Waiting for Patrick

by Brynn Stein

  “You never know, Ellie.” Sheri still had that mocking tone. “As far as all those bathroom items? Maybe the ghost put them back.”

  “Right,” Elliot deadpanned, “because ghosts are noted neat freaks and wouldn’t want to leave a mess after throwing things at people to make them leave the house.” He dried his hands awkwardly, almost dropping the phone in the process, then started back toward his bedroom.

  “I don’t know. Maybe your ghost is.”

  “I don’t have a ghost, Cher.” Elliot rolled his eyes even though he knew she couldn’t see him. “What I had was a kid too damned young to know that he was drunk or stoned and was seeing things; someone who decided to run out in the middle of the night instead of coming to his senses enough to wait for a ride the next morning.”

  “How did he get home?” Sheri finally sounded concerned.

  “Cab, I guess. I don’t know. I went back to sleep.” Elliot looked around for his clothes, debating whether he wanted to stay up or go back to bed.

  Sheri was indignant. “You didn’t make sure he got home okay? Make him call you or something?”

  “God, Sheri. It’s not like I’m dating him or something. He was a one-night stand who invited himself home, then got freaked out and wanted to leave. Not my responsibility.” Elliot decided it was just too much trouble to pick out clothes for the day, let alone pick up the ones from yesterday strewn all over his hardwood floor, and crawled back onto the bed instead, barely listening as Sheri said, “You can be an ass at times, Ellie.”

  “Why? Because I wanted to get some sleep instead of catering to the kid’s hallucinations?” Elliot slipped back under the smooth sheets and pulled the blanket up to his shoulders.

  “I can’t reason with you when you’re like this.”

  Elliot sighed as he snuggled his head into the pillow. “You called me, remember? Not the other way around. And too damned early on the morning after, if you ask me. So, if you got all the details you wanted, I’m going back to sleep now.”

  “I didn’t get all the details I wanted, but good enough for now, I guess.” Her voice turned brighter. “Meet me for lunch? I don’t have any catering events today, or even tomorrow that I would have to start cooking for. So I’m yours all day, if you want.”

  Elliot shook his head on the pillow. “Got to check in with the office later, then go to a couple of contractors and start getting bids.” He heard a disappointed sigh. “Dinner, maybe?”

  Sheri’s voice brightened again. “That sounds great. I’ll cook. Oh, and maybe I’ll see if Malcolm can come over here and you can meet him. You have some stuff in common with him actually. You two should get along well.”

  Elliot smiled sleepily. “What? We’re both suave, debonair, sophisticated?”

  “No, you both have gigantic sticks up your a—”

  “Good-bye, Cher.”

  She laughed. “See you at seven.”

  ELLIOT ARRIVED at Sheri’s at exactly seven o’clock. He walked up the stone-encrusted path to the front door of a normal-looking 1950s-style cottage home. How someone like Sheri could live in an ordinary house, Elliot never could understand.

  He had no idea what they were going to have for dinner, but knowing Sheri, it would either be raw or some hitherto inedible part of some weird animal. One time she threatened to serve him monkey brains. Thank God he’d talked her out of that one. Whatever they were having tonight would have to go well with red wine, because that was what Elliot had brought.

  Elliot knew the door was unlocked, so he walked in, through the living room, and into the kitchen. Sheri surprised him. They were having normal steak. At least, he thought it was normal steak. She was putting the plates on the table as Elliot crossed the kitchen and kissed her cheek.

  “This is beef?” Elliot asked as he sat beside Sheri and across the table from an older African-American man with a neatly groomed goatee, whom he assumed to be Malcolm. “Right?”

  Sheri gave him a sly smile. “Maybe.”

  Malcolm grinned and offered Elliot his hand. “I’m Malcolm, and I brought the meat to be grilled. It’s beef.”

  Elliot smiled, nodded to Malcolm, and addressed Sheri. “I like this guy already.”

  Sheri smacked Elliot. “Ah, shut up.” Then she giggled.

