After Hours (InterMix)(88)
He’d screwed up, atrociously. He’d beat his girlfriend, but to then sober up from an episode or a drug high and find out he could’ve made her miscarry his own kid? Forty-five years was a long time to think about one’s mistakes. But was it long enough to wrap your head around that? And Kelly’d been carrying that shit around for over two decades, going through life with that slung over his shoulders, trudging through a world full of Marcos. It was a wonder he’d held himself back as much as he had the day before. I shut my laptop, feeling more lost than ever.
And so, in the end, I passed almost my entire waking day thinking about Kelly.
It didn’t compare to seeing him. Hearing him or touching him. I’d had it bad after those simple little words uttered in my bedroom, well before we’d even kissed. We got a little something between us, don’t we?
Now I’d spent two days banging the guy, then a week trying to fool myself into thinking that was all it’d been.
I was f*cked. Just like I’d known I probably would be. I had to make peace with the fact that I needed to just suck it up. Stay alert and remind myself continually that infatuation wasn’t the same as a romantic crush, and try to enjoy the filthy-good memories without letting my libido trick my heart into thinking there was anything more to it.
I didn’t see Kelly until work, but the second he strolled into the lounge for hand-off, a hot bolt of shame-lust crackled from my feet up through my hair, everything in between left sizzling and tender. He started chatting with another orderly, and I studied him with furtive glances, trying to believe the things I’d done with this man.
He looked so . . . He looked just as he had that first morning, and during our last few shifts, following my icy lead. Far away and untouchable. But I’d seen him come apart, tasted champagne on his lips, stroked that soft, short hair as he wallowed in a post-orgasm coma.
And now I knew things I didn’t really want to. Ugly things that cast shadows over my assumptions about him, instead of shedding light.
We didn’t speak until after lunch, when I was getting a coffee in the sign-in room and Kelly walked in. He tossed me a “Hey,” and turned his attention to the whiteboard.
I wandered over, stirring sugar into my cup. “Hey.”
He scribbled Don’s name in his duties box. “Your car’s fixed.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yup. Part was cheap. You owe me forty bucks.”
“Plus . . . ?”
He thought a second. “Plus a twelve-pack for the labor.”
“Sounds like a good deal.”
He glanced at the open door, then lowered his voice. “I can’t park it anyplace legal near your building with the tow bar on my truck, otherwise I’d just drop it off for you some morning. How about you come over for dinner tonight, and drive it home yourself? Good night for grilling, and I got hamburger patties ready to go.”
Something hot wriggled low in my belly. “That works.”
I imagined staying the night, and following Kelly in to work the next morning, our pulling up together, strolling into hand-off with a secret buzzing between us. I’d wasted my earlier chance to foster that conspiracy, but I didn’t have to waste it again.
And with the promise of another round in Kelly’s bed leaving me with the focus of a caffeinated sparrow, the rest of the day dragged on toward eternity.
I had another chance to play cards with Lee Paleckas and I could tell he was doing better. More lucid, equally glib. Any hope he felt, he hid it behind a caustic persona, but he didn’t fool me. I asked Jenny if she’d heard any updates on his plan, and she said Dr. Morris had him tentatively scheduled to graduate to an outpatient program at the end of next week. I’d miss Lee; the first patient I’d forged a real connection with. Whose stay I knew I’d made more pleasant. But that was the way of the ward. The encouraging cases were always the first to fly the coop, the lost causes forever lingering.
It felt like midnight by the time seven arrived. Kelly and I dawdled behind our coworkers after hand-off, taking our time changing.
We met in the sign-in room once everyone else had filtered out. “Ready?” he asked.
“Ready.”
We headed out to his truck. I cast paranoid glances around the lot as we climbed inside, scanning not for escaped patients, but colleagues. Which was silly. If anybody saw us, all I’d have to do was tell the truth—Kelly had fixed my broken car, and we were going to get it.
“How was Don?” I asked, buckling up.