The Unfinished Gift Page 6

  “What are you doing?” Collins asked Patrick, rising to his feet.

  “I-I was just standing here. I—” “Who is that now?” Collins muttered as he answered the door. “Oh, great,” he said, standing on his tiptoes, looking out the front door window. “What does she want?”

  “Who is it?” Patrick asked, hoping the answer was Miss Townsend.

  Collins sighed as he put on his coat. “You better step back. I open this door and you’re going to freeze.”

  Patrick backed halfway into the dining room.

  “Hurry up, old man. I’m freezing out here.” A muffled woman’s voice yelled through the door. It couldn’t be Miss Townsend, he thought. The woman had some kind of accent.

  The door opened on a big black blob of a woman stomping the snow off her boots in the vestibule. She marched through the threshold like she was in her own home and handed Collins her black gloves. As she parted with a fur hat, Patrick noticed her black hair was tightly woven in a bun, thick gray streaks on the sides. She wore a hairnet that seemed to emanate from a dark hole in the center of her forehead. She was holding some kind of covered plate, which she set down on the coffee table. Collins closed the door behind her with a frown.

  “Morning, Mrs. Fortini,” Collins said. “What brings you over so early in the morning?” He didn’t sound pleased.

  “Is that him?” she said, handing Collins her coat and staring right at Patrick. Her smile, set against her jovial face, gave her the appearance of a happy pumpkin. She moved toward him, arms reaching out. Instinctively, he backed up farther into the dining room. Even beneath her coat, she was dressed in black, right down to her stockings. But her eyes were so bright and caring. In a moment, he was engulfed in her arms.

  “What a beautiful boy. You must be so proud,” she said, pulling back slightly. She bent down and grabbed his cheeks in her icy hands, squeezing them affectionately. He couldn’t help but smile.

  Collins walked over to the coffee table and peeked beneath the tinfoil cover. “Cookies,” he said with disgust. “I see what’s going on here. That Miss Townsend send you over here? Yesterday she sets Father O’Malley on me, and today she sends you. Well, I’ve had just about as much of that young woman as I’m gonna take.”

  “What are you going on about, you old stinker?”

  “The boy!” he yelled back. “She thinks I can’t take care of the boy.”

  Instantly, the woman put her hands, big as catchers’ mitts, over Patrick’s ears. But he could still hear most of what she said. She said she didn’t have any idea what he was talking about, that she’d never heard of a Miss Townsend, and that he had some nerve talking so harshly in front of “the boy” after all he’d been through. His grandfather made some kind of reply, though he didn’t quite catch it. But his expression was satisfying, like a child who’d just received a licking. She must be a powerful woman, Patrick thought. He instantly decided he liked her a great deal.

  She took her palms off his ears and reached over toward the covered plate. She pulled out a thick chocolate chip cookie. “Do you like this kind?”

  “Very much.”

  “Well, here,” she said, handing it to him. “You go sit over at the table, and I’ll fix you some milk. Can’t have cookies without milk. You got any milk?” she asked Collins over her shoulder.

  “I don’t know. He used it last. Ask him.”

  “There’s a little left,” Patrick answered. “Maybe half a glass.”

  She moaned as she straightened up. “Well, I’ll get that. You go have a seat.” She turned to face Collins. “When’s the last time the milkman came?”

  “He was due this morning, but he didn’t show. I don’t normally run out.”

  “He probably refused to walk through your snowbanks. You know you’re the only one on the block who doesn’t have your walk cleared?”

  “I’d hired the Matthews boy to do it a couple of days ago, but he hasn’t shown up.”

  “You didn’t hear? He had a birthday this week and joined the army.”

  “Would have been nice if he told me!”

  “Well, you go back to your paper, and I’ll get Patrick his milk. And you leave a note for that milkman about Patrick, so he can start dropping off an extra quart. Growing boys need their milk.”