  Elliot dug into his now-confirmed beef steak. “So, Malcolm, what do you do for a living?” He knew Sheri was going to give him hell for his tone later, but come on, really. Who names their kid Malcolm? And the guy was wearing a suit and tie. To dinner. At his girlfriend’s house. Even if he liked the guy for insisting on beef for dinner, Elliot had to give him fits for as much as possible. It was his duty as Sheri’s friend.

  Malcolm answered the question, completely unaware of Elliot’s inner musings. “Much the same as you, it sounds like,” he answered. “I own my own perfume business. Started with a little lab and a couple of partners, and now I have several branches. I have a CEO for the tedious stuff, and I oversee what I want to oversee. I tend to stay in the R & D department more than anything. I enjoy research. Of any kind, really. Scientific. Historical. For fun.” Malcolm piled salad on his plate and passed the bowl to Elliot.

  “I’m not sure I’d call research of any kind fun,” Elliot answered, eyeing the bowl of greens as if it was as inedible as those long-ago-threatened monkey brains. “I’m more a work-with-my-hands kind of guy.”

  “Sheri tells me you remodel some of the houses you buy, with your own hands?”

  “Sometimes, yes,” Elliot answered, as he relented to Sheri’s glare and placed a very small portion of the salad on his plate before passing it to her. “I hadn’t been sure I would for this house, but the prices some of the contractors are giving are a bit ridiculous, and many of them want to modernize it too much.” He eagerly speared a steak from the platter Malcolm passed him. “I know it has to meet code if I ever want to sell it to anyone to actually live in it, but I don’t want it to lose the old-fashioned feel. That’s part of its appeal. It’s like stepping back into the Civil War era.” He gave Sheri the platter of meat and accepted the bowl of mashed potatoes from Malcolm. “That’s always been the one period of history I was actually somewhat interested in. Some of the contractors I talked to today want to strip the house of that allure. Wide-screen TV mounted on the walls, dishwasher, built-in microwave, state-of-the-art appliances. I know that might make it easier to sell, but….” He paused, trying to figure out how to put what he was thinking as he grabbed a roll. “If I sell it at all, I want it to sell to someone who will love it the way it is. For the old-fashioned charm, you know?” Elliot cut his steak as he talked, and he shoveled a bite into his mouth when he finished his thought.

  Malcolm grinned and looked at Sheri. “You didn’t tell me he was sentimental.”

  Sheri stared at Elliot, wide-eyed. “He usually isn’t.”

  Elliot had to chuckle. “True. But, there’s something about this house. I’ve always connected with the Civil War era anyway, but when I first saw this house­—even before I bought it—it was like I’d been there before. Like it was precious to me in some way.” He shook his head and grinned at Sheri. “I know. Stupid, right? But anyway, I want the house treated right. You know?”

  “Then maybe you should stick around and do the work yourself,” Sheri said as she picked at her salad.

  “If I can’t find a contractor who will do it justice, I might have to.” Elliot took another bite of steak, and conversation stopped for a while.

  AS ELLIOT pulled into his driveway and dragged himself into the house, he mused over the past several hours. It had been a nice evening. Elliot always enjoyed Sheri’s company. She was eccentric, but she was fun and he loved her. Oddly enough he liked Malcolm too. He hadn’t expected that, but the guy had a quiet dignity that Elliot didn’t usually experience. He was used to kiss-ups and sycophants. Malcolm was neither. He was comfortable being himself and didn’t really need anyone else to tell him who he was. Elliot had made fun of the suit and tie at first, at lea
st in his own mind, but now he rather admired that Malcolm wore what he was comfortable in and the rest of the world be damned. Elliot himself was like that, but he wasn’t usually comfortable being dressed up. He had been known to show up to board meetings in ragged sweatshirts and jeans. Screw other people’s opinions. He didn’t need them. As long as he liked himself, he was golden.

  But, as much as he enjoyed the evening, it had worn him out. He dragged himself up the stairs, stripped off his clothes, and put them in the hamper set up beside the bed. He then dropped onto the soft mattress and fell into a deep sleep.

