The Long Wait for Tomorrow Page 11

  “And item three. We’d like to remind you not to leave campus without signing out. I don’t care if you’re heading to a sporting-goods store to buy me a new set of clubs, everybody must sign out.” He folded the paper in half and stared directly at Patrick, and the empty seat next to him. “Remember, we know where you live.”

  Patrick averted his eyes, pretended to search his pockets for a pen.

  “All right,” Bill concluded. “You-all can go. Have a good day, and”—the students were already rising from their seats, heading for the door—“don’t forget to study for those finals next week!”

  Patrick made a valiant effort to collect his things as fast as he could.

  “Don’t kid yourself, Patrick …,” Bill advised, standing by the door. The rest of his homeroom filed past, and with the last student, he closed the door and leaned against it. “I think we ought to talk.”

  Patrick didn’t bother feigning innocence. He let his saxophone case fall to the floor with a loud thud. Took off his satchel and deliberately dangled it over the table before releasing it. It dropped on the table like a flaccid body bag.

  “Feeling a little haughty today, Patrick?” Bill asked.

  Patrick watched him walk toward the center of the room.

  “I don’t blame you,” Bill said, coming off as more of an insult than anything. “Principal Sedgwick told me what happened. You and Kelly are in the clear, so it’s not as if I can get you into any trouble…. Where is Kelly McDermott?”

  Patrick gave Bill a hard stare. “He’s sick today.”

  “You’re pissing me off, Patrick.”

  Patrick considered getting a little pissed himself, though he knew straightaway he wouldn’t be able to match Bill Montague’s steely indignation.

  “You know, I did what you asked,” Bill said. “I told the staff yesterday to lay off Kelly. That I thought he was acting a bit strange. That maybe he was a little rattled. Headed off to Ohio State, new start, lots of pressure, especially with this game tonight. God help me, I actually used the game as a way to keep Kelly safe.”

  “What do you mean, keep Kelly safe?”

  “Seemed to me you were trying to protect him. From what, I don’t know. I was just doing you a favor. I wonder now why I bothered. Seems to me Kelly knows he can do whatever he wants as long as Redwood is there to bail him out.”

  “It wasn’t like that. Kelly wasn’t trying to get out of being punished yesterday. I actually think he was a little surprised when Redwood intervened. I’m as confused as you are….”

  Bill waited for Patrick to finish.

  Patrick glanced down, wishing he’d found the time to change that morning. Trying to find a way around this conversation. Trying to find a way around an explanation.

  Bill’s face softened all at once. “Patrick, where’s Kelly?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you see him this morning?”

  “Yes …” Patrick wouldn’t allow himself to divulge the details, skipped straight to the crux. “He got into his car and took off. I used his father’s car, drove here with Jenna.”

  “Do you know where he went?” Bill glanced over to the door’s small rectangular window and saw a collection of faces waiting to start their first class. He waved them off. “Patrick, do you know what’s wrong with Kelly McDermott?”

  “No.”

  Bill crossed his arms.

  Patrick prepared himself for another verbal assault.

  Instead, Bill dropped all questions, along with his arms. “All right.”

  “What do you mean all right?”

  “I mean all right, as in here’s the deal…” Bill turned his back to the door, as though there might be spies taking an interest in his proposal. “I can hold off the staff, Principal Sedgwick, for a while. Until lunch. But once they’ve got a little free time on their hands, I’m going to have to give some answers. So I want you at my place right at the start of lunch.”

  “Uh … I thought you weren’t supposed to have people in your—”

  “Just knock on the door.” Bill walked backward toward the entrance. “If Kelly isn’t here by then, I’m going to need some answers. And if you want to help Kelly, you’d better supply some.”

  Patrick felt his mouth go dry. “You said Kelly was in the clear around here.”

  “Sedgwick is looking for a reason to bring Redwood down a peg….” He reached back and turned the handle. “And Redwood’s looking for a scapegoat. My advice … Don’t give them one.”

  The waiting students began to file in, and Patrick wearily fought against the current, struggling with each step toward the exit.

  Patrick, Jenna, and Kelly all shared a free period on Fridays.