  She headed for the kitchen. Collins just stood there under the arch between the living and dining rooms, a stunned look on his face. Patrick watched as she rummaged through the cabinets, then the icebox. “This is terrible,” she said.

  He looked back at his grandfather, who was still standing in the same spot. Collins shook his head and sighed. “What’s the matter now?” he asked.

  Mrs. Fortini stormed out of the kitchen. “You’ve got nothing here for a little boy.”

  “We’re just fine.”

  “You’re not fine. There’s no treats, no snacks, no cereal, no—”

  “He’s been eating oatmeal in the morning.”

  “Is that what you’re going to feed him every morning?”

  “He’s only going to be here till his father comes to get him. Few days at the most.”

  “He can’t eat the same thing every morning. Maybe you can, but little boys need variety in their diet.”

  “He’s fine, Mrs. Fortini.” He looked at Patrick. “Aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Don’t ask him,” she interrupted. “Do you honestly expect him to disagree with you? Here,” she said, holding out her hand. “You’ve got money. Give me some, and I’ll go down to Hodgins’s and buy something decent.”

  Collins just stood there looking confused.

  “Come on,” she said.

  “My wallet’s upstairs.”

  “Not a big problem. I’ll wait right here.”

  Patrick stood up and lifted his glass off the table.

  She turned and said in a gentler tone, “What are you doing?”

  “I’m just cleaning up.”

  “I’ll do that. Would you like another cookie?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “Are you still here?” she said to Collins. He turned and walked toward the stairs. “And don’t forget the ration books,” she said as he climbed out of sight. “Both red and blue. I haven’t got enough for both of us.” She walked over and snatched another cookie from the tray. “You eat that,” she said. “I’ll clean up and write myself a little list.”

  A few minutes later, Collins came down with some cash and his ration books. Mrs. Fortini was just finishing her list at the table. She got up and inspected his cash offering, then her list. “That should be enough. Did this government lady give you any additional ration coupons for your grandson?”

  “Uh, now that you mention it, no she did not.”

  “You know cash is never enough anymore. You don’t have sufficient points, and you don’t buy.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, I suggest you get right on that phone and ask them to send some over. I’ll use some of mine for now, but I’ll need them replaced. By rights, he has them coming.”

  “All right, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Patrick, would you like to go with me?” She walked over and put on her coat, stuffing the cash and ration books in the oversized pockets.

  “He can’t go out there. It’s freezing.”

  “It’s not as bad as yesterday,” she said. “The sun is shining. It’s stopped snowing. The wind isn’t even blowing. You have a winter coat, right, Patrick?”

  “And a hat and gloves,” he said.

  “See?”

  “He’ll catch a cold, and then that Miss Townsend will be breathing fire out her nose.”

  “Mr. Collins, little boys play outside in the snow all the time, and they generally live to tell the tale.”

  Collins sighed again and rolled his eyes.

  “Any more excuses?”

  He turned and started into the living room.

  “Where you going?”

  “To get his coat and gloves,” he sai
d.

  She bent down and whispered in Patrick’s ear, “See, he didn’t want you to get sick. He really does care about you. We just have to help him see.”

  Thirteen

  Miss Katherine Townsend worked on the third floor of a bland office building in downtown Philadelphia, about five blocks west of Independence Hall. She sat in her tiny windowless cubicle as she did every morning, sipping lukewarm coffee, surrounded by a sea of tiny cubicles. All occupied by women. The window offices were reserved for the management positions, all occupied by men.

  She didn’t know how much longer she could put up with this job at Child Services. So many tragedies to wade through each day and only a handful of cases over the last two years where she felt she had made any difference at all. But she held in her hands a file containing the most hopeful case she’d had in a long time.

  Little Patrick Collins.

  Just thinking about Patrick again brought an involuntary smile to her face. But it was so hard to think of him stuck in that house with that terrible old man. All day yesterday she’d fought off the impulse to drive down to Allingdale and check on him. Her job protocols mandated she stay away the first few days unless there was proof the child was in some danger; give the principals in the case time to get used to each other.

