Yesterday by C. K. Kelly Martin Read Free Book Online Page B

through. It’s closed and the ground-floor window merely offers me a reflection of the street.
Damn
. My heart’s racing like I’m running a marathon. How do I stop this insanity? How do I let go of him?
    The can of Coke I’ve been holding all along is freezing in my naked hand. I pop it open and gulp down sugary liquid caffeine, hoping the normalcy of the action will help calm me down. Then I continue forward at a snail’s pace, past the boy’s property, ogling a street sign as I go: Walmer Road. At the next cross street I stalk across the road and double back towards the guy’s house, still guzzling Coca-Cola and hoping he’ll emerge again, although I have no idea what I’ll do if he does.
    For the next while I patrol the street in this way. Driftingup one side of the road and then coasting down the other, avoiding the eyes of the pedestrians who stroll past but keeping a vigilant watch on the mystery guy’s house. Only when two red-haired children, a skinny boy and rosy-cheeked girl who must be walking home from school, zip past me do I think about the time and where I’m supposed to be.
    It’s ten minutes to three and the Sir John A. MacDonald buses were scheduled to leave the museum at 2:30. I’ve missed my ride home.
    I’ve missed the bus to Brampton
and
I’ve been trekking around Toronto with a raging case of temporary insanity. No, temporary would mean it was over with, and I still don’t want to leave Walmer Road. I’ve pulled just far enough out from the spell I’ve been under to realize I have to go. No matter what I
think
I know, I can’t pace the sidewalk outside his door forever.
    I point one final stare at the boy’s house before retracing my steps back to Spadina and then Bloor Street. The museum hasn’t gone anywhere. Neither has the hotdog vendor. However, the school buses are nowhere in sight.
    I slink guiltily into the museum lobby, pondering my situation. I’m too old to embarrass myself by approaching the museum staff like a lost seven-year-old but there’s only one location I know how to find from here and that knowledge won’t help me now.
    My fingers fumble for a quarter in my pocket. Then I scan the lobby for a pay phone and dial home. Olivia’s usually only in the house alone for about fifteen minutes afterschool and I hope she doesn’t freak out when she hears I won’t be there soon.
    Initially I figure my mom will have to pick me up once she’s finished work but by the time Olivia picks up on the third ring I have a better idea and after explaining about missing the bus I ask her for my grandfather’s phone number. His and Nancy’s numbers are both stuck to the front of our refrigerator and when Olivia comes back on the line to recite his number I tell her to make sure the front door’s locked and not to open it for anyone.
    “I won’t,” she says. “Do you have Mom’s work number in case Grandpa isn’t home?”
    She gives me that number too. I scribble it down but it turns out I don’t need it; my grandfather’s at the museum to pick me up within twenty minutes. He smiles at me, making his wrinkles pop, as he ambles into the lobby with a long red scarf wrapped around his neck and says, “You’re lucky you caught me at home. I just got in from Cooke’s place.”
    His friend Cooke is in bad health and so is Cooke’s wife. My grandfather spends lots of time helping them out—running them over to church, doctor’s visits and the grocery store. Nearly every time we see my grandfather he makes some mention of Cooke.
    “Thanks for coming to get me,” I tell him. “I thought I might have to wait for Mom.”
    “Glad to do it,” my grandfather says heartily. “But how’d you manage to miss the bus? Isn’t the school supposed to keep track of you while you’re on a field trip?”
    “I was in the bathroom,” I lie. “I wasn’t feeling well. I guess someone screwed up the head count.”
    My grandfather purses his lips, his eyebrows pointy with