Supermarket(59)

“Well,” she said, moving closer until her body was lightly pressed against mine. “I did.”

For a moment, she was silent.

“Why one day?” she asked softly.

“Because that’s when Frank told me to meet him,” I said, reaching for her hand. I held it loosely, the fingers of my right hand interlocking with her left.

“Where?” she asked, tightening her grip a bit.

“The supermarket.”

She looked at me with a blank stare. I wasn’t sure what to expect.

“Okay. But listen. None of this run-off-into-the-sunset craziness. I’ll support you through the next twenty-four hours, because I care for you. And if this gets you straight, then I’ll agree to a date. Okay?”

“Okay?”

“Yes, Flynn, okay!” she said, eager to move on to more important things. “Now, what’s the plan?”

I thought for a moment.

“Listen, give me some time to gather my thoughts. Really think things through. I’ll call you tomorrow and explain.”

Our bodies were so close. Our lips almost touching.

“I really want this to work,” she said.

“I really need this to work,” I replied.

I could feel the warmth of her breath on my face, and as we inched closer, she tilted her head down ever so slightly . . . planting her lips on my cheek instead.

“Talk to you tomorrow,” she whispered in my ear.

Later that evening, I found myself lying in my room, thinking of all the possible outcomes. After an hour of throwing my ball against the wall, ricocheting back into my hand, I realized I was only psyching myself out.

I decided to take a stroll. It was quarter to ten, which meant I had fifteen minutes before lights out. I decided to make my way over to Red’s room, and on the way, I tried to think of ideas. Ideas of how to break out of this joint.

I thought of dressing up as a guard . . . but where the hell would I get the clothes? I mean, all we wore was white. The doctors wore white coats, the security guards wore white pants and T-shirts, only the black shoes and badges proving their authority. And we, the patients, wore what looked more like white pajamas. Sweatpants, long-sleeved shirts, and robes to match. I did, though, convince them to let me rock my jacket. It was my security blanket. As similar as the color was to a security guard’s, the actual attire was unmistakable.

I had just under twenty-four hours to devise a plan that would get me the hell out of here.

Snatching a security guard’s outfit wasn’t happening.

I finally made it to Red’s door. I raised my hand, fingers clenched in preparation to hurl my knuckles into the door’s cold metal surface—but before I made contact, the door swung open.

My hand fell limp from the absence of contact, and there was Red. It was as if he knew I was coming—he had a smile ready on his face.

“Hey there, kid,” he said.

“Hey, Red. Mind if I come in?”

“Not at all.” He gestured for me to come into his room. “How about that Santa Claus they have coming here, huh? It’s a trip. They’ve only started doing that the last few years.”

He was right. The week of Christmas a group of actors would come play Santa, Mrs. Claus, and some helpful elves. They would put on a play and then hang out with some of the patients. In the days leading up to it, patients would talk about it day and night, all excited. It was sweet in a way.

“Listen,” I said. “I’ve been thinking.”

“You want a drink?” he asked.

“What? You have alcohol here? How the hell did you get that in here?”

“Kid, when you’ve been here as long as me, you know how to get things in and out of this building.”

I froze, the statement giving me the boost of confidence I needed.

“I hope you like Scotch,” Red said as he grabbed a bottle of Hibiki from underneath his bed. Hibiki was a type of Japanese Scotch—I’d only had it once before, years ago. Accompanying the bottle were two whiskey glasses with the words Bobby Billiards printed across them. It was the same place Red used to shoot pool back in the day.

“I love Scotch, actually,” I said, still thinking about what he had just said. Maybe Red would know the best way to get out of this place.

“You know,” he said, “the first time I ever had Hibiki was actually in Japan at the Ritz Carlton. Years back. I was there for a pool tournament.”

“You don’t say.”

He gave a graceful pour and handed me a glass. Raising his in the air, he said, “To sanity.” I looked down, then we clinked and took our sips. Delicious. Smoky and full-bodied.

“Eyes, eyes!” he said.

“What?”

“Eyes, boy! You never take your eyes from another when making a toast before you drink! It’s bad luck.”

“To sanity,” I said, staring right at him. Our glasses collided and I downed the entire thing.

“Damn, Flynn!”

“What?”

“Scotch is for sippin’, boy . . . not for pouring back! This ain’t tequila now!” He chuckled.

“Hey, Red?” I said, extending my hand for another pour.

“Yeah?” He gave me a much heavier pour this time.

“You said you can get things in . . . and out of this place?”