The Long Wait for Tomorrow Page 24

  “But Edmund,” Patrick insisted.

  “Kelly tackled him. Accidentally, it appears, sent Edmund through the glass … Kelly managed to let go before … I mean, to stop himself from … grab hold of the metal frame before … I’m sorry, Patrick, but Edmund is dead.”

  It was all lost to him as the image of that window came back to him. A window twenty-five stories above the resting place of Edmund’s final thought. If it could have even qualified as a thought, when the final seconds before were spent in a massive riptide of rushing wind, without hope of a peaceful end.

  Patrick was mortified to discover he was about to yawn.

  He covered his face with his hands. Sharp jabs of pain shot through his brain, and he played through. “What about Kelly?”

  “We called Mr. Redwood to tell him about some pills we found in Kelly’s car…. I think Redwood expects the worst. He told us that even if Kelly did end up confessing to the break-in, he wanted all charges dropped, so—”

  “Kelly and Edmund,” Patrick insisted. “What’s going to happen to Kelly?”

  “I don’t know …” The doors slid open at the fifth floor. A collection of guests were about to step in when Donahue flashed his badge. Enough said, and the doors closed once more, leaving them alone for the rest of the trip. “I’m going to need you to corroborate Jenna’s story. I understand you two came to be here through different means.”

  “Please don’t listen to anything Kelly tells you,” Patrick said miserably.

  “I’m afraid that’s my job.”

  “He’s not well.”

  “I know.”

  The doors slid open into the chaos of the lobby. More officers; students scattered about with shock a common expression. Beyond the hotel doors, a police line had been set up to keep the press back. Lights flashed, glared from shoulder-mounted cameras.

  “How long was I out?”

  “A while …,” Donahue said, concerned, motioning to one of the boys in blue. “You actually came to for a few minutes, that’s how you got out of the room and into the hall…. Do you not remember that?”

  Patrick shook his head, drowning under all that activity.

  “OK, we’re going to have the EMT take another look at you. If he gives the OK, I’m going to take your statement. If he doesn’t, you can go to the hospital and I’ll catch you later.”

  “I just want to get out of here.”

  “You can always try lying to the EMT,” Donahue said. “Though unless you get one who’s been working a little too hard, it won’t do much good…. And I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  From out of the crowd, Jenna appeared, running toward him.

  His face exploded with pain as she fell into his arms. He didn’t mind. Could’ve done with a lot more of it, considering what the following days might bring. Even that realization couldn’t make it real, and, time being, he pressed his face against Jenna’s neck.

  “They’re here,” she said, pulling back and looking across the room.

  Not wanting to, Patrick cast his sights with Jenna.

  There, standing by the convex corner leading to the grand hallway, were his parents.

  And in the end, Patrick did lie to the EMT.

  “We have to go to the station,” Patrick’s father said. He adjusted the rearview mirror, framing his son in its reflection. “Kelly’s parents are already there. Your mother and I wanted to see if we could help.”

  “We’re going to drop you off at home,” his mother added from the passenger’s seat, motioning for her husband to start the car.

  “I want to go with you,” Patrick said sullenly, staring through the window and up at the Verona Marriott. A helicopter buzzed overhead, spotlight dancing. “I want to see Kelly.”

  “It’s going to be a while before you see Kelly.”

  Patrick turned away from the window. In the seat next to him, he saw Jenna do the same, a siren going off to match the flash of red and blue police lights.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s going to be there for a while, is all …” His father started the car. “There hasn’t been an official arrest, and with our help there probably won’t.”

  “We’d rather you didn’t …” His mother paused. “It would be best for Kelly if you simply went home.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re only trying to save Kelly.”

  “Save Kelly?”

  “Patrick …” His father eased out into the street and headed out from the downtown area. “You have to trust us. You may not remember, but just today, you were questioned in connection with breaking and entering. Now you want to show up at the police station where Kelly is being held for what hasn’t yet been ruled out as a homicide? It won’t look good.”

  Patrick’s head was killing him. Plain and simple, he couldn’t think straight. Of all that had happened that evening, of all the signs he had missed, nothing seemed more important than what he was hearing.

  But what he was hearing made for a very seductive rationale.

  He turned to Jenna for help, silently asking for advice.

  Jenna shook her head, unsure.

  “Let us take you home.” Patrick’s mother twisted in her seat to face him. “Can we please, Patrick, just take you home.”

  Jenna’s hand slid across the seat, held on to his.

  “Take me to Jenna’s,” he ordered, as though just stepping into a New York cab.

  Patrick’s mother wrinkled her nose, but the battle was done.

  “Can you tell me how to get there?” his father asked.

  “Jenna’s still here,” Patrick said, turning back to the window. “You can talk to her.”

  he clock on the coffeemaker read 3:15 a.m. Its green glow was the lone light source from within the kitchen. A slim shaft of illumination came in through the window, compliments of the back-porch bulb. From the living room, the television’s blue sheen reflected off the walls, made them move with breathing life.

  None of it managed to find Patrick or Jenna, seated at the kitchen table since eleven.

  They had run out of things to say over two hours before.

