The Long Wait for Tomorrow Page 6

  You’re starting to sound like Kelly McDermott, his angels had admonished, slipping him notes beneath the teacher’s steady drone. The new Kelly McDermott.

  The New Kelly McDermott.

  That was the term he had settled on.

  Now trapped by the confines of everyday responsibilities, Patrick began what he could only describe as detoxification. No longer distracted by Kelly’s bizarre behavior, he found he could no longer stop thinking about it. As time went by, he actually found himself sweating. His foot bounced nervously beneath his desk. Pen caps were chewed, notes became doodles, which soon enough became musical notation. He felt as though he was waiting for an inevitable explosion, eruption, some violent event just beyond his capacity to control.

  Now that Patrick’s angels had dubbed his friend the New Kelly McDermott, it was impossible to think of him as anything but. There was a new sheriff in town, but apart from that paranoid certainty, Patrick had little else to hold on to.

  He was the first one out the door when class was dismissed. Ran fast as he could to Kelly’s first-period class, bobbing and weaving between the rest of the students.

  Patrick didn’t know why he had expected Kelly to be waiting for him at the entrance. The rest of the students had already filed out, new ones rushing in like frigid air. He asked around, but nobody seemed to know where Kelly was. Patrick panicked, ran out to the parking lot to see if Kelly had simply jumped back into his car, itching for another chance at breaking the sound barrier.

  The convertible was still there, and Patrick was going to be late for his next class.

  Second period proved worse than the first, was asked to stay behind after a pen cap had popped out from between his nervous teeth and landed squarely in the teacher’s herbal tea.

  As a result, Patrick had already resigned himself to missing Kelly at the next juncture.

  It was then, between classes, that people began approaching him. Each encounter with a different bent to it, a different inquiry into Kelly’s behavior.

  “What’s up with Kelly? I ran into him between classes, and he was all happy to see me. Like he hadn’t seen me in ages.

  Like he even knew who I was to begin with; I don’t think we’ve ever even talked.”

  “Hey, Pat, what’s up with Kelly? I was just talking to him about Ohio State, and he completely blew it off. It’s only been a couple of days, and it’s like he didn’t even care. It’s like he didn’t even know who I was, he looked right past me. Weird.”

  “I just saw Kelly in a suit and tie doing some kind of … I don’t know, dance, with the ballet kids. Right in the hallway, he was grinning like I don’t even know. What’s up with him, anyway?”

  Patrick had no answers, kept walking and talking as best he could. The grapevine continued to burn between third and fourth period. Some tendered stories about Kelly chatting it up with cliques outside his circle; talking music with the third-chair band kids, stopping to pick up some science geek’s scattered notebooks. Others told of Kelly leading a full-class discussion on cognito ergo sum in their Philosophy 101 class, while further baffling accounts had Kelly demonstrating a flair for Spanish while seated in French 309.

  That was the problem, ultimately.

  While everyone could claim to know who Kelly McDermott was, not even a handful could claim to actually know anything about Kelly McDermott, who he actually was. And as a result, just about any interaction they had with him turned out to have the same diagnosis.

  Kelly’s been acting weird.

  And the problem wasn’t that Patrick disagreed with them.

  He’d seen Kelly dance naked in the street, practically arrested, down two cups of coffee, turn stunt driver in his Jaguar XK. There was no possible way to constructively argue with anyone’s assessment of Kelly McDermott.

  The problem, quite simply, was Patrick didn’t have even the most remote explanation for it.

  And so he bounced between comments like a clueless pinball. Fielding questions, comments, concerns, the go-to guy for all things Kelly. And for all his efforts, Patrick couldn’t seem to find him anywhere.

  Though one thing was for certain.

  Kelly wasn’t looking for Patrick.

  By all accounts, Kelly was looking for Jenna.

  Jenna sat on the bleachers with her knees together, toes pointed inward. She was fresh out of cheerleading practice. Only a small percentage of her was left to the imagination; her green and white skirt spanned from waist to mid-upper thigh, shorn halter top exposing her shoulders and flat stomach. Fine dark hair done up in small protruding pigtails.

