The Long Wait for Tomorrow Read Online Free PDF Page A

was waiting in the dark. “We’re all going to be just fine, Patrick…. You’ll see.”
    Patrick didn’t answer.
    He turned, opened the back door, and paused.
    Patrick took a look back, one of those moments. Maybe it was that these days were numbered, moments where it felt as though life was quietly stalking them one by one. Moments Kelly would dismiss as weakness, and so Patrick kept his mouth shut.
    Though he did look back, maybe because it was one of those moments. He took a look back at Kelly, sitting with his back to the floodlights, awaiting his destiny.
    One last look before closing the door on tonight.
    That last look, last glimpse of the young Kelly McDermott before tonight became yesterday, and tomorrow turned to today.



is eyes opened, and for a moment, Patrick didn’t know where he was.
    He blinked his way out of sleep, let reality tighten its grip as the guest room came into focus. Antiquated floral patterns along the walls, framed paintings that hadn’t made the cut for any of the
important
rooms. White lace curtains, complete with delicate patterns sewn into the near-translucent material. A desk, easy chair, dresser, miniature bookcase; all of which had lost their jobs around the house to updated versions of themselves.
    From somewhere nearby, Patrick heard a door slam.
    He grunted and stretched his toes, heard them crack under the stiff sheets.
    Felt as though he should piss.
    Patrick stepped out of the guest bedroom and into the hallway, down to the end, only to find light emanating from beneath the closed bathroom door. He changed his bearing toward the adjacent doorway, poking his head into Kelly’s room.
    Lil’ Kim, 50 Cent, T.I., Eminem, and an oversized Jimi Hendrix stared down at Kelly’s bed from the rectangle walls of their poster prisons. The purple/blue comforter lay in the middle ofthe room, crumpled and confused on the off-white carpet. A pair of black panties hung from a nearby chair, awaiting Jenna’s long overdue return.
    Patrick glanced back to the bathroom, saw a pair of stilted shadows from under the crack.
    “Getting some juice,” Patrick announced, words aimed through the door.
    “Patrick?” Kelly’s muffled voice sounded oddly cautious.
    “Yeah. Getting some OJ. You want anything? I could cook up some eggs.”
    No answer.
    Patrick shrugged.
    He took slow steps down the stairs, bare feet making sticky, smacking sounds on the polished wood beneath. Down another hallway and into the kitchen, where gray morning light robbed the room of depth, shone dully off the white counter-tops.
    Glancing out the windows, Patrick saw the stereo stuck on the deck. He scampered out onto the damp wood, already hot in anticipation of another broiling day. Collected the radio and returned it to the kitchen, wiping the soles of his feet clean on the indoor mat.
    Patrick opened the door to the fridge, procured some Tropicana Pure Premium. Poured a hefty helping and guzzled it down, all the while staring blankly out the window. A jazz bass line, compliments of Paul Chambers, did loops through his head. He hummed along through his nose, paying closeattention to how the notes changed as his stomach grew in circumference.
    Patrick set the empty glass down, smacking his lips.
    He wiped some crud from the corner of his eye, blinked.
    OK, now he definitely had to piss.
    Patrick jogged up the stairs and was once again confronted with a closed door between him and much-needed relief. He didn’t want to bother, but his options were few; the downstairs was broken, and Kelly’s parents never left town without locking their room.
    Good times all around.
    He sighed, fist raised and at the ready for a little knock-knock action, when the door opened. Opened hard, practically swinging off its hinges, enough force to make Patrick jump at the sight of Kelly’s body filling the entrance.
    In the ensuing silence, Patrick went from believing he’d done something wrong to simply wondering what could