  I DO up the last button on my Union blue jacket and don my kepi, staring at my enlisting indentures lying on the bed. I’m as warm a patriot as anyone else, but I didn’t want to fight. Patrick has a point, though. The South recently instituted the draft in April, and there’s talk that the North will do the same before too long. There has already been news that the conscripts down south aren’t treated kindly even by their own side. Soldiers who volunteered from the beginning have been fighting for over a year, then along comes these men who have been able to stay home until now and had to be made to fight. They don’t think too kindly of them. Patrick says if we’re going to have to fight anyway, we should probably enlist before we’re drafted. The soldiers who have been in it from the beginning still won’t like that we’ve been potentially taking their jobs and wooing their girls for the last year, but at least we’re volunteering now. Patrick says he and I each have a good excuse for staying home for a year. His pa had died two months prior to the war starting, and Patrick was needed at home. My older brother, Samuel, had already joined the fight, leaving Ma with my five little brothers and sisters. I was the man of the house. But now, Martin, who is still only fourteen, has been given a job. He can take care of Ma and the young’uns now, so Patrick and I are off to war.

  Ma comes in to see me in my uniform. She’s crying as we look in the mirror. She hugs me from the side because she couldn’t see over me otherwise. She’s a handsome woman, but only a little thing, five foot to my six foot two. I have Pa’s blond hair and blue eyes, but my dimples are all Ma’s. She tries to smile now, but she’s having a hard time. I know she’s proud of me, as she was of Samuel, but she’s scared. It’s been a year and we haven’t seen hide nor hair of him. We don’t even know if he’s still alive. She won’t hear from me often either. It’s not like mail gets through the fighting nohow.

  “Ben.” She squeezes me tightly when she says it. “You take care of yourself.”

  “I will, Ma. And Patrick too.” I smile when she does. It has always been me and Patrick. Patrick and me. You never see one without the other, ever since we met when we were four years old.

  “Well.” She reaches up to straighten my hat as she says, “You tell Patrick Chandler that he best take care of you right back, and I’ll have his hide if he doesn’t bring you back to me.”

  “We’ll both be okay, Ma,” I reassure her and enfold her in a giant hug. “I’m of Myers stock. We’re sturdy. You always said that. I’ll be okay.”

  She straightens to her full height and puts on her best no-nonsense face. “Well, of course you will. Why wouldn’t you be? You’ll both be home before you know it, draggin’ that good-for-nothing brother of yours with you. Why, I bet you’ll all be home for Christmas.”

  That’s only a couple of months away, so I don’t think that will be true, but I realize what she’s doing. She always tries to be so strong. I let her.

  “You bet, Ma.”

  ELLIOT WOKE in the morning and frowned.

  What a weird dream.

  He didn’t usually remember much about his dreams, and he couldn’t recall having one so vivid in a long time, if ever. He could still feel the pressure of ‘Ma’s’ hug, the way the hat sat on his head, how stiff the new uniform was as he fastened the last remaining buttons.

  And what was with the Civil War theme? He didn’t usually dream historical dramas. He supposed it had something to do with sleeping in the Civil War–era house.

  He shrugged it off and got ready for his day. He called more contractors, but no local ones seemed to want to do what he wanted for any kind of reasonable price. Just because he had the money to invest didn’t mean he wanted to spend more than he felt he should have to. He was leaning more and more toward doing the work himself.

  He stopped at a local diner for lunch and was engrossed in his thoughts to the point where he didn’t realize anyone had sat down at his table until they spoke.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Elliot looked up from the napkin where he had been doodling ideas. “Darrell.”

  The kid frowned. “It’s Daniel.”

  Elliot shrugged. “I’m glad you got home okay the other night. I was worried about you.”

  “You were?” Daniel’s eyes lit up so brightly that Elliot wished he hadn’t said that.

  Elliot hadn’t been worried at the time, but after listening to Sheri go on and on about everything that could have happened to the guy out by himself in the condition he was in, he had started to retroactively worry. So he shrugged again in response.

  “That’s so sweet,” Daniel purred, apparently reading much more into it than Elliot had meant. “I really enjoyed our night together.” Daniel reached across the table to take Elliot’s hand, but Elliot intentionally misread the gesture and pushed the napkin in his direction.