  Patrick remained standing, saxophone case by his feet, looking out over the carefully maintained grass. He found himself wishing he had a couple of stones to chuck. Wished this conversation were taking place elsewhere. The day had dragged on long enough for several school days, long enough for the rest of the school year.

  Graduation, right around the corner.

  Empty bleachers replaced with cooing friends and family.

  Empty green replaced with folding chairs, caps and gowns.

  “Strange thing about the jocks.” Jenna put her elbows on her knees, rested her chin on waiting hands. “They never eat lunch here. On the bleachers. This is their home, and yet the only people you see here are the mathematicians, chess club, bookworms. I wonder if it was them that noticed the lack of jocks, or the jocks that noticed this wasn’t the place to be, come lunchtime.”

  “I don’t know.” Patrick pocketed his hands. “Never thought about it.”

  “Not that anyone comes out here that much anymore.” Jenna wiped some sweat off her neck and sighed. “Too damn hot. Whole reason they moved the season was ’cause it was too damn hot in the fall, now it’s too damn hot in the spring.”

  “I know.”

  “So what makes you think Kelly’s going to find us here?”

  “He’s looking for you.”

  “Kelly takes his lunch with the football team.”

  “Usually, yeah.”

  “But today …?”

  Patrick wiped his palms on his jeans. “You’re right. Nobody comes out here to eat anymore. I just wanted to get to you before he did.”

  Jenna let out a disbelieving chuff. “It’s not like he’s going around killing people.”

  “Less shocking, but no less strange.”

  “Probably nothing …” Jenna stood up. Bent down, scratched behind her left knee. “I remember once I spent an entire day positive I’d never heard the word cat before. I knew I had, of course. Didn’t seem to do any good, though, all that knowing.”

  “This is more than that,” Patrick said. “Or weren’t you listening?”

  “I was,” Jenna assured him. “I guess I’m just having trouble imagining it.”

  “Imagining Kelly McDermott?”

  “The new Kelly McDermott.” Jenna smiled at Patrick. “What do you suppose that even means?”

  Patrick never knew what to say to that smile. He only knew what he wanted to say, and that dog wouldn’t hunt.

  Instead, Patrick gazed across the football field. “I don’t know.”

  Jenna joined him, pulled her hair back. “In a few more weeks, this place is going to be our last high school memory. They’ll call us up one by one. Hand us our diploma. Bunch of us will probably send our caps flying in the air. Guess we’ll all be new then, won’t we? The new Patrick Saint?”

  Patrick nodded. “The new Jenna Garamen.”

  “The new Kelly McDermott, perhaps?”

  Patrick looked down at his sneakers. “As far as everyone else thinks, he’s just acting strange. I wanted to talk to you, here in private, because I thought you should know it’s more than that.”

  “Thank you.” Jenna reached out, gave Patrick’s shoulder a squeeze. “Thanks for telling me.”

  “It’s OK.” Patrick fumbled, reached down to pick up his case. “It’s no problem.”

  “It is hot out here, though.”

  “Yeah.”

/>   “Come on.” Jenna hopped down to a lower tier. Looked up and extended her hand. “Let’s go find the New Kelly McDermott.”

  Patrick took her hand, sweaty palms locking together.

  He stepped down, felt her hand withdraw, said goodbye with his fingertips.

  “Yuk,” Jenna said, smiling.

  She wiped her hand on the back of her skirt and skipped on down to the bottom.

  Patrick tried to echo Jenna’s sentiments, and cautiously followed her lead.

  It was something he didn’t like to think about.

  Kelly and Jenna were together now. They had been for four years, and that was all that mattered. How it happened, the painful origins of an inevitable love affair, Patrick had safely tucked those memories away. Certain he wouldn’t be opening that hope chest anytime again.

  But then again, Patrick had never counted on the New Kelly McDermott.

