting himself into before taking the plunge, and everything had gone smoothly so far.
But as his friends gathered around him this afternoon, waiting for the fireworks to start, he couldn’t help feeling a little nervous. It was only the first year, he told them. Next year might go better.
He knew he could depend on them. Most of them lived nearby—or else they’d come from further away because they wanted to make sure Toby had company while he watched the show. Some were married couples, some were single guys like him; most were young professionals in their late twenties or early thirties.
All were good friends. And none of them—not even his best friend Mark, whom Toby loved more than any other person in the world—knew anything about his secret. Not yet.
When he opened the door to let them in, everyone went quiet. Toby didn’t say a word; he just smiled, waved them inside, then shut the door behind them. For a moment nobody moved. Then someone laughed nervously and somebody else said something stupid and everybody started talking once again.
“This is perfect,” Mark whispered when they finally settled down. “It reminds me of my college days.”
“I bet you did stuff like this all the time,” Toby replied quietly.
Mark shrugged. “Not really. I don’t know if we ever did much partying.” He glanced around. “Where’s your TV?”
Toby grinned sheepishly. “We’re not having a party, Mark. This is a very special occasion.”
“Yeah, I guess you are right,” Mark agreed. “And besides, we’ll watch the news later tonight anyway. What do you want to drink?”
They sat on the couch together and talked easily for half an hour. No one mentioned the Fourth of July, or Independence Day, or America. Only once did Toby mention the name ‘Jeffrey’ in passing; he made no reference whatsoever to Jeffrey’s birthday.
After a while, Mark got up and poured drinks for everyone, including himself, although he pretended he was doing it because he was bored rather than because he was curious. Nobody objected. When Mark came back, Toby handed him the bottle of vodka. He nodded thanks, pulled out a chair, and sat down beside his old roommate.
There was a lull in the conversation. Everyone was watching the television, where a reporter interviewed a woman named Marlene Thomas. She was crying. The camera zoomed in close to her face. A lot of tears were coming out of her eyes.
“She doesn’t look too happy,” Mark commented.
Toby shook his head. “That’s not quite true. She looks pretty angry. Angry at us, maybe.” He paused. “Maybe angry at herself.”
“What does she have to feel guilty about? It was years ago.”
Toby shrugged. “You never know how these things can affect people. Maybe she’s afraid that we won’t love her anymore now we know.”
Nobody spoke for a minute. Then Mark stood up abruptly. “Hey, man! You mind if I get some air?”
“Go ahead,” Toby said. “Just remember to lock the door when you leave.”
Mark headed for the balcony. As soon as the screen door closed behind him, Toby turned back to the group. His friends had stopped paying attention to the TV; they stared instead at him expectantly. They were all wearing smiles.
“Okay, gang,” Toby began. “Listen carefully. Tonight is going to be a very special night. We’re here for one reason and one reason only—”
A loud explosion sounded outside. Someone shouted. Everybody jumped. People screamed. Chairs toppled over. Toby’s heart was pounding. He grabbed the nearest thing he could find—a cushion—and held it against his chest.
The room erupted with laughter.
For the next five minutes, they laughed, cried, gasped, and applauded until the noise in the house was almost unbearable. Then there was another blast. Silence fell briefly, followed by the second round of applause. Toby’s nerves were frayed, but he tried to keep calm. “Now listen, guys. Listen carefully. We’ve got two hours left until midnight. So we need to talk strategy.”
His friends listened intently. One by one, each of them asked questions. Most of the questions concerned what kind of fireworks were going to be set off, which ones would be used first, and whether anyone planned on bringing a video camera. But one question bothered Toby more than any of the others: why hadn’t anybody brought a cooler full of beer?
After answering several questions, Toby excused himself. He needed fresh air. He walked quickly toward the kitchen. Just before he reached the door, however, he heard his father shout angrily.
“Dammit, John!”
John’s voice was raised. He sounded upset. And drunk. Toby hesitated for a split second, wondering what his father might be doing on the balcony in the middle of the night. Was he trying to sneak into the house through the sliding glass door?
Did he plan to tell everybody what he thought of their little gathering? Or was he planning to jump into the swimming pool, naked as usual, and make everybody laugh for ten straight minutes? Whatever the case, Toby wasn’t sure he wanted to see it. He didn’t think his father was a good person to see naked. Not after everything they’d been through.
But then someone else started shouting. His mother. Her voice was so loud it drowned out his father’s. For a moment he wondered whether it was actually his parents arguing. But then he realized that something terrible must have happened. That something bad was happening. Because his mom was screaming.
He ran toward the kitchen. Before he even arrived, though, he knew exactly what to do. He went to the refrigerator, opened it wide, and took out the last six-pack of beer.
***
When the police finally showed up at the house, they found everyone asleep inside except for Mark, who was sitting quietly on the couch holding the empty six-pack of beer. In a few minutes, when he woke up, they were going to arrest him for drinking underage.
By this time, though, he wouldn’t care.