  “Did you want to see what I was working on? I’m trying to come up with a way to get the old house up to code without losing the old-fashioned charm.” He affected a proud-papa look, hoping Daniel would go for the ploy and get off the previous topic of conversation.

  “I think you need to unload the old place and move somewhere else, man.” Daniel screwed up his face and withdrew his hand without taking the proffered napkin. “It’s haunted.”

  Elliot frowned and started tapping his fingers impatiently on the Formica-topped table. “You said that. I still think you were drunk, and maybe half-asleep.” He didn’t say that he hadn’t ruled out stoned as a possibility.

  “I didn’t hallucinate the comb and razor and mouthwash jumping up and flying at me all by themselves. There’s something in that house, man, and it definitely didn’t want me there.”

  Elliot had the unkind thought of that made two of us but didn’t say it out loud. Daniel wasn’t a bad kid, and Elliot did have fun with him. He wasn’t sure why he was being so surly. He could do a lot worse than to have Daniel to relieve a little tension with. Elliot wasn’t into relationships, and he thought he had made that clear to Daniel. If they got together any more, he’d have to make sure he explained it to him. But it wasn’t like he didn’t like sex. He did. He didn’t always seek it out, certainly not nearly as often as Sheri did, but if the opportunity presented itself, he usually grabbed it. “Why don’t you come to my apartment next time,” Daniel was saying, interrupting Elliot’s thoughts.

  “Next time?” Elliot croaked out. “When’s next time?” The waitress came by to top off Elliot’s coffee, and she looked askance at Daniel. Whether truly disapproving or just wondering why he suddenly appeared at a table she’d been sure had only one person up to now, Elliot had no idea.

  “Any time you want.” Daniel beamed an answer as soon as the waitress left. “Tonight if you’re up for it.” He made a point of looking at Elliot’s lap. “Of course, I know older men need a couple days to—”

  Elliot chuckled. “What’s with the old jokes? I’m really not that old. I’m only forty-one.”

  “Well, I’m twenty-six, so….” Daniel trailed off suggestively.

  “Little shit.” Elliot flicked a stray piece of napkin in Daniel’s direction.

  They started talking about this and that, and Elliot found that Daniel was actually pretty good company, even if he was from a different generation. They had different tastes in music and pastimes but shared a love of books, even some of the same titles.

  He ended up going back to Daniel’s place for an afternoon quickie.
Of course he did. Because he had no willpower when it came to these things. Daniel was in a hurry to open the door and pull him inside, but he got a quick look around the living room before Daniel pinned him to the door. There were pieces of art hanging on the wall, not by an artist he recognized, but obviously original or really good reprints made to look like originals. Daniel pulled Elliot down the hall to the bedroom, and the thought crossed Elliot’s mind to ask about the open door they’d passed where an easel and art supplies had been set up. That thought was barely born before it died under the weight of more urgent thoughts like yeah, right there, and harder.

  ELLIOT EVENTUALLY made it back to his house, worked some more on designs and plans, and called a few more contractors. Sheri called at some point, and Elliot talked to her for almost an hour. Finally he simply couldn’t hold his eyes open anymore, so he dragged himself upstairs and fell into bed.

  WE’VE JUST finished a tight scratch with a group of Rebels. For a while there, I wouldn’t have warranted being able to get out alive. But our reinforcements got there first, and we sent those graybacks running as if Sam Hill himself was chasing them. Then we fell back to find some diggings for the night.

  We’re relatively safe now. We’ve found a covert in a thicket of trees. Patrick and I are sitting on our bedrolls, playing cards like we often do when there’s not a battle. We get along well with the other recruits, but we prefer to be with each other. It’s always been that way. When we were in high school, we’d often spend time alone in the tree fort we had in the woods behind my house. A big old oak tree that must have been hundreds of years old. It was there that I had my first kiss. I had never wanted to kiss a girl like all the other boys in my class did, like Samuel did. But I had wanted to kiss Patrick for a long time.