  Jenna and Patrick had been walking across the parking lot when history folded back on itself. Patrick heard Jenna’s name, straight from Kelly’s lips. He turned, a sluggish one-eighty, straight out of a bad dream. Dread sinking in, even at the ninety-degree mark, when he caught sight of Kelly standing at the other end. Patrick had almost forgotten the suit and tie; it gave Kelly a mythical quality, untouched by the scorching sun even as it warped the very air around him.

  Kelly’s eyes had already found their mark.

  And as Patrick completed his turn, he saw Jenna staring back.

  Eyes meeting across a proverbial room all dressed up as an asphalt wasteland.

  Before Patrick could even think of closing his eyes, Kelly was already in front of her. Looking Jenna up and down with the same marvel he had bestowed on Patrick that morning. Of course, what was about to happen was a horse of a different color, and Patrick watched, helpless as Kelly sent his arms around Jenna and pressed his lips against hers.

  It was no ordinary kiss. Kelly rocked her back in every last sense.

  Even Patrick felt it, knew what this was. This was their first kiss all over again. All the excitement, discovery, all that Patrick had weathered was now back in full force. Worse than all that, it was real. Another building block, piece of the puzzle, the certainty that there was something happening here.

  Eyes closed, even after their lips parted.

  Jenna straightened, let out a shaky breath.

  Patrick held on to his, petrified of what pathetic noise might escape if he let it have its way.

  Too far, his angels lamented. You’ve come too far to have this happen all over again.

  “Jenna,” Kelly said, voice low. “Look at you.”

  “Wow, Kelly,” Jenna replied, recovering somewhat. A single finger absently stroking her exposed stomach, almost getting caught in the belly-button ring with an indigo stone set in the middle. “I missed you, too.”

  “No, you have no idea,” Kelly told her, grinning. Gave her a second, swifter kiss, stepped back. An artist admiring his own creation, and he began to laugh. “No, Jenna, you have no idea how much I missed …” Kelly turned to Patrick, gave the momentary impression that Patrick was about to receive a similar treat. Instead, Kelly sent his arms over both their shoulders, drew them close. “I missed the two of you so much.”

  The blast of a horn sent them all jumping away from each other.

  A station wagon sat before them, engine purring impatiently, looking to get on with its day.

  “Hey, come on, you two.” Kelly linked his arms with theirs and led them farther into the parking lot. “Look at this, here we are. Together again. I swear, this day’s been good to me as any that’s ever actually happened.”

  Patrick kept a close watch on his steps, jostling against Kelly’s exuberant strides. With Kelly in the middle, it was hard to gauge Jenna’s reactions. The few times her face came into view from beyond Kelly’s torso, all he could glimpse was a smile.

  A wide smile, detailing every emotion that Patrick didn’t seem to get out of the situation.

  “So, Kelly …” Jenna broke free to face them as they kept walking. “Where are we going?”

  “Well, the world is my oyster,” Kelly replied.

  “The world’s always been your oyster,” Jenna reminded him.

  “We’re going to his car,” Patrick told her flatly.

  “What makes you say that?” Kelly asked playfully.

  “Because here we are,” Patrick said, pointing to Kelly’s Jag, top still down.

  Kelly stopped, traced a finger over the paint job. “Well, I’ll be damned, so we are.”

  This tepid admission of guilt was followed by the sound of wild cries and catcalls.

  Idling in a lane several spaces over, Cody leaned on the horn of his enormous Ford pickup. It was one of those stylish models. Marketed as a useful aid in hauling five hundred tons’ worth of construction supplies, driven by those without five hundred tons of construction supplies to haul. Though the handful of football players in the back of Cody’s truck came pretty close. They gave the hydraulics a good workout, hopping up and down, basso voices calling out their star quarterback’s name.

  “ Kel-ly! Kel-ly! Kel-ly!”

  “Gonna stomp Wilson!” Cody roared out the open window. “FIGHT, FIGHT, OUTTA SIGHT! KILL, PANTHERS, KILL!”

  The ensuing chorus of raucous cries was followed by cheers and applause from a number of passing students.

  “Great.” Kelly rolled his eyes. “These guys.”

  “Is it me, or has Cody been acting a little psychotic lately?” Jenna murmured, covering her mouth with her fist. “I mean, more so than usual?”

