The Long Wait for Tomorrow (28 page)

Can’t even get punished properly when their firstborn’s around
, Patrick’s angels spat.
They don’t even realize they’re changing the subject.

“Guess what, Mr. and Mrs. Saint?” Kelly said, crossing his arms. “My life happens to be none of your business.”

“Please, Kelly, it’s Harris and Elizabeth,” Patrick’s father insisted, even as Kelly cut past his bogus attempts at intimacy: “Oh, so suddenly you two have names.”

“What do you mean, none of our business?” Patrick’s mother asked, trying to catch up. Covering her shock with a ludicrous grin. “Kelly, we’re like parents to you.”

“No, you’re actually quite a bit like Patrick’s parents to me.”

“Kelly, what—”

“Hey!” Patrick yelled, bringing the babble to a sudden halt. Never thinking it was possible to command any kind of attention in his own house, with his own parents. Feeling it for the first time, remembering all the stolen moments that should have been his. Kelly had been right.

“I got into Ohio State …” In the brief seconds following his announcement, Patrick sensed this was his one chance at their undivided attention, and he took full advantage. “I actually got in ages ago, early acceptance. I forged the wait-list letter and … I’ve been getting to the mail before you-all, every chance I got, just to intercept any additional letters OSU might’ve been sending. I also applied to Juilliard for early acceptance, as you’ve
both figured out. I scheduled my audition to coincide with the band trip to New York. Back in December, but … I guess I didn’t do so hot, it was the only place that really wait-listed me. I never told you because … because I wanted to see if I could just
get into
Juilliard. If I ever even had a chance. And maybe I have, maybe I haven’t. But if it turns out I didn’t, you both win. I got into Ohio State, and I’ll go there. If I have to.”

And even though the television was muted, its alien hum filled in for what should have been a frenzied burst of congratulations. Instead, Patrick’s parents remained glued at the shoulder, stuck in the middle of stationary gestures, a pair of deactivated robots. Unsure of what they’d heard, but it was more than that.

They don’t even know what to say.

“They don’t know what to say,” Patrick agreed, almost amazed at how right he was. “You two don’t even know what to say. You don’t even know whether to be happy or not. This was all you said you wanted, for me to go to OSU with my replacement brother.”

The concept seemed to jar Patrick’s mother from her paralysis, enough to blink, at least. “Of course it’s what we wanted …” She stopped short, realizing she was going to need more.

“Because you can’t admit
anything
.” Patrick pressed ahead, unraveling. “It’s all been one nonstop act since Casey died. And if your remaining son gets into Juilliard, you might have to actually realize that there is no plan, nothing you can do about
anything.”

“Patrick, I said we’d talk about Juilliard when—”

“No, we’ve got to talk about it now.”

“You’ve got something that belongs to Patrick,” Kelly said, brushing his way past the sofas, toward the kitchen. “Where is it?”

“In her bag,” Patrick said. “I doubt she’s even thought about it since yesterday.”

Patrick’s father held out his hand. “Kelly—”

“You don’t
talk
to me!” Kelly spun around, filling the kitchen doorway with his body. “My aunt died in that accident. And I thought that was bad, all that weight on my shoulders. But you two. You two are sick, you know that? Your son is dead. Casey’s dead…. And Patrick isn’t.”

He didn’t wait for their reaction. Kelly contented himself with a quick exit into the kitchen.

Patrick turned back to his parents.

His father reached out, cupped his hands around his wife’s shoulders.

She shrugged them off, breathing deeply.

Refusing to be affected.

Jenna moved to Patrick’s side and scooped his hand into hers.

Patrick wasn’t sure what any of it meant. There had been times, in his room. Making music, making sure his parents weren’t in the house, because they hated the sound. Blasting enraged melodies, imagining what this moment would be like. Anger turning to relieved tears, mellow notes as his parents broke down and admitted their transgressions, begging to be
forgiven for their sins. Years of neglect struck down with a single blow to the Achilles’ heel. The silver bullet.

“Patrick,” his mother began, taking a small step forward. “Where were you last night?”

Now that he’d said his piece, Patrick found the question to be strangely appropriate. He was almost thankful at the opportunity to move on.

Even still, there was something unnerving about it. “I was with Kelly.”

“All night?”

Patrick bristled. “I don’t understand what this—”

The front doorbell rang.

Harris held his arm out, as though trying to will Patrick from answering the door. “Patrick, if we tell them they don’t have a right to come in without a warrant, or question you without an arrest, then it’s going to look bad.”

“What are you talking about?”

The doorbell rang once more.

“Where were you last night?” Elizabeth repeated. “We need to know. Now.”

“I dropped them off,” Kelly said, once again standing at the kitchen door. “I dropped them off at Jenna’s house. Then I went out for a while. Then I went back to her house, and we stayed the night there.”

Everyone turned to look at him.

“Say whatever else you want,” Kelly said, backing through the kitchen door. “But remember what I just told you.”

He backed up into the kitchen, leaving the rest with another chime to be reckoned with.

Patrick turned and opened the door, still uncertain as to what was about to happen.

Through the screen door, two men in suits raised their chins in an abbreviated greeting.

he back door is open,” Donahue called out from the kitchen. He walked back into the living room and sent his thumb over his shoulder, bringing the point home. “Just thought you’d like to know.”