  Both Patrick and Jenna convened at their normal spot, outside the main counselor’s office, second period, at ten-twenty. Jenna had been the first to arrive. Patrick found her sagging against the wall, head tilted to the side, resting on the sign-out sheet. Good as asleep, no telling what was going on behind her sunglasses.

  “Jenna …”

  Her stance didn’t change, mouth opening just enough to croak. “Yeah.”

  “Hey, Jenna.”

  “Have I died?”

  “No.” Patrick scribbled his name on the sign-out sheet. “I’ve got to stop by my house. You feel up to coming with me?”

  Jenna nodded.

  “You going to sign out?”

  Jenna pointed limply to the slot right above Patrick’s name.

  Patrick took a closer look at the mess Jenna had left there. “I didn’t know you spelled your name with three wavy lines. I always thought it was just two.”

  Jenna moaned and followed Patrick to the car. “Aren’t we going to wait for Kelly?”

  “He got held up. Told us to catch him later.”

  “Why are we going to your house?”

  “I wanted to talk to you …,” Patrick said cheerfully, hoping to throw Jenna off the scent. He opened the door to the borrowed SUV and helped her in. “See if we can’t get you a cup of coffee.”

  “I don’t drink coffee,” Jenna mumbled.

  “You also don’t drink alcohol, best of my recollection.” Patrick closed the door and went around to the front seat. By the time he started the car, Jenna was curled up against the window. Sunglasses askew, fast asleep.

  She remained unconscious for the entire ride, hardly stirring.

  Patrick pulled up to his house, parked out front. Careful not to wake Jenna, he slipped out of the car and tiptoed his way to the mailbox. A quick peek inside revealed nothing. He glanced around, hoping to catch sight of the mail truck.

  Nothing but empty lawns showing off their perfect haircuts.

  Patrick knocked on the passenger’s-side window. Jenna’s tongue and upper lip were splayed along the glass, the orifice of a giant squid caught in a mad scientist’s shark tank. Patrick knocked again, harder. Jenna’s face peeled back, leaving behind a dripping work of art. The door opened, and Jenna leaned out, seat belt saving her from an ugly fall. Her sunglasses slid off her nose, into the gutter. She wiped her face off with the inside of her arm.

  “I’m so disgusting,” Jenna apologized, eyelashes half-glued together.

  Patrick took her by the hand, led her up the slight incline to his house.

  Minute though it was, the change in elevation had an adverse effect on Jenna. By the time they’d made it through the front door, she had her hand over her mouth. Wide eyes forecasting an unfortunate accident that sent her running up the stairs. Patrick barreled after her, yelling “end of the hall, end of the hall.” Whether she heard or not turned out to make no difference. He saw the strands of Jenna’s hair stream into his room, and made it through the door just in time to see Jenna on her knees, firing a poorly aimed stream of vomit in and around a small teal wastebasket.

  Patrick leaped to her side, gathering her hair out from the path of destruction. A little too late, sadly. Some of the puke had already bonded with a couple of unfortunate tangl
es, not to mention the goodly amount that had soaked into the carpet and spattered along the nearby bookshelf.

  All over your little brother’s books, Patrick’s angels admonished. The curators aren’t going to like that.

  He waited patiently as Jenna’s convulsions subsided. With shuddering breath, she reached out a blind hand, clutching the front of Patrick’s jacket.

  “You’re not going to pull me in there, are you?” Patrick asked.

  Jenna shook her head.

  “Hang on …” With his hand still holding Jenna’s hair, he stretched his other arm out, grasping for a tissue box. He managed to knock it down, pull out a few sheets. He handed them to Jenna, and she accepted with a trembling hand.

  Wiped the corners of her mouth clean.

  “Oh man …” She raised her head, eyes watering with white gone red. “I am so sorry.”

  “Never mind,” Patrick reassured her. “Come on and lie down.”

  They made their way over to the bottom bunk. Patrick kept Jenna’s hair away from her neck, holding on to it as if it were a vomit-soaked leash. She sat down, then slowly sank onto her side. Patrick got down next to her, on his knees, keeping a handle on her hair. Keeping the space between them at an awkward minimum.