  She decided she couldn’t wait any longer; forget the protocols, she would see Patrick today.

  He might just be the most handsome little boy she had ever seen. Such bright blue eyes, and that dimpled smile. More than how delightful it looked on his face, the fact that it appeared at all was what so intrigued her. She’d seen so many children who’d endured far less hardship than Patrick completely lose their smiles; she’d wondered if they’d ever return. She had never seen a child react to so much adversity with so much composure and poise. Few adults could have handled the situation with as much character.

  “Have lunch with me?”

  Speaking of adults lacking character, she thought as she turned to face Bernie Krebb, her supervisor.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Krebb. I have other plans.” Krebb had asked her out almost every day since she started this job. This was her standard response.

  “Mr. Krebb, Mr. Krebb. It’s Bernie, Kath. How many times are we going to have to go over this?”

  She looked up at his yellow eyes and bulbous nose. A limp cigarette dangled from his lips, the smoke wafting upward, irritating his eyes. He always acted like he meant for it to do that. Of course, he was wearing his hat. Always the hat, even indoors. Trying to obscure his balding head.

  “Well, first off, it’s Miss Townsend, Mr. Krebb. Not Kath or Katherine. And I agree . . . how many times do we have to go over this?” She knew opposing him wouldn’t help her career, but the fact was he made her skin crawl. He repulsed her in every way a man could be repulsive. He was even married with two kids. She vowed if he ever laid a hand on her, she’d do her best to break his nose.

  He walked in and sat on her lone office chair. His expression shifted to slightly business, but he still kept what he obviously thought was his most alluring smile. “I thought it might be better we talk about this in more pleasant surroundings, say at Rosario’s over a plate of linguini, but if you insist on being such a cold fish . . .”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He looked around as though he didn’t want anyone to hear, then leaned forward. “Been talk upstairs about making cutbacks in this department.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “C’mon, Kath. You know your numbers are down. And your monthly gas consumption is higher than any of the others.”

  Katherine looked down. They’d had this conversation before. Not about the cutbacks, but about how much time she took with each case, about getting too personally involved and emotionally attached. Most of the girls played it by the book, set the kids up as quickly as possible, then moved on to the next case. “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying when the cutbacks come—”

  “Now you’re saying it’s definite?”

  “Just a matter of time. They turned down our request for gas increases for the new year. Since our expenses are still going up . . . well, you figure it out.”

  Katherine sighed. Even with its downsides, she didn’t want to lose this job. The alternatives were waitressing or becoming Rosy the Riveter in some factory.

  “I’ve been warning you—don’t get so attached to these kids. You ain’t paid to love ’em. The way I see it, unless a guy like me intervenes, the boys upstairs are going to go strictly by the numbers. Bad time of year to be stuck without a job.”

  “And what would it take to get you to intervene on my behalf?” she asked, as if she didn’t know. Once he had told her how much she reminded him of Rita Hayworth, that she’d look just as beautiful with the right dress on. He loved the way her brown eyes lit up when she smiled. It almost sounded poetic, and she might have even enjoyed the compliment if it hadn’t been spewing out from such a putrid stump like Bernie Krebb.

  “For starters, stop turning me down for lunch,” he said. “Then we can take it from there. You know, the way things are meant to go, one thing to another. I’m not such a bad guy, Kath. Ask around.”

  What an idiot, she thought. All the girls were as disgusted by him as she was. Some were just a little more ambitious or brought up a little differently. And she hadn’t seen any of them move out of their cubicles. He had no clout in the agency. He was just a pathetic little man who thought way too highly of himself. “Mr. Krebb. It’s not going to happen. Not in a thousand years, not in a thousand lifetimes. You’re a married man, and I—”

  “Don’t let that bother you. My wife and I have an understanding.” “

  “I’m sure you have. But it’s more than that.” How could she say what she was thinking? You make me sick. To see you is to want to throw up.

