The Long Wait for Tomorrow (7 page)

The question reminded Patrick to give the road its due respect.

The road repaid him with a red light, some hundred yards away.

Some couple of seconds away.

“There!” Patrick yelled. “Red light, Kelly! Stop the car!”

“ Uh-uh!” Kelly leaned forward, squinting. “I’m betting it’s going to swerve first!”

“It doesn’t swerve, it’s a
red light
!”

“Green by the time I’m through with it!”

“KELLY!” Patrick screamed, knees curling up to meet his chest as the scenery folded around him. “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOP THE CAR, THAT’S A RED …”

But Kelly’s car had already made it through, blink of an eye.

A wink from some benevolent spirit, and rest assured, the light had most certainly turned green.

The rest of the ride unfolded in very much the exact same manner.

ill Montague stood before his homeroom class, looking out the nearest window.

Most of the classrooms at Wellspring Academy were on the ground floor, around four to a building. Each building was spaced out at varying distances, derisively referred to as compounds, and there generally wasn’t much the windows had to offer: trees, birds, the occasional squirrel. A few of the rooms faced away from the surrounding forest, giving a view to the rest of the grounds. More buildings, unpaved gravel walkways cutting through lengthy strips of grass, already turning a coarse yellow from the heat wave. Not a lot to see out there, and yet this was how Bill Montague always began each morning.

On this particular morning, Patrick knew exactly what Bill was seeing.

Hustling past the window with Kelly in tow, he caught a glimpse of Bill observing his own private moment of silence. Arms behind his back, standing straight at five-eleven. A slight pitcher’s mound rounding out his button-down short-sleeved shirt, blue and white stripes hanging over olive green cargo shorts. Gray hair pulled back into a thinning ponytail.

A casual observer might have dismissed him as a benign aging hippie.

Patrick knew better. “Let’s move, Kelly.”

Ever since Kelly had rocketed them into the parking lot and cut the engine, a quiet confusion had taken hold of his actions. Ignoring the hurried greetings from last-minute stragglers, he glanced around rapidly, eyes like incisors. A front-row skeptic searching for a flaw in the act of a master illusionist.

But Patrick’s prompt seemed to bring him out of it; Kelly absently turned his shuffling into a light trot, and as a result, they coasted into homeroom at the very stroke of eight a.m.

Bill turned away from the window, eyes deceivingly indifferent behind clear aviator glasses. He glanced at the rest of the students, all seated around a group of rectangular foldout tables brought together in a giant horseshoe. His eyes went up to the clock. “Cutting it close there, Patrick, Kelly.”

Patrick nodded, quickly inching around the table to secure a pair of empty chairs.

That’s when he heard Bill’s voice: “Kelly?”

Patrick turned. Saw Kelly waiting by the doorway, staring at his homeroom teacher.

“Is there a problem, Kelly?” Bill asked.

“No,” Kelly said quietly. “No. It’s good to see you, Bill.”

Bill’s lips gave nothing away, but his eyes granted a slight smile. “Nice duds, Kelly. Sit down.”

Kelly glanced down at his suit and tie, then nodded. He made his way toward Patrick, mumbling a quiet
excuse me
for every student he passed. The two of them sat down, and Bill looked out the window once more, searching.

“A thought for you this morning,” he told them, turning back to his flock. His hands met with two solid claps. “I know one or two of you have heard this one in my advanced chemistry class. Patrick …” Bill pointed in Patrick’s direction, wearing a wide evangelist’s grin. “My apologies, you’re just going to have to ride this one out. As for the rest of you … I was once lucky enough to be golfing in Ireland.”

The students all nodded, knowing Bill’s penchant for good golf.

“I came to know a man by the name of James Finnegan. Golfed with him several times during my stay. And the man was amazing, a natural. Nobody would tell me how it was he never went pro, and I couldn’t get a word out of him on the links. We’d go drinking afterward, and with the help of a couple of pints, he’d loosen up and turn talkative. The problem was, with the help of a couple of pints, he’d also turn incomprehensible. I mean, to me at least. His brogue was so thick, and he spoke so fast, that I literally had no idea what he was saying. The only reason I knew he was talking about golf was because everyone assured me that’s all James Finnegan
ever
talked about. Here was this master, the greatest golfer you
never
heard of, and all his wisdom, his advice,
all of it
was lost to my ears….”

Bill pointed to his ears, just to bring the point home.

“But there were five words,” Bill continued, “five words I always got. Five simple words that always shone through.
Are ya with me, laddie?
He’d interrupt himself every minute or so just to ask this question.” Bill suddenly burst out with a litany of
Irish-sounding jabber. Slurred and over the top, brandishing a pantomime pint of Guinness in his fist, eyes askew before going lucid and saying:
“Are ya with me, laddie?”

A few of the freshmen, sophomores gave him a laugh.

Even jaded seniors, juniors slipped him a smile.

Bill broke character with James Finnegan and shook his head, repeating the phrase once more:
“Are ya with me, laddie?
Every other minute he’d ask, and for fear of offending him, looking stupid, I’d nod my head,
oh, absolutely
, and let him go on with whatever it was he was saying.
Are ya with me, laddie …?
The only five words from his mouth that I ever understood, and I never once took advantage of them.”