  Grasping at straws, Patrick looked down into the cup before him. “I can’t believe I’m actually drinking coffee.”

  “How do you like it?” Jenna asked.

  “I don’t think I get it.”

  It was too dark to see her expression. “Are you awake?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then there’s nothing more to get.”

  The house continued to settle around them.

  The digital clock ticked off another minute, bringing them to 3:16.

  “Patrick?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Why don’t you just open the letter?” Jenna asked, sliding the twisted wreckage of Patrick’s envelope across the table.

  Patrick picked it up.

  Turned it around in his hands, trying to determine which end was which.

  “Honestly,” Jenna insisted. “What’s stopping you?”

  “I don’t feel right saying this…. Not now, it’s not the right time …”

  “Then answer my question…. Is it because of me?”

  Patrick looked down into what little he could see of his coffee. “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll admit, maybe there’s something happening here …,” she told him. Mournfully unemotional, her voice didn’t match the words. “You and I, us two, I mean. Maybe there’s something but … We’re not going to figure it out tonight. Maybe not for a long time, so Patrick, just—”

  The phone rang in a sudden surprise attack.

  The two of them jumped, chairs scuffing the floor.

  They waited for the confirmation of a follow-up ring.

  There it was, and now neither one of them could bring themselves to answer.

  “You still want me to open it?” Patrick asked, too apprehensive to be truly snide.

  From the living room, they heard Jenna’s father rise from the couch and step around the
small wood-framed coffee table. He picked up the phone just before the answering machine could report for duty.

  “Hello?”

  Patrick strained his ears with unrealistic hopes of picking up the voice on the other end.

  “Yes, I’m Al, Jenna’s father….” He coughed. “Yes, we met once. Would you like to talk to your son? … Oh, you’re Kelly’s parents. Never mind, I can guarantee you we haven’t met. How is Kelly …?”

  In the silence that followed, Jenna put her hands together. Head bowed in a silent prayer.

  Patrick watched her, unable to surrender just yet.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to …” Al’s shrugging shoulders could be heard in his voice: “All right, if you want, I’ll tell them…. No, please don’t call back tonight.”

  Then the muted beep of the phone turning off.

  Al shuffled into the kitchen. In the wan light of the television, his bathrobe had the appearance of a prehistoric animal pelt. His face was hidden, but the disillusionment in his words made eyesight an undesirable afterthought.

  “They found Edmund’s gun, and Kelly’s being released.”

  In the time it took for Patrick to even consider why such somber tones for such good news, Al shut it all down.

  “His parents are driving him to Saint Sebastian Mental Hospital.”

  Patrick looked over at Jenna.

  Watched as her hands parted slowly, and spread out along the edges of the table.

  “Just in case, is what they said. Just in case they missed something, just in case the police call him back in, and that leads to an actual arrest this time around. They said it would help to have him diagnosed as not being of sound mind … just in case.”

  “Kelly’s not crazy …,” Patrick said. Dazed, not comprehending that convincing Al would solve absolutely nothing. “Kelly is not crazy. Where were my parents in all of this?”

  “It was their idea.”

  Patrick felt the air rush out of him. If he hadn’t been sitting down, there was no question he would have collapsed right there on the kitchen floor.

  “My parents did this?”

  “Honey?” Al asked, head moving slightly to the left. “Are you all right?”

  With her head still bowed, Jenna whispered yes.

  “We’ll find out more in the morning,” Al told them. “In the meantime, I have to get to bed. Patrick, please stay here tonight. Or for as long as you like,” he added, understanding that it might be a good while before he met Patrick’s parents again.

  “Do you think Kelly’s crazy?” Patrick asked, voice sinking.

  “I think you’re all crazy,” Al said sternly. “But please don’t forget that my daughter and her friend Patrick were almost killed tonight. I’m an adult, and this is my job. So don’t take it personal … I’m going to bed.” Al turned, rubbing his head. “Be sure and clean up before doing the same.”

  His footsteps faded to the back of the house.

  “Patrick?”

  Patrick nodded, though he wasn’t sure if Jenna would pick up on it.

  “Come on,” she said quietly. “Just open the letter.”

  With air trembling past his swollen lips, Patrick held the envelope before his face, searching for the edge before simply ripping into it. No point in preserving the integrity of the letter; it was just a piece of paper. Just a piece of paper with another fork in the road, and Patrick gnashed his teeth as he finally managed to tear the thing wide open.

  Chest heaving, he held the mutilated letter before his eyes.

  “The light switch is on the wall behind you,” Jenna said.

  Patrick turned, felt along the wall, and caught hold of the protruding nub.

  The fluorescent overheads burned into his retinas, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut against the glaring white wall before him. With one eye open, he swiveled around, back to the table. Before he could scan the letter for the only sentence that mattered, he froze.

  It was the first time in hours that he’d gotten a good look at Jenna.

  Her hair was a nest of brambles, falling woefully over almond eyes that had the appearance of having drooped at the ends, so much that he expected them to slowly slide down along her ashen cheeks. Her hands and elbows were bruised and scraped. The earlier rainfall had stretched her clothes out. She appeared almost shapeless under her wrinkled blue-striped shirt. Lips pressed together in a thin purple line.