Detective Donahue was a broad man, dark-skinned. A Latino-Anglo cross-pollination, not a trace of an accent either way. Not southern, not northern; not second-generation anything. Dark hair trimmed so close, there was no telling the texture. No telling whether he was politely reserved or inadvertently suspicious. His sentences defied punctuation, mixing periods, question marks, and ellipses.

Detective Randal sat in the easy chair across from Patrick and Jenna. Undoubtedly, a man of manners, though he was also no easy fit. His white cheeks carried a flush that would have passed for embarrassment, anger, even panic if there had been some context to him. As it were, he asked his questions with the same routine ambiguity as his partner.

“Kelly’s parents told us you two are lawyers,” Donahue said, walking around to Randal’s side.

Patrick’s parents sat on the couch perpendicular to their son.

“That’s right,” Patrick’s father told them. “I’m a tax lawyer and Elizabeth’s a civil lawyer.”

“Thank you for making this easy,” Donahue told them. “Ordinarily, you-all can’t wait to let us in on that. Not you two, specifically. I guess my point is, usually, in my experience, lawyers can’t wait to tell cops that they’re lawyers. Telling us to watch our step, informing us of the law. In my experience.”

“My father was a textile worker,” Patrick’s mother informed him. “I don’t have a chip on my shoulder when it comes to my job. And I’m glad to see you don’t have a chip on yours. I’ve found police officers to get a little touchy when it comes to the law. As though they’re the only ones involved in it. In my experience.”

“So Kelly just left.” Randal leaned forward with the curious smile of a seven-year-old. “Went out without taking his car?” Before anyone could answer, he tacked on the name of his witness. “Patrick?” He looked over in Patrick’s direction, as though noticing him for the first time. “Hey, nice suit.”

Patrick glanced down, almost pleased with the compliment over what had fast become his second skin. “Thanks.”

“Maybe it’s time to send it to the cleaner’s, though.”

Patrick absently tugged at his pants. “You were asking about Kelly?”

“Yes, any ideas where—”

“He was going for a walk,” Patrick told him. Taking comfort in the fact that his lies were so much less extraordinary than talking about a time-traveling mental patient. “He’s been having some issues.”

“Yes,” Donahue agreed, stretching out the word as he pulled out his notepad. “From what I understand, talking to Mr.
Redwood, he’s been acting erratically in school. Missing classes, causing scenes. He told us that Kelly had even skipped class to go to a pool hall and have a few beers.”

He let the litany hang, waiting. Staring at Jenna now.

“Is that a question?” she asked.

“No, just what we’ve been told … Though I would like to hear about the fight.”

“What fight?” Jenna asked.

Randal stepped up, scratching his nose. “It seems that him and Cody Redwood had a bit of a … I guess, rivalry happening? There was a fight, just yesterday, during school. Mr. Redwood said he didn’t know what it was about, Cody just said that Kelly’s been acting kind of … off balance. Do either of you know what was going on between them?”

Jenna shrugged.

“Patrick?” Donahue asked. “Any ideas?”

“I’m sure you two know Kelly’s been top dog on the team for a few years now,” Patrick said. “Cody’s about to take his place. He’s very competitive, and players, you know … The closer they get to the end zone, the more they can’t wait to get there.”

“Don’t you think the opposite would hold true?” Randal asked, a question that seemed better suited for Donahue. His flushed cheeks bunched above his grin. “I mean, Kelly’s about to give up his throne, right? Don’t you think that would be reason for him to try to defend it? Lot of people don’t like to let go.”

“I don’t know why Kelly would want to hold on to all that, when he’s headed for greater things at Ohio State.”

“I see you’ve been watching the news,” Randal said, pointing at the muted screen. “Kelly’s walk off at the game last night has become a big story.”

“Ohio State’s looking a little lean, as far as Kelly’s future is concerned,” Donahue explained.

“Could you please tell us what this is all about?” Patrick asked, knowing full well that officers were never sent to investigate sports anomalies.

“There was a break-in at the Redwood house last night,” Randal informed them. He almost seemed unconcerned, as though years of delivering worse news left him with little passion for breaking and entering. “Happened during the game. Got in through a second-story window.”

“And you think Kelly did it.”

“As we were saying, him and Cody had a bit of a—”

“That’s
why you think Kelly broke into their place?” Patrick asked, hoping straightforward would do the trick.

“You know, there’s a lot of false posturing that comes with being a cop,” Donahue said. He sat down on the arm of the easy chair, tucked his notebook away into his jacket. “Did you know that police officer doesn’t even rank among the fifty most dangerous jobs in the United States? Most of them fall to municipal workers. The guys who work the sewers, construction crews. Now that there’s a war going on, you’ve got a better chance of dying simply from being a volunteer…. But the one cliché that’s never going to change is that this job exposes you to the weirdest shit you can imagine. Pardon my French, of course, Mrs. Saint. My point is, we can’t rule anything out, and
even though we don’t think it was Kelly, we have to check up on this.”

“Wait.” Jenna shifted in her seat, sagging between two cushions. “You
don’t
think it was Kelly?”

“I don’t
think,”
Donahue smiled. “That’s what my wife tells me, at least. The fact is, the only things missing from the house were in Mr. Redwood’s safe.”

Patrick forced all emotion from his face. “What’s that mean?”

“Well, the point of entry was the window to his office,” Randal piped up, pulling out his notebook and leafing through it. He tilted his head, as though trying to read someone else’s penmanship. “And his safe was cleaned of five thousand dollars … some of his wife’s jewelry … and a folder of paperwork involving past donations to Wellspring Academy.”