  Just then the phone rang.

  “I’ve got to take this,” she said. “I’m expecting a call.”

  He stood up and stepped back into the threshold. “Think about what I said. I’d hate to lose you.”

  The phone rang again. She turned to answer it, giving Krebb as much shoulder and back as she could. “Hello? Child Services, Miss Townsend speaking.” She could hear Krebb’s footsteps as he walked away.

  “Miss Townsend? Major Jennings, Army Air Force. We spoke earlier. I have some information for you about Captain Collins.”

  “Is he on his way? Please tell me he’s on his way.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

  “I don’t understand. How could they not let him go after what’s happened.”

  “I didn’t say they wouldn’t let him go. You’re getting ahead of me. All I’ve been able to verify is that the approval for his leave has been authorized. I can’t tell you anything beyond that. My counterpart in England had to cut short our conversation. I could hear air raid sirens going off in the background. He said to call back in a few hours, but with the time difference, I don’t think I’ll get anything more until tomorrow.”

  “I appreciate your candor, Captain. And I really appreciate you calling me back. But please stay on it, if you don’t mind. I’ve got a little boy here who really needs his daddy right now. I think I mentioned his mother died recently in a car accident.”

  “I understand, Miss Townsend. If I hear anything at all, I’ll be sure to let you know.” He paused for a moment, then said, “But you know how slow things move in the military.”

  “I understand. But please don’t let this fall through the cracks.”

  “I’ll do the best I can,” he said.

  Fourteen

  It’s a well-known fact that children and adults generally have differing opinions about the value of snow. To one, it conjures visions of downhill sledding; to the other a car sliding downhill. To one it’s a snowman; to the other a snow shovel. But a white Christmas is different. On that, both young and old generally agree. If the weathermen were right, this could be just such a Christmas. A
ll but the most hardened of souls enjoy a white Christmas.

  One such hardened soul stood inside his vestibule, watching a grandson he hardly knew and a next-door neighbor he barely understood walking down the snowy sidewalk of his home on Chestnut Street in Allingdale, bundled up in winter attire. Allingdale was a little township just south of Philly. Mrs. Fortini said she was taking the boy to Hodgins’s Grocery, down on Clifton Ave. But she was heading in the wrong direction. Hodgins’s was east on Chestnut. She was heading west toward Bartram Ave. There was nothing in that direction except a Jewish cemetery.

  He wondered what idiocy was running through her head.

  The late morning sun had already eroded the rough edges from the early morning snow, turning the mounds and snowbanks into soft, rounded curves. Some of the snow had formed into little ice puddles on the sidewalks. Mrs. Fortini shuffled her feet as they moved along, barely lifting them off the ground with each step.

  “Why are you walking that way?” Patrick asked.

  “How am I walking?” she asked.

  “Like this.” Patrick tried to imitate her shuffle.

  Mrs. Fortini laughed. “Because I’m old, and because you’re too little to drag my big body home.”

  “What?”

  “My neighbor across the street slipped two days ago on the ice and broke her hip. It was terrible. She couldn’t move and she was in so much pain. I didn’t see her fall, but I looked out my window and saw a teenaged boy dragging her back to her house. I am much bigger than she is, and you are much smaller than that boy.”

  Patrick smiled. “I don’t want you to fall.”

  “So it’s okay I walk like this?” she said, exaggerating her shuffling steps.

  “It’s okay.”

  Just being outside in the fresh, cold air made Patrick happy. Being with Mrs. Fortini made him happy. She was the perfect age, had the perfect shape, and the perfect personality to be a grandmother, so he decided to pretend that’s what she was. He was too young to remember Grandma Collins, and he had never met his mother’s parents. His mom said they were already in heaven way before he was born. At least they were all together now, he thought. He looked down at Mrs. Fortini’s huge gloved hand holding onto his, then back up at her pleasant face. Her eyes were squinting in the sun, but he could see she was smiling.