Bill shrugged, stuffed his hands into two of the various pockets lining his shorts. “I could’ve learned a lot from ol’ James Finnegan. But you all know where I’m going with this. Sure, don’t be afraid to ask questions, don’t be afraid to be the guy with his hand raised, we all know this. Not everyone’s going to take the time to ask you if you’re with them, so, of course, always be ready to step up without assistance. Though the most important lesson for you-all”—Bill leaned back against the chalkboard—“as members of this, I guess,
disorienting
existence we’re stuck with … keep your eyes open at all times. Not just for those moments when you don’t know Adam from Eve, but for those times when someone
else
might not be clear. When someone else might be seeking answers. Now, I’m a big fan of
mind your own business
, so use your better judgment. But don’t forget that if you do always
mind your own business
, well, there
will be several times at the end of your life when you will look back … and regret not asking:
Are ya with me, laddie?”

Bill smiled, pushed himself off the blackboard. He shot his hand in the air. “So let’s have it. One freebie this morning, any question you want. Can’t guarantee I’ll have the answer, but anybody with a burning question gets to see how good it feels to let it out. Come on.” Bill remained with his hand in the air. The younger students looked around nervously, while the older students looked around with their well-earned mixture of curiosity and disinterest.

Patrick saw Kelly raise his hand.

Bill begrudgingly lowered his arm, and sucked it up. “Well, I did say anybody, so … what’s on your mind, Kelly?”

And with all sincerity, Kelly asked: “Can you tell me what my class schedule is?”

The class division was once again clear in the ensuing laughter. Upperclassmen laughing at the perceived joke, underclassmen laughing because everyone else was. Kelly glanced around, curious, unflinching. Patrick thought he’d save his own flinching for whatever Bill had in store, as Bill was already padding out his retaliation with a cold stare. The laughter died real fast, trailed by a few tentative coughs.

Bill kept his eyes on Kelly for a full minute before bouncing once on his toes.

“No,” Bill told Kelly. “I cannot tell you what your class schedule is, as I do not have a copy handy with me. However, this is a perfect example of what I was just saying. Patrick …”

Patrick’s head twitched. Unconsciously trying to stare at himself along with the rest of the classroom. He glanced around to cover for it, then took a breath. “Yeah, Bill?”

“Why is Kelly asking
me
for his schedule?” Bill asked, and it was clear now that he was taking this infraction with the same honesty as Kelly appeared to be displaying. “You’re his best friend, you know his schedule cold. Obviously better than he does, at least. Why haven’t
you
told him his schedule?”

Blindsided, Patrick reached for the first excuse he had: “He didn’t ask.”

“You really didn’t see this coming?”

Patrick tried to get a better angle on the conversation, all thoughts failing him.

He gave up, and shook his head.

“Well, write his schedule down and give it to him,” Bill instructed, plain and simple. “And next time, Patrick … anticipate.
Are ya with me, laddie?”

Patrick nodded reflexively, reaching into his bag for a pen.

Bill gave him one last squint. Another example in the making, before letting it go. “We’ve got some announcements,” he declared, now peeking over his glasses at a xeroxed sheet of paper. “Let’s get this day started already.”

Patrick missed every announcement.

Finished up writing out Kelly’s schedule just as homeroom wrapped up.

Slipped the sheet over to Kelly and told him to wait outside the door.

Patrick watched him leave, then approached Bill.

“What’s on your mind, Patrick?” Bill asked, eyes focused on packing his green satchel.

Patrick kept his voice down. “I just wanted to talk to you about what Kelly asked.”

“ Uh-huh. I’m listening.”

“It was … I just wanted to let you know that he was serious about that.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“Gave him a serious answer, didn’t I?” Bill paused to glance down at Patrick. He went back to packing his things, talking all the while. “Ever have one of those moments where someone asks you how old you are and for some damn reason or another, you have to actually think about it?”

“Can I ask you a favor, Bill?” Patrick found himself unconsciously pressing his palms together just below his chin. “Just this once?”

Bill slung his bag over his shoulder. “Of course, Patrick.”

“Could you just …” Patrick struggled, words adrift. “Let it be known, to the other teachers, I mean … Let them know that Kelly’s acting not himself, that he’s acting weird? He woke up all strange this morning, and I just thought … If you could? So he doesn’t get himself into any trouble.”

Bill thought about it.

Patrick had expected such a reaction, though what came next was pure left field.

“You’re a good friend, Patrick.”

Before Patrick could summon the words, Bill went right
ahead. “Yeah, Kelly does seem to be a bit touched today. I’ll put in a good word for him around the staff room. Wouldn’t worry about him getting into too much trouble. Heard Ohio State finally won him over, so short of killing a man, doesn’t look like this place is going to make much of a difference anymore.”

Bill smiled, lips pressed together.

That’s what regret sounds like
, Patrick’s angels whispered.

“You hear anything from OSU?” Bill asked.

“No … nothing yet.”

Bill gave Patrick a smack on the shoulder. “Keep an eye on Kelly, best you can.”

End of conversation, Bill’s tan hiking boots were already taking him out the door.

Patrick caught his saxophone case staring at him from the table. He went over, picked it up, and shouldered his book bag. He stepped out the door, ready to guide Kelly in whatever way he could, and stopped short.

Kelly was gone.

Wandered away like a lost lamb.

Patrick glanced around in a slipstream of students. Bill’s palm imprinted on his shoulder and final words floating in his head like alphabet soup.