The Turtle Boy

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 Kim ventured into Mr. Marshall’s house.

What would he do if they left him and never came back? What would he do if they left him alone and Mr. Marshall came looking for him? What if he lost them all in the dark?

“Okay, Mrs. Quinn,” said Kim. She sounded as if leaving was the last thing she wanted to do. She stood and Timmy opened his mouth to speak but nothing emerged.

“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” she said, with a look he couldn’t read in the candlelight.

He tried to make out her eyes but the gloom had filled them with shadows.

“I’ll go with you,” he blurted, scrambling to his feet. He looked at his mother. “Mom, can I go too? I don’t want to be by myself.” He felt no shame at admitting this in front of Kim.

“No, Timmy. I want you to stay here. We won’t be long.”

“That’s what Dad said and he has been gone long!” Timmy said. “Please, let me go with you. This house gives me the creeps. I don’t want to be here alone while you and Dad are over there with Mr. Marshall. He scares me.”

Again his mother sighed but he was already encouraged by the resignation in her expression. “Go on then, get your coat.”

He raced to the mudroom and returned with a light blue windbreaker.

“You may need something heavier than that,” his mother pointed out. “What happened to your gray one?”

“Ripped.”

Timmy started moving toward the door. He waited while his mother cocooned Kim in one of her overcoats. She emerged looking chagrinned, lost inside the folds of a coat far too big for her. Timmy suppressed a laugh and then his mother handed them each an umbrella. They clustered by the sliding glass door, looking out at a blackness broken only by small rectangles of yellow light, and listened to the crackling roar of a storm not yet matured.

“How come the neighbors have got power and we don’t?” Timmy asked.

“It happens that way sometimes. The lightning must have hit the transformer box on the side of our house. Let’s go. Stay close to me,” his mother said, and tugged the door aside.

They filed into the raging night, huddling against the needle spray of the rain. The wind thudded into them with insistent hands, attempting to drive them back; the air was filled with the scent of smoke and saturated earth. With the door closed and locked behind them, they bowed their heads and walked side by side to Wayne Marshall’s house.