As soon as he saw the police car pull up, he remembered that he still had the gun in his pocket. He fished around frantically until he pulled it out. He felt relieved that nobody had seen him take it. After all, it wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong yet.
They hadn’t arrested him for stealing beer or shooting a bottle rocket at his neighbor’s window. No. By this point, he just wished he could put the whole thing behind him. Forget about being seventeen. Forget about being a kid. This was serious business. All of them knew it.
The police officer who got out of the cruiser looked at Mark. The officer wore a thick mustache and a long black coat. He smiled warmly. “I hope you don’t mind me waking you up, son. I’m Officer Davenport from the local precinct. Do you live nearby?”
Mark nodded. “Yeah, my dad owns this place.”
Davenport smiled again. “Well, we’ll go upstairs and have a chat while your folks are here. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” Mark said.
They climbed the stairs together, leaving Toby alone in the living room with the television. When the elevator doors slid shut between them, he returned to the group. Everyone was staring at him.
“What did the cops want?” Toby asked.
Nobody answered. Nobody spoke a word. Even his friends seemed frightened.
Toby sighed. He understood. There was nothing he could say. Nothing he could do. He’d made too many mistakes tonight already. It was time to let somebody else play quarterback.
One of the girls handed Toby a half-empty bag of potato chips. He accepted it silently. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out without food. Maybe an hour, maybe less. He hoped not much longer. He didn’t think he could bear watching his friends eat while he starved himself.
“Guys, I hate to interrupt, but I can smell food. Can anybody tell me where it is?”
Somebody snickered. Others joined in. Soon, all of them were laughing. At least now he had a chance to catch his breath. He leaned back against the wall next to the door and ate steadily, chewing slowly, swallowing carefully, making every bite count. Then, after he finished the entire bag, he threw it away. He couldn’t stomach the idea of eating anymore.
At some point during the evening, he fell asleep. And when he awoke, he was hungry again.
***
The sun rose early over Lake Norman. The sky above the water turned bright pink and orange. A flock of birds flew overhead, heading northward along the shoreline. As Toby watched them, he heard the faint sound of music coming from somewhere below.
It was Saturday morning.
His dad was playing music downstairs. Toby stood in front of the open doorway, looking down at the dining table. On one side sat a plate filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast, and orange juice. On the other side, a single slice of white cake. Both plates were covered by plastic wrap, which they’d ripped off before anyone else arrived. Now the food rested quietly, untouched.
For a moment, he hesitated. Then, remembering his promise, he walked into the kitchen, grabbed both dishes, and brought them up to his dad. He placed them in front of the man, smiling shyly.
His dad stared at the food. Then he closed his eyes. He rubbed his forehead. Finally, he gave a nod. “Thank you, Toby. You’re such a good boy.”
Then he picked up the fork. He lifted it high over the plate, bringing the handle right near the ceiling. He held it there for several seconds, savoring its weight in his hand. His father had always been proud of his strength.
He set the fork down on the table, then reached for the knife. He took it in both hands, opening and closing them. For a second, he imagined cutting through the air, slicing through everything. Cutting his way past fear and worry, through lies and deceit, right to the truth. Cutting through the night and the darkness, cutting through the silence and the loneliness. Cutting right through to the light, cutting straight toward freedom.
In the end, though, he chose to cut the birthday cake instead.
Toby waited patiently as he listened to the sounds of breakfast cooking downstairs. He thought about what lay ahead. Would he be able to walk? If so, would he have the courage to leave the house and make his escape? Or would he choose to stay home and die, surrounded by those who loved him most?
When his parents finally emerged, he followed them into the bathroom. They washed their faces and brushed their teeth. Their movements were slow. Sluggish. Each step felt like an eternity. Toby wanted to cry. Instead, he went back upstairs. He found the radio remote control and pushed the buttons.
On came the news. Music poured from the speakers.
As Toby sat listening to the report, he began to feel better. Something told him things weren’t going to turn out badly after all.
The reporter talked about the weather: cold temperatures overnight; rain showers expected later in the day. She mentioned that people should expect traffic delays due to road closures caused by construction crews working throughout the city. One story she reported concerned a family whose dog had gone missing.
After hearing the details of the search, she added that police officers planned to patrol the neighborhood more frequently than usual, hoping to locate the animal. In another segment, she explained how the local college had decided to close early for the holiday weekend.
Students would return to classes the following week, once everyone had recovered from whatever hangovers they might still suffer.
There wasn’t anything new or exciting happening anywhere in Charlotte. There never really was. But the news made everybody forget about the reality outside the television screen. It made them believe that life could go on, even if nothing changed. Even if nothing improved.
After a few minutes, the broadcast ended. Toby’s mother got up from her chair, walked to the stereo system, and hit the stop button.
She smiled. “I don’t want any trouble this morning, Toby,” she said. “If you start something, we’ll have no choice but to call your grandparents and tell them where you are.”
“Okay.”
They left the room. Toby looked at himself in the mirror. He ran his fingers through his hair. He wiped his face clean of sleep.
He was ready.
The End