  “Yo, Kelly!” Cody yelled, punching the steering wheel a few more times. “You coming to lunch, motherfucker, or what?”

  Unabashed, Kelly threw his head back and laughed.

  Patrick saw Cody’s face smolder, wounded ego visible along his twitching jawline.

  “Unbelievable …” Kelly shook his head, leaped into his car, and started her up. “Let’s get the hell out of here before my brain collapses.”

  Jenna was more than happy to comply. She sat on the passenger door, and slid backward into the car. Legs up in the air, skirt hitched, revealing snug green underwear. With her head in Kelly’s lap, she laughed and motioned for Patrick to join them.

  The rest of the players in Cody’s truck had grown silent, still struggling with Kelly’s cold shoulder. In the front seat, Cody shouted Kelly’s name, team spirit replaced with a demanding snarl.

  For all the bullets Patrick had taken for Kelly that morning, he knew this wasn’t a fight he wanted.

  “Going once!” Kelly announced, revving the engine.

  Patrick tossed his case into the car and dove in as Kelly pulled out and raced for the driveway.

  “So where are we headed?” Jenna asked, sitting up.

  “Patrick!” Kelly called out over his shoulder. “Can you get us to Long Street?”

  Patrick nodded, scrambling for the safety belt.

  Even with the school fading behind, he thought he heard Cody shouting after them one last time before Kelly really put the pedal down, and then they were gone.

  he funeral home’s proprietor stood outside his place of business, watched as the three of them came to a stop across the street. They hopped out of the convertible with little reverence for the dead, and strode up to the pool hall.

  Early-afternoon sun shone dully off large polymer windows that stretched across the front of the pool hall like a letter boxed film. Two of the windows were stenciled with large white letters against a green background, spelling out their destination:

  ON THE RAIL

  Kelly pushed hard against the wooden door, an easy swing inward. He walked through without the slightest hesitation. Patrick and Jenna let the door slam in their faces, unsure of whether to follow. There, in the center of the door, a small, hand-crafted plaque spelled out the house rules:

  NO UNDERAGE DRINKING.

  NO MISBEHAVIN’.

  NO DRINKS ON THE TABLES.

&nb
sp; NO FASCIST REGIMES.

  NO DISRESPECTING THE HELP.

  Patrick and Jenna exchanged a look before the door swung open again.

  “Are you two coming in?” Kelly asked. “Or am I going to have to take my game to the streets?”

  Patrick decided it was best not to find out what that meant, and went ahead.

  “Afternoon,” the bartender greeted them with a friendly smile. He was somewhere in his midtwenties. Tall, thickset. Massive, even, though hardly out of shape. Brown skin light enough to allow for all sorts of racial presuppositions. Wide smile set for a welcome, eyes roguish enough to recognize the same sentiment in others. He scratched the back of his head with a pen, muscles bulging beneath a green jersey with nothing more than the word HERE printed on the front. “Welcome to On The Rail: rock-and-roll capital of the universe.”

  Patrick took a look around, searching for anything to back this up.

  Sunlight filtered through the windows, stretching out over ten regulation-sized pool tables. Five on the left, laid out in horizontal dashes. Five on the right, four of them perpendicular to the rest. Brass chains hung down from the ceiling, dangling fluorescent lights over each table. Checkered tiles on the floor, alternating white and green. Green walls, white cracks at odd intervals. Foosball tables in the far left corner. Jukebox back by the men’s room.

  The place had a well-worn look to it.

  Old as hell, but in it for the long haul.

  Not another soul in sight apart from two barflies, reflecting over bottles of Miller Lite.

  “ Rock-and-roll capital of the world?” Jenna let out her pigtails and shook her hair free.

  “Yeah, that was a joke,” the bartender announced. “Don’t give me any shit, I’m stuck here till two a.m. Got to get my giggles any way I can, gosh-damn it.”

  “ Gosh-damn right,” Jenna agreed, stepping up to the bar and running her hands over the aging wood. “Gosh-damn right.”

  “Nice outfit.” The bartender grinned.