  “You look like a different person,” Patrick said.

  “You’re no prize, either,” she informed him.

  He lowered his eyes to see whether Juilliard agreed with her.

  The time was now 3:25.

  ore coffee?”

  “Yeah. I like this blend, it’s good.”

  “Like you’d know good coffee from a bucket of tar, Patrick.”

  “I’m getting the hang of it, Al…. I am getting the hang of it.”

  It was bright outside. Dynamite bright, even through the kitchen windows. A wide sheath of light cut through the room, spotlight on the linoleum floor. Felt as though it was the source of all warmth that morning. Good warm. Cozy and soft, the welcoming embrace of a well-worn comforter.

  Patrick took a sip of his coffee.

  Jenna’s father did the same. He stared over the rim of his cup, raised his eyebrows.

  “What?” Patrick asked, putting down his mug.

  Al didn’t answer all at once.

  The radio was tuned to NPR, news at the top of the hour. Impartial reports of suicide bombers in Iraq. Numbers without names. It was an ugly thing, enjoying a cup of coffee half a world away from the other half of the world.

  “You hear that?” Al asked him.

  “The news?”

  “Guess it goes to show …,” he said.

  “Goes to show what?” Patrick asked, dipping back into his coffee.

  “And here I sit, on my daughter’s graduation day …” Al gave his Saturday morning scruff a once-over with his hand. “I’m so very proud of her, Patrick.”

  “You’ve got every right.”

  “And I guess it doesn’t mean much … The ceremony, I mean. The ceremony doesn’t really mean that much, but along with all these things … Happy, sad, proud, worried. I don’t know, maybe I just kind of thought I’d be watching her walk across that stage. Cap, gown, the whole nine, right?”

  The news went local, reports of another scorcher all across Verona.

  “Am I being selfish?” Al asked.

  “Not without reason,” Patrick assured him. “And I’m sorry if our decision’s hurt you.”

  “Nah … It’s not hurt. Thing is, it makes more sense to me than that whole graduation nonsense. I think it’s admirable. I’m proud of both you two. Guess there’s no stopping reflex, though.”

  “Ain’t that the sad truth….”

  Al motioned to a white envelope sitting alongside Patrick’s coffee. “Been meaning to ask …”

  “My homeroom teacher dropped it off a few days ago. It’s for Kelly, care of me.”

  “How are your parents?”

  “They are how they are.”

  “Mmm.”

  Patrick caught sight of white ceramic peeking through the thin layer of coffee. It was his turn, and he walked over to the coffeemaker, dislodged the pot. He poured them both a fresh cup, wondering what the hell he was thinking that one morning, knocking the coffee out of Kelly’s hand.

  Busting up his parents’ collection of rare crystalware.

  Patrick waited for his angels to comment, but they were content with their silence.

  He sat back down, looked at Al.

  Al smiled at him.

  Patrick smiled back.

  Jenna popped her head around the corner. Her hair was damp, stuck together in thick stalks.

  “Just about ready to go,” she informed Patrick.

  “OK,” Patrick told her.

  She vanished, back from whence she came.

  “You two will keep in touch,” Al said with all the assuran
ce of a casual prophet, decked out in sweatpants and a Rolling Stones T-shirt. “Can’t stop something like that.”

  “We’ve still got the summer,” Patrick reminded him.

  “It’ll go by fast…. I dare you to blink, it’ll go by that fast.”

  Patrick blinked.

  Al laughed, deep lines forming parentheticals around his smile.

  Then Jenna was standing at the entrance. Dressed in jeans and a sunflower blouse. Purse hanging over her shoulder, signaling their present departure.

  The men stood up, leaving their coffee behind.

  Patrick picked up the envelope while Al walked over and hugged his daughter. Blessed her forehead with a kiss.

  “Proud of you, baby,” he said.

  “I know, Dad.” Jenna squeezed him tightly, eyes closed.

  “It’s been one crazy, stupid trip, hasn’t it?”

  “It has.”

  Al turned and shook Patrick’s hand. “I’ll see you both later. We’ll go grab some dinner.”

  Patrick nodded.

  He reached into his jeans and pulled out the car keys.

  “Let’s go,” he told Jenna, heading for the door as the radio did what it could to put their life in context: “June seventh, nine-forty-five a.m., here on NPR.”

  The drive took the good part of an hour.

  They spent the ride in silence. Neither one moved to speak or turn on the radio. There was nothing uncomfortable about it. Meditating along the winding road, sun still low, shade from surrounding trees keeping it comfortable.

  They reached the gates of Saint Sebastian at eleven. A security guard signed them in, sent them in the proper direction. They parked in a near-empty lot, the only ones apart from a long line of employee cars stationed near the front of the estate.

  At a glance, the grounds looked no different from a slice of campus life.

  The inside proved to be just as unremarkable.

  There was no doubt the place had been remodeled several times since the 1800s, but apart from casual hints of bygone infrastructure, it was like any other hospital. A front desk, painted white, matched the uniform of the attending nurse.

  “We’re here to see Kelly McDermott,” Patrick told her.