  “I’m going to drip barf all over your bed,” she moaned apologetically.

  “It’s not my bed,” Patrick told her, reaching for her hand and guiding it to his. “Hold on to that for a second.”

  Still on his knees, Patrick shuffled to the tissue box. Shuffled back, and reached out to relieve Jenna of her duties. Their hands met with a tiny shock. Patrick sucked in his breath through his teeth and began wiping Jenna’s hair with multiple sheets of double-ply.

  At the far wall, Miles Davis remained frozen in time, trumpet blaring at Birdland.

  Jenna’s eyes moved around the room. “I don’t think I’ve been in here for years.”

  “You and Kelly usually take the guest bedroom,” Patrick said. Worried about the connotations, he added: “Whenever my parents are out of town.”

  “So it’s been years.”

  “Yup.”

  “You sure?”

  “Sure as I can be …”

  “It’s just that …” Jenna coughed, clearing her throat of residual waste. “It hasn’t changed. I remember thinking how young this room looked even back when we were freshmen. All the kiddie books, models …”

  “My parents never bought us our own separate toys,” Patrick explained, giving her hair a second go-through. “We shared everything, so these were also my brother’s.”

  “Oh God …” Jenna sat up suddenly, strands falling out of Patrick’s hand. “I’m sorry, Patrick, I didn’t mean …”

  “Don’t worry about it.….” Patrick gave a cardboard smile. “It was a long time ago. I was eight at the time, so I kept everything. But since they were also his, I wasn’t allowed to get rid of anything once I got older…. Couldn’t even switch rooms. Mom and Dad do need their separate offices.”

  Jenna looked down at her knees, still uncertain of her absolution. “I guess your parents never got over it.”

  “No, they did…. It’s more like they never did anything about it.” Patrick motioned with his head. “You should’ve seen the look on their faces when I put that poster up…. Didn’t say anything, though. They never do.”

  “Ugh,” Jenna groaned. She sunk back onto the bed.

  “You OK?”

  “The power of suggestion,” Jenna laughed dryly. “Kelly actually had me believing tomorrow would never come.”

  “You mean today,” Patrick corrected.

  “I mean whatever it was Kelly believed.”

  “Yeah, about that …”

  Sensing a change in tone, Jenna lifted her eyes.

  Patrick coughed. “You know how when you woke up this morning, and Kelly was gone?”

  She nodded.

  “And you know how I told you that when I saw Kelly, he had seemed completely fine? That he had wanted to get to school early, and talk to Coach Redwood? And that’s why you and I went on our own, because Kelly said he’d see us there?”

  Jenna’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Yeah?”

  “It’s a bit more the opposite of everything I just said.”

  “Oh?” Jenna rose once more, brushed at a few damp tendrils resting on her neck. “And what is the opposite of … all that?”

  Patrick sighed. “Kelly was already awake when I woke up. I don’t think he actually slept the whole night. When he saw me, he freaked out and started rambling, threw on a pair of pants that were … in the kitchen, got in his car, and just …” Patrick raised his arm, palm flat, and sent it forward.

  Capped it off with a small wave.

  “So, you don’t know where Kelly is?”

  “No.”

  “You mean we’ve lost him. Like some kid at the fair?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And to top it off, he still thinks he’s dreaming?”

  “No …” Patrick hesitated. “He’s past all that now, he’s … moved on.”

  “Moved on where?”

  “Well, from what I gather …” Patrick stood up, moved to the dresser. He backtracked and did what he could to postpone all revelations. “So, the first thing he said to me was It’s still today. Patrick, I’m still here, and it’s still today. After that, he kind of went on automatic. Kept repeating … It’s actually happened. It’s not a dream. I’m back. I really am back. It’s 2008 …” Patrick tensed up, knowing full well that Jenna wasn’t an idiot. “And well, that’s what Kelly’s … decided, I guess.”

  No longer concerned with hair or hangover, Jenna lowered her head. Let it hang limply for a few seconds. Then, taking a deep breath, she curled back up and sighed. “Let me see if I got this straight…. Kelly no longer believes he is in an institution. Twenty years from now. Dreaming all this up. Instead, it turns out that Kelly was in an institution, only now, rather than dreaming he’s here with all of us, he’s actually, physically traveled twenty years back through time…. Time travel. Please tell me I completely misunderstood, Patrick.”

  “No, that’s it exactly.”

  Jenna’s face remained deadpan. “Neat.”

  Patrick was about to follow up when he heard his mother call out his name.

  It wasn’t her voice that surprised the pair as much as its unexpected proximity to them. Halfway up the stairs, judging from the sound of it. Footsteps closing the distance. Jenna shot Patrick a look, unsure what passed for proper etiquette in Patrick’s house. Patrick stared right back, panicked. Unsure what kind of face to put on, or how to signal: I don’t know, Kelly’s the only damn person who’s ever been in this room, so there’s no telling if it’s because nobody else ever comes in here, or if maybe Kelly’s the only other person allowed in here, allowed to sleep in the lower bunk, because he simply came along at just the right time.

  “Patrick?” his mother’s voice called out from the top of the stairs.

  “Yeah,” Patrick managed. “I’m in here.”

  The affirmation forced Jenna to her feet. Almost immediately she was swaying against the winds in her brain, and had to steady herself against the bedpost. She managed to get it together and, working fast, ironed out her clothes with erratic strokes before striding over to Miles Davis for a closer, more casual look.

  Patrick’s mother appeared in the doorway. She set her black leather satchel down, raised her right arm, and brought her hand to rest against the doorjamb. A pair of matching pumps gave her an extra two inches, tan-colored suit tailored to aid the same illusion. Hair up in a bun, showing off her agile features, slender neck.

  She surveyed the scene with courtroom eyes. “Patrick, what are you doing home?”

  “Free period,” Patrick replied, taking the stand. “It’s Friday.”

  Patrick’s mother sniffed. “Where’s Kelly?”

  “He’s at school.”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  �
��Nope.” Patrick motioned over toward Jenna. “Nothing.”

  “Hello, Jenna.”

  Jenna nodded, always polite. “Hello, Mrs. Saint.”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m well, thank you.”

  “Mmm.” Patrick’s mother nodded. “Still working at Foot Locker?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Patrick, what’s that smell?”

  Patrick saw Jenna’s mouth open, and he hastily stepped forward. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t feeling well. I just got real nauseous all of a sudden, and I couldn’t make it to the bathroom….” Patrick motioned with his head to the wastebasket. “I’m sorry.”

  Patrick’s mother glanced down. The discolored spot on the rug glared up at her. She looked over at Jenna, sorted through the contradictory evidence in her hair, wrinkled clothes, and bloodshot eyes. With pursed lips, she turned back to her son. “Didn’t get any on your suit.”

  “Well …” Patrick brushed at his pants with both hands, unsure what she was asking him to explain.

  “Because it is a nice suit.”

  “Kelly got it for me.”

  “And you didn’t get vomit on it, so that’s good…. Every where but the suit, it seems.”

  “I’m going to clean it up….”

  “Patrick, you’ve got a letter here….” She reached down and removed a sealed envelope from her bag. Raised it as she would a summons. “I haven’t opened it yet.”

  Through the locomotive rush of blood to his head, Patrick heard Jenna gasp: “Is it from Ohio State?”

  “No,” Patrick’s mother replied curtly, eyes trained on her son. “It’s not.”

  The trap was set, and Patrick had to fight against a lifetime of desire to keep from walking into it. He stared at the envelope waving lazily in his mother’s hand. Searching for clues. Thickness, postmark, return address, anything that might give it away without having to ask.

  What’s inside was decided upon days, maybe weeks ago, his angels marveled. And look at the time it’s taken, is still taking, to get to you.

  “Starlight,” Patrick said out loud.

  His mother frowned, halted the hypnotic coaxing of the white envelope. But her recovery was instantaneous. “Well.” She lowered her arm and slid the letter back into the confines of her bag. “I just stopped in to pick up a change for this afternoon. I prefer blue for depositions. Maybe we should just wait